With This Ring (Young Justice SI) (Thread Twelve)
- Thread starter Mr Zoat
- Start date
- Status
Do-Over (part 8)
- Location
- Hampden Park
13th August
09:53 GMT -6
No matter how sophisticated we become, the psychology foisted upon us by our evolutionary history stays with us, lurking in the primitive parts of our brain. The surge of panic-soaked adrenaline that allowed Thog the Caveman to wrestle a boar to death is painfully maladaptive where modern combat is concerned, where a clear thought process and patience are more likely to be rewarded.
So, is the facility likely to have a reserve force? Probably not. I doubt that wherever their command centre is it's undefended, but I would be surprised to encounter a force capable of prolonged combat. After all, most of the facility has already been overrun and most of the slaves are… If not free, then certainly no longer confined. How far away would the overseers be? I don't think that the facility is a new build; the implication was that the owner's return to the Wombworld was a recent event but the complex has been here a while. Repurposed, then. A Psion scientist who'd newly moved into his laboratory wouldn't go on long trips away from it, not while there was science to do. They also wouldn't leave in response to a small incursion that was apparently contained, especially if the people carrying it out looked interesting.
So, still around. Focused on the action, but still worried about getting hit themselves. I bring up a map of as much of the local area as I have on file, discounting those locations which Miss Amane has already rampaged through. Psions dig, but they wouldn't have had all that much time to move without being seen… Probable locations there and there, possible places for other locations I don't know about there, there and there.
Sinestro. Show me where they're hiding.
The room discolours as my eyes shine yellow.
I'll do my best, Corpsman.
Nothing from the drones, of course. Those are either nothing like sophisticated enough for emotional resonance or in the case of the VRUs directly controlled by either the two owners of the place or their immediate subordinates. I ignore the glimmers from the slaves and sweep my gaze in the direction of the first potential hiding spot. Nothing there-. No, something. Fear of failing to achieve anything of note. Someone took a stray shot and believes themselves to be dying. Fine. Irrelevant.
Second location. Empty. Third loc-. Ahhhgh.
I stagger for a moment, blinking as I try to-. I see my home ravaged by a deranged goddess, the ancient Wombworld of the Psion's imagining flickering and being replaced with first Earth 16 and then with Earth Prime, the faces of the Psion scientists and engineers being replaced with those of my friends and family. Burning, burning all burning and screaming and running and there's nowhere to run-!
Ping.
And then I see the same thing happening to Apokolips, with Lynne's psychic might utterly humbling Darkseid and all of his court.
I stand upright, patting Mother Box with my right hand.
I knew there was a reason why I kept you around.
Ping.
It seems I was wrong about them being most afraid of being punched. Though that does raise a rather uncomfortable question. Sinestro, did you ever find out where Parallax ended up?
No, Corpsman. I did not. Until you persuaded me otherwise I had assumed that even Ion was a myth conjured up by the more theologically inclined Green Lanterns so that they could associate the green light with a divine being. Why do you ask?
Because seeing desires never had that result. I never found it overwhelming like that. I had rather been hoping that Parallax was safely contained either on Oa or Qward. But if he felt that…
Corpsman, I fear that you're suffering from delusions of grandeur. If my alter ego has been untroubled despite using a yellow ring for… Eight years now? Then I doubt that you have too great a cause for worry.
True, I suppose.
I climb back aboard the Spherecycle as I unsheathe my daiklave and generate a fusion cannon construct. I can't duel with the daiklave when wielding it one-handed but I very much doubt that will matter.
Mother Box, boom tube to that location.
Ping.
No argument this time, I'm pleased to note.
"Sphere, go."
I so often use hush tubes these days that the raw fury of the boom tube takes me a little by surprise. The sound would be deafening to a normal Human in narrow confines like these, and the brilliant flash as it opens near-blinding. And more than that, more than whatever trick the design plays with gravitons, it… Feels weightier in a way the unassuming hush tubes don't.
The Spherecycle surges through the tube aperture and a second later I'm in a storeroom of some kind that has been haphazardly converted into a command and control centre. Psions in light armour turn from their holographic interfaces and optical harnesses to stare at the glowing hole in the air. Fingers moving rapidly over drone control systems in an all-too-late attempt to recall some forces to defend them.
I raise my fusion cannon. Pulse fire only. Mother Box should be-.
Ping.
