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Recent Statuses

6 days ago
Current Just a reminder, all our problems are nothing to the unyielding march of time towards certain doom. Have a great week guys! <3
1 like
9 days ago
Dear, GOD, wHat IS haPPening in the sTATus bAR.
1 like
3 mos ago
To all concerned parties: Valentine's Day is just as much an opportunity to love and cherish yourself, family and friends, as it is to cherish your "special someones" don't forget that.
8 likes
3 mos ago
I want a-
7 mos ago
Is it holding a coconut?
2 likes

Bio

Hello, You've managed to wander on to my profile page, Welcome!

My name's Voltus_Ventus

I've been on the guild for 2 God knows how long now, my first day being the 23rd of March and I've got decent English skills.

I'm always open for a conversation, so if you want to say something to me, just drop me a PM.

Bye!

Most Recent Posts



As the lift descended bringing them closer to imminent danger, the music pumping through her sound system changed. From the other side of the tinny speakers, the sound of whirring and clicking echoed into her head, as the microphone in her cabin picked up the sound of the tape player swapping cassettes. There was a snap as a new tape was clicked into place and its guard shut over it, and a high-pitched drilling noise as the machine wound the magnetic strip to its starting position. Before a servo pressed down on the play button of the device with a hearty krrchnk. The moments following were filled with static silence, occasionally hissing and popping before a song played.

Behind her M almost choked, before bursting out in laughter. The way the communication system worked was a series of open channels for quick communication during combat, which meant you could tap into anyone's feed at any one moment. Skyldig was aware of this, so placed her music system on a closed channel only she could tap into. But it seemed her music was loud enough to be picked up by her microphone, and thus, M could listen to it. To her horror.

"Oh this is rich!" He cried out, his gloved hand on the front of his helmet as if holding a nonexistent face, "I didn't take you for a Carpenters kind of girl!" He gestured for the others to gather around, with his fingers holding up the number 3, Skyldig's channel.

Under her mask she seethed, as in the background the soft strumming of the Carpenters filled her helmet. Slipping her fingers between a gap in the segmented plates of his armor, she lifted him up and pinned him to the wall of the lift, with a deep and rumbling growl. The suit was light, after all, it only needed to contain a gas, and none of the other extraneous things needed to keep a supple, fleshy body alive. Pressing a knife under the lip of the helmet, she poked at the rubberized gasket of the container.

"I'll fucking space you right now you cretin!" She barked, threatening to evacuate him out of his suit "I-I'll turn you into Green- Green Kibble!" Referring to one of the three kibbles they fed slaves on Pargalon-3. Green kibble, Beige kibble and Grey kibble. The sudden and jostling motion shocked him, but more so he was worried that she might actually do it. He raised his hands up in submission.

"Alright, alright! No one tune in to her band!" He said, hoping to appease her. Ross chortled, not following his advice as the music played in her cochlear implants.

"This is precious!" She cried out, not at all ready to hear the smooth, mellowing music. Almost in disbelief that the Carpenters were in Skyldig's personal collection of music. Before she could turn to confront the doctor, the elevator began to make its short and abrupt slow down. As the door slid open she heaved the giant suit in front of the cabin, shielding them from the small arms fire that was no doubt about to ensue. When the doors fell open, nothing, until a metallic object came skittering and clanking into the cabin. Skyldig looked down at it, her sharp eyes catching the words written on the side of it.




Catching it with her foot, she kicked the concussion grenade back out of the lift, a bright flash of light accompanied by a loud bang splattered the cabin with metal spalling. Pushing M aside, Skyldig drew her rifle in one hand and fired around him, hoping to keep their heads down while she thought. Reaching for a grenade on her belt, letting her rifle dangle by its strap at her shoulder. She groped at thin air, the doctor must have taken the utility belt off of her when they were up on the roof, leaving Skyldig explosiveless. She released a groan in frustration. This was going to take a little more effort than she thought it would, she admitted to herself with some level of irritation, before storming out into the hallway.
Up was the cardinal direction when drowning, to distinguish it from all other directs was life saving. "I had a body now, senses that extended to the tips of my limbs. I craned my neck backwards, to what I hoped was upwards, in hopes of seeing what there was to be seen." Life was preferable to whatever else awaited me in the dark.
Maybe instead of a death race to be the first to post we can set up a rotation? Or all reach a consensus about what we went the character to do before one of us posts it? Or just have a death race?
I can certainly imagine this being very split-esque, intentionally or otherwise. Regardless, I'm interested!




