Blakrana Posted July 10, 2018 Share Posted July 10, 2018 3 hours ago, (XB1)Katsuhiro 1139 said: Places like Prospect 141 would be mined for workers for Fortuna, if you get me. A "if you're dead last in 141, you're at least not dead last in Fortuna" kind of relationship seems pretty apt. Can easily see Corpus using it as a propaganda line for keeping stuff as it is...and a thread to also highlight how Solaris United is, like any resistance movement, not necessarily tied to just one location. As for names, it's always one of the trickier aspects of writing I find. Part of a method I used back when I was GM for a tabletop campaign was to RP Monologue a convo' with/as a character, see how the name feels in conversation and such before session, though this was after the initial "where are they from, what conventions apply" step you note above (yay setting books). Apologies for going on, any rate. Keep doing as you're doing and you'll be fine; adapting to new information is just part of the process. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
(XBOX)Katsuhiro 1139 Posted July 11, 2018 Author Share Posted July 11, 2018 (edited) "Agitators are widespread. The Board must remain ever-vigilant, lest we deny the Void its due. The Grineer test our borders, yes; but the greatest threat lies from within. The Solaris must be kept in check, lest we lose the foundation upon which the our Great Economy is built. The Solaris seek autonomy. Let them have it. Their bodies; our terms." - Nef Anyo, addressing fellow members of the Corpus Board. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Aboard the Severance Package, the panicked crewman was still fleeing down the corridor when an elbow emerged from the shadows of an open hatchway, smashing him to the deck. Kelpo's boot soon rested on his throat. "Where's Neera?!" Telin hissed in the crewman's face. Kelpo had already stripped the man of his sidearm. The crewman gibbered something unintelligible. Telin snarled in irritation, shaking him. "The girl! Where is she?!" "He doesn't know anything." Kelp shook his head. "He knows his way round this ship." Telin countered. "On your feet. C'mon." They hauled the man upright. "What's your name?" Kelpo asked. A friendly question, considering he now had the man's gun pressed to the base of his skull. "Spendric." The crewman wailed. "Please don't kill me! I'm just a mechanic!" "Okay, Spendric. You wanna live?" Telin stared him in the eye. "First you're gonna take us to your armoury. Then you're gonna show us to the bridge." "He is?" Kelpo frowned in surprise. "Yeah, he is." "You're insane." Spendric breathed. Telin Voss didn't blink as he glared at the shaking crewman. "I'm tired. I'm pissed off. We're owed a hell of a lot of credits, and by this point? I'm about ready to hijack an airship." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Kef Mehrino assembled his War Council in the Boardroom Table. A strategic overlay of the Upper Tier projected down from the ceiling. The rebels had established a beachhead on the Western Landing Deck, cutting a swathe through the City Watch's efforts to contain them. Corpus response teams had successfully stalled the advance on its furthest fringes, but the main spearhead continued deep into City Watch lines, unimpeded; a single flashpoint at its centre, where any Corpus forces seemingly vanished as quickly as they arrived. "Reports are scattered, but one thing is certain: the insurgents have Tenno support." Kren Maruk reported, indicating the area in question. "They're headed for Watch Control." "You mean here." Kef Mehrino corrected, pacing. "They're headed here." "That's, uh… correct, Sir." "How long before we can get drone servers back online?" "Within the hour." Kef Mehrino paced, thinking; sweating visibly. He snapped his fingers after a moment. "The Exchange. Hire them. Tell them we'll pay them. Anything they want. Just put those Tenno down." "Sir, we tried that." "And?" Kren Maruk swallowed, coughing awkwardly. "They said they were busy. Sir." "Busy?! What could possibly be keeping them busy at a time like this?!" ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Fall back! Fall back!" Exchange Agents fell back down the corridor, returning desperate cover fire in thinly disguised panic as they dragged bleeding comrades back to safety. Another brace of shots cut them as they fled. Brakarr advanced, seemingly implacable as he stormed up the corridor. Sheets of fire licked out from his rotary cannon, painting targets across the now-pockmarked white walls. He stopped at the next doorway, shying back as a flurry of shots snapped back in return; spanking off his armour. The Grinner looked down at Vern and shook his head; smoke drifting up from the various dents dimpled across his plate-work. "Heavy fire." Brakarr growled. "Fixed emplacement." Vern nodded, clapping the Grineer's war rig twice. The Grineer made way, letting Vern slip by. Vern ducked over to the far side of the doorway; chased by a scattering of shots as he crossed the threshold. He looked at the Grinner, holding up three fingers, before making a fist. The Grineer nodded. Isolde and Parson-Luk stacked up behind the brute. Vern plucked a grenade from his webbing; smoothly tossing it through the door. There was a muffled crump and a flash. The Empflash was a custom made, intended for contingencies involving cybernetics. Black market gear, highly illegal in Corpus circles; an expensive hypothetical, should the unthinkable happen and Vern found himself facing opponents with similar augmentations to his own. It proved a worthy investment. Exchange Agents staggered about, utterly blinded. Vern swept in first; the Lex snapped to bear. It sounded twice in quick succession; blasting the now blinded machine gunner off his perch on the far reception desk. Vern moved right, clearing a path for Brakarr to storm in on his heels. Brakarr filled the centre of the room; chopping targets off their feet. He was Grineer, built for war. The shrill keen of the rotary cannon split the air once more. Energy bolts and cutting beams singe him, but the Grineer's throaty laugh filled the chamber as he responded in ruthless kind. More agents rushed them. Vern shrank back behind a pillar; felt it vibrate under a fusillade of beam fire. Felt the heat and smelt the scalded plaster. You didn't take chances in a beam fight: it was all too easy a way to get cross-sectioned. A shape darted by. Isolde was on them in a flash. Then came the sound of bones breaking; of strangled chokes and shrieks. The Tenno carried no weapons beyond the single kunai. It flashed; arcing great splashes of blood as it punctured throats and severed arteries. Bodies fell left and right; beam weapons clattering to the floor, useless. Vern already knew the outcome. But they were short on time. Vern swept into the savage melee; a throat punch opening his assault. Much like the Tenno, the veteran hunter fought with tremendous economy. No movement was wasted. Hard strikes: elbows, knees; punctuated by decisive barks of the Lex at point blank range. A brutal dance; he flowed through them; a choreographed rampage born from a lifetime of combat experience. Every kill punctuated with a confirmation trio: two to the chest; one to the head. The last man to rush him had a knife. Vern took it in the forearm, grunting as the blade met the metal beneath his sleeve. Arresting it. The Lex snarled twice more. The agent folded, clutching his belly. A final bullet ended the conversation. Vern looked around. The lobby was a smoking mess, choked with fallen Exchange personnel. Brakarr strode through the devastation, panning for additional targets. Parson-Luk was already looting the dead; pocketing any ammo, trinkets or keepsakes he could flog. Isolde stood apart, unscathed bar for a small droplet of blood splashed across her ivory cheek. Vern approached, wiped it away with his thumb. The girl seemed in shock. Not at the violence; but the sudden and irreversible change in their circumstances. They were fugitives now. Wanted by one of the single most ruthless organisations in the System. She noticed the knife still-lodged in Vern's arm immediately, blinked in concern; focused now. "Servos took it." Vern grunted, as he pulled the blade free and cast it aside. "You're insane." Isolde scolded, raising her voice to address the others. "You're all insane." "Better than dead, Surah." Parson-Luk shrugged. He was actively trying to pry a golden tooth from one of the bodies. There was good money in teeth. "Or worse: bored." "We take care of our own." Vern insisted. Brakarr simply thumped his breastplate with a clanging fist. "Drask won't take this lying down." Vern said. "Time to go." "Not quite." Isolde shook her head. "We forgot something." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Neera sat clamped in the scanning chair, trembling. The clerk seated on the far side of the chamber seemed oblivious to the bleating alarms and rattling gunfire that echoed throughout the corridors beyond. Instead she calmly worked her way through the questionnaire. The clerk was shorn of hair, her face stencilled in Corpus script. Her hands were cybernetic; and whirred as they danced over the keypad; tapping in each and every detail of Neera Hosk's relatively short and unhappy life. Occupational Assessment, as it was known. Neera knew what it really was. She spied her reflection in the chrome manacles that bound her to the chair; suddenly became all too aware of her skin, her nails, her eyes and lips. Her hands began to shake even more. "Can you confirm your skills and existing occupation?" "H-hospitality. C-3 Licence. Lower Tier." The clerk ticked a box on her data pad. In the distance, another explosion rumbled. "Any existing trades or experience handling manual equipment?" Neera quaked in terror by this point. She just shook her head. Another tick on the checklist. "Any existing medical conditions, or historical rejection of prothesis?" Neera never got a chance to answer. The door blasted off its hinges. Neera was blinded by the settling wall of swirling dust; coughing. A giant Grineer strode in, sweeping the room with a truly staggeringly large cannon. The clerk rose to her feet, protesting the intrusion; wholly ignorant of the very real and present danger before her. Alarms wailed in the distance. Neera could smell smoke and fire. Isolde swept in past the giant, her face a mask of ruthless fury. She impatiently rose a hand. The air seemed to swell and pop. The clerk hit the far wall with a meaty smack, unconscious. Isolde raised a hand and a jolt of arcane energy spat out, shorting the locks that bound Neera's wrists. They sprang open with a clack. The rogue Tenno looked at Neera. "You. You're with us now." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Mirage's form seemed to sift and flow through the shadows; alternating light and dark as Sara urged the Solaris fighters forward. The Corpus had broken. Now was their chance to push the attack. A voice buzzed in her ear. "Sara, tell me that's not your Frame I'm seeing on the feed." "Uh no. Not me. Pure coincidence." "You said quiet retrieval. In and out. Now you're leading a revolution." "I'm not leading it. I'm participating." "The Tenno is with us!" one worker yelled excitedly. "Follow the Tenno!" A resounding cheer went up throughout the line. Mirage shrugged, and pointed onwards, prompting another roar of approval. The Resistance flooded in around her, pressing the assault. Sara cut the com line, bright voice angelic. "Catch you later!" Edited July 11, 2018 by (XB1)Katsuhiro 1139 Minor typos - silly autocorrect. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Podge Posted July 11, 2018 Share Posted July 11, 2018 "I'm not leading it. I'm Participating." i'm just imagining the amount of sass in that line. great story, by the way. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Aldrr Posted July 12, 2018 Share Posted July 12, 2018 (edited) 13 hours ago, (XB1)Katsuhiro 1139 said: The rogue Tenno looked at Neera. Okay, that about confirms it 🙂 Oh boy she's in for some "scolding" if she ever returns to the fold ^^ Edited July 12, 2018 by Aldrr Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
(XBOX)Katsuhiro 1139 Posted July 12, 2018 Author Share Posted July 12, 2018 (edited) "Some call the Corpus Trade Guilds; others, a Merchant Cult. The truth is somewhat more muddied. They are not as unified as they seem, for one. There are rivalries, internecine conflicts that can oft-break out into trade warfare in a very literal sense. These fissures run the length and breath of the Corpus Empire: from the highest Board member to the lowest subcontractor. Exploit them to your advantage. Ignore them at your peril." - Tenno Doric, ruminations on Corpus politics ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Kahrl Bravic sweated. The chaos of the battle had thrown the Severance off course. Now they drifted over the battle engulfing the stretches of the city immediately beyond the landing pads. First class seats to the impending destruction of the Upper Tier. The battle spread like wildfire; spilling through abandoned cafes and fine restaurants; through wide boulevards and plush galleries; even shrines erected by wealthy patrons hoping to curry favour with the Prophet himself. Between frenzied firefights and brutal hand to hand clashes, Solaris sympathisers stopped and gawked at the sheer ostentation displayed throughout the Upper Tier. The degree of space set aside for their supposed betters proved more bewildering than any skirmish. Above, Bravic could see the flitting bursts of plasma fire between the lines, as the Solaris rebels pushed the City Watch further and further back into the city. It was a question of hunger as much as anything else. The rebels had committed to the assault with singular purpose. To fail here was to die, or worse: a lifetime of the very servitude they sought to end. The crewmen by contrast were either purpose-bred gene-stock or indentured servants: disciplined, certainly, but lacking the fire and urgency of their opponents. The mind-wiped infantry lacked initiative, and this lack of creativity materially showed in the degree of territory ceded to the rebels, as hole after hole was picked in the Corpus line, and exploited with ruthless speed. By now the rebel flyers had disengaged; discouraged by the Severance's dogged resistance. Now they kept their distance, strafing City Watch lines and pounding the inert anti-air batteries into scrap metal. This made a welcome change. The Severance had been sorely tested. Twice the shields had failed outright; and it was only through sheer happenstance that it had been spared an even greater beating. Even with its layers of armoured plating, Bravic had no intention of exposing his ship further. Not with his prize still on board. Now they drifted over Watch Control itself, far from the frontline; as the Severance licked its wounds: the crew noisily patching the various holes that had been ripped through the platework; soldering severed wires and coaxing emergency systems back to life. The Severance slowly began to heal. Bravic marvelled at the view, letting his crew get on with it. Ordinarily, a contractor like him would never be allowed to fly this close to such a key facility. Up close, the ziggurat presented a grim, foreboding structure: a long flight of steps from the open plaza led up to where the boardroom sat at its summit; a glass two storey tower with a full panoramic view of the city around it; almost shrine-like in its placement. Bravic could see the crewmen manning the palisades; establishing mortars and fixed emplacements, should the unthinkable happen and the rebels manage to test the ziggurat itself. The place was a fortress, and rightly so: Watch Control was the cold intelligence controlling Prospect 141; the summit of Corpus influence and power. Contained inside its armoured walls was every major system required to ensure the Board's dominance of the colony: the reserve servers for the drone manufactories; the orbital defences and environmental controls that kept the very city and its environs habitable. It was no small wonder the Solaris were hell-bent on taking it. It was a giddy prospect. He who controlled the ziggurat, controlled the colony. Bravic was still marvelling at the view when he heard a dry click behind him. The entire bridge wheeled about in their chairs. "Nobody move!" Telin warned, a gun pressed to his hostage's head. Kelpo stood beside him, a crude flamethrower in his hands; the pilot light shimmering from the rattling-hum of the pulse drives. The two scavengers had evidently raided the armoury. They were festooned with ammo belts, looted surplus gear and more bandoliers and pouches than any one person should conceivably carry. Bravic smirked. It took Bravic a moment to remember quite who the hostage was. When he did, his smirk widened to an outright grin. "You again." Bravic rose to his feet. Telin readjusted the grip on his pistol, pressing it tighter against Spendric's head. The pistol rattled audibly, such was the shake of Telin's hand. Captain Bravic heaved a sigh. He reached back and keyed a button on the side of his command throne, broadcasting the conversation wideband throughout his fleet. It would be good for morale, if nothing else. "Okay. So what's supposed to happen here?" Bravic asked, turning back to face his would be hijackers, eyebrow raised. "We're taking this ship." "Are you now?" Bravic folded his arms, bemused by the whole scenario. "Because I'm not convinced." Scattered chuckles broke out amongst the crew. Bravic continued, slowly pacing. His head nearly brushed the ceiling, such was his height. "Because if you were serious about taking this ship, you would know that every single one of us is armed. That, even if you did kill me; our being here is solely on account of the agreement I personally hold with the very man in charge of that fortress. Something happens to me? Corpus control blows you out of the sky. Bravic then pointed out the port window. Two barges of a muscled pattern similar to the Severance were visible on the horizon, inbound to their position with all speed; drives flaring. "See those two barges? My other crews. The long one is Forward Transaction, the sister ship to this barge. The stubbier one is the Short Position. See the cannon to the stern? That's a Graviton Three Decimator. I'm not even sure what it does; I just know it cost more credits than you've ever seen in your miserable scavver life. But go ahead, take the ship. Give the city a live demonstration." Telin shifted on his feet, doing his best not to panic. Kelpo for his part debated torching the captain there and then. Anything to shut him up. Bravic wasn't finished. "But your experience isn't even the most insulting part