Will be perfectly capable of seizing control of these computers once their controllers are dead, but the computers need to be at least somewhat intact for that to occur. Three Psions have their chests burned to ash and cinders while a fourth has his head and left arm part company from his body with the assistance of my daiklave.
A tiny personal defence drone shoots me in the left shoulder, the particle beam being effortlessly absorbed by my environmental shield and armour. The Spherecycle pirouettes, annihilating two further drones with her blasters while I shoot a fleeing Psion in the back of his head. Two of the remaining Psions drop to their knees, tossing aside anything that could be a weapon or control device and then waving their hands to draw attention to the fact. I run the last active Psion through his chest -active really only in the sense that he was slower to remove his interface goggles and so wasn't as aware of his surroundings as his fellows- and dismount the Spherecycle, kicking his corpse from my blade and slamming it point first into the floor.
Mother Box, get to work.
Ping.
"And who might you two be?"
"Fon." / "Tront."
"Ah. You own this facility, do you not?"
They look at one another, then turn back to me.
"Yes." / "Yes."
"Good show." I pick up the G-Gnome from the back of the Spherecycle and deposit him on my shoulder as glowing yellow chains wrap themselves around the Psions and hoik them off the floor.
Mother Box, do you have control of the VRUs yet?
Ping.
Good. Use their graviton systems to block the wider area effect version from the planetary defence systems, then open a hush tube back home.
Ping.
They're the reason why the Citadelians are now clever enough to wipe their own arses without a map. They enabled the war that will be starting in a little while and they've been experimenting on enslaved sentient beings.
Ping.
No, not this time.
**G-Gnome.**
**[A-lert-ness]**
**Take everything of value from their minds, then shred whatever's left.**
09:53 GMT -6
No matter how sophisticated we become, the psychology foisted upon us by our evolutionary history stays with us, lurking in the primitive parts of our brain. The surge of panic-soaked adrenaline that allowed Thog the Caveman to wrestle a boar to death is painfully maladaptive where modern combat is concerned, where a clear thought process and patience are more likely to be rewarded.
So, is the facility likely to have a reserve force? Probably not. I doubt that wherever their command centre is it's undefended, but I would be surprised to encounter a force capable of prolonged combat. After all, most of the facility has already been overrun and most of the slaves are… If not free, then certainly no longer confined. How far away would the overseers be? I don't think that the facility is a new build; the implication was that the owner's return to the Wombworld was a recent event but the complex has been here a while. Repurposed, then. A Psion scientist who'd newly moved into his laboratory wouldn't go on long trips away from it, not while there was science to do. They also wouldn't leave in response to a small incursion that was apparently contained, especially if the people carrying it out looked interesting.
So, still around. Focused on the action, but still worried about getting hit themselves. I bring up a map of as much of the local area as I have on file, discounting those locations which Miss Amane has already rampaged through. Psions dig, but they wouldn't have had all that much time to move without being seen… Probable locations there and there, possible places for other locations I don't know about there, there and there.
Sinestro. Show me where they're hiding.
The room discolours as my eyes shine yellow.
I'll do my best, Corpsman.
Nothing from the drones, of course. Those are either nothing like sophisticated enough for emotional resonance or in the case of the VRUs directly controlled by either the two owners of the place or their immediate subordinates. I ignore the glimmers from the slaves and sweep my gaze in the direction of the first potential hiding spot. Nothing there-. No, something. Fear of failing to achieve anything of note. Someone took a stray shot and believes themselves to be dying. Fine. Irrelevant.
Second location. Empty. Third loc-. Ahhhgh.
I stagger for a moment, blinking as I try to-. I see my home ravaged by a deranged goddess, the ancient Wombworld of the Psion's imagining flickering and being replaced with first Earth 16 and then with Earth Prime, the faces of the Psion scientists and engineers being replaced with those of my friends and family. Burning, burning all burning and screaming and running and there's nowhere to run-!
Ping.
And then I see the same thing happening to Apokolips, with Lynne's psychic might utterly humbling Darkseid and all of his court.
I stand upright, patting Mother Box with my right hand.
I knew there was a reason why I kept you around.
Ping.
It seems I was wrong about them being most afraid of being punched. Though that does raise a rather uncomfortable question. Sinestro, did you ever find out where Parallax ended up?
No, Corpsman. I did not. Until you persuaded me otherwise I had assumed that even Ion was a myth conjured up by the more theologically inclined Green Lanterns so that they could associate the green light with a divine being. Why do you ask?
