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Group poll:

Thumbs up for en-route helo conversation before landing.

Smiley face for jump to Direct Action breaching the initial entrances.

Kreznik Broekke


@Dyelli Beybi

"Because if we did what we want the world would top further into chaos." He left it unspoken that his wants and wishes would most definitely had left a good portion of the continent in further chaos. Potentially, for the better, in his opinion. Though, he was sure that the amount of slit throats would unsettle his allies further then they already disliked him.

" ...do you play cards Kreznik?"


A tilt of his head, looking past her head as if recalling some games.

"I picked up few in the camp. Though I don't have any coins to...." He took in what was becoming a now familiar expression on the heir's face. One that he, to his horror, was beginning to look forward the usual sequence of events that followed. The usual chaotic blur of emotions, activity and suppressed bad ideas that Kreznik associated with Andronika.

An audible sigh as he glanced at the pair of doors and double checked that they were properly secured and locked.

"I assume you have an initial game in mind?" His tone resigned even as he felt the slight thrill of his pulse as he took a seat a few feet from the heir.

The ensuring events were fairly predictable for the pair. But to their nature they were discreet about it. At least to those out of immediate earshot...
Application:

Name: Fabio Fazzone

Age: 32

Appearance: A tall (6'2"), broad-shouldered man. Fabio has dark hair that is always just a little unruly (it takes him a good half hour to achieve this effect in the morning). He has a sharp jawline that inevitably carries the faint shadow of stubble. He has sun-kissed olive skin that speaks of long days spent under Mediterranean skies, and dark brown eyes.

Nationality: Italian

Branch: Direct Action

Role/Occupation: Expendable Human Resource

Skills: A competent operator with experience in planning and executing operations in urban environments. Can also cook well. Blue Steel.

Weaknesses: Is vain and makes indiscrete social media posts.

Background/Biography: Fabio Fazzone was born of a middle-class Milanese family and is not typically the sort of person one would have expected to end up in the military. However, possibly as a way to impress women, and much to the dismay of his parents, rather than going onto a good university after school, Fabio enlisted in the Italian Army. In truth this was possibly not such a bad idea as Fabio has never shown any particular interest in or aptitude for academia.

In the military, Fabio thrived. The young Italian had excellent coordination and quickly became a well respected marksman. While not the most motivated person by nature, he was quite good at following instructions.

Nevertheless, after ten years in the military, Fabio left in search of opportunities which paid better (he wanted to buy a Lamborghini to help him pick up women). 'Damage Control' work seemed like the obvious choice. Intending to apply for a role in catering, Fabio accidentally applied for 'Direct Action' instead and was accepted due to a need for more arguably-competent cannon fodder.

Accepted, welcome aboard.

Hazard pay and potentially dangerous promotions await.
Next post should be Friday. It will most likely start with the DC teams making the initial breach.

Field Contract Advisor Samantha Norr
Acheron Recovery Services Bunker
Briefing Room
Silent Mountain, Montana


"Two hundred thousand is generous. I can probably do what is needed with half that amount."


Sam gave a nod. Making a note of the promise for further review. A measurable best mark to see if Imogen was a boaster or a promiser.

She was about to ask for further questions when she noticed the steadily decreasing population of the room. A glance at the time revealed Daniel's rapidly approaching deadline; not that the Field Research team would leave without her. But the Direct Action shooters would definitely not hesitate to kick out.

"No more questions. Get your kit and prepare to depart." She hoped she didn't sound as frantic as she felt. The subtle thrumming of her heart all to apparent to her. Exiting and hoping to reach Amory #2 in time.

Field Commander Daniel Graves
Acheron Recovery Services Bunker
Armory #2
Silent Mountain, Montana


The Field Research team had trickled in slowly over the course of Daniel's time hack. A wild array of uniforms and equipment pulled from their lockers and their armorer. Quirky choices that Daniel wouldn't really tolerate for his team but they fell under Sam's purview. She could deal with the logistical headache of their calibers and their effectiveness on her side.