of your sorry plan." Bravic was playing to the gallery now. "It's that of all the key personnel you could have taken, you chose him…" Bravic pointed at Spendric. His men were roaring with laughter now. "… our onboard sanitation expert, as your leverage." Spendric shook with umbrage as the majority of the bridge crew drew weapons, cackling all the while. Bravic wiped a tear from his eye, still laughing. He shook his head. "Y'know, Telin Voss, with all the credits you cost me, I was planning on selling you. Good return on wetware these days. Might even get a lease agreement with Fortuna directly. But I haven't had a laugh like this in years. So we'll settle on just killing you." Bravic's bridge opened fire as one. A roar of gunfire that by rights should have painted Telin, Kelpo and the hapless Spendric across the deck. They flinched. Nothing happened. A shape had descended from the ducts above. The air shimmered between it and the crew. The shape rose to its feet. The golem; angular lines and slender metal. Twinned horns jutting out over an arched, sloping visage. A deep blue cloak, and curved shoulder pauldrons decorated with Orokin script; white on black. The air before it shimmered; crackling with electricity. The laughter stopped. Bravic didn't hesitate. His Grakata were up in seconds; shredding the air. The fizzling shield absorbed it all. The Grakata snapped empty; scattered shell casings steaming across the deck. The Warframe cocked its head to one side, as if amused. Then Bravic was lifted clean from the ground; throat all but swallowed by the metal warrior's elongated hands. The bridge crew were on their feet now, weapons pointed at the Warframe from all directions. It noticed the green broadcast light on the command throne. A voice emerged in the air around it; tinged with a metallic rasping echo. "You're broadcasting live; all channels? Good." Telin recognised the boy's voice immediately. Bravic just kicked and spluttered, turning blue. With frenzied fists and desperate feet he thumped at the Warframe, again and again. Until his fists bled. He may as well have been hitting a statue. The boy's voice was icy calm, detached. "Whether you live or die depends entirely on you, Captain Bravic. Make no mistake: I am taking control of this vessel. Any further harm to my companions will be revisited in kind. Do you understand." "Void Freak!" Bravic managed to croak; spittle flying from bulging lips. "Evidently not." The Warframe shrugged. A surge of lightning coursed through Bravic. He shrieked; an animalistic sound so loud and piercing it seemed scarcely human. Then the Frame applied the slightest degree of pressure. The shrieking ceased with a single hollow snap; that echoed across the bridge of every ship in Bravic's fleet. The Warframe dropped the corpse to the deck with a resounding clang. It looked around. "Anyone else?" There was a resounding clatter of guns being cast aside. A sea of hands filled the air. The Warframe nodded once, satisfied. Then it looked over at Telin. The scavenger felt three centimetres tall all of a sudden. The boy spoke with a ruthless confidence far removed from the lost child they found buried beneath the ice. "You were wrong about me, Telin Voss. I am not a kid, nor am I salvage, to be bartered." Volt Prime took a seat in the command throne of the Severance Package, Bravic's smoking corpse still twitching at his feet. It turned in the revolving chair, looking out over the burning city beyond. "I am Tenno. And my name is Kael." Edited July 13, 2018 by (XB1)Katsuhiro 1139 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Aldrr Posted July 12, 2018 Share Posted July 12, 2018 (edited) Spoiler Severance suddenly under Tenno control from nowhere, a Solaris rebel cell pushing Prospect 141 from below with a second Tenno, a small band of mercenaries with a third (rogue) Tenno shooting up the place in general, more scav barges incoming with void-knows-how-much firepower, and a panicking "governor" in his ivory tower, witnessing all of it come tumbling down. Good to see that Kael is not holding grudges with Telin and Kelpo... then again, they are no longer in a position to follow through with their original plan, Kael would zap them in a second if they tried. Maybe it was intentional (or it's just me ^^) but the first descriptions of his warframe were just not making it clear enough. 🤔 But yeah, "seeing" it in action made it abundantly clear that it really is Volt 😂 Yeah, the Corpus have their hands full all right. ^^ At this point, in-line with the Railjack demo, I'm half-expecting orbital bombardment to rain hell down on everyone, the Board "cutting its losses" and just wanting to get rid of it all. aaand "We All Lift Together" is in my head again... *humming intensifies* Edited July 12, 2018 by Aldrr Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
(XBOX)Katsuhiro 1139 Posted July 13, 2018 Author Share Posted July 13, 2018 (edited) "This; the song of sons and daughters Hide; the heart of who we are Making peace to build a future Strong, united, working 'til we fall." - Solaris work song, unattributed ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Kael watched the two distant barges approaching at speed. "Who's in charge of communications here?" The Tenno asked. For a moment nobody responded, entirely too terrified to move. "Uh… me." Teico eventually raised a hesitant hand. "Teico Mand; Communications officer." Kael-as-Volt nodded. "Open a channel, Teico." Teico responded promptly. The com-light pinged green on the edge of the command throne once more. He flashed a thumbs up. Kael began, solemn voice stern: "To the crews of the Short Position and Forward Transaction, consider this your first and final warning. Cease your pursuit. Cut your losses, leave this place. The only alternative is death." Kael killed the transmission. He watched the monitor carefully. Both ships continued inbound, unmoved by his words. "Very well." The Frame offered the slightest shrug. "Helm, bring us about. Intercept course." The helmsman, Pohld, spluttered in protest. "That's suicide." he balked. "It's two against one!" Volt cocked his head to one side. "You doubt the capabilities of this ship?" Pohld felt the glare from the rest of the bridge crew. He held his hands up defensively. "Look, we can mix it up with the best of 'em. Don't get me wrong. Have done before, will do again. But our shields took a pounding. Cells are cooked. On a good day, we might have a shot. But now?" Pohld let the question hang. The Tenno studied him. "What's your name?" Kael asked. "Enric Pohld, Tenno; so it please you." Pohld sweated. "And the rest of you, you agree with Mr. Pohld's assessment?" A chorus of nods slowly took hold. The Tenno took it in, slowly nodding. Kael came to a decision. "I am versed in matters of war. Have faith, Pohld. Bring the ship about. I need a volunteer to show me to engineering." Spendric raised a hand. He was a squat fellow, greasy and sweating. Long oppressed, he seemed morbidly delighted to see Bravic's corpse still smouldering on the deck. Volt rose to his feet. "Telin, you have command. Kelpo: someone tries anything, burn them." "Why am I in charge?" Telin hissed privately. Kael kept his voice low. "Because you are appallingly self-interested, Telin Voss, but dependably so. Keep this ship alive. Keep this crew alive." Kael raised his voice. "If anyone so much as touches my companions, know that I will hold each of you collectively responsible. Good luck." On that optimistic note, Volt swept from the bridge, the diminutive Spendric in tow. Telin took a seat in the command chair. All eyes were on him now. "Well, you heard the Tenno. Bring us about. Ready weapon systems. And get that damned carcass off my bridge." The crew shook their heads in disbelief, but begrudgingly did as instructed. There was a change in pitch as the engines shifted. Slowly, the Severance began to turn. Two of the crew dragged the remains of Kahrl Bravic from the bridge, grimacing from the stench. Telin looked around at Kelpo, flashing his eyebrows and grinning. "See? All according to plan." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Drone control back online." reported a staffer. A sigh of relief broke out throughout the Boardroom. "Manufactories?" Kren Maruk pressed. "Pending. ETA ten minutes." "Shorten it to five, or it comes out of your bonus." Kren crossed the room to where Kef Mehrino stood apart, arms folded. "Problem, Director?" The senior trader's fleshy eyes were suspicious slits; locked on the Severance Package as it wheeled about, angling back toward the two incoming barges intended to reinforce their delivery. It defied all logic or reason, but it looked like an intercept pattern. "I can't get Bravic on the line." Mehrino mused, before turning to Kren Maruk. "So I took the liberty of contacting the Exchange off-world brokerage directly." Kef Mehrino turned to Kren Maruk, expression severe. "Ready an intercept team. We can't take any chances. That delivery means everything." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ On the ground, the return of Corpus proxies radically changed the fortunes of the Solaris fighters on the ground. The fight shifted from an even, albeit-determined infantry battle to an ever-building tide of incoming drones. Aerial units, two-legged Mobile Offensive Armatures, they came in all manner of shapes and sizes. The resistance advance slowed to a crawl. One sided scarcely covered it. Solaris insurgents cried out warnings as tides of Moa began bursting out across the concourse, emitters spitting. The faces of the mechanised rebels flashed cries of alarm moments before they were cut down. "Stay in cover!" Vanger Hosk bellowed, ducking back as a brace of shots peppered the doorway he hid behind. The storm of incoming fire was numbing in its intensity. Hosk swore vehemently. They had been so close! Even Sara, over-extended at the very tip of the Solaris spear, found herself hard pressed. Proxies mobbed Mirage on all sides. Soon she found herself alone, in the open plaza just before Watch Control. One Furis clacked empty. She hurled it at an incoming Moa, then dumped the remains of her last machine pistol into the next. Her blade-whip was in her hand now; voiding warranties with blinding speed and savage strokes. Not enough. Not nearly enough. This was how the Corpus maintained their empire. Their drones were cost-effective; often cheaply designed with disposable intent. But they had numbers. Mirage backflipped to avoid a lancing rail shot at the last second. She threw herself forward into a tumbling roll, which brought her safely behind a pock-marked plinth that carried a bust of Nef Anyo. The Moa targeting systems held little sentiment for piety. The bust quickly became unrecognisable, steaming heap of slag. Sara was about to call for support when backup seemingly arrived all of its own accord. A rotary cannon split the air. Moa went down in droves. Sparks flew. Sara had trained with nearly every conceivable weapon there was to use in the Origin System. Bows, spears, plasma cannons; even Ostron slingshots and fishing spears. She knew them all. The sounds she heard made no sense, here on Venus. A Lex, barking sharp cracks; tightly disciplined. The bolt-snap return of a Grinlock rifle. That damned cannon; shrill and howling. A Grineer weapon; too large to be carried by her fellow insurgents. None of those noises bothered her though. Not in the same way as the next thing she heard. The swirling fury of Void unleashed; of reality tearing itself apart. Moa shrilled as they were consumed by scalding power. By the time Mirage's head poked back above the parapet, the wave of drones had been scattered in component pieces across the plaza. Some had been scorched clean into the pavement; rendered little more than ashen smears. The only Moa still standing nursed a hole in its head; doomed to walk in an endless circle, over and over, before eventually tottering over and giving out with a final flit of sparks. Her mysterious benefactors were already gone. "No way…" Sara breathed. Solaris workers charged by, toting rifles and shouting renewed encouragement; dragging the wounded to safety. The advance resumed. Mirage stood there, Sara's amazement riveting the Frame in place. "Something the matter?" Hosk appeared at her side. Mirage shook her head. Sara's voice didn't sound at all convinced. "N-nothing." Hosk offered her a heavy revolver. It was a Kitgun; a kit-bashed cobble of parts; rendered into a fearsome improvised sidearm. "Time is short. We need to move, Tenno." Mirage nodded, numbly taking the revolver. Sara shook herself. There was a battle to win. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Neera followed the Grinner's mighty shoulders as they moved down the alley. She was toying with an earpiece she looted from one of the Exchange Agents. Her father had taught her a few tricks, before the Corpus took him. Back when her uncle was still welcome at the bar, and her mother had been alive and so full of warmth. She fiddled with the criss-crossing wires, trying to reprogram the signal. It was difficult to do on the move. Isolde kept stealing conflicted glances back over her shoulder. Only Vern noticed. They were in field. This wasn't like her. He shot her a reproachful look. "Eyes up, Isolde." Isolde snapped out of her distraction, eyes wide. "They're here." "The Tenno? I saw." Isolde stopped in her tracks. "Not just any Tenno, Terrenus. My Cell is here." The train of rogue bounty hunters slowly came to a halt, turning back to look at her. Vern placed a kind hand on her shoulder. "Look around, girl. This won't end well. We can't be here when it does." Isolde grimaced, then eventually nodded. They continued moving. High above, Eythan watched them; one hand on his golden nikana. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Targets closing." Teico reported. "Twenty minutes out." The Severance Package bounded ahead at full speed; weapon systems tracking to bear on the Forward Transaction and the Short Position. They returned the favour, turrets whirring about. Barge engagements were short-ranged, brutal affairs. To outright demolish an enemy ship was to risk destroying precious cargo. Salvage was king. This meant boarding parties and savage hand to hand combat. A tension hung in the air. Weapons crews loaded harpoons and sweated over cranks, as they furiously winched the crude launchers to bear. Others readied the altogether more elegant Corpus innovations; hauling in fresh power cells and readying emergency plasma tethers; EMP cannons and rail launchers. This was a frontier fight, only this time there was no frontier. The entire Upper Tier watched the looming confrontation. To those on the ground, it was difficult to decide whether the Severance's bull-charge was madness or bravery. The Severance presented the most muscular of the three ships, yes, but had only a fraction of the shields; had been visibly bruised and battered by the insurgency's ramshackle air corps. Its hull was dented and warped, even from a distance. Their opponents by contrast were fighting fresh; fully loaded. Experienced crews. Crews whom the Severance's crew had themselves fought alongside; had bled and drank with. No longer. With Bravic gone the ties that bound were severed, replaced by an altogether more Corpus desire for ruthless profit. A Tenno was on board. A Tenno worth a lot of credits. Their new ownership soon became clear; marked by the registration sigils on the radar display: a platinum coin, encircled by a coiled serpent. Telin recognised it immediately, and it chilled him to the core. The Exchange. Telin took a deep breath. This brawl could become the stuff of scavver legend. The Severance Package, helmed by an inexperienced, rogue captain; defying all odds. Or a fiery mess that flattened half the city. Still, Telin had to start somewhere. He tried addressing the crew. "So look, I know we didn't get off to a good start." Kelpo winced. That was an understatement. The smell of fried Bravic stilled filled the air like sour bacon. The entire crew stared at him. Telin cleared his throat. "But we're in this fight now. And we can win it. The kid thinks so, and I'm not inclined to argue." "What kid?" frowned one crewman from the weapons station. He was a tattooed fellow; bushy-bearded, with arms like hams. "The… erm…" Telin fumbled for the most adequate word. "…Tenno. It's the kid you, well, kidnapped." "It's what?" Teico gaped. "It's a bloody psycho is what it is." The burly crewman huffed, folding his arms. A rumble of assent rippled throughout the bridge. "Shut it, Stren," Pohld the helmsman interjected, blowing up the holo-display for all to see. "See those signatures?" Stren went pale. "Exactly. Exchange ships, under contract." Pohld stress the words, then nodded to Telin. "Now, you were saying mate." "I'm saying the Tenno thinks we can win this fight. But this is your ship, not mine. You know how it works, how it fights." Stren threw his hands up in the air. "We've no Captain! Your Tenno bloody went and torched him!" "And who says he didn't have it coming?" That was Teico. "How many crews we scrapped over the years, eh? How many people we sold?" A silence fell. Teico pressed again, voice small but clear in the open bridge. "I'm just sayin' he might have had it comin', is all. Even these two. They had salvage rights. Good claim too. Processed the order myself. Bravic stopped me. Said it went no further than us. As he always did." "He was making us Profit." A crewman growled. One or two grunted in agreement. "And what if it was us that made that claim, eh? What then?" They had no answer to that. To Telin's surprise, Kelpo filled the gap. "It's irrelevant." Kelpo said, stepping forward. "Profit, blame; who's right or wrong. It doesn't matter." Kelpo pointed out the window. "They're coming, one way or another. We know how it works." "Us or them." Stren growled. "Us or them." Kelpo nodded gravely. "Now... you gonna let it be them?" A growled-murmur of united defiance went around the bridge. Even without the flamethrower in his hands, there was something about Kelpo's ruined face that spoke to them. The scavvers had seen the frontier, had lived its brutality, just like them. That earned them a modicum of respect, even amongst a crew as hardened as the Severance. The two hostile barges drifted ever closer. "So how do we win?" Telin asked aloud. The bridge crew exchanged glances. Stren was the first to speak. "Forward Transaction's got the tonnage, but the Position's the real threat." Stren scratched at his jowls with stubby fingers, as he pointed at the smaller of the two ships. "They won't risk the Gravitron, not over the city, but it's still got heavier ordnance; thicker plating. Helped rigged it me-self." One by one they interjected, an uneasy democracy; underpinned by decades of combined experience. Anecdotes and rumours, mixed with observations and suggestions. Old stories about a frontier fight here, a replaced hull section or stressed sensor module there. Notes were taken. A hasty plan began to form. All the while, the barges raced ever closer, rumbling towards a showdown over the burning city. Edited July 14, 2018 by (XB1)Katsuhiro 1139 Minor typos, formatting (this is still a first draft technically!) Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Aldrr Posted July 13, 2018 Share Posted July 13, 2018 (edited) Spoiler The way Isolde reacted to Sara/Mirage, seems there's some distinction between other Tenno and her own cell. Maybe I was right and that little group of theirs always stood apart, even during the final days of the Old War? 🤔 If it was not her own cell, would she react differently? Noticed you're already using tennocon stuff, like Sara/Mirage getting a kitgun and the use of phrases like "voiding warranties" for dismantling proxies 😛 ...and now I want that as a potential line for out Tenno whenever engaging Corpus bucket heads in-game 🤪 continues humming Edited July 14, 2018 by Aldrr Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