The pair squirmed, she wasn't good at this and to an extent it hurt, but she kept her mind off it by scanning her eyes about. The Castery was where the molten metal from the smelters was transported in vast, bucket-like crucibles, suspended from impossibly high gantries by Ghargashian sized chains. The heat was almost excruciating, and they both glistened with sweat. Skyldig grunted, looking away and scrunching up her face, half wincing and half scowling while the Slavedriver bit his tongue. A rumbling sound came from his chest, eyes clenched shut, his massive fists gripping down hard on her wrists, threatening to break them. When iron grip loosened she yanked her hands out of his, standing up, her eyes darting around as she fiddled with the rope at waist, tying her baggy pants up tightly.

"We-ll?" She asked, hunched over, the burns on her face peeling from the heat of the metalworks above them. She expanded a claw like hand, and the man grunted, buckling his belt as he began to walk away. "We had a fucking deal!" She barked, standing up straight, coming to just under his height before returning to a stoop "We had a deal." Sky repeated, in forced respect. He looked over his shoulder, rolling his eyes at her before dropping a black plastic bag on the ground at his feet, continuing on his way. The moment he turned away, Skyldig scrambled forwards, falling to her knees as she grabbed the little sachet in her shaking hands.

Pulling the seal open and looking into the bag, she was greeted by the dull luster of a finely granulated, crystalline substance. With haste, making sure her eyes were not deceiving her, she turned the package over so that the front was facing her. In big, bold letters, white against the black wrapper, beneath the chemical diagram of the drug, the words were printed:




She groaned in pleasure, stuffing mouth and nose into the pouch, huffing hard and inhaling the fine powder. Relaxing into her knees, she pulled her face away and closed her eyes, wiping the dust off her face and rubbing it into her gums with her fingers.

Nearby, the sound of metal clattering against metal echoed against the struts. Skyldig dropped the pouch, reaching for her drilling-hammer and growled.


------------------------------------------

"Shut the fuck up..." She muttered, coming out of her drug fueled dream, the cool air rolling against her face. Her helmet lay nearby, hands wandering around under her armor, needles pricking into her skin and drawing threads through gashes and applying painkillers to bruised and cracked ribs. Sky clenched her left fist, feeling the missing finger, "I was just resting my eyes." Her eyes still closed.

The doctor snorted, a single chuckle of mirth escaping her as her robotic fingers explored the soldier's sore body. They had detached in pairs, scurrying about under Skyldig's armor like two legged spiders as they attended to the field fixable wounds. "You're a candle burning at all three ends." Ross mumbled, her eyes darting back and forth in the space between them, watching the various perspectives of the little medic bots on the holographic HUD shimmering in front of her face. She hesitated, her eyes momentarily lingering on the red lines of one of Sky's mastectomy scars before continuing. "Want me to set your ribs, or want to wait until this is all over." She gestured to the to the destruction on the roof with her free hand, pointing around with Skyldig's forcefully amputated finger.

Skyldig opened her eyes, light grey sky greeting her, black plumes of smoke rising up from the peripheries of her vision. She turned to face Ross and saw her finger in her hand, "Aren't you going to put that back on?" She asked, looking down at her now bandaged hand before sitting up. A spike of pain went through her, driving through her ribs and out her back. Skyldig maintained a placid face. The doctor shrugged, tossing it up into the air and catching it.

"It's a bit fucked." She said, inspecting it. The nail had come clean off the front, and the end that was once attached to her hand was incredibly unsightly. She felt around. "Plus it's broken." She was about to ask if Skyldig wanted a prosthetic, but thought better of it, she was a body purist despite her normally crippling narcotic consumption. She turned it over once more in her hand before pocketing it, she could salvage the tissue and regrow a new one, though her supply of Sky's stem cells was running low, so she would have to harvest more soon. "I put some wounding gel on the stub, keep it open and fresh, we'll deal with it once we're ship side." Ross mused, ordering her fingers back to her with an eye gesture.

When the last finger returned to its socket, Skyldig sat up and was relieved she was behind a box. She wasn't as strict about her face as most were back home, but it still irked her, so she kept it covered for the most time despite the crew having all seen it. "Yes, you can fondle me later." She said, in her imperious tone, as her mind wrestled back the mild anesthetic. The dose Ross had given her could probably sedate a large Megasloth, but years of substance abuse and a naturally rapid metabolism meant it didn't last long. Ross went an augmented blue, her blood surrogate rushing to her skin in embarrassment. She stammered, uncharacteristically, as Skyldig stood up and reengaged her helmet, the respirator hanging open exposing her chin, mouth and nose. Swaggering over to where the group had assembled, by the door of the now working elevator, Sky brought the bottle of seltzer to her lips and stuffed the nozzle into the back of her mouth, dousing her throat with the drug-concoction. "She's right." She said in M's direction, gesturing to Malkan with a nod of the head, as she rocked up ahead of them. "You're getting fat."