Because seeing desires never had that result. I never found it overwhelming like that. I had rather been hoping that Parallax was safely contained either on Oa or Qward. But if he felt that…
Corpsman, I fear that you're suffering from delusions of grandeur. If my alter ego has been untroubled despite using a yellow ring for… Eight years now? Then I doubt that you have too great a cause for worry.
True, I suppose.
I climb back aboard the Spherecycle as I unsheathe my daiklave and generate a fusion cannon construct. I can't duel with the daiklave when wielding it one-handed but I very much doubt that will matter.
Mother Box, boom tube to that location.
Ping.
No argument this time, I'm pleased to note.
"Sphere, go."
I so often use hush tubes these days that the raw fury of the boom tube takes me a little by surprise. The sound would be deafening to a normal Human in narrow confines like these, and the brilliant flash as it opens near-blinding. And more than that, more than whatever trick the design plays with gravitons, it… Feels weightier in a way the unassuming hush tubes don't.
The Spherecycle surges through the tube aperture and a second later I'm in a storeroom of some kind that has been haphazardly converted into a command and control centre. Psions in light armour turn from their holographic interfaces and optical harnesses to stare at the glowing hole in the air. Fingers moving rapidly over drone control systems in an all-too-late attempt to recall some forces to defend them.
I raise my fusion cannon. Pulse fire only. Mother Box should be-.
Ping.
Will be perfectly capable of seizing control of these computers once their controllers are dead, but the computers need to be at least somewhat intact for that to occur. Three Psions have their chests burned to ash and cinders while a fourth has his head and left arm part company from his body with the assistance of my daiklave.
A tiny personal defence drone shoots me in the left shoulder, the particle beam being effortlessly absorbed by my environmental shield and armour. The Spherecycle pirouettes, annihilating two further drones with her blasters while I shoot a fleeing Psion in the back of his head. Two of the remaining Psions drop to their knees, tossing aside anything that could be a weapon or control device and then waving their hands to draw attention to the fact. I run the last active Psion through his chest -active really only in the sense that he was slower to remove his interface goggles and so wasn't as aware of his surroundings as his fellows- and dismount the Spherecycle, kicking his corpse from my blade and slamming it point first into the floor.
Mother Box, get to work.
Ping.
"And who might you two be?"
"Fon." / "Tront."
"Ah. You own this facility, do you not?"
They look at one another, then turn back to me.
"Yes." / "Yes."
"Good show." I pick up the G-Gnome from the back of the Spherecycle and deposit him on my shoulder as glowing yellow chains wrap themselves around the Psions and hoik them off the floor.
Mother Box, do you have control of the VRUs yet?
Ping.
Good. Use their graviton systems to block the wider area effect version from the planetary defence systems, then open a hush tube back home.
Ping.
They're the reason why the Citadelians are now clever enough to wipe their own arses without a map. They enabled the war that will be starting in a little while and they've been experimenting on enslaved sentient beings.
Ping.
No, not this time.
**G-Gnome.**
**[A-lert-ness]**
**Take everything of value from their minds, then shred whatever's left.**
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Blazinghand
O cursèd spite
- Location
- California
Jeez, Grayven's not screwing around.
- Location
- Somewhere out there
And Mother Box seems to be okay with it.
............ Darkseid is proud.
The Bushranger
In the Danger Zone
- Location
- TSAB Asura
Grayven has sufficently made his case to suffer not a Psion to live.
Note that New Gods are Good. They are not pacifists.
And Grayven has made the case that this lot, at least, richly deserve terminal sanction; do remember that Mother Box just got a look at their computer records. Including experiments on sophonts.
It would presumably be different if he was trying to wipe out the planet.
Nah.
He left the creche managers alive, remember?
- Location
- Earth Prime
That raises the interesting specter of a creature that, when experiencing fear, drops into a coldly analytical state. Still, perhaps, quivering and gibbering, but with heightened perceptive speeds and thoughts analyzing so quickly that articulation is hard, rather than because higher brain function is subordinated to physical fight-or-flight preparedness.
He does seem to be adopting. Granny would be proud. Until she realized he was going to be such a bad parental figure: no beatings and minimal mental scarring! How neglectful!
- Location
- Bay Area
It seems I was wrong
ThrawnCA
Carbon-based biped
- Location
- Australia
clear thought processes
safely contained either
as I unsheathe my
See noradrenaline. Part of the 'fight or flight' reflex it leaves the individual a calm, rational and cheerful killing machine. Sometimes used by snipers and fighter pilots.