(XBOX)Katsuhiro 1139 Posted July 14, 2018 Author Share Posted July 14, 2018 [Hi Aldrr - I'm not sure if you saw the second flashback chapter on the previous page, but hopefully it answers your first question! More details will make things clear, I promise! Next chapter coming tomorrow. I hope you like space pirates, arr.] Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
(XBOX)Katsuhiro 1139 Posted July 15, 2018 Author Share Posted July 15, 2018 (edited) "So you wanna know about Barge Brawls, eh? Nasty business. Concept's simple, sure. Sounds clean on paper. Drop shields, pacify defences; neutralise crew. Get cargo. Get paid. But the doin'? Well, that's where it gets messy." - Olan Stren, on frontier skirmishes ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ The airships steamed toward each other, the gap between ever dwindling. Compared with its sister ship, the bridge of the Forward Transaction was an altogether more Corpus affair. Good clean lines; the epitome of order. They had served under Bravic's instruction, had done so with distinction, but Captain Leonid Sobil ran a tight ship, comparatively free of the mongrel perversions Bravic so often enjoyed. Sobil was a tall man; reed thin with a pencil moustache; and a practiced patience that served him well on the frontier. He preferred cold logic to impetuous risk. There was a pattern to barge fighting. A rigorous rulebook to be studied and employed. He knew it well. "Repeat our warning. They are to stand down, power down their weapons and submit their cargo for processing without further complaint." His coms officer did so. Then he looked up; met Sobil's eye, shaking his head. "Sir, no response." Sobil nodded coolly, voice dispassionate as he settled back in his chair. He licked his lips, his voice clear and smooth as he gave the order. "Ready weapons. Prepare to fire." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Aboard the Severance, Engineering was a chaotic mess of snaking tubes and spilling cable; dominated by a single power core that formed the centrepiece of the sweltering chamber. The crew here sweated visibly from the residual heat; dressed in grease stained overalls and tattered vests mired with grease. Despite their rowdy appearance, these were technically minded people; well versed in the hybrid Corpus-Grineer tech that had been cannibalised, repurposed and meshed together over the Severance's long service life. Kael followed Spendric as he showed him around. For all his diminutive stature and timidity, the sanitation tech knew more about the ship than one would assume at first glance. Kael understood all too well: the man was at the very lowest tier of the crew's hierarchy. He got to see how it all functioned, from the bottom up. The Tenno listened to Spendric closely; asking the occasional question or pressing on a technical detail. "Shield genny is the main issue." Spendric was saying, indicating the cylindrical column mounted just beside the central core. "He's not wrong." said an approaching tech; wiping her hands with a do-rag as she stepped forward, pointing. She was a muscular woman; with shoulders that put most of the crew to shame. She seemed more fascinated by the Warframe; coveting it as a child might an expensive toy. "Lorna. Chief Engineer." She offered a hand. The Warframe's hand enveloped it. "Kael." Lorna walked them through it, circling the core and pointing out structural stresses and venting pipes here and there. "System went down one time too many. Got her back workin' now, but can't get past thirty percent capacity. Fusion rods are blown. Gonna need a full refit." Kael-as-Volt nodded, looking at the shield core in particular. "Show me." "Gear up! Masks on!" Lorna barked. A klaxon sounded. Overalls were zipped up. Hoods were thrown up; sealed with environment masks. Spendric for his part stood and gawked, until Lorna snarled and pushed a spare set into his hands. She saw the look the Tenno's Warframe gave her. "What?" she replied with a shrug, voice tinny behind her shielding mask. "Health and Safety, innit?" The core's shielding rose up, exposing a wild combination of Corpus and Grineer fuel rods. Most of them were blown; rendered little more than blackened slag. They could hear the frustrated sigh behind Lorna's mask. "So yeah, there it is. Unless you got a spare genny in your cloak, she's not doing more than she is." Volt said nothing, studying the shield core with great interest. "Everybody out." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Sixty seconds!" Teico announced, voice tight. "Shields forward." Telin ordered, the calmness of his voice entirely at odds with the electric tension running up his spine. "Ready weapons." "Weapons primed!" Stren crowed. "A count down timer, please." Telin asked. Teico obliged, projecting it in the air above his station with a tap of his finger. The estimates were devised by the crew during their heated planning session. They would live or die based on their accuracy. Pohld sweated at the helm; nursing the ship through one micro-correction after another. Telin sat forward in the command throne, fingers steepled; tapping his nose nervously. His stomach churned like a squirm of eels as the two barges grew large in the monitor; every bit as monstrous and scabbed as the Severance. This was it. Pohld looked at Telin, expectantly. Telin Voss' hands stopped fidgeting; became utterly still. The scavenger's eyes narrowed. "Now." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ In engineering, safely hidden behind blast screens, Spendric and Lorna watched as the Tenno stepped toward the core. The entire engineering team held their breath; fascinated. Volt placed a hand in two recesses within the shield core. Steadied himself. There was a blinding flash. The Tenno's cloak rippled and snapped as a tremendous wave of power ripped forth from the Frame itself; arcing across its skin and surging through the core. It was so blinding they had to look away. In the core, Kael roared; unleashing the howling fury of the Void itself. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Sir, they're accelerating." Captain Sobil stood up from his chair, his face a mask of confusion. The Severance was bruised, outnumbered; sorely outgunned. This defied all common sense, all logical reason. Every rule he ever studied steadily began to unravel. His helmsman, twisted about in his chair; panicking. "Intercept course! They mean to ram us!" Sobil mashed his fist down. "Open fire! Open fire damn you!" The Severance Package surged forward; full burn. The opening salvos lanced in like a hail storm; a blistering array of bolts flashing out from the Forward Transaction and the Short Position; primarily plasma fire, interspersed with the heavier tracer fire of repurposed Grineer cannon. They splashed across the front of the Severance; sparking and bursting across the bow; mere inches from the hull. The viewport ahead automatically dimmed, such was the startling intensity of the fusillade. The Severance held fire; all power to engines. Its shields held; frazzling, flashing; thoroughly abused, but holding. Teico watched his instrumentation in amazement. Privately, he wondered if it was a technical fault. Even diverted fully in a single direction, the shields should have given out by now. Instead they surged. Power levels hit maximum thresholds… and then exceeded them. Incoming fire washed over them like water. The Severance charged forward, heedless of the fury being thrown at it. Telin's eyes never left the Forward Transaction. "Make ready, Pohld." Pohld gripped his hand on the throttle, taking a deep breath. "All hands! Brace!" ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Severance screamed toward its opponents; shields alight. A hellish sight, it filled the viewport of the Forward Transaction. Impervious, invulnerable; a frenzied bull, set ablaze and charging straight for them. "They're not stopping!" shrilled the helmsman. "Madmen!" Captain Sobil swore; panic rising as he all but spat "Break; break damn you! Move!" ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Pohld watched the hostile barge begin to shift; his grin all but a grimace as the seconds on the timer hit zero. "Now!" Telin roared. Pohld wrenched the throttle back; hauling on a separate lever with his other hand. The engines cut out. The ship lurched; propelled in a slewing side-spin as emergency propulsion jets flared with a frenzied hiss. The Severance missed the Transaction by merest inches as it swung below; turning on its axis. Presenting the full compliment of its starboard ordnance. "Now Stren!" Telin yelled. "Fire!" The starboard batteries opened up. A single salvo; a savage hammer blow of rail shot, plasma batteries and anti-material cannon. Everything they had; point blank. It hit the Transaction's shields with a resounding slap that issued like a thunderclap across the colony. Nose to nose with an incoming ship, The Transaction's shields had been logically shifted to cover their bow. The side shields were comparatively weakened; had not been anticipating the extreme angle of the attack, nor the proximity. They collapsed in an instant. Ordinarily in a barge-fight, there is a reticence to go full tilt on an enemy barge. To do so meant risking precious cargo. The Severance had no such limitations here. The flak cannons and Vruush turrets lining the Severance's spine cycled to life with a keening whine; tendrils of fire blazing forth from their barrels. Hull plating ripped apart in a deluge of shrapnel as hard rounds chewed deep into the Transaction's tender flank. The Transaction's crew were no rank amateurs. Sobil did the only thing he could. He swung his ship about, absorbing the deluge on the sturdier plating around the Transaction's armoured prow. This threw the Transaction out of formation entirely. And entirely blocked the Short Position from an effective firing solution. "Phase two, go." Telin nodded, watching as the two enemy barges drifted into view before them. They were beneath them now. Pohld flared the drives to life once more. The Severance came about, angling up between the two hostile barges; pushing between them. Batteries on both sides flared to life; weapons free; raking their opponents with wild abandon. The return fire was hesitant, sporadic; the two barges were at risk of hitting one another. The Severance blazed away, free of such concerns. The ships flanking them began to close the gap; to try and grant their crews an easier mark. They hemmed the Severance in; crowding the viewports on either side. Something hit the Severance. Hard. The bridge crew cried out in alarm as they were thrown from their chairs. The entire bridge shook; lost power for the most heart stopping of moments. A pipe burst, venting boiling steam. Somebody shrieked. "What the hell was that?!" Telin gasped, clawing his way back into his chair. "Gravitron hit!" Teico reported. "Shields down!" "We're still here!" Telin panted. "Just about!" The Short Position, as impetuous as its larger cousin, had thrown caution to the wind; dumping an energy slug into the Severance at a range far below the accepted minimum safe distance. Those on the ground watching the brawl were all but blinded outright. The resulting EMP managed to kill several aerial drones across the city. Several Solaris workers fell over, choking and gasping until their prosthetics surged back life, and they were pulled to safety by their wholly organic comrades. To those aboard the Severance, they were picked up and thrown about like rag dolls. Even Kael, still linked to the shield core, was blown clean across the room; his Frame's shields failing as he slammed against the far wall; denting it. All three barges lost shield power, such was the fallout. This meant only one thing. The fight was about to move to its second, bloodier phase. Stren pushed himself to his feet; marching towards the exit. Kelpo intercepted him. "Where're you going?" Kelpo asked. Stren's eyes were frenzied; pumped with adrenaline. "Boarding deck. Not much else I can do here. We're in a pit fight now son." Stren noticed the flamethrower in Kelpo's hands. He slapped Kelpo on the shoulder with a meaty hand. "Bring that with you. It's about to get real ugly." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Javelins and spear launchers lined the Boarding Deck. Large Grineer Basilisk-Pattern Harpak Launchers; intended for ship to ship combat, and smaller Gravity Tethers; electronic darts that resembled silvered missiles. Loading crews sweated as they furiously prepped weapons; bundling spare javelins up the loading bay; banging down boxes of spare ammo with resounding clangs that reverberated throughout the hold. Stren marched onto scene; barking orders the moment he arrived. He had a crude eye-scope in his hands. A polished, ornamental thing; it was difficult to tell whether it was a Grineer device gilded with Corpus tech, or the other way round. There were no less than fifteen firing systems on the starboard side; each with their own peculiarities and particular kinks. He knew each of them like the back of his hand. If there was one thing Olan Stren knew, it was Barge Brawling. "Come on you dogs: ready spears! Move your arses!" There was a scramble as men slammed harpoons into launchers; wheeled antique cranks; pre-sighting on predetermined weak-points along the Forward Transaction's port side. Rail launchers were locked and loaded; magnets humming as their operators knelt at their stations, awaiting the order. Sights were checked and rechecked. Kelpo watched it all unfold in amazement. The crew were brawny killers; savages far more ruthless than a humble junk-scavver like him. Yet he watched them perform like a military unit; tightly drilled, disciplined. This was the fight of their lives. They would not be found wanting. The scope was to Stren's eye now. The tendons in his neck bulged as he barked instructions. "Elevation Sixty-Six. Range 350. Adjust and confirm!" "350 aye!" came the echoing return. "Steady lads. Hold." Stren crowed, watching. Waiting. "Hold!" The enemy hull swam up before them. Nobody dared breath. "Release!" Stren roared. There was a series of resounding bangs as the Harpaks launched in unison. Three of them struck true and clear; blasting through deck plating and snapping taut. The fourth and fifth failed to connect; one deflecting from a section of reinforced hull and spinning away; another ripping clean through, but failing to find purchase as it ripped its way back out again, spilling men screaming in its wake. Stren swore. "Again! Line and sight! Line and sight!" Another resounding clang as more harpoons whickered out; slamming home. Stren nodded. Better, much better. "Status!" he bellowed. "Line secure!" the bow teams shouted. "Line secure!" echoed the men in the mid-section and stern. Stren nodded, then roared. "Winch! Bring 'er in boys!" The motorised winches whirred to life; a metallic, churning clanking sound. The hull groaned under the strain. "Gravity tethers!" Stren ordered next. The Corpus tethers were auto-sighted. They spat out; slicing into the hull of the Forward Transaction with metallic smacks. Energy projectors thrummed to life; pulling the enemy barge ever closer. There was a pulse from the enemy ship. Localised EMP-shocks. The tethers failed; fizzling out. Stren shrugged. A one-use defence; predictable. Repeated shocks risked damaging internal ship systems beyond repair. "Again! Hit 'em again!" More tethers slapped out. Twice as many this time. They festooned the enemy hull; a wall of searing white energy springing to life. The men cheered as the Transaction began to list ever so slightly; all but overwhelmed by the sheer strain being exerted on its already mangled hull, as its engines struggled to cope. The spotters on his crew began to holler and point. Counter-boarding parties, sighted on the enemy hull. Jump-packs and boarding weapons, scrambling to assault positions. Kelpo rushed to the window; caught a glimpse. Then he lost sight of them for the briefest of moments. Then he heard the resounding hollow clang of steel boots across the outer hull. "Prepare to receive boarders!" Stren bawled. "Ready yourselves!" The men grabbed whatever they could within snatching distance. There was the repeated click-whine of Detron sidearms being powered up. They grabbed bill hooks and spare javelins; plasma torches and wicked knives. Kelpo heard the chunk-click of more than one shotgun being readied. The crew pulled on respirators and raced toward the ladders leading to the outer hatches; roaring challenges, psyching themselves. Kelpo shook his head, stunned by the audacity of the Severance's plan. It defied all logic. To attempt a boarding when surrounded by superior numbers was considered suicide, nine times out of ten. Today, the rulebook was being rewritten. The ink would be no less red. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Telin looked at the lines straining as they winched the Transaction closer and closer. Both ships lurched and groaned; the Transaction, doing its best to slip the snare; the Severance, trying to close the gap and match its speed and trajectory. The Short Position drifted closer, angling its own harpoons to bear. It was still out of range, but the gap vanished steadily with each passing moment. All the while, the weapons of the Severance locked onto the smaller incoming ship, punishing it as best it could. Weapons glowed red hot, falling silent. The Short Position bore down on them; bloodied but savagely determined. Man for man, the Severance could take the Transaction, assuming the crew were as ruthless as their reputation said. But beset on both sides, they ran the risk of being completely overwhelmed. Telin blinked. An idea came to him. He snapped his fingers aloud. "They want the Tenno." Telin pressed the com stud on the side of his chair, opening a channel to Engineering. "Kael, you reading me, kid?" As Telin waited for a response, Teico looked at him. "What's the plan?" Telin flashed the comms officer a dangerous grin. "Give the people what they want." Edited July 15, 2018 by (XB1)Katsuhiro 1139 Now Listening To: "Armada" - Two Steps From Hell Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Aldrr Posted July 16, 2018 Share Posted July 16, 2018 Quote "Give the people what they want." Unleashing a Volt on an enemy ship with no allies to worry about at all? Yeah, the Severance crew will take of one of the barges (they already harpooned the Transaction, might as well). The ones I really feel sorry for are the ones on the Position. They're about to get roasted. ^^ Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cyba_Zero Posted July 16, 2018 Share Posted July 16, 2018 I'm wondering where Sohren is and when he's going to turn up in the middle of everything, and who is the mysterious buyer? Oh, and I see you're listening to Two Steps From Hell. No wonder this story is so good. 😀 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
