Super Robot Quest

[Basarin]

0559, 4 January, A.D. 2070
High Orbit, North American Airspace

"Initiating descent!" a voice called out from the pilot's seat. "Patch, keep the shields up!"

"Make it fast, Hotwire," a tense voice called back. Giant metallic hands practically flew along the control console as the shuttle was buffeted by not just atmospheric entry. The purple haze that normally surrounded the ship began to flicker violently. "Oh, just fragging wonderful." His complaint was punctuated by another impact. "Looks like Tyrannous welded cannons onto the other shuttles."

"Well, you can't just redirect the shields backwards!" Hotwire snapped back. "It's too early! We'll burn up the ship in atmosphere if we do!"

"So, do you want us to burn from plasma behind us?" Patch snarked back. "Or burn from reentry?"

"Enough!" a third voice boomed. Both turned towards the cockpit entry, where a large Kaus stood. "Hotwire, get us planetside as quickly as you can. We'll have to detach the decoy sooner than we expected, is all." The larger Kaus turned to Patch, his expression unreadable beneath the visor. "Patch, I need you to flash load the generators immediately."

"But Galbinus-!"

"-it's dangerous to do in atmospheric descent, I know. Keep energy support and crew compartments prioritized, but we have to sell that we are taking critical damage going in." Galbinus grimaced. "I don't like it any more than you do, but better we get planetside with some damage than not at all."

"Complying." As much as he didn't like the idea, Patch skillfully manipulated the shield settings, and before long the shields were flickering even more violently. "Alright…if they don't think we're losing shields now, they never will," Patch grumbled. "I can't keep this up forever though."

"You won't have to," Galbinus assured him, before turning his attention back up to the rapidly approaching surface. He could see the horizon of the planet now. "Hotwire…now."

"Compliance. Detaching." The shuttle shook violently as literally half of the shuttle blew off. Hotwire winced; he immediately could tell it hadn't exactly gone as hoped. "Frag," he muttered. "Wasn't a clean break, we've got holes in the hull."

"Got you, Hotwire," Patch called out. "You're getting what shields I've got left to seal them off." The mechanic's hands had not once stopped manipulating the shields. "We're losing bits of the hull anyway though! Not sure how long I can keep this up!"

"...it worked," Hotwire said through the tension. "Pursuing shuttles breaking pursuit. Probably thinking 'close enough.'"

"It'll have to do." Galbinus manipulated the nav-data, overlaying a series of grid coordinates over the large northern continent they were making freefall towards. "Hotwire, can you get us down there?"

"It's not going to be clean, Sir, but we'll get there," the not-pilot promised.

"Good. Patch – "

" – bracing shields for impact, Boss, I know," Patch said in a resigned voice. "…ask you something, Boss?"

"What is it?"

"So, we're splitting off from Tyrannous' crazies," the mechanic asked. "But all we've been doing until we ran off is attack the natives. Who the scrap is going to trust us down there? Or even want to hear us talk?"

"…I wish I had a better answer, Patch," Galbinus growled in a tired tone. "But better that we made the effort than continue Tyrannous' mindless butchery." His visor glanced at the planet that was still shrouded in night, illuminated by brilliant city lights. "This species was on the cusp of spaceflight before our damned war threw us here. We interfered with their development. It's only right that we help fix our mistakes."

"This is your pilot speaking," Hotwire said over the intercom. "Planetfall to follow shortly. If you're not strapped down to something already, manufacturer be with yo-"

---

"…and at approximately 6:15 this morning, people up early enough might have been lucky to see a meteor shower. Though our meteorologists had already predicted it was coming, some experts were confused, as it was not expected for another hour.

Earth Union Air Defense Force officials would like to remind you that should a meteor fragment come down in your property or damage it in any way to contact the authorities…"

Spoiler: GM Note

Turn One post to come up sometime today. For now, have an update. I will tally the votes in a little bit.

 

[Basarin]

0858, 30 March, A.D. 2070
Outskirts of Defense Force Research Institute, Makeshift Landing Pad

We could do with a proper landing pad, you muse as you see the Yuri Gagarin make a lazy approach towards the 'landing pad.' Really, it was just a fancier way of saying, "big patch of dirt that won't have a giant vertical landing craft crush something expensive." The designated area for the pilot to really land in was, in fact, marked entirely by reflective tape and safety wires, along with a signal mirror.

Then you mentally snort at yourself. Right, we can get to that. After we invest more heavily in Variable Configuration, finding out what the hell Ignatov dug up, more secrets behind ESP, finding out if there really is anyone out there in our area, and oh yes, the kaiju sample. You sigh, which is thankfully drowned out by the engines of the Gagarin. There really was so much to get done, and not nearly as much time as you'd like.