Cats naturally tend to have a lot of it.
- Location
- Hampden Park
Thank you, corrected.
NemiTheNen
Perpetual Phone Poster
I've been wondering this for a while. But is Grayven going Megatron on us?
- Location
- Somewhere out there
*raises hand* Not fear, but anger does that to me sometimes. When something truly infuriates me I feel the knot in my stomach drop, I feel my skin go cold, and I feel my mind start to run faster, searching for the things I can say to cause the most damage.
It is not a trait I am proud of -- frankly it terrifies me. But humans are definitely capable of that particular reaction.
- Location
- Hampden Park
Going? He's been doing that for a while.
- Location
- Somewhere out there
You have failed me for the last time,
Do-Over (part 9)
- Location
- Hampden Park
13th August
09:57 GMT -6
Drones irrevocably sent to seek and destroy Psion manufacturing facilities, check. VRUs keeping gravity as it should be,-
Ping.
-check. Lock the instruction in place, would you? We'll be leaving shortly and I don't have any other use for them.
Ping.
Good show. Hush tube to the biotech labs.
Ping.
And last but not least. A plasma converter appears in my left hand. I give it a quick check and then toss it aside. Mother Box has done her best to erase every trace of data she could access through these systems, but I find that physical destruction pleasantly underlines the matter. That little device will suck in and fuse matter until its containment field is overloaded, at which point the whole room will be incinerated. Should be enough to eat through the first set of armoured walls as well.
I take a grip on the Spherecycle's handlebars and she accelerates through the hush tube.
Slave pens torn apart, dead Psions and destroyed equipment all decorated with a smattering of violet crystals. A small cluster of my own drones are on overwatch but I don't see-
"What is that?"
-the Tamaranians we're here to rescue, who appear to have ducked into cover the moment I appeared.
"I'm the man organising your liberation." Mother Box, boom tube.
Ping.
And Sinestro, scan them for me, would you.
I've seen worse, Corpsman.
Considering what they've been through… Of course, these are the pre-operation slaves.
The boom tube explodes open behind me and Miss Amane precipitates out of the air in front of me even as my mouth starts to open to explain it, beaming at me with the delight of a religious fanatic before her god.
"Master!"
"Iname. The tubes are working again and I've dealt with the Psions who once ran this facility."
She nods. "As expected from you, Master."
That's one of those Japanese things, isn't it? Never mind. I point to the tube with my right arm. "I've got meals, medicine, baths and beds set up for you through there." In the room in which I usually have G-Dwarves answering my fan mail, but draw a veil over that for now. "Get going, because we're not going to be able to hold this position once the Psions pay it serious attention."
They hesitate. Huge and splashed with Psion blood as I am I doubt that I'm a reassuring figure. Miss Amane noticed it too, an almost comical frown appearing on her face as she moves her fists to her hips. "Master brought us here to free you from the Psions! Why are you refusing to let us finish rescuing you? Do you want to stay here?"
There's a brief nonverbal conversation between them, then they emerge from cover and walk towards the boom tube. Though their flesh is mostly intact -I imagine that's the result of the purple healing ray drones- there are numerous cybernetic plugs on severed limbs and empty eye sockets. The cybernetics that were presumably once attached are absent; missing legs are replaced by simple rod-and-spring prosthetics and arms and eyes are not there at all. One man has both eyes missing and is guided by one of his fellows, old and badly healed scars visible on both of them. I don't know much about how Tamaranians age, but I'd guess… They're probably old enough to have fought with Tamaran's navy in its failed attempt to preserve their world's independence. Speaking as the Apokoliptian God of Conquest, I have to say that I consider their efforts to have been bordering on stupidity. With a token tribute to the Citadel they could have maintained their fleets and eventually simply out-produced the Citadel. As it was, they chose pride.
Predictably, that didn't end well.
"Excuse me?"
I look down. This one is younger. With burns rather than shrapnel scars and is shy one arm rather than her eyes. "Yes?"
"The princesses and.. some of the others are in the vault. Can you-?"
"Look a bit of a prat if I did all this and then left without them, wouldn't I?" Let's draw a veil over the fact that I'm mostly here for them, secondly to give the Psions a bloody nose and the other prisoners are third on my priority list at best. I climb off the Spherecycle. "Sphere, reconfigure yourself into something that can conveniently carry casualties. Iname, get the Tamaranians settled in."