Daniel's teams, at least for the moment, wore plain olive drab or tan uniforms. His uniform the sole grey one among the Direct Action teams. Plate carriers and helmets in the ever common OCP pattern; festooned with gear, equipment and ammunition. Balaclavas a standard feature typically but unneeded given the gas masks they were currently sizing to their faces. A precaution for the first wave at least until they could rule out chemical and biological threats.

Their armaments were uniform for the most part. Barring a few specialists and a few of the veterans' he had cherry picked. Mk18's swung in most of the shooters' grips. The usual array of suppressors, laser/light systems and close quarter optics mounted to the user's preferences. Except for the snipers with their large bore custom rifles and the machine gun team lugging their disassembled monstrosity.

Clattering boots preceded Sam's hurried arrival. Panic, visible to Daniel at least, barely suppressed as she hurriedly threw open her locker. As she threw on her gear; Daniel looked over the beast of an IT and the shotgun he was lugging.

"Kind of lot of gun you got there." Daniel said as he sauntered up. His eleven inch barrel even with suppressor nowhere near it's size. "You know you lot are in the second wave right?"

Curiosity as to why the IT guy was kitted out like an action movie hero a welcome distraction at least for the next five minutes.
Application:



Accepted
For the purposes of this RP assume the other branches will have the persons needed to fill out gaps the player characters have: whether that be in skills or numbers.

Commander Stader Volger
89th LSC CO
Aside With Mika Ganishka


The giggle threw him. A rough sounding amused chortle that came from the captain before her abbreviated history and sector politics lesson. What threw him was how human it sounded; an odd bit of character he could now add to his description of the former pilot. A description that now included a level of swagger and arrogance that he normally associated with strike craft pilots.

A level of arrogance that included a system claim staked at the beginning of this venture. Which while a big claim; Volger could admire for her simplicity. No talking in circles or round about schemes. A simple exchange of titles and powers for service.

But her last statement caused him a brief spell of puzzlement before understanding dawned on him.

'You don't know. He never told you.'

His amusement became obvious. A grin splitting through what had been a mask of annoyance. Granite features crumbling.

" You don't know what I'm here for do you?" His head cocked as he took a step back. He head not having to crane up and his not having to crane down. Though, truthfully, it made no difference in their gazes. "I'm surprised. Truly, it's an open secret of the Imperial Lances."

He wondered whether he should continue. Leave her with that bit of mystery and see what came of it. But, he decided it would be more useful to see her preparations. Easier to counter when you knew what others started with. A jabbed his arm mounted TacPad. A white noise jammer that would wash out most regular listening devices.

"Allow me a bit of history myself. I report to FOSCOM. Which reports to the Imperial Intelligence Bureau, not Imperial Intelligence. A distinct difference but you wouldn't understand unless you took a paycheck from one or the other." A teasing grin as he tapped an emblem on his pauldron. A subdued triangle with a circle. An '89' visible barely among the polychromatic cloaking. "All of which was created back when the Imperium had a nasty bout of civil war around a few century ago."

He threw an arm around, encompassing the room but seeming to gesture past it.

"Back when Imperial Lances were sent into the black on their lonesome. The best pilots of the Imperium. Not the most loyal. Not the most trustworthy. The best pilots. The Achilles, Gilgameshs, and Masamunes of their times. Great warriors and killers suddenly at the edge of the verse. The power of the Empire at their fingertips but none of the burden or the expectations. Ships, ACs and soldiers at their beck and call. Why serve in heaven when you can rule in hell; if even for a minute. I'm sure you get the picture."

His grin now turned melancholic.

"So no longer would a Lance embark members of the Imperial Army. Instead, they would use us. The support companies. Specially trained and screened. To support the Lance of course but that's a byproduct sadly." He tapped the sidearm still holstered in a crossdraw. "My objective is to make sure this Lance stays within the bounds."

A meeting of gazes. Understanding, dawning as Volger continued.