(XBOX)Katsuhiro 1139 Posted July 16, 2018 Author Share Posted July 16, 2018 (edited) "Let me be clear and unambiguous in our response: Anyo Corp does not foresee any further disposals at this time; and any disposals made are no reflection of Anyo Corp's Market Capitalisation. Any rumours of a Solaris uprising are just that: rumours, soon to be quashed." - Nef Anyo, addressing market jitters ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ As the barges locked horns and clashed in the skies above Prospect 141, the ground fight enjoyed a momentary lull: a welcome reprieve for the rebels; all but exhausted from the initial assault. Crouched behind a statue in the open plaza, Vanger Hosk knew they had to keep pushing. Every moment they delayed, the Corpus manufactories produced more and more of their proxies; a machine-stamped army at their beck and call. The odds would only skew further and further in the Board's favour. And yet, as they pushed across the open clearing, Hosk saw the waiting battlements of Watch Control's mighty ziggurat; the defence towers and fixed emplacements that would sweep the Solaris down in droves. He saw the way his own people stop for breath in what little cover there was; run ragged since that first bloody push from the landing site. A knot of despair tangled in his gut. To delay was to reinforce the enemy. To advance, certain death. The Solaris were brave, as brave and tough as could be, but volunteers. Only Hosk and his agents had formal combat training, and they were scattered throughout the rank and file in the command roles necessary to maintain some semblance of coordination. A mighty metal hand landed on his shoulder. Mirage started down at him. There was no expression in those jewel-like eyes beyond a manic, burning intensity. Sara's voice emanated around the Frame, resolute. "Hold your people back, Hosk." "We can't stop!" "We have to. Look at your people, look around. They won't make that push. Not yet." Hosk looked at the men and women beside him. Those capable of expression were lined with exhaustion; their faces drawn and pale. The mechanised betrayed no expression, but the heaving rise and fall of their shoulders, the sweat drenching their necks and overalls told him enough. They were all too human. Hosk himself could feel every ache, bruise and scrape he had taken in the murderous push. Hosk nodded grimly. He gave the order, sounding a halt to their advance. Positions were taken, in the plaza across from Watch Control. Spotters established; sniper teams settling on rooftops and drill-fixing anti-material weaponry into dark tiles. Further afield, City Watch forces melted away, ceding a vast swathe of territory to the Solaris advance. The Solaris crept through abandoned guild houses, wired from the combat high; jumping at shadows and thoroughly spooked. Nevertheless, the opportunity was seized. Forward command posts were established in key positions around the ziggurat; the rebels garrisoning everything from eerily silent temples to abandoned clearing houses; their trading floors empty but for a scattering of discarded data slates and blinking monitors, showing line after line of scrolling stock data. The stock tickers showed downward arrows next to Anyo Corp. The Solaris saw this and let out a raucous cheer. The Solaris insurgency dug in, the ziggurat looming in the distance. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ The markets were down. Anyo had shorted its position in Prospect 141. A mysterious new buyer. Speculation was rife that a potential takeover of their wider assets in the sub-sector was imminent. The boy sat cross legged on the floor of his ship, watching the rapid assimilation of market data unfold in real time. The Corpus were often predictable. One hand tapped at the holographic keyboard; the other swiping window after window; arranging a tableau before him. Every floating window was precisely organised; their position just so. It was a dizzying amount of information to track, but the boy drank it in without the slightly semblance of trouble. Trade data; troop movements. Much of the information was illegal. Much of it he had personally extracted from Corpus data-vaults; with or without their consent. A picture began to form. Ah, there it was. A Corpus frigate, moving in from low orbit. Doubtless Anyo, looking to quash the rumours of a fire-sale, or any loose talk of open Solaris insurgency. That meant military grade proxies, elite soldiers; even orbital bombardment, should Anyo decide to simply mothball the troublesome colony entirely. Whatever the case, one thing was clear: Vanger Hosk's little rebellion was on borrowed time without direct intervention. Brown eyes dark and thoughtful, the boy opened the com channel. "Sara, you're going to have company." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Isolde and her companions arrived at the Eastern Landing Bay. It was quiet here, as quiet as could be, given recent events. The Eastern Bay was situated on the opposite side of the Upper Tier to where the insurgency had made their blazing entrance. The collapse of the data stacks had left much of the colony without power. Those worst affected were in the Low Tier, where an already distressing level of privation was further compounded by a loss of power and automated emergency services. Here, everything still functioned, but barely. Emergency lighting bathed everything in a malevolent red. They edged through the gloom carefully; Vern on point, his Lex in his hands. Vern's boot splashed in something. He looked down. He realised that not all of the red around them was from the emergency systems. Blood. It pooled across the floor, splashed the walls and spattered across the ceiling in great arcs. There were no insurgents here, no signs of struggle or gunfire. Only wanton slaughter. Most of the bodies were Corpus. Men, women; even children. Panicked traders for the most part, hoping to flee the uprising; only to encounter something far more dangerous. The occasional City Watch guard was identifiable only by the occasional severed limb or crumpled, discarded helmet. Neera gagged. They all turned to look at her; Isolde eventually patting her on the arm, trying to console her but doing an otherwise terrible job at it. The others, hardened killers all; kept a watchful eye on every corner, primed for combat. Vern was used to blood; had been around violence most of his life. This was different. It was calculated; brutally one-sided. It had been done as a demonstration; some kind of declarative challenge. It had been done without the guards getting off so much as a shot. Parson-Luk crouched down, dipping his fingers in the blood. He tasted it briefly; tasted the fear. He looked up at Vern, expression grave. "Fresh Boss. Thirty minutes, tops." Vern swallowed. They hadn't heard a thing. Weapons raised, they advanced deeper into the docking bay; creeping forward. Neera followed behind the mighty Grineer; the only sound the heavy plodding of his feet, and the ticking rasp of his war rig's breathing apparatus. Even his breathing seemed elevated. They rounded the corner. Brakarr held up a clenched fist. The team froze in place. A Moa was pinned to the wall; one of its legs still kicking. Brakarr examined the body, grunting as he pulled free the item pinning it in place. The Moa collapsed to the floor with a clank that made Neera jump in the dark. Brakarr tossed the object to Isolde. It was small, metallic and preternaturally sharp. "One of yours." Isolde turned it over in her hands. It was a kunai, identical to the one pinned in her hair. The hairs on her neck stood up. She didn't need her Void Sense to get this spooked. "Keep moving." Vern said quietly. Even he seemed on edge. They swept into the open landing bay itself. Every transport was ablaze; a hellscape of crackling fire and rising, twisting smoke. A Bursa unit had been deployed to counter the butchery. The Bursa was an advanced security drone, intended only for the most extreme threats; known for its lethality in all hard-contact environments. No longer. The Bursa slumped in the middle of the Docking Bay, surrounded on all sides by burning transports. Speared through its central processing core was a single, golden sword; coated in the blood of innocents, planted like some murderous flag. Isolde stepped forward, scraping the blade free; expertly turning it over in her hands. The blade was ancient; its edge keen and hungry. A priceless artefact of Orokin design; she examined its hilt with ever-mounting dread. The sigil was a brass eye; the bas-relief picked out by a single emerald pupil inset into the hilt; its edges chased in luxuriant silver threaded with gold. A thousand memories stirred within her, each darker than the last. Isolde knew it well. Had fought and killed and bled for it centuries ago. Had sworn never to wear its instrument of war again. The House of Septimus. The House Eternal. Edited July 16, 2018 by (XB1)Katsuhiro 1139 Now Listening To: Liberi Fatali - FF VIII OSTi Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
(XBOX)Katsuhiro 1139 Posted July 16, 2018 Author Share Posted July 16, 2018 Explain to me then, how we beat them. We send our fleets, and they are annihilated; scattered across the cosmos. Our towers fall, one after another; cannibalised by those wretched things. We send our warriors, and their weapons fail; or worse. The Grineer Solution has failed. The Plague has failed. Even the mighty Dax fall in droves; slaughtered on the killing fields. Nothing works. We cannot outsmart them. We cannot overwhelm them. So I ask again; how in the name of the Void do we beat these devils?" "Simple. With devils of our own." - Unknown conversation, Vitruvian 4-12 (Recovery Site Redacted) ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Then. The House Eternal is a vast, twisting place; hushed hallways, solemn libraries and open courtyards. And yet it does not lack joy. Scholars and scientists and artists mingle and laugh. There is the sound of music, of food and wine and merriment. The people sit in groups, conversing and debating; living perfect lives, far removed from the devastation which visits the rest of the Empire. It is a place of learning; of science and understanding. And strength. The Dax train apart in the open cloister; a golden army of gifted fighters, splendid to behold in their glittering armour. They drill in concert, moving as one; blades weaving and twisting; turning and spinning. All in sequence; a mesmerising flow of relentless steel and rigorous discipline. The Tenno sit apart; heads bowed in meditation. Their drills are over for the day. Now is a time for contemplation and reflection. They commune; heads bowed, eyes closed. They feel the Void's touch upon them, and master its energies; plumbing the hidden depths within. Sara fidgets slightly, her restlessness clear. Doric scowls at her, now distracted. Isolde and Kael remain models of discipline, lost in thought. "Focus." Sohren chides them both, a soft smile betraying his amusement. The oldest, he has been appointed their leader; first amongst equals. The war is coming. They have been told as much. When they go to war, it is he that shall lead them. Trainer crosses before them, the Dax phalanx snapping to attention as he passes. The Tenno rise to their feet, bowing deeply. Trainer salutes Sohren; who returns the gesture; a clenched fist folding over his chest. They have been summoned. They walk through the Dax formation; the golden warriors parting like a sea and bolting to attention; sabres rattling in raised salute. The Hall of Receival is an audience chamber more opulent than Isolde has ever known, or will ever see again. The Tenno are seldom here, unless they have misbehaved and are forced to clean it; scrubbing simple wooden brushes across the endless stretch of cool marble. Sara knows the space intimately; has spent more time here than the rest of the Cell combined. Isolde for her part never ceases to be amazed at its beauty. It is an opulent, vaulted space; with statues dedicated to Dax heroes past and present. They line the hall like silent sentinels. Today the space is different. It takes Isolde a moment to place it. A red carpet has been rolled through the centre of the chamber. The normal retainers and courtiers have been banished; replaced instead by five shapes hidden beneath silken sheets. They stand before the steps leading to the end of the chamber. A set of careful eyes watches them from afar. At the summit of the room, Lord Septimus awaits; reclining in his golden throne; flanked on either side by decorated Dax veterans. He is a tall figure, impossibly so. Imperious and noble; his hair is neatly combed; luxuriant and thick. His robes are a crisp artic white, that accent an perfect physique. No hair is out of place; no fold or crease is present that was not placed there by meticulous design. The seldom smiles he offers are reserved only for his favourites: artists all; select talents he offers generous patronage to. Those favoured are as many as they are varied. A sculptor from Phobos; whose statues decorate the many corridors of the House; depicting great feats and histories of warriors throughout the Empire. A gifted harpist from the Tower of Eritrea, whose lilting music drifts through the corridors and elicits tears from even the most hardened soul. And the Tenno; most especially the Tenno. Septimus smiles broadly. Isolde fears Lord Septimus. Not for what he does or says, but for the presence he commands. The House Eternal is a powerful place; and that power swirls through him like a vortex. He is its confluence; the master of a domain defined only by boundless wealth and power. It is said he is as old as the House itself. Isolde has little reason to doubt this. Generals come and go, bending the knee before receiving their orders; pressing his campaigns and enforcing his will throughout the stars beyond. Of all the children, Isolde has always been the most cynical. She does not trust the House. Its appearance flatters to deceive. A bastion of Orokin learning and understanding, yes; but with particular purpose. She sees little beyond the confines of their dojo, and yet for all its artistic trappings and scientific leanings she knows the truth: The House Eternal is strictly martial in the scope of its ambitions. Lord Septimus bids them closer with a magnanimous sweep of his hand. His voice is a silken burr. It fills the chamber and grips those present. "Step forward, Tenno; that I might look upon you and see our salvation." The Tenno stepped forward, falling into line in lock-step; eyes staring straight ahead, backs straight. "Sons and daughters of the Zariman. Children of the Void. You have trained hard; honing your minds and bodies for the trials that await. I wish that you could remain here forever, so that we might explore your gifts to their fullest potential. Alas, the war is on our doorstep. You are needed." Septimus rises to his feet. Even at a distance, he is perfumed. He wears no unguents or fragrance: the very air itself shifts around him; accommodating him. The smell is lilac and wild elderflower. It all but overpowers them as he descends the stairs, the unnerving smile never once leaving his perfect face. He cups their chins in his hands as he passes each of the Tenno in turn; examining them as a carver would its proudest carving; or an artist its masterpiece. Isolde shudders inwardly when it is her turn. His touch is cold and clammy, despite the flush of chemicals that threaten to overwhelm her and tell her abject lies at a genetic level. Ever disciplined, she steels herself; silently enduring the objectification. Yet another trick. Inside, her resentment builds. "I thank you for the dedication you have shown." Septimus says, as he steps past them, approaching the robed shapes beyond. "And for such dedication, due reward." He steps to one side, bidding them closer to the shrouded figures. "Yours, to deliver a kind of war only the Void itself can unleash. You will be artists, and these tools… your instruments." To their shock, Lord Septimus bows. The invitation is clear. The children step free of formation, unaccustomed to being allowed to do as they please. Nevertheless, they unconsciously approach the robed shapes as one. Isolde considers the silhouette before her; lean and slender. It is a statue, perhaps; some decoration for them to enjoy. Her Void Sense tugs at her; compelling her ever forward. Isolde stops inches from the statue. She is Tenno; details are not lost on her. The statues' arrangement is as the Tenno always sat, as they always drilled. None of this is accident. This statue, of all the other statues before her, speaks to her more than any other. Beckons her closer. Isolde reaches out, pulls back the sheet. She blinks. She is mistaken. It is no statue at all. She stares up into a face without eyes; cold steel, smooth and polished and gleaming. And yet beneath, she senses rage, and pain; a rage and pain that she herself has shared ever since that fateful day on the Zariman. She places a hand on its chest, her throat tightening; her mouth dry. Her anger is quite forgotten, overcome by breathless wonder as she feels a kinship the likes of which she has never experienced. Lord Septimus is correct. She will become an artist, and this gilded armature, this Frame her instrument. Together, they will compose a symphony of destruction the Empire will never forget. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