Miss Amane dashes through and the Sphere beeps, lands and curls up into a ball as I use my aero-discs to rise into the air. Now, to the vault.
The slave pit was arranged in a cluster of four hemispheres with individual cells built into the sides. From the wreckage and Psion corpses I'm going to assume that the column in the centre was a control post of some kind before my people smashed it. A heavy duty.. 'lid' has been blasted apart and the plasma shield generators still have the violet crystals which destroyed them embedded in them. I fly over a few Psions with the distinct bruise pattern which indicates they died from a purple death ray shot and head in the direction of the glowing violet light.
"For Zamaron!"
Ghia'ta shoves her crystal spear at the vault door point first, a wave of violet energy passing through the material to no apparent effect. Wisps of violet light dance around her as she continues to exert herself.
"Any joy?"
"Not yet."
Odd. She's had time. Psion technology shouldn't be-.
That isn't Psion technology, Corpsman. I told you that you should have consulted with the Weaponers. It appears that the Psions did not share your reservations.
Wonderful. And the walls, floor and ceiling are all made of the same material. Mother Box?
Ping.
Can't boom tube or hush tube, can't hack it, can't easily break it… Knowing the Qwardians qwa-matter would probably do the job… The Weaponers have been fighting Lanterns for so long that I'd be astonished if emotional spectrum-based technology did anything very much…
A hush tube appears next to me and a blaster drone floats through. I lay my hand on its chassis as its gun deploys.
Cast down their fortresses.
A bream of brilliant orange lances out… And achieves precisely nothing.
"Okay, I guess we're doing this the stupid way." I draw my daiklave-.
Ghia'ta frowns. "Wouldn't your god-killer sword be a better choice?"
"Qwardians don't use magic and this vault isn't alive." Almost certainly. "'Killing' it wouldn't make it crumble and cutting through the mass would probably take longer than we have. Stand back."
She floats back, spear held in a guard position.
NONE SHALL DEFY ME!
I take the daiklave in a two-handed grip and swing it into the vault door, the Nth Metal edge biting a good fifty centimetres into the material of its construction before being arrested. I pause for a moment before pulling back, letting the ring show me the state of the surrounding streets. The drones I sent on the rampage have attracted a response but that response isn't coming this way yet.
I draw the blade back for another swing.
09:57 GMT -6
Drones irrevocably sent to seek and destroy Psion manufacturing facilities, check. VRUs keeping gravity as it should be,-
Ping.
-check. Lock the instruction in place, would you? We'll be leaving shortly and I don't have any other use for them.
Ping.
Good show. Hush tube to the biotech labs.
Ping.
And last but not least. A plasma converter appears in my left hand. I give it a quick check and then toss it aside. Mother Box has done her best to erase every trace of data she could access through these systems, but I find that physical destruction pleasantly underlines the matter. That little device will suck in and fuse matter until its containment field is overloaded, at which point the whole room will be incinerated. Should be enough to eat through the first set of armoured walls as well.
I take a grip on the Spherecycle's handlebars and she accelerates through the hush tube.
Slave pens torn apart, dead Psions and destroyed equipment all decorated with a smattering of violet crystals. A small cluster of my own drones are on overwatch but I don't see-
"What is that?"
-the Tamaranians we're here to rescue, who appear to have ducked into cover the moment I appeared.
"I'm the man organising your liberation." Mother Box, boom tube.
Ping.
And Sinestro, scan them for me, would you.
I've seen worse, Corpsman.
Considering what they've been through… Of course, these are the pre-operation slaves.
The boom tube explodes open behind me and Miss Amane precipitates out of the air in front of me even as my mouth starts to open to explain it, beaming at me with the delight of a religious fanatic before her god.
"Master!"
"Iname. The tubes are working again and I've dealt with the Psions who once ran this facility."
She nods. "As expected from you, Master."
That's one of those Japanese things, isn't it? Never mind. I point to the tube with my right arm. "I've got meals, medicine, baths and beds set up for you through there." In the room in which I usually have G-Dwarves answering my fan mail, but draw a veil over that for now. "Get going, because we're not going to be able to hold this position once the Psions pay it serious attention."
They hesitate. Huge and splashed with Psion blood as I am I doubt that I'm a reassuring figure. Miss Amane noticed it too, an almost comical frown appearing on her face as she moves her fists to her hips. "Master brought us here to free you from the Psions! Why are you refusing to let us finish rescuing you? Do you want to stay here?"