"I'm a loyalty officer Captain Mika Ganishka. A capable one for sure. But my goal is not to drag a prince to glory. Nor is it to babysit a Lance And definitely not help a pirate make a play for a title after her side lost a brushfire war." The last part said with a slight bit of venom.

"But don't worry. I need certain criteria for any action. My personal feelings have no say; protocols and rules. So stay in line, do your job, and if you want to use my troopers for anything; you let me know ahead of time so I can plan for it."

Field Contract Advisor Samantha Norr
Acheron Recovery Services Bunker
Briefing Room
Silent Mountain, Montana


"Questions, yes." Soraya looked down at the paper she'd been taking notes on, tapping her pen against the page. "Are there other exits? Or can we interdict this news team as they leave the facility?"


Sam fixed her gaze on Soraya. A slightly more forced smile as she brought up the exterior blueprints.

"The facility should be in a security lockdown. Hence, why the Direct Action teams are breaching their respective entrances. No one, especially the news teams, should be able to exit." She then pointed to some of the symbol's on Daniel's map. Hoping to god that she was pointing out the correct ones. "And the sniper teams and machine gun on the exterior will have clear lines on the exterior. No one will leave without us knowing."

Sam gave a pause. Dark blue eyes meeting Soraya; establishing eye contact as the leadership seminar advised.

"I know you know how to do your job. Just remember that the Direct Action teams don't care about news crews. They care about whatever caused the facility to go dark. We pay you, the concealment teams, lots of money to worry about things like news crews with video evidence. So as long as their evidence remains buried you can sit under an umbrella sipping on Long Islands."

Sam took a breath. Dialing back from what she could tell was becoming hostile. Daniel's little stunt had gotten to her. She had to calm down before she got the reputation as the bad cop.

"I trust you will use your best judgement on this contract. Any other questions?"

John Lockman


Ginny bobs her head along "Even better."


John could admit his curiosity was piqued at what made a test pilot better then a designer. When, the slowly becoming familiar, clumping of an environment suit preceded Fihlyn into the bay.

The Quessir crew member giving an energetic wave that looked at odd with the clunkiness of the suit. John wondered if the clunkiness was inherent to its design or if its user had any effect. A minor detail possibly but one that he might-

“I see that good progress is being made on your shuttle?” Fihlyn inquired, peering curiously at the scattered detritus and tooling that lay around the two humans. “I am glad that you were able to recover it. Attempting to land the ESS thirty-eight-twenty-two, dash-zero-one on a poorly surveyed planetary body would have been…” She paused for a moment, frowning as she tried to think of the right word in the Edenite tongue. “...unfortunate?”

Fumbling briefly with the tablets that she’d brought with her, the Quessir continued excitedly.

“I do not mean to interrupt your work, but I have made progress on an expedited training program for piloting the ESS thirty-eight-twenty-two, dash-zero-one. With so few of the original command crew remaining, it would be prudent to have redundancy for piloting and navigational needs.”

Managing to get her glove-constrained fingers around the top-most tablet, Fihlyn offered it to the pilot.

“I decided that the first chapter of the course should focus on general vocabulary and terms related to piloting this class of vessel. Much of it should be easy review for you, I am sure, but there will still be a test…once I have finished writing it.”


John looked at the tablet with the dawning horror of old memories overshadowing the new.

'Dear stars....I'm back at Flight School.'

The tablet displaying neatly made modules of words and concepts that looked like a home produced textbook. Lacking in budget but not in data or quality of content. Definitely not lacking for content. Rows and rows scrolling past his eyes before he thumbed the pad off and slipped it into his flight suit's thigh pocket.

"I'll definitely give it a gander miss." His smile the forced, easy going one he normally adopted when trying to wheedle some design change out of the brass. "At least after I finish puzzling this out."

He cast a thumb at the engine.

"Debris was a silver bullet. Hit a part that this model exclusively had. New engine design and all that." His tone exasperated as the pilot knelt down. Sorting among the jumble of spares for something he could cobble together or salvage into an amalgamation of a part.
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