Lancers and sterling brocades,
The Blood rushed down with the wind,
Upon the vanguard of Menn,
Whom rac'd down path that did wind,
T'wards certain doom.


For a moment the air was still, as jump ships and corporate yachts began to lift off landing pads, the two opposing sides assessing each other in that briefest instant. Before anyone else could move, Skyldig rained a hail of bullets down on an unfortunate guard at the toe of her platform, literally blowing him away, sending the limp body streaking across the ground. As the rag doll came to a stop, holes pumping sterling blood, the guards simultaneously opened fire at Skyldig. She fell backwards, purposefully lying as flat as she could against the platform, hiding in the middle of the flat plane where bullets couldn't find her. To her left feet were rattling up the metal steps to the top of the platform, perhaps one or two security guards making their way up with their guns drawn. Scrambling towards the opposite lip of the landing pad, she dragged herself off, falling through a haze of bullets and behind a metal container she had spied on her way down.

As the security guards crested the steps to find her gone, they crossed the platform with speed, reaching the end that Sky rolled off of just in time for a metallic yellow orb to rise up to meet them. One of them had an instant to look down to the ground, where Skyldig was lying in the fetal position, back pointing to the air as the grenade's fuse ran its course and detonated in mid air. The pair of guess were blown off the landing pad, across its surface and off the side of the skyscraper. A sudden and violent shower of shrapnel slammed into Skyldig, plinking against her armor and stinging as all the metal segments rattlers against one another. Certainly her back would be horribly bruised. There was no time to worry about future Skyldig's pain however. Like a terrible arachnid, She scurried across the metal asphalt rooftop, rapidly taking cover by a crate closer to the center of the roof.

Popping her head over the top of the crate, bracing her body against it, she fired off a burst at a small group of guards crossing the roof, not hitting any of them but causing them to drop for cover. Leaping over the metal container, she advanced on an autonomous rocket battery, slaloming through cover. The Mz-677 was an X-Ray guided middle system, comprised of two batteries of rocket pods, each containing a dozen hollow charge missiles.

Taking cover behind the armored installment, Skyldig extracted a rocket from the back of the turret, lying back against it as it took fire from quick approaching soldiers. Producing a combat knife, she pried the warhead's cap off of the top of the rocket and reached in, fiddling with the timer on the explosive device to delay the detonation. Rescrewing the fuse housing, she stood up, picking up the rocket in both hands and raising it over her shoulder. She slammed it against it's nose, hearing the timer beginning to start before returning it to the rocket pod.

Slipping her fingers through the rings of three grenades, she extracted them from her belt, yanking them free by the pins. There's a common myth abound, that it takes little force to pry the safety pin out of a hand grenade, that would be incorrect, it could take up to 30 pounds of force to dislodge a ring from its captive slot. Leaning to the left, exposing herself from behind the battery, she swung her arm ferociously, painfully whipping it, had it not been for the painkillers flooding her system. Against the friction of springs and the capture hole, the grenades slipped off of their pins from the sheer force of the swing, flying out in all directions and causing a lull in shooting as the guards swarmed for cover.

Skyldig ran in the direction of the thrown grenades, away from the battery and towards the ducking soldiers. Her weight carried her forwards as she hopped momentarily onto a crate, her forward momentum pulling her off the box and into the air as the grenades exploded behind her. The flame radiated behind her, heat licking at the back of her armor, as the explosive force carried her forwards. Aiming down as she tumbled through the air, she emptied her magazine into the helmet of a crouched soldier, drilling through it with ease. The moment her bolt locked back, the magazine empty, the rocket detonated behind her, exploding violently and chain detonating the rest of the battery around it.

A second shockwave, much more powerful than the first flung Skydig forwards, sending the armored figure cascading against the doors of an elevator. The metal peeled away around her, she she slammed into the back wall of the lift, her body crashing into the buttons of the cabin. Lurching hard, the machinery in the elevator spluttered and shuddered as metal ground on metal. The elevator plunged downwards, screaming towards the ground as the brake pads failed. Quickly, with clarity and focus, the bloods still crackling through her system, Skyldig punched through a grate in the ceiling, and clambered out, reaching for a flailing cable that wasn't plummeting down with the cabin. She gripped on to it, the elevator descending down away from it, gravity and her residual speed pulling her down for a few more cubits, whiplash rattling her brain in her skull. Had it not been for the narcotics she would have passed out. Sky swung there for a few moments, her heart pounding in her ears so hard it felt like she was vibrating. Cool air rushed up the elevator shaft as the cabin crashed to the bottom, providing a moment of respite before she started to climb back up, arduously. As she reached the top, the remaining SAM turrets, which were few following the explosion, continued to fire at the circling Molotov, though with no where near enough range to actually reach it.