There's a brief nonverbal conversation between them, then they emerge from cover and walk towards the boom tube. Though their flesh is mostly intact -I imagine that's the result of the purple healing ray drones- there are numerous cybernetic plugs on severed limbs and empty eye sockets. The cybernetics that were presumably once attached are absent; missing legs are replaced by simple rod-and-spring prosthetics and arms and eyes are not there at all. One man has both eyes missing and is guided by one of his fellows, old and badly healed scars visible on both of them. I don't know much about how Tamaranians age, but I'd guess… They're probably old enough to have fought with Tamaran's navy in its failed attempt to preserve their world's independence. Speaking as the Apokoliptian God of Conquest, I have to say that I consider their efforts to have been bordering on stupidity. With a token tribute to the Citadel they could have maintained their fleets and eventually simply out-produced the Citadel. As it was, they chose pride.
Predictably, that didn't end well.
"Excuse me?"
I look down. This one is younger. With burns rather than shrapnel scars and is shy one arm rather than her eyes. "Yes?"
"The princesses and.. some of the others are in the vault. Can you-?"
"Look a bit of a prat if I did all this and then left without them, wouldn't I?" Let's draw a veil over the fact that I'm mostly here for them, secondly to give the Psions a bloody nose and the other prisoners are third on my priority list at best. I climb off the Spherecycle. "Sphere, reconfigure yourself into something that can conveniently carry casualties. Iname, get the Tamaranians settled in."
Miss Amane dashes through and the Sphere beeps, lands and curls up into a ball as I use my aero-discs to rise into the air. Now, to the vault.
The slave pit was arranged in a cluster of four hemispheres with individual cells built into the sides. From the wreckage and Psion corpses I'm going to assume that the column in the centre was a control post of some kind before my people smashed it. A heavy duty.. 'lid' has been blasted apart and the plasma shield generators still have the violet crystals which destroyed them embedded in them. I fly over a few Psions with the distinct bruise pattern which indicates they died from a purple death ray shot and head in the direction of the glowing violet light.
"For Zamaron!"
Ghia'ta shoves her crystal spear at the vault door point first, a wave of violet energy passing through the material to no apparent effect. Wisps of violet light dance around her as she continues to exert herself.
"Any joy?"
"Not yet."
Odd. She's had time. Psion technology shouldn't be-.
That isn't Psion technology, Corpsman. I told you that you should have consulted with the Weaponers. It appears that the Psions did not share your reservations.
Wonderful. And the walls, floor and ceiling are all made of the same material. Mother Box?
Ping.
Can't boom tube or hush tube, can't hack it, can't easily break it… Knowing the Qwardians qwa-matter would probably do the job… The Weaponers have been fighting Lanterns for so long that I'd be astonished if emotional spectrum-based technology did anything very much…
A hush tube appears next to me and a blaster drone floats through. I lay my hand on its chassis as its gun deploys.
Cast down their fortresses.
A bream of brilliant orange lances out… And achieves precisely nothing.
"Okay, I guess we're doing this the stupid way." I draw my daiklave-.
Ghia'ta frowns. "Wouldn't your god-killer sword be a better choice?"
"Qwardians don't use magic and this vault isn't alive." Almost certainly. "'Killing' it wouldn't make it crumble and cutting through the mass would probably take longer than we have. Stand back."
She floats back, spear held in a guard position.
NONE SHALL DEFY ME!
I take the daiklave in a two-handed grip and swing it into the vault door, the Nth Metal edge biting a good fifty centimetres into the material of its construction before being arrested. I pause for a moment before pulling back, letting the ring show me the state of the surrounding streets. The drones I sent on the rampage have attracted a response but that response isn't coming this way yet.
I draw the blade back for another swing.
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Daecl
CURSED BY THE DICE
Heeeeeere's Grayven!
Typos:
Wrong word?
Wrong word?
"we're"
"I use", "built"
"Whisps"
"through", would"
SaltyWaffles
I am dissapoint, son
- Pronouns
- He/Him
I guess Paul missed these Tamaranians, then?
hance1986
The One Above All.
' built '
That feels wildly optimistic that the Citadel would have allowed a client state to grow to a level out producing them. Plus I would assume that as a clone race basically Citadelians had more men anyway.
But I do like the dichotomy here, Grayven going after the Psions and Paul going after the Citadel.
- Status