(XBOX)Katsuhiro 1139 Posted July 17, 2018 Author Share Posted July 17, 2018 "We need assistance, damn you! The Solaris; they're on our doorstep!" "The Corpus Navy acknowledges your request, Director Mehrino. A vessel has been dispatched, and will be with you within the next four to six hours, Standard Corporate Time." "Six hours? The vermin will have overrun us by then!" "If you have complaint you would like to register about our service line, please hold, and we will connect with a customer service Cephalon—" - excerpt from terminated Corpus transmission, Prospect 141 -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Hosk toured the line with Mirage, as the Solaris gawked at their two unlikely champions: the terrorist and the Tenno. They ducked through holes blown in walls; rubble crunching beneath their feet; passing knots of resistance fighters huddled together; bathed in dust and sweat. Sara knew she was being paraded; did her best not to intimidate the Solaris as they hesitantly smiled at her: offering a nod here, a small wave there. Her Frame aside, all eyes were on the barge fight above. The compulsive gamblers amongst the Solaris (ever resourceful when it came to entertainment) placed private bets on the outcome. Many of the other rebels simply sat in silence; watching the sheets of fire exchange between the distant airships with faces lined by exhaustion. It was these quiet people Hosk gave the most attention to. He stopped with each of them; making sure they remembered to hydrate, or breaking the tension with a private joke or proffered smoke. A different strategy for every soul. Some he could not reach, too traumatised from the brutality of the fighting. Hosk left these broken few with a gentle pat on the hand, leaving a bottle of water or a ration pack behind as quietly took his leave. The medics would follow in due course. Mirage watched Hosk in careful silence; mirroring the Tenno's own fascination. Such compassion was alien to Sara. The Old War had been fought differently. A tremendous ear-splitting boom rent the skies above. Everybody threw themselves flat, thinking it an incoming artillery strike. Mechanised workers across the line stumbled and fell; cybernetics stuttering. Cries for medics filled the air. Only Mirage stayed on her feet. She looked up to the sky. Hosk gaped up at her from his particular spot on the floor. "What was that?" Mirage's eyes never left the sky. Sara whistled. "Graviton Cannon by the sounds of it. Risky, this close to the colony." "Somebody means business?" Hosk clambered to his feet, dusting himself off. "That, or they're getting desperate." -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Kef Mehrino was in a furious debate with the Corpus Navy when the Graviton strike happened; killing the signal and causing every piece of glassware in the boardroom to rattle despite the reinforced plating around them. He swore, hurling the glass in his hand against the wall with an enraged snarl. Bottles of sparkling wine still covered the boardroom table from his premature celebration earlier. He snatched up an open bottle; swaying slightly as he mumbled to himself. The deal was falling apart before his very eyes. Kren Maruk ignored him; instead standing by the observation window, marvelling at the barge brawl unfolding. He was a military man; had served his time across the furthest reaches of the Rail, prosecuting the enemies of the Board whenever and wherever it was asked of him. This posting was to be his retirement; a way to live out the twilight years of his contract in relative peace. Kren Maruk chuckled at that. He didn't care. It was better this way. Boardroom politics did not interest him. He was a devout man, with the broad frame of a service crewman; his leathery skin heavily stencilled in the faith markings of the Prophet. Maruk would marshal the City Watch in the defence to the best of his ability because that was what was expected of him. He was not a gifted strategist, but knew war; understood it. Had lived it his entire life. Something about the airships furious battle stirred something in him. Old memories of Grineer invasions long past, where the gene-kin's barges had smashed into their own trade flotillas, high above the ice floes of Europa. Of ship to ship fighting; and the brutal hand to hand that could only follow. He did not envy them. Kren Maruk watched the grav-tethers snake out between the barges; saw shapes falling from the barges that he knew to be doomed men, but barely registered as little more than specks at this range. A bloody business. He shook himself. There was a job to do. He tried his com-line once more, ordering a status report on the interception team he requested some time ago. Yet again, the Eastern Landing Pad failed to answer. He tried again. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- "What is it?" Terrenus Vern asked. The bounty hunters stood apart from Isolde, who studied the golden nikana in her hands; her slender frame backlit by the crackling flames. "A message. From an evil long buried." Isolde looked up at Vern, expression grave. "We can't leave this place." A new voice answered her. "Very astute." Eythan stepped from the shadows, his long robes thrown back; golden armour rendered a burning burgundy-crimson by surrounding blaze. The fury in Isolde's eyes burned hotter than any fire. "Eythan Dax. You did this." The Dax stepped forward, slowly advancing. He offered the slightest shrug; armour clicking with the gesture. His voice carried with it an augmented burr. "No witnesses, no distractions. No escape." Eythan Dax continued advancing, footsteps loud in the desolate chamber. "Your presence is required, Tenno. You have been summoned." Isolde's chin tilted upward in defiance. "By whom? Your masters are dead. I buried them myself." "They are the House Eternal. They will not be denied." Eythan Dax held up a gauntleted hand; palm facing them. There was a magnetic hum, and the blade leapt from Isolde's hands; hurtling across the chamber. The blade snapped neatly back into Eythan Dax's waiting hand. It sank back into its sheath faster than Vern could track. The bounty hunters snapped weapons to bear. They were renegade Exchange operatives; killers all. No lofty words or solemn warning preceded the sudden barrage of gunfire. Eythan Dax had already vanished; enveloped by a blinding flash of light and smoke. By the time it cleared, little more than yawning darkness remained. A voice drifted from the rafters above: everywhere at once; and yet nowhere. "Final warning, Tenno: The Northern Dock. My Lord awaits." -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Then silence left the hunters rattled in the dark; alone but for the crackle of flames and the smell of death. As the airships ground together, a pealing squeal of metal splitting the air and echoing across the entire colony, the City Watch reinforced its position, glad of the lull in the Solaris assault. The manufactories had not been idle. A phalanx of Moa assembled before the ziggurat; ten drones deep. Above them, a buzzing storm cloud of shield ospreys; small flitting drones that prowled the line, bolstering the frontline. Corpus infantry filed out from the base of the fortress, assembling behind the proxy wall; standing at rigid attention. It was an intimidating show of force. They stood brazenly in the open, as if daring the Solaris to come and meet their fate. Solaris spotters called the development in. Hosk lowered his binoculars, hissing air through clenched teeth. This is what he had been afraid of. Mirage sat beneath him, her back to the wall by the blown out window Hosk perched beside. Sara was nonchalantly disassembling his Burston rifle for the third time; cleaning it with surgical precision. Anything to keep herself occupied. Hosk looked at her, shook his head. "You don't seem worried." Mirage was firmly focused on the rifle in her hands. "What's there to be worried about?" "We're outnumbered, for one." Mirage shrugged. "I'm a Tenno. We're always outnumbered. What else?" She popped out the magazine, inspecting the receiver for grit. Grunted. Hosk tried again. "Every second we delay, their army gets bigger." "You can't push now. Not yet." Sara slapped the magazine back home; nodding in satisfaction. "You'll just have to wait." She handed the rifle back to Hosk, then rose to her feet. She joined him by the window. The Corpus army stretched out before them; rippling under the heat of so many shield systems in close proximity. If the sight bothered Sara, it never registered in her voice, as she mused: "I've never found it easy. The waiting. Was never very good at it. 'A true warrior knows patience, or knows nothing'; that's what Sohren used to say. I never listened." Mirage stared up at the battle that raged in the sky. The fires glinted off the skin of Warframe, as Sara shook her head; voice thoughtful now. "Perhaps it's time that changed." Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Aldrr Posted July 18, 2018 Share Posted July 18, 2018 (edited) Spoiler Huh so you also think that Ballas and the queens set up a precedent, and that there may be other Orokin out there, hiding in exile? 😛 Interesting idea. Kinda starting to understand where Isolde's aversion comes from when it comes to her duties. House Eternal was trying so hard to sell the idea that it was a place of learning, but it was all about fueling and implementing the ambitions of their lord, this Septimus guy. No wonder that Isolde, with that level of awareness for detail - despite all the training and discipline they tried to drill into her - was getting sick of it. Obviously she was "paired" with a frame back then, but where is it now? 🤔 Destroyed? She abandoned it? Is it gathering dust somewhere, held in reserve, just in case, "for a rainy day?" Or when she abandoned her duties, it remained in the custody of House Eternal? Loving these little flashbacks to the Orokin Era (probably repeating myself here ^^). In my opinion the game needs more of these little moments (whether more fleshed out like in the Sacrifice, or voiced / text only codex or Vitruvian entries). We're pretty okay with the picture in the present time, but we have very little on the "how we got to this point" part. Edited July 18, 2018 by Aldrr Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
(XBOX)Katsuhiro 1139 Posted July 18, 2018 Author Share Posted July 18, 2018 (edited) Atmospheric Work Area. Extreme Caution Advised. All employees operate at their own risk. - Corpus Warning Sign -------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Up, up, up!" The crew bundled towards ladders; boots clanging on steel decking. Kelpo focused on one rung at a time; the sound of his breathing huge in the confines of the respirator mask Stren had hastily shoved his way. The mask was a sorry, weatherworn hand-me-down; visibly patched in places. The smell of burnt plastic and sour sweat was overwhelming. Kelpo followed the first man out; his vision little more than a narrow slip of glass that threatened to fog over any second. All he could see were the boots of the man ahead of him. Above, he heard roared challenges. Close range plasma discharge. Another rung. The flamer danged loose on its strap; slapping against his thigh and clanging whenever it caught the edge of the ladder. The final rung now, then the narrow pressure channel that marked the end of the climb. He squeezed through the hatchway. And was suddenly blinded. The pink swirling light of the Venusian sky stabbed deep into his eyes. Even this far in a terraformed zone, the wind speed proved savage at this altitude; whipping against him and threatening to blow him away outright. Kelpo swore and stumbled as he exited the ladder, tumbling face down onto the deck. It saved his life. A plasma cutter raked the air where his head should have been. Kelpo rolled onto his back, hands blindly fumbling for the flamer. He triggered it accidentally. The burst of liquid fire enveloped the hijacker before him in a single jet. He went up like a bonfire; thrashing and shrieking. A plasma bolt smashed the man off his feet, where he tumbled over the edge of the hull and mercifully out of sight. Stren appeared in Kelpo's visor, a smoking Detron in his hands; eyes bulging through the visor of his rebreather. "On your feet lad! Gotta clear 'em off!" With that Stren gripped Kelpo by the webbing, hauling him to his feet. "Harness; harness; go!" Hands trembling, senses overloaded, Kelpo found the grapple-line on the front of his environment suit and latched the hook onto the safety. Cinched it tight. Too tight. He went to move and it almost wrenched him off his feet. Stren snarled and fussed over him like a concerned aunt; fixing Kelpo's rig for him. Stren slapped his shoulder. "Now! With me, lad!" They staggered across the hull; bowed against the howling wind. A fierce melee had broken out across the top of the hull. Anything went in a barge fight. Rifles, sidearms; crude axes and plasma cutters. A no holds barred frenzy of headbutts, machetes and screams. Their attackers favoured jump packs and mag boots. This was effective for an initial assault; allowing them to accurately seed themselves across the hull, but made their movement slow and clunky. The crew of the Severance by contrast clung to the ship with grapple lines; making them more nimble as they slid expertly around the hull, but frightfully vulnerable. Kelpo watched as one of the Severance crew smashed an assaulter on to his back; trying to fall on the man with a knife. The assaulter snarled and simply slashed the harness line in return; planting a mag-boot in the man's chest. The wind did the rest; snatching him up and away without so much as a shout. Stren let out a muffled howl in anger, throwing himself forward and sliding across the sloping surface of the hull on his rump; the Detron spitting in one hand; the other expertly feeding the grapple-line. He moved with frightening speed despite his size. Kelpo did his best to keep up, stumbling and thrashing as his line continued to catch. He was a surface scavenger. Altitude work was all too new to him. A burst of light in the sky caught Kelpo's eye. More jump-packs; descending from on high. They filled the sky. Stern saw them too, opened his throat and bellowed: "Incoming!" Assaulters descended in a storm of shouts and clattering metal. Something smashed into Kelpo, driving him off his feet. He lost the flamer; where, he couldn't tell. Suddenly he was on his back, an assaulter leering over him; a knee pressed into Kelpo's chest. Crushing the air out of his lungs. A Prova spat in his face; inches from Kelpo's faceplate. Kelpo Marr saw red. He was not a tall man, but not a soft one either; had been a surface scavver all his life. Rock climbing and mountaineering had left him lean but well-muscled; shoulders broad and strong. On a purely physical level, Kelpo was not a man to pick a fight with lightly. He smashed his faceplate forwards so hard he cracked his own visor. The assaulter stumbled back; his own helmet askew. The weight on Kelpo shifted. Then Kelpo was on him, smashing his fist into the man's respirator again and again; denting the housing where the air-tubes circled up into the man's boxy helm. Hissing atmosphere sprayed out, blinding Kelp. He didn't stop; relentless. A pair of hands pulled him back. "Easy boy! He's done! He's done." It was Stren. He was right too. The body beneath Kelpo lay broken and still; his faceplate a dented wreck. Kelpo wheeled about, still in a frenzy; amped on an adrenal surge so intense it felt electric. He drank in the brawl, chest sucking air into screaming lungs. More and more assaulters rained down upon the Severance. The Forward Transaction had gone all in on the attack; abandoning weapon stations and non-essential systems: committing every body they possibly had to the assault. They would take the Severance and its cargo, or die trying. Even veterans like Stren had never seen an assault of its like before. "Back, fall back!" Stren bellowed, waving at his men. He might as well have ordered the wind to stop. There was no orchestrating this mess. Not now. Kelpo watched a third wave of fighters blaze in through the sky. A final push, to finally overwhelm the Severance's dogged but beleaguered resistance. A coursing surge of electricity caught the assaulters mid-air; arcing from one to the next. Jump packs exploded or simply shorted out entirely. Tumbling bodies bounced off the hull like meaty rain drops, before scattering into the wind. Kael had emerged from below deck; tethered to the hull by a force unknown. He lowered his hand; tendrils of power still flitting from one finger to the next. One ill-fated assaulter rushed him; swinging a plasma torch. Kael grabbed his wrist, snapped it with a flick of his thumb; before finishing the man with a final surging jolt. Volt calmly removed the torch from the man's grasp, before letting the wind steal him away. The assaulters froze in their tracks; stricken with the realisation that the cargo they so desperately sought had now come for them instead. Volt looked over at Kelpo and Stern; the cutter held low at his side. He nodded to the hatch behind him, once. The message was clear. "Everybody back; clear out!" Stren roared. The Severance's crew scrambled back behind the Warframe, retrieving their wounded as they broke free of the melee. Stren and Kelpo didn't stick around the watch the ensuing slaughter. They heard it begin as they sealed the hatches behind them; shutting out the shrieks and the surging crackle of eldritch power. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Boarding Deck, what's your status?" Teico asked. Telin and the rest of the bridge crew waited with baited breath. They had heard the muffled bangs and screams across the hull. Stren's voice filtered out through the bridge, on loud speaker; ragged and breathless. "Tenno has 'em now. Poor buggers. What's the word?" "Short Position is closing fast. Stay on the Transaction, we're rigging the Boarding Gate now." "Right. Not a whole lot of us fighting fit up here." Telin was already on his feet. "I'm enroute." Telin made a single stop on his way to the Boarding Gate; following a tracking signal on his wrist unit as he wound his way through the ship. HWK-44 had been left in secure storage; just another trophy seized on the frontier. Its engine was still dented from its scrap deep beneath the ice. The drone had been fitted with a restraining clamp; which popped free with the slightest tug. The drone shivered to life; then warbled at him cheerfully as it slid into the shoulder mount of Telin's hard-suit. "Good to see you too, buddy. We've got work to do." -------------------------------------------------------------------------- It is perhaps to the credit of the crew of the Forward Transaction that the majority of them did not surrender outright when the Tenno fell upon them. They rushed him from all sides, fully committed to the end. This was understandable. One did not shirk from an Exchange contract and expect to live a long or happy life. Kael shortened it for them. He held a plasma cutter in each hand now; the fizzling torches whirling and snapping as he flowed through them; scattering broken bodies left and right. Volt slashed one torch across the face of an onrushing hijacker; dropping the torch and spinning the man around by his webbing; absorbing a storm of incoming shots intended for the Frame beyond. Volt snatched a kitgun from the dead man's webbing; whipping it free as the body tumbled aside. A hair trigger beam repeater; colloquially dubbed a Flutterfire. Kael tested the name; ripping a bevy shots into the oncoming scavvers. The power cell glowed red hot and he cast it aside; meeting the rest of them hand to hand. Fists moved as blurs. Bones broke. An elbow here; a jolt of sparking power there. They fell in droves. Volt whirled about, looking for the next opponent. None came. The hull was scabbed with stray plasma fire; but was eerily empty; but for the occasional tethered body here and there; where the fallen were still held in place by mooring lines or a stray mag-boot. The few surviving assaulters had simply leapt overboard; hoping against hope that their jump packs would be enough to arrest their descent to the burning colony below. The Tenno never saw what became of them. Volt looked out to port. The Short Position was closing fast; cannons inert, its intentions clear. It meant to attempt a boarding of its own. Kael had no intention of allowing that. He crossed the hull quickly; stopping to retrieve a wicked machete from the webbing of one of the fallen. The blade pointed downwards in one fist, the plasma cutter in the other; the Frame crouched low, readied himself. There was a surge of power. Volt sprinted: lightning fast; faster even than the howling wind. Kael leapt; sailing through the air; his syndana whipping around him as he spun through the air; the Void itself guiding his trajectory. Kael saw the widening eyes of the Short Position's bridge crew, moments before he impacted. The leap had been at the very limits the Tenno could make; even with the Void behind him. He barely made it. It was not a clean landing. The plasma cutter failed to connect; all but imploding in his hand as it smashed against the hull; tumbling from his grasp. The machete bit deep, arresting his fall one-handed. For a heart stopping moment, the Warframe clung on, scrabbling for purchase; before he finally dug his fingertips into a seam of plating and managed to claw his way further onto the hull; abandoning the machete behind him. The crew of the Severance never saw what befell the crew inside the Short Position. All they registered on their scopes was the smaller barge breaking off; desperately trying to shake their new stowaway. Then their scanners registered heated weapons fire; an extreme power surge, and then a series of smaller, internal detonations. Then nothing. Through the rear view cams, Teico watched the Short Position angle upwards, on a new trajectory; trailing fire and ugly smoke from its belly. It began to loop around; angling about on a new heading. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Boarding Gate was a very genteel term for what was ultimately the barge's equivalent of a siege tower: a snarling, toothed drill rig which extended from the hull and lanced deep into the flank of enemy ships. Telin found Kelpo crouched outside it; attended by Stren and two of the other crew. He was getting his hand hastily bandaged. "What happened to you?" "Lad did good." Stren clapped him on the shoulder like a proud father. Kelpo held up his mangled fingers. "Broke my hand." "Fug. Sit this one out." Kelpo shook his head. "We need every man we can get." "Boarding team!" Stren's voice was a hoarse rasp now. "Thirty seconds!" Less than twelve of them stood ready; bloodied, battered and bruised. They banged fresh tanks into chemical throwers; readied knives and low calibre breaching weapons; energy-shotguns for the most part. They doffed their environment masks; replacing them with ear protectors and bowl-shaped helmets; buckling on less bulky respirators intended only for emergencies. Telin noticed that more than one of the crew had historic chemical burns marks of their own. Ship to ship fighting was sweaty, brutal affair. He steeled himself. The cables finished winching the Severance alongside the Transaction. There came a thumping bang. Then the drill cut in; spearing into the Transaction with an ear-splitting metallic shriek. The deck vibrated with the bone rattling force; as plasma cutters dotted along the Board Gate's seared to life; adding to the sawing frenzy. The noise was deafening. Deck plating tumbled inwards. Automatic launchers spat all manner of flash-bangs, smoke grenades and concussion charges into the breach. Smoke tumbled back up the drill corridor, twisting and whirling. Telin and Stren looked at each other; primed to barrel into the mist. "Stop! Stop! Enough!" a voice cried through the tumbling smoke. "We surrender!" Captain Leonid Sobil and his bridge crew filed out, choking and spluttering; hands high in the air. More followed; thoroughly cowed. They had witnessed the slaughter of their comrades first hand. The prisoners outnumbered them almost three to one. Sobil kept his back straight, expression tight. "Who is in charge here?" Stren looked at Kelpo. Kelpo looked at Stren. They both looked at Telin. "I… uh… accept your surrender." Telin shrugged, offering the man an uncertain salute. Sobil returned it, nodding impatiently. Sweat beaded his brow. "Yes, yes, yes – just keep that bloody thing away from us." -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Kael-as-Volt sat in the scorched bridge of the Short Position, the airship's control yoke rattling in his hands. He tried the com again. It too was fried. He may have gotten carried away. He tried transmitting from the Frame directly. "Severance, this is Kael, respond." Nothing. The ship plating was playing havoc with the atmospherics. Even so, a new voice answered him. One he had not heard in centuries. "Quite the show you're putting on, Stranger." Kael could hear the smile in Sara's voice. "I just lost a bet." A jolt ran through Kael sharper than any Void charge. "Sara! What are you doing here?!" "Was meant to rescuing you, but got a little… uh, side-tracked. Look, there's a million things I want to say but we've no time. There's a revolution to be had. Game?" Kael wrestled with the control stick. Controls were sluggish, but little by little, he adjusted course. Watch Control swam into view. The altimeter plummeted with each passing second. "Inbound." Edited July 19, 2018 by (XB1)Katsuhiro 1139 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
(XBOX)Katsuhiro 1139 Posted July 20, 2018 Author Share Posted July 20, 2018 (edited) "Cold: the air and water flowing, Hard: the land we call our home…" - Solaris work song, unattributed -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Hosk watched Mirage stare at one descending barge in particular. It was trailing smoke; an ugly plume of streaking fire that vented freely. An emergency landing was imminent. And yet the corrections to its bearing were deliberate, its intentions clear. It aimed for the Plaza. "What the hell is that?!" Hosk flapped in amazement. It was headed straight for the central plaza. Sara seemed entirely unconcerned. "Our opening." Hosk scrambled for his com. "All units, incoming contact. Watch the sky! Keep your heads down!" Hosk snatched up his binoculars; gaping in disbelief as he tracked its descent. There was a figure atop the descending barge. Literally riding atop it; clinging low to the hull for dear life; its blue cape flapping. Sara chuckled fondly. "He did always like to make an entrance." The Corpus guarding the ziggurat saw the barge coming. The crewmen scattered in all directions; all semblance of cohesion stolen by the sudden yet imminent arrival of a few hundred tonnes of descending metal. The Moa and the Ospreys remained as they were; a perfect tableau of order and discipline, as the shadow of the barge washed over them. They were still neatly arrayed when the Short Position hit. It impacted with a sound that was heard as far as the furthest weeping posts of the Frozen Sector: a metallic thunderclap that shattered most of the surviving windows in the Upper Tier and knocked every combatant within the immediate vicinity off their feet. Even Mirage had to steady herself, such was the ferocity of the shockwave. The metallic shrieking was worse; as the barge scraped through the heart of the phalanx; scattering Moa like skittles or simply shredding them beneath the weight of the advancing metal. Ospreys burst as they were swatted; the shrapnel swallowed up by a plume of smoke that joined the vast columns of dust emanating from the ruins of the data stacks in the distance. The dust would linger there for several hours; choking the heart of the Upper Tier in a miasma that clouded sensors and blinded the fixed emplacements seeded throughout the ziggurat. Hosk shook his head, utterly stunned. A lone figure emerged form the swirling, choking mist; wreathed in the very destruction it had just unleashed; seemingly unscathed. A Warframe; twinned spikes out jutting from its arched, dome-like head. An ancient warrior from another era. It strode toward the Solaris line; crackling with electric power; oblivious to the Armageddon behind it. It looked straight at Hosk even at this extreme range. Hosk blinked, lowering the binoculars. He turned to Mirage. "He with you?" "With us, technically." Mirage was already moving, the kit-gun in one hand; her bladed whip in the other. "It's really more of a collectivist revolution, right?" Mirage walked alone across the plaza; the bladed whip in her hand held aloft in salute to a comrade long thought lost. Volt raised a jagged machete in return; the Frame's allegiance clear. A roar went up through the Solaris rank and file. One Tenno had been cause for hope. Two super-charged morale entirely. Despite his exhaustion, Hosk grinned. He sounded the order. "All units, forward to the ziggurat! Advance!" -------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Boardroom had been designed to sustain all manner of punishment. In a society where corporate espionage and infighting were as real a threat as any worker insurgency, it paid to be paranoid. The glass around Kef Mehrino was bullet proof, beam-shielded and triple-reinforced; designed to protect against every conceivable threat. Airships had not formed part of the design brief. Nevertheless, it held. Kef Mehrino was a gibbering wreck, hiding beneath the boardroom table; clinging to a bottle seemingly for his own sanity. Kren Maruk, thoroughly dazed, collected himself quickly. He had survived worse in his contract: he would survive this. Or give a damn good account of himself, at the very least. Tactical assessment was grim. The entire frontal defence screen had been flattened in the most literal sense. Those that survived were either in complete disarray or entirely too isolated to be considered viable combat assets. Not that the Watch was beaten. This was their home turf. Even with the shift in initiative, they were not helpless. Maruk ordered the auto-manufactories to continue deploying units at maximum rate; desperate to replenish their sudden losses. A calculated risk on his part. They were already at risk of over-heating. Then he shifted the majority of his forces within the ziggurat to the front elevation. There was a hole in the perimeter. He needed to plug it. Kren Maruk's next order to the Watch was brief: "All units, reinforce the forward line. This Temple stands, or we fall." Then he picked up a cool glass of water, and stepped over to the plated glass of the mirrored window; taking a measured sip as he watched the Battle for Prospect 141 enter its next, brutal phase. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Visibility was awful. The fixed emplacements picked shots out; measured bursts that probed the twisting smoke, but they were firing blind. Nevertheless they maintained the cycle rate; hoping to discourage the Solaris advance if nothing else. Ammunition was of no great concern with plasma munitions. The only issue was overheating, and the City Watch were shrewd; disciplined. Staggered bolts of energy lashed out into the choking dust; sweeping the perimeter. Moa units surged forth from access hatches dotted around the edge of the ziggurat; flowing out from great doorways mounted in the temple's side and down the fascia of the temple proper. They charged forth into the dust; sensors clouded but hunting for targets at minimum range. Corpus warriors charged out behind them; rifles up, Provas buzzing in their hands as they groped in the dark. Their helmets did little to aid them; serving only to further limit their comprehension of the choking chaos. The Solaris met them head on. With hammers and welding torches; plasma cutters and improvised clubs; wielding the very tools that defined their enslavement. They lunged through the dark and smashed into the Corpus with a mighty rattling clash; chopping and smashing; demolishing Moa and crewmen alike. Corpus beam weapons flashed through the swirling murk; lancing through rebels and splitting flesh from bone. Hundreds died on both sides; as a chaotic melee swamped the base of the temple. Twinned shadows hunted through the fog; ripping a swathe through the Corpus rank and file. Hosk led his people through the gap, tripping over a carpet of disassembled drones and broken crewmen. Ahead he saw thunder clouds, lighting strikes and a brilliant starburst of yellow light; a savage, twirling beacon for them to follow as Volt and Mirage wreaked havoc upon their enemies. There was a break in the fog. The Warframes stood atop the slumped wreck of the Short Position, fighting side by side; felling the enemy with blinding speed. Mirage turned and urged the Solaris onwards. The rebels let out a resounding roar as they charged, crashing into cover beneath the shadow of the broken barge. It formed an unlikely defilade from the Watch positions spitting down from the ziggurat. Spotters got to work; clambering through the broken hull and angling targeting scopes on key positions across the front of the temple. Resistance mortar fire began shrieking through the air, ripping great chunks of masonry of the temple's façade. The weight of return fire slackened, but the Corpus showed remarkable discipline, even under the wailing deluge of shells. More Corpus fighters surged forth from the ziggurat; rushing the bulged and broken hull that now formed an unlikely bulwark on the defenders' very doorstep. The Solaris were at a strategic disadvantage. The Corpus had elevation, and even in the smoky gloom; any Solaris that had the temerity to rush the staircase were swiftly cut down by the entrenched defenders. Kael led the charge up the main stairway; a shield of pure surging blue energy held in his hands as he led a knot of Solaris with him. The weight of incoming fire was staggering, but the Frame continued its relentless advance, one step at a time. The rebels picked shots over his shoulder; hard-rounds super-heated as they passed through the energy shield and ripped clean through Corpus bodies. Mirage held the salient atop the Short Position, a looted Cestra in each hand now; butchering incoming Corpus that tried assaulting from either side. Corpus snipers tried to pick her off, but blinked; finding themselves faced with five targets instead of one; that seemed to blend and sift with each twisting shift in the smoke. The ziggurat's defences were defined by three firing slits; deep trenches inset into the surface of the sloping temple; protected by a front annex accessed by the primary stairway and two secondary stairways that fed in from either side. The Solaris had a foothold on each; converging on the annex from all three sides. The Watch did not cede ground lightly; the crewmen holding out and stubbornly licking out shots until their weapons glowed white-hot in the dun smoke. The Solaris were not denied, however. They closed the gap on the annex. Now it was storm clearance; another frenzied push. Grenades thumped and starbursts of shrapnel sliced flesh to ribbons. The fighting became desperate hand to hand, or point blank, frenzied firefights that left dozens of fallen bodies steaming on the floor. Volt's machete sang as it chopped and diced; a blurring whir in Kael's hands. Step by step, inch by bloody inch, the Solaris advanced up the front of the ziggurat; beset on all sides by the City Watch's finest. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Isolde and her companions paused atop ruins of a collapsed bridge way, surveying the battlefield from afar. Behind his faceplate, Brakarr's rheumy eyes lit up; revelling at the sight of so much carnage. Parson-Luk for his part said a silent prayer, kissing the ritualistic beads that hung around his neck as he shook his head. Vern grimaced, then spat on the ground.. "No way we're getting through that. Not directly." Isolde said nothing, her eyes on the horizon. She saw the Northern Landing Pad, through the occasional gap in the mist. Saw the Orokin barge that awaited her; the House Eternal's sigil a silent challenge. Her eyes narrowed, her throat tight. She made a decision. "You won't have to." Isolde shook her head, starting forward on her own. "You're mad, girl. It's a damn warzone." "I understand that, Terrenus. Warzones are not unfamiliar to me. But this is my fight, my decision." Vern shook his head. "Nuh-uh, kid. We're in this together. Whether you like it or not." "You go, we go." agreed Parson-Luk. Brakarr growled his assent. Isolde regarded each of them in turn, inwardly touched; but shook her head, resolute. "I'm afraid that's not possible. This is one hunt I do alone." Vern bristled at that. "Void take you! We do this together!" Isolde smiled sadly. "This isn't your war, Terrenus. You can't win it for me, and I won't ask you to." With that the pale Tenno bowed deeply, then vanished, seemingly stolen by the wind. Only her voice lingered; leaving them with a final set of parting instructions. "Find a transport. Leave this place. I will look for you when it's done." Vern snarled in frustration; eyes scanning on all frequencies. Void static, but little else. Isolde was gone. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- In low orbit over the Frozen Sector, the Corpus cruiser Dominant Factor began to slow; its belly hold yawning open; disgorging shoal after shoal of streaming dropships. They sped toward the surface; flaring hot as they entered the upper atmosphere; a meteor shower of white hot stars lit bright against the dark side of the planet. Aboard, Corpus Navy readied weapons and murmured incantations to the Void, giving thanks to the Prophet. The boy watched them intently, hidden from their scopes. He rose to his feet, padding over from the meditation mat that lay beside the vast viewing pane, nearly tripping over the kavat that mewled for his attention. He shoed it away as he keyed his com. "Sara? You read me?" No response. The boy shook his head, making for the rear hold of the Liset. He stretched as he did so. An old habit. It would not be his own muscles that carried him into battle. He would operate from within the confines of a Somatic Link. But the flesh he wore would be all the keener if his mind was attune, the Transference Link all the stronger for it. His Cephalon bleated at him, warning him about this risk and that. He ignored it entirely. Even for a Tenno as patient as him, there was only so much observation he could handle. Sometimes, you had to get your hands dirty. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Vern scowled at the horizon, watching the war unfold. Brakarr prepped for war; giving his rig a shake test. Parson-Luk crept carefully about at the base of the mount of rubble, eyes hunting for a sign of a trail that Isolde may have left behind. He hissed in frustration. He had taught her all too well. Neera crouched at the foot of the pile of rubble, still furiously trying to reprogram the com bead. With a victorious hiss, it warbled to life. Crackling Solaris chatter filled the air. Panicked orders for the most part. Some were savagely cut short. She made another slightly adjustment. It was a private channel. One they had reserved back when her parents had supported her uncle; warning him when a Watch sweep was passing through. "Uncle Veng! Uncle Veng can you read me?!" Vanger Hosk rolled back into cover, back into the annex. Volt marched ahead; the shield vibrating under the volume of energy rounds slapping against it. Hosk's ear-piece buzzed at him. Reflexively he switched channels. Hosk strained to hear above the roar of the battle. "This is Hosk!" He blinked when he caught Neera's voice. Urgent, insistent. "Neera! Where are you? Are you safe?!" "I'm fine! I'm here with Vern and the others." "Terrenus Vern?" Hosk gaped in disbelief "The bounty hunter?!" "It's fine, uncle; he's a friend! I think. Where are you?!" Hosk looked out over the city. Beneath him, the sweeping slope of the ziggurat gave way to a sea of smoke infused with lancing plasma fire and roving bodies. The Solaris swamped all sides of the citadel. They were winning, but at brutal cost. "We're taking Watch Control. Stay away. The Tenno are with us." A Solaris artillery shell sounded off above him. By the time the tumbling dust had settled Hosk only caught the tail end of his niece's transmission. "- have to warn them!" "Say again? Warn who?" Neera's voice was gone; the transmission little more than static-laced soup; overwhelmed by the sheer weight of plasma discharge in the air. "Neera? Hello?!" -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Neera repeated the transmission; over and over. "The Tenno, you have to warn them!" She swore in frustration; finally breaking the connection. Vern looked at her. "Get through?" Neera shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine." "So we're on our own." Vern shrugged, "Fine by me." Neera looked at each of the hunters in turn. "What's the plan?" Vern sniffed, nodding at the Northern Landing pad. "We know where she's headed. That's a start." "You're going after her? After she just explicitly told you not to?" Vern just nodded stubbornly; both hands holding his webbing. "Seems that way." "And the golden guy with the sword? He doesn't give you pause?" Vern snorted at that. "Gold or not, he'll bleed the same as any." Neera shook her head. "I'll never understand you people." She rose to her feet. "Where you going?" Neera pointed in the vague direction of the Northern Dock and the Watch Control. Another trio of explosions wracked the face of the ziggurat. "That way. Same as you. My uncle's somewhere in the middle of that mess." Neera stabbed a thumb in Brakarr's direction. "And if it's all the same to you, I'd rather have him with me for the trip. Vern looked at Brakarr, eyebrow raised. The massive Grineer gave an expansive shrug of his massive shoulders, his chuckle muffled by his faceplate. At the foot of the bridge, Parson-Luk cocked his head to one side, a mischievous smile on his face. He had taught the girl well, yes. But for all her ability, she forgot that he was the great Parson-Luk. No detail was lost on him. The tracker leaned close to the smallest displacement in the rubble, where the Tenno had stolen away; masked by the Void. The pattern was no footstep or overt boot marking. Nothing so sloppy. But Parson-Luk was Ostron; Cetus-born. He had walked the Plains as a child, had smelled the touch of the Unum's power; had stalked between the stirring Eidolon as a young hunter; unmoved by their plaintive wails and trembling stomping feet. A land rich in the Void's taste; a battlefield from the Old War, it had been his home. You learned to sense the Void's work quickly, or paid the price. He started after the scent, the bones around his neck jingling as he padded after the trail; going by nose and nose alone. The companions followed, picking their way carefully through the ruins; bound for the maelstrom that raged at the heart of the city. Edited July 21, 2018 by (XB1)Katsuhiro 1139 We All Lift Together - Warframe OST - Keith Power Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
(XBOX)Katsuhiro 1139 Posted July 24, 2018 Author Share Posted July 24, 2018 (edited) "Push to keep the dark from coming…" - Solaris work song, unattributed -------------------------------------------------------------------------- There was only two of them in the Boardroom now. The staffers had fled; quietly vanishing as the Solaris advance bit deeper and deeper into the Watch's perimeter. The room was quiet and still. The shelling had stopped, which meant only one thing. "They're at our doorstep now." Kren Maruk took a final sip of his water. He set the glass down gently. The Watch had fought admirably. The Solaris had paid for every step taken with their lives, yet there was only so much his men could do. The Solaris fought like demons possessed; mechanised faces screaming blue murder as they threw themselves up the slope. Scrap metal and torn bodies heaped the approach, but for all their discipline, the Watch could not hold out in the face of the rebels and their wretched Tenno champions. The Solaris spilled through the firing lines; raking down crewmen with savage arcs of their hammers; as arcs of electricity lanced out and fried fleeing crewmen; who fell shrieking and thrashing. Maruk crossed to the Boardroom table. Kef Mehrino had emerged from beneath it; bleary eyed; eyes wired and wild in terror. The Director stank of booze, as he blinked up at Maruk helplessly. "What do we do?!" Kren Maruk shrugged, rummaging for the case he had brought with him when he first arrived. He set the case down on the table. Personal effects, the various little trinkets he accrued over a long contract. He had sent for it some time ago. It contained little. There was his first Flux rifle and helmet, from his days touring the Rail with the Corpus Navy. A hologram of him and his old war buddies; hunkering triumphantly over a downed Grineer dropship. A gem he had found on the cold surface of Europa; polished to a fine lustre after a long day's patrol. It also contained a pistol, an antique slug thrower; presented with at his last promotion, in recognition of lifelong service. He bolted the helmet on, his lined face disappearing behind the slit red visor. The pistol he gave to Mehrino. He kept it brief: "You wanted the colony. It's yours now, I expect; though for how long remains uncertain. Defend it, or don't. Try not to let them take you alive." With that the old commandant started for the door. "Where are you going?" "I have been a soldier all my life, Director. I will die as one. For the Void, for my corpus." With that Kren Maruk opened the Boardroom door, and stepped out. Alone, Kef Mehrino picked up the pistol, hands quaking as he studied it. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Kael roared at the Solaris to take cover. He ducked back. The electric shield he carried dissipated; fizzling out with a descending pop. He had pushed his Frame as he could; channeling the power of the Void to the point of exhaustion. Hosk and a clump of Solaris rebels were still with him, hell-bent on reaching the summit. Sara's voice was in his ear. "Kael, get inside." He could barely hear her over the keening shrill of her Cestra. "We need to get the auto-factories offline if we're gonna win this fight." "Understood." Volt turned to Vanger Hosk. The old man looked as though he had aged fifteen years in as many minutes. "I need a way inside." Hosk nodded, flashing a hand signal at two of the larger Solaris beside him. They were coolant workers by trade; burly men, whose boxy robotic faces stood at odds with their sloping shoulders. The war had found them with a new trade. The Solaris slapped demolition charges on a sealed doorway; yelling at their comrades to fall back. The charges detonated in an eruption of venting smoke and chunking masonry. Coughing from clogged filters, they flashed Kael a sooty thumbs up. The Warframe dove into the dun smoke; racing for the heart of the fortress. Hosk roared at the Solaris around him. "The rest of you; with me! To the summit!" -------------------------------------------------------------------------- High above the colony, removed from the murderous conflict that tore the Upper Tier apart, The Severance Package remained tethered to the Forward Transaction; its hook lines still gouging deep into its sister ship's belly. The two ships had drifted some distance away from the core of the fighting, and now floated alone in the sky; their plating scalded from the merciless brawl that had brought both barges to the very brink. An uneasy partnership developed. Sobil's crew, cowed by the number of casualties visited upon them by the Tenno, and the factual realisation that their quarry was far too dangerous for them to contain, settled into an uneasy truce with the very crew they were trying to murder mere moments before. Profit could wait for another day. Right now, survival was everything. Besides, Sobil's men had no intention of inviting further reprisal from the Void Demon, absent or otherwise. The Severance's crew for their part accepted their assistance with gruff pragmatism. Scores would be settled later. Right now it was business as usual. Get the ship repaired. Get it moving. Kelpo watched the two crews work together; Sobil directing his men as Stren pointed out the best means of extricating the savage javelins embedded within the hull. Grav-tethers remained in place; as both crews worked in tandem to undo the damage. Severed connections were soldered; worn plating welded shut or cut free entirely; used instead to patch further holes throughout their respective hulls. A chain of command was established, with the crew of the Severance ultimately taking charge of the two ships. When asked who was in command, Teico and Pohld had looked at each other and shrugged, before pointing at Telin in unison. Telin Voss, an unlikely captain, swallowed inwardly, but did his best to act the part; deferring to Stren and the other veterans wherever possible. HWK-44 wobbled in the air behind him, offering its assistance wherever it could. Sobil politely inquired as to Bravic's whereabouts. Telin wasn't sure what to say. Kelpo simply pointed to the melted deck plating around the vicinity of the command throne, stony faced. Telin got the measure of Sobil quickly. He was a careful man, good on detail. He was also a worrier. "You realise we'll be hunted for this now. The both of us." Sobil stroked at his moustache thoughtfully, "The Exchange's reputation for punishing failure is legendary." "We'll deal with them when the time comes. Right now we need to retrieve Kael." "Kael?" "The kid… uh, Tenno." Sobil paled. "I see." "Relax, Sobil; if the Exchange does come knocking, I'd rather Kael answer the door." The shrill of a proximity alarm cut their conversation short. "What do we have?" Telin asked, crossing the room. The view from the Severance's bridge answered his question immediately. The dropships descended from the atmosphere; hurtling in with all speed. "Multiple contacts!" Teico announced. "Corpus Navy; rapid descent!" "How many?" Telin asked, stepping forward. "Uh.. sixteen. No wait… second group coming in." Teico blinked. "A third." "Void's Teeth." Telin breathed, as the sky filled with streaking engines; too many to count. The Board permitted many things in the wider pursuit of profit. Mergers, fire-sales; even civil war, on seldom occasion; hostile takeovers in the most literal description. But open insurgency was another matter. The Solaris would not be permitted to defy the Board's authority any longer. They would be broken; put to the sword; crushed in both body and spirit: their survivors mechanised and sold into the most punitive form of life-debt imaginable. From the shipyards of Velasco to the debt-interment colonies of Prospectus and Fortuna; the message would be heard, far and wide. A singular response, one that burned in the minds of the Solaris and etched in their collective memory, reminding them of their place for generations to come. Full scale planetary assault. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- "What the hell is that sound?!" Neera asked. Vern looked up, lip twitching in a grimace. Brakarr boomed a challenge; mashing an armoured fist against his war rig. He unshipped his rotary cannon, pre-emptively cycling the rotor. Parson-Luk simply stared. He had seen ships and go, flitting in and out of Cetus. This was something quite different. This was a whole new level of war. "No time." Vern hissed. Neera wasn't sure whether he was referring to the colony or their present circumstances. "Move!" Vern barked at them, a startling degree of urgency in his voice. "Run!" They fled for the ziggurat, as keening engines filled the sky above. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Mirage looked up to the sky, distracted by the drone of descending engines. Ice flooded Sara's veins. They were out of time. "Hosk. Get your people out of here." "—we're close! So close!" "Hosk: Look up." Hosk turned on the steps. His eyes widened in horror. The first wave of the Board's forces touched down in the very landing zones the Solaris themselves had carved into the Upper Tier; disgorging men and material in volumes far beyond the Solaris' means to openly contend. Limitless resources, endless control. The Board's power was absolute. A finger of despair stirred in his brain. He had led the men and women around him to certain death. A calmness took over Hosk. The summit was just ahead. Kael had vanished into the heart of the citadel, dead set on burying the auto-manufactories' control source; entirely unaware that for all the good it might do, another legion of proxies was set to wash the insurgents away. Hosk's own objective lay just beyond reach. Or perhaps not. As Kael laid waste to the inner halls of the temple, the number of Corpus still manning the summit had thinned considerably. It would be some time before the Board's army reached them. They had a window; a precious window, to make all the difference. "For the Solaris! For freedom!" Hosk charged the steps; he and those reckless few. Statistically, the rebellion should have ended there and then. They were outnumbered. They were downhill, mercilessly exposed to the flow of bolts that snapped down and bit deep. Bodies fell. It didn't matter. The Solaris committed. Bullets rang out, clear and true. Soldiers of the Watch fell back, stunned by that desperate, defiant charge that would echo in folklore; immortalised in the forbidden songs, sung by the surviving workers long after Hosk's passing. What followed was a frenzied clash. The details would be forgotten, remembered solely by this account, and this account alone. Hosk alone reached the summit unscathed. How fate had spared him from the merciless fire not even the Void itself knew. He stumbled when he reached the top step, his legs giving out. Hosk fell in an undignified sprawl; a vice-like cramp shooting through his leg. He was alone on the summit, surrounded on all sides by heaped bodies; Solaris and Corpus alike. Ahead was the Boardroom. A single glass doorway, framed by onyx stone. The door opened. A Corpus soldier charged out. A single shot rang out. Kren Maruk fell without so much as a murmur; a hole burned through his chest. Hosk looked back at the figure who had reached the height of the summit with him. It was a young Solaris boy, the same one who had stumbled and sank beneath the coolant in the march to the transports, from what seemed like a lifetime ago. His tattooed face was filthy and he was bleeding; a searing plasma shot having fused his shoulder to the environment suit around it. He had been with Hosk every step of the way; from every street corner to makeshift trench. Every bloodied step. The boy collapsed to his knees, ragged with exhaustion; delirious. Hosk went to help him, but the boy flapped his hand, waving him onward. Hosk nodded. There was no time. Hosk pulled himself forward, hopping forward. His rifle was spent. He cast it aside. He entered the Boardroom; looking around. It seemed clear. Venger Hosk hastened for the access console at the head of the Boardroom table. Beneath it, Kef Mehrino shivered in terror, the pistol clenched in his hands. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Isolde saw the descending dropships, turning her back on them. She felt for the rebels, in truth. But this was not her war. The Corpus would continue to brutalise their own people, as they had for generations. Their time would come, eventually. For now, there were greater tyrannies to confront. She marvelled at the splendour of the Orokin ship, even as a repulsive shiver coursed through her spine. Eythan Dax awaited her on the Landing pad. There were no other guards, or enemies. "You came alone." Isolde nodded, hands clasped at the small of her back; back straight, her chin high and proud. Eythan Dax nodded, pleased; his voice a rumbling purr. "Good." He started toward her; one hand on the hilt of his nikana. Armoured cleats clanked on steel decking. Isolde watched him draw ever closer, face utterly expressionless. Her hair blew freely in the wind. Clasped in her hands was the single kunai, silver and sharp. Edited July 24, 2018 by (XB1)Katsuhiro 1139 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