A large chunk of the building had broken off and rained down on to the street, the sheer strength of the explosion gouging a scar that ran a few stories down. The roof was ribbed with cracks, and from where she stood at the entrance to the elevator shaft, it seemed like the explosion had either killed or maimed everyone on the roof. No one picked through the wounded, ran to their aid, they would no doubt die there lying under a dying star. She dropped her magazine and began going around, loading a fresh one and blasting the straggling soldiers clinging on to dear life. Perhaps it was more merciful, or perhaps it was the drugs in her system driving her. Or maybe it was just her. She began to shut down the SAMs, one by one, limping about in a painless haze as each one fell silent. As she approached the last one shots rang out. The first one slammed into the back of her armor, square in the middle, the next few ricocheting off of her plates.

The wounded straggler clung on to her side with one hand, feebly retaining her insides, the other hand firing wildly at Skyldig with an automatic pistol. She rushed the guard, closing the distance as the builds spiked against her armor, slamming into her ribs with only the ballistic weave between her and certain death. Swinging the stock of her rifle, she knocked the guard down and let the momentum of the swing bring her down on to the woman. They squirmed and wrestled on the ground, the woman firing blindly into Skyldig's abdomen, breaching through the painkillers. Sky grabbed the gun by the muzzle pulling it from between them, ramming her head against the damaged guard's with fervor. Suddenly, the gun fired its last round, ripping through flesh and bone of the finger over the muzzle. Her finger second from her pinkie sailed through the air, but Skyldig was too engrossed killing the guard to worry about it.

An ache slowly start to set in, as Skyldig clutched her side, holding on to her mangled finger in the same hand. She brought the mouth piece of the radio set to her lips, the helmet's rebreather hanging over.

"Did.. I.. Break my record?" She said breathlessly as her vision began to recede around the edges. There was silence for a few moments before Computer replied.

"Previous Record: four minutes, 22 seconds. Current Time: five minutes, 56 seconds. Record not beaten." She contemplated for a few moments, her finger off the communication button, before holding it down to speak.

"Take away the time it took to climb up the elevator shaft."

"New Time: four minutes, three seconds. New Record Set."

"Tell the Molotov this approach is safe, and have Ross waiting to receive me." As she finished her sentence she began to slump to the ground, first sitting, propping herself up with her free arm, before slipping and lying down. She took a few shallow breaths, before falling unconscious.


The Hen swallows the Worm

She eyed herself in the mirror, only occasionally, glancing up to meet her reflection's gaze and quickly darting her eyes away, as if she had locked stares with a stranger, briefly, scandalously. In one hand she rigorously inverted a cocktail shaker, the other inspecting the scars across her face and clavicle. That day was a good day, the flesh was an ugly pink and the blisters were at a minimum, better than worse days, when her face burned and cracked like splitting, spitting coals. No scar that extensive ever really healed.

Skyldig placed the shaker down on the synthetic wood of the cabinetry, producing a small sieve from a drawer and placing it over the awaiting maw of a seltzer bottle. Emptying out the shaker, the fluid trickled freely through the tightly woven metal mesh, meanwhile, powdery detritus and the undissolved shells of various pills found themselves separated. She tossed the sieve aside, the cleaning bot would retrieve it, clean it, replace it in its designated shelf. Capping the seltzer dispenser, Skyldig fitted into it a shiny ampule of CO2, discharging a sliver of it into an awaiting tumbler to prove to herself it functioned.

Picking up the glass, she gestured it towards herself in the mirror.

"Your drink, Miss."

Before sipping on the narcotic concoction.

The Fox kills the Hen

The single light that hung in the center of her modest cabin burned like the filaments of an oven, bearing down on her as she stripped down her fighting rifle. With the rim of a 6.5mm case she pried up the lip of a pin and pulled it out, retaining it in hand as she worked the bolt handle back, tilting the gun so that the other side of the receiver faced her. Using the pin as a punch she let out another pin below the ejection port, sliding off the bolt handle and placing it aside.

Skyldig worked quickly, methodically, spider-like hands crawling over the gun as she extracted pins and pried on screws, dropping everything in a bucket of acetone that sat on the ground beside her cot. On which she sat cross-legged, pulling off the fore-stock and placing it down on the blanket. From the whole assembly she produced the gas system, fiddling with internal components, all the while lining them up to make the bolt extraction easier. Within a few short moments all the small pieces were being stripped of their gunk in the bucket, as Skyldig rammed a patch down the barrel and polished essential baring surfaces. The disassembled firearm lustered, gleaming as she brushed the parts liberally with oil. As much as the rifle was a glutton for pain she didn't like to be fired dry.

Skydig put the parts back together in a matter of a minute, drawing the charging handle back a few times to ensure proper cycling before leaving the gun aside to load magazines. Which lay stacked and strewn around the room, like some kind of sheet metal confetti.

The Man shoots the Fox

Her armor was not too dissimilar from the set she wore for the clans, though then her armor had been emblazoned with crests and awards, and was painted a deep... Grey. The idea of color was still alien to her, everything was a tone of black, except when in the woods or standing over a body of water, only then would she experience the faintest hint of this strange phenomenon. Color. The lightest twinge of some foreign sensation, that for all she knew could have been an optical illusion, or a parasite living in her eye. She drew the buckles and fasteners, wearing them tight enough to be uncomfortable, something that she could power through nonetheless.

Over her underwear was a one-suit of ballistic weave, to catch any kinetic projectiles that might breach through the upper layers of armor. Over which she would wear a tight lattice of mail, tightly packed rings of bi-metal looped together, to catch spalling and shrapnel that might come loose from the inside of the armor plates. Though this only covered her upper body. And finally the plates, shoulder and neck guards, fore-guards, thigh plates and greaves, gauntlets and gigantic segmented boots. These performed well against some energy based weapons, despite getting very warm upon impact. Less so against ballistic weapons, that had a tendency to dent painfully inwards.

All of this made the armor almost unbearably hot, it would have, had it not been for her body modifications, systems to cool her vital organs and major blood ways.

In the mirror Skyldig polished the plates on her shoulders, rubbing a rag in round rapid motions across the metallic surface. Her waist was dangling with ammunition pouches and hand grenades, like a violent belly-dancer's veil. On her left hip was the seltzer bottle, primed and ready for dispensing, on her right a high-gain communicator, for contacting the ship from planet side. She glanced at herself one more time before pulling on her helmet, and storming through the door, the various articles hanging off her body knocking against each other metallically.

The Devil hunts the Man

The sound of air tattering through the open maw of the cargo hold's rear door reminded Skydlig of the sound of a blowtorch, burning close to her ear. Though of course she knew that from experience. The sky turned, almost suddenly from black to an off white as the Molotov broke through the atmosphere, and the sound of planet wide alarm reached them even from such a height. Meanwhile, she stood there perfectly still despite the juddering of the ship as it slammed through turbulence, threatening to shake apart.

Behind her, FIDO tended to the cables, though she did not approve of the plan, Skyldig admired how the robot would take orders and shut the fuck up.

As the Molotov closed with the building, and flack and rockets rained inwards from roof mounted batteries, explosions rang out in a distance. No doubt the Yokai softening something that didn't require his attention. First thing was first though, in order to capture the vault the ship would need a window of opportunity, away from the fire of the Home Office building. That meant taking out the batteries.

Skyldig began to move towards the exit, as the rear of the ship swung around, facing the roof of the building. The lights in the hold blazed brightly, the thumbs up to make planet fall, a mile above the actual surface. Her brisk walk turned into a trot, the trot speeding up to a jog and then a run as she approached the edge of the platform.

"Good luck!" FIDO called out after her, as her feet become free of the platform, weightlessly careening forwards into the open air.

"Fuck off!" She called in response, not turning to look at the robotic laborer, one hand moving to disengage the safety on her rifle as she approached the asphalt surface of the roof. Her feet crashed into the ground first, left before right, cracks sprawling out from the point of impact as asphalt flaked off the ground. The world seemed to slow down at that instant, as the guards on the roof came to the quick realization that she had landed. Skyldig's forward momentum carried her forwards, as she jumped off the ground the moment she landed, rolling before coming to an abrupt, upright halt.

"Computer, play that good shit." She commanded, as she opened the mouthpiece of her helmet and jammed the nozzle of the seltzer bottle into her lips. Pressing down on the lever a sudsy jet emptied a quarter of the narcotic solution down her throat, her heart and brain responding almost instantly. She went through a series of sensations, ranging from elation to pain to calm to pain to anger to numbness, in the span of time it took to shoulder her rifle and kill the first man she saw.




There you go guys, a complete (I think) CS, for your approval.


Here is my work in progress CS, don't judge it too much, I typed a lot of it up on my phone. XD
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