(XBOX)Katsuhiro 1139 Posted July 25, 2018 Author Share Posted July 25, 2018 "Feel the weight of what we owe." - Solaris work song, unattributed -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Neera's legs burned as her feet slapped against the broken tile of the open plaza. Ahead stretched an open battlefield. The ziggurat was ablaze; pock-marked by shell fire; wreathed in a haze of smoke. The firing ports were silent. Bodies clogged the approach. Drones heaped the floor; rendering the once ornate plaza a wrecker's yard. The battle had ended. The Watch were broken. For the rebels, it was a pyrrhic victory. City Watch was theirs; right as the Corpus Navy landed on all sides of the Upper Tier; establishing a cordon that would only cinch ever-tighter, strangling the rebellion in its infancy. There was no time to worry about any of that. Her uncle was just ahead. They were almost there. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Data-Mass' teeth bit into the Boardroom data console with a metallic snap. Hosk worked quickly; letting the sub-routines do the heavy lifting. It had taken him months of searching and a lifetime of favours on the black market to secure a hacking programme of this calibre. The investment paid off. The program bored clean through Corpus security protocols, abusing the senior access control afforded by the ziggurat's command console. Ship movements, security rotations; personnel files of every Solaris labour camp this side of Venus. Every Corpus secret, every logistical weak point exposed; documented and stored for Solaris United to exploit at their will. Hundreds of people had died for this. Their actions today would save many thousands more. Solaris United had reprimanded his plan, when he had suggested it. It was never sanctioned, not formally. The cost was too great, they said. Were anyone to follow him, it would be strictly volunteers only. This was understandable. Direct conflict was, in all likelihood, suicide. Based on the sheer weight of Navy materiel currently touching down across the Upper Tier, Hosk was not inclined to disagree. But there were some causes worth dying for. "Don't move." Kef Mehrino's voice cracked. Vanger Hosk turned and looked at the small sweating trader with the quivering pistol, a wry smile of surprise on his face. "Missed you, hiding down there." Hosk shook his head ruefully. He was entirely unarmed. The console bleeped at him; the message bright blue on the screen: Data sequence complete. Would you like to extract? "Don't touch it!" the pistol rattled in Mehrino's hands as he shook it, insistent, "Stay right as you are!" Vanger Hosk looked at the console, then back at Kef Mehrino. Hosk saw the man's sweaty lip quivering; a face unblemished by war or blood or any semblance of hardship. Hosk offered a contemptuous snort, turned his back on Mehrino and stabbed the console with his finger. The Data-Mass clacked free, the process complete. Right as the pistol sounded, once. Hosk nonchalantly shoved the Data-Mass back into his rucksack. Then he pulled a chair out from the boardroom table; dragging it squeakily over to the vast observation window, ignoring the diminutive trader entirely. Kef Mehrino balked at being so flagrantly snubbed. "But… but I shot you!" Kef Mehrino protested. Hosk looked down. He had too. A blossom of red pooled across the front of his environment suit. Neat, as exit wounds went. He felt light-headed, but there was little pain beyond a dragging coldness. Vanger Hosk took what little time he had left. He rummaged in his pack; producing a stylus and the Data-Mass. He scribbled a note on its side, before folding his hands over it, protectively. The Data-Mass was all but indestructible; password-protected with a code only he and his most trusted allies knew. No amount of physical tampering would bring it harm. Kef Mehrino pulled a chair up alongside Hosk, quite unsure as what to do. He still had the pistol in his hands, but felt little compulsion to use it; ignored as he was. He could hear the throaty yells of more rebels approaching. Hosk settled himself in the chair, enjoying the view of the burning Data Stacks; the carpet of ruined proxies that littered the open plaza. The ruins of the once-decadent Upper Tier skyline, backlit by the Venusian ever-sun. The Board would reclaim this place, or destroy it; but today they had sent a message. That mattered. "Some view." Venger Hosk chuckled. Kef Mehrino went to answer, but the old man was already gone; that soft smile forever frozen on his lips. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Mirage awaited the coming storm; a silent sentinel at the foot of the ziggurat. Sara's first instinct when she saw the Grineer charging across the plaza was to leap to the attack. Then she saw the Ostron running beside it, earrings jangling. That was a first. Kael appeared at her side; his Frame placing a stalling hand on Mirage's shoulder. Volt's twin horns dipped in a shallow nod. "Friendlies." The two Warframes stood astride the Short Position, watching as the motley crew of bounty hunters approached. They slowed in trepidation. Even Vern seemed spooked by the sight of the Tenno; and the Corpus mass grave that surrounded them. Neera didn't recognise Kael until the boy's Warframe slackened; the boy materialising in a flash of incandescent light. He bowed deeply. "Kid!" she blinked in shock. "Kael." The boy insisted. "But good to see you Neera." "We're wasting time." Vern growled. "Isolde needs our help." Volt and Mirage locked their attention on him with laser focus. "So she is here." Sara said. "Where?" Kael asked. Vern's cheek twitched in a rare display of emotion. "Nowhere good." -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Isolde waited for Eythan Dax to close before she struck; the kunai splitting the air. It slammed into the Dax's throat. Blood pulsed freely over her hand. Eythan Dax just smiled at her coldly. She blinked in surprise. There was no warmth to the savage wound he had been dealt. Just an electric, tickling sensation; as the Dax seemed to warp and distort before her very eyes. The steel that suddenly tickled her throat confirmed her suspicions. "You think me so easily fooled, Star-Child?" Eythan Dax's voice growled in her ear. "I learned your brand of treachery long ago." The spectre projection before her vanished. Something clacked around her neck. A collar. Humming prongs studded throughout its inner side snapped out, tight against her skin. A rush of surging numbness flowed through every fibre of her being. The keen razor edge of the nikana relaxed, ever so slightly, as he leaned closer; taunting her. "Did you really think we would allow you to exist without a means of control?" Trainer's words stayed with her. React, adapt. Fight or die. Void Sense was gone. That didn't make her helpless. Isolde snarled and spun; slashing wildly. Eythan Dax was a master of the Thousand Feats, the very same combat style she herself practiced. They danced and spun; sparks flashing. Kunai met nikana, over and over. He had range, she had nimble speed. But not enough. Isolde was Tenno. Void-Child, Frame-warrior: a talented killer and a ruthless fighter. But without her Frame, still little more than a teenager; however absurdly skilled. Eythan was Dax, a warrior fully grown: the very pinnacle of the Orokin fighting form; honed from centuries of conflict. There was no physical comparison. His hand flashed out and struck her wrist; smashing the kunai from her grasp. Isolde's lashed out; a snap-kick directed at his collar bone. It spun away, deflected effortlessly. Physically he dwarfed her. His guard was such that for all her lancing strikes and twisting hits she may as well be hitting a brick wall. One that hit back, hard. His open palm thrust was a feint. A flashing elbow snapped past her guard and caught her in the belly; driving the wind from her. Then his hands were around her throat, his gauntleted hand all but swallowing her chin. He squeezed and she croaked; vision blurring. With a strangled snarl she linked both arms over his wrists; then hooked both feet over his arms; throwing her entire body weight into a rolling twist. They both tumbled down in a clatter of armour. Isolde rolled free, and was already up and moving. She sprinted for the shadows of the dock, beneath the belly of the mighty ship. Eythan Dax chuckled in approval, rolling to his feet and retrieving his sword with a humming, out-stretched hand. It snapped back into his palm with a meaty smack. He stalked after her, armour rattling with each stride. His purring chuckle reverberating against the shadowy gantries all around. "Run and hide, Tenno. Run and hide." -------------------------------------------------------------------------- The rebels parted like the sea when Neera stepped into the Boardroom. Kef Mehrino sat at the table under guard, ashen faced and miserable. Crude iron manacles shackled his wrists. They left Hosk as they found him; peaceful in his chair by the window. Sara stood by him; her Warframe parked silent and still by the door. She had heard word over the radio. Had wanted to pay her respects in person. From one warrior to another. She bowed at Neera, expression solemn. Neera stepped forward, with leaden footfalls, a tightness in her throat. She rested a hand on his arm, and knelt beside him, blinking quickly. Sara for her part placed a hand over Hosk's eyes, closing them one final time. She gently pried the Data-Mass from the man's hands; noticed the message scrawled by the stylus. The Data-Mass was caked with blood. She wiped it clean, as best she could, before passing it to Neera. "For you." Sara said softly. "Labour rosters. Access codes. Supply movements. More information than the Solaris could ever hope for. Every worker will thank him, and the others who gave their lives today." Neera wasn't listening. She was trying to read the message through blurry eyes. Neera My war has become your own. I can never clear that debt, or repay the cost you have paid in our struggle. I can only hope today settles a few scores. For my brother. For your mother. For a brighter dawn; a better tomorrow. With love Uncle Veng Neera clasped the Data-Mass in tight her hands; and wept. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- They gathered at the height of the ziggurat. As many Solaris as could fit in the confines of the Boardroom. Mixed with Vern's rabble, it made for an eclectic mix: the rangy Ostron and the lumbering Grineer; the war-weary Solaris and the silent, predatory Frames. Sara took charge, finding herself the leader of this sorry warband. A new plan formed. Sara crossed to the holographic map of Prospect 141. The ziggurat lay in the heart of the Upper Tier. Board forces advanced on every front. The map zoomed in. A long shaft formed a central spine through the heart of the colony. Smaller access tunnels darted off from it; facilitating the maintenance crews that toiled endlessly to keep the colony functional. Most of the tunnels had been strategically sealed by insurgent workers, though a few rat runs had been left open for emergencies. She pointed at the map, commanding the room despite her diminutive height. "There. Service elevator. City Watch used it to deploy patrols on short notice. Runs all the way to the Lower Tier. The Board have the high ground now, but the rest is still Solaris territory." "For now." Neera wiped her face, composing herself. She had Hosk's pack on now; the Data-Mass stowed safely inside. "Once they retake the ziggurat, this entire colony will be be made an example." "Not if we win." Kael replied. The boy had dismounted from his frame, and stood at Sara's side. "Win?" Vern scoffed at that. "Did you miss that army on your doorstep, or has piloting that… thing clouded your judgement?" Kael met his stare openly. "Numbers alone do not guarantee victory." "Vern's right though." Neera shook her head. "We don't win this in an open fight." "Then how do we win?" Parson-Luk asked. One of the brawny demolitions experts; a bruiser of a mech by the name of Sparks spoke up, nodding at the Data-Mass Neera clung to. "It's a holding action. The Data Mass contains everything we fought for. Extracting it is paramount, or else it's all been for naught." A murmur of assent filled the room. Sara nodded. "So we take the elevator, get the Data-Mass clear. Good. That's a start." "Elevator or no elevator, you're forgetting something." That was Vern again. "Second the Navy takes this place, they're going to be swarming all over the rest of the colony. I've seen patrols deploy from that lift before. Quick isn't the word I'd use." Sara nodded calmly. "A rear-guard is necessary, I agree." Brakarr immediately raised a hand as a volunteer. Vern scowled at him. The Grineer lowered his hand sheepishly. Sara smiled, but shook her head; her voice loud and clear. "The Tenno will hold the line." Kael nodded solemnly. "That's a death sentence." Vern sniffed. "Two against an army?" Parson-Luk shook his head. "Impossible, even for Tenno." Sara's smile lingered on the Ostron before she vanished. Mirage shivering as the Transference Link took hold. Her chuckle filled the air. Mirage cracked her knuckles. "Who said anything about there only being two of us?" -------------------------------------------------------------------------- It fell from the sky. The vague silhouette of a man against pink-scorched yellow clouds. Long arms close to its sides; in free fall. The wind whipped and shrieked as it descended. The shape never flinched. It never looked away from the drop-ships below. The operator breathed deeply, utterly focused. His skin was rock, his discipline iron. Primed for destruction; he plummeted, like a meteor. Like a stone. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Solaris assembled on the elevator within the assembly point in the depths of the ziggurat. It was broad enough to hold them all, and then some. Not that there was many of them left to hold. Neera nodded, giving the order. The young boy pulled the lever. Nobody spoke as the elevator groaned to life, whirring them down into the dark. Neera glanced around. Everybody was accounted for. Even Mehrino, who stood there shivering in shackles; a Solaris hand clamped on either shoulder. All except the bounty hunters. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Parson-Luk slid the maintenance hatch aside with a grinding squeal; the bone knife he had used to unscrew the rivets lodged in his teeth. He stood back, dusting his hands; nodding at his two companions. Terrenus Vern and Brakarr were geared for war; festooned with looted ammo belts, combat knives and bandoliers of bulging grenades. Even the older hunter had augmented his usual assortment of slings, bows and snares with an altogether more lethal array of Corpus-looted tech. Vern spared a glance over his shoulder as he paused in the hatchway. "Clocks ticking. Let's move." -------------------------------------------------------------------------- The bounty hunters piled into the dark; beneath the endless clang of marching feet. The Tenno stood alone at the height of the ziggurat, watching the encroaching army. A wall of light; shield auras and a sea of drones, rendered a haze by the sheer weight of numbers. Kael had not seen a force its like since the Old War. He looked at Sara. "You think this is a good idea?" Mirage shrugged. "Well, it's certainly improvised. Two of us, a bajillion of them. Should be a good fight." "No shortage of targets." Kael agreed, Volt rolling his neck as Kael limbered up. "Still getting used to being back in the Frame." Mirage clapped him on the shoulder. "Corpus have numbers. We have each other. We're playing for time here. Speaking of which…" The second wave had almost landed. If the third touched down, the sea before them would surely become a tidal wave. Advanced war proxies bounded across the ruined clearing. Lunging Hyena units; shrilling challenges of warbling scrap-code. Sara opened the com. "Doric, now would be a really good time." Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Blakrana Posted July 25, 2018 Share Posted July 25, 2018 36 minutes ago, (XB1)Katsuhiro 1139 said: "Kid!" she blinked in shock. "Kael." The boy insisted. "But good to see you Neera." Thinking about it, this reminds me in a good way of Captain Hitsugaya Toshiro from Bleach; preference to be addressed properly, rather than more casually. It's a tricky thing, managing to weave a moment of levity amidst the grim larger scope of events, and not having it feel jarring or out of place. Once again, best of luck moving forward. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
(XBOX)BigLithuanian Posted July 25, 2018 Share Posted July 25, 2018 (edited) God this story is so good! I really love how you made the story of the Solaris United in Prospect 141 personal with Hosks sacrifice for the Solaris! I'm gonna enjoy Fortuna so much more because of this story! Edited July 25, 2018 by (XB1)BigLithuanian Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
(XBOX)BigLithuanian Posted July 25, 2018 Share Posted July 25, 2018 On July 24, 2018 at 3:51 AM, (XB1)Katsuhiro 1139 said: For the Solaris! For freedom!" This is what I will be saying when I kill one of those big spider tanks and free Fortuna from total Corpus control! Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Aldrr Posted July 25, 2018 Share Posted July 25, 2018 (edited) Spoiler Those starting lines at the beginning of each "chapter" were a good way to catch a glimpse of the world's background. But now, with the lines from "We All Lift Together," it feels like it's become a countdown. Even with three frames, I doubt they could turn back a Corpus army like that. Unless... unless Isolde discovers her frame on that Orokin ship and resolves to "take up her mantle" again. Four Tenno might just win the day. But... there's still a Corpus cruiser in orbit with its full arsenal of guns, ready to bomb the colony to the void if necessary. To quote a popular character: "I'm very excited now. The anticipation!" 😂 Edited July 25, 2018 by Aldrr Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
RolloDex Posted July 25, 2018 Share Posted July 25, 2018 Please please please let that be my boi the punch man bouta lay into those Corpus fools. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Recommended Posts
Create an account or sign in to comment
You need to be a member in order to leave a comment
Create an account
Sign up for a new account in our community. It's easy!
Register a new accountSign in
Already have an account? Sign in here.
Sign In Now