As such, you practically sent Sasaki into a fit when you immediately struck down any and all attempts by her to set up some big ceremony for Peters. There were plenty of things you were willing to work with her on, but this was a big "NO" moment for you. The only concession you made was a small escort of guards, and nothing else.

Sasaki, incidentally, is studiously ignoring you as she watches the craft land. Whether it's due to lingering annoyance, or nerves regarding some possible inspection, you couldn't say.

You reflect, as Peters descends from the ramp with an aide, that you aren't worried. Your people produced some amazing results last month, and you'll let them speak for themselves.

"Ma'am." "Major." No pleasantries, just a simple exchange of salutes in the midst of somewhat high winds.

She gazes around the university with a raised eyebrow. "I distinctly recall the grounds were in a deplorable state," she says.

"Our Engineers," you say. In the corner of your eye, you see Sasaki's attention be abruptly grabbed by a message on her tablet. Dismissing it, you say, "It took about two months, Ma'am, but they made it work."

"Then perhaps I'd like to congratulate them at some point," she says. "But in due time."

"Right you are." As you turn to lead her to the grounds, Sasaki subtly – but with unusual haste – hands you the tablet. It is a short message from Lieutenant Wilde.

PLZ TELL MAJ TO REDIRECT TO SCIENCE FIRST. WE BUSTED IT AGAIN.

Busted what?

…

And again?

---

0915, 30 March, A.D. 2070
Motor Pool, Engineering Bay

"…okay, that's not supposed to do that," Wilde said with a concerned expression.

The CRX-01A was going to be a demonstration piece for the Brigadier. Was being the operative word here. It'd done fine in the driving test, configured to walker mode no problem, and could even grab and manipulate tow cables.

The problem today, it seemed, was configuring back into a car.

For one thing, the legs weren't supposed to bend that way.

"Think I found the problem," Henry called out from the innards of the CRX. With heavy work gloves, he held up a component that was heavily scratched and gouged. "Ripping out the patrol trucks' actuators to power the standing action didn't do them any favors," he said. Somehow, despite being waist deep inside several cars' engines, his clothing was still immaculately clean. "Singular point of failure. Once this went down, the rest of it lost too much power to go through."

Wilde walked over to examine it more closely. "Yeah, that looks pretty bad," he said with a wince. "Man, we just fixed this!"

"And that was after we had to replace the engines when you fell on it in walker mode," Henry agreed.

Wilde sighed. "We busted it again," he groaned. He scratched the side of his head as he thought the problem over. "Okay, okay…we can fix this. We have enough excess power from the engines." Tapping Henry on the shoulder, Wilde rushed towards the spare parts pile. "We're gonna need more of these."

"It's not going to hold," Henry protested as he hurdled over the engines.

Wilde just looked up as he held up two more actuators in his hands. He actually giggled slightly as an idea started to form. "Yeah…but what if we made it tougher?" Grabbing his welding mask, he added, "This only has to be a quick fix. What's the worst that could happen?"

"Now you're just asking for something to go wrong, Sir."

---

0945, 30 March, A.D. 2070
Carlson Laboratories

You shiver as a sense of dread crosses your path. "Something the matter, Major?" Peters asked.

"No, Ma'am," you say. "Just a lot on the mind, is all."

"Poor choice of words, Sir," Sasaki mutters. She abruptly steps backwards as a servo arm juts out in front of her. It is brought back into control roughly, engines whining the whole way, as the test candidate wrestles with the controls through her helmet interface. "Especially knowing where we are," she adds.

"Still, this is rather intriguing," Peters murmurs. Turning to Sam, she asks, "Do you think you could transplant this technology for conventional weapons or vehicles?"

"Too soon to tell, honestly," Sam says bluntly. "The Captain nearly getting beaned in the head earlier should tell you enough. We've figured out the whole 'how to make things move with our brains' part. Sort of." Gesturing to the rest of the test candidates all operating different manner of machines, he adds, "Now we're figuring out how to do it reliably. I should have something in a few months."

As Peters is engaging in conversation with Sam, you quickly whisper to Sasaki, "Are the Engineers good?"

"They…have not responded back," she whispers back, looking a little concerned. "And-"

"Major!" Both of you look up as Peters stares directly at you. "I've seen enough here. I would like to see this 'variable configuration' concept your Engineers have devised?"

You and Sasaki glance at each other. This is either going to be amazing or horrible.

---

0958, 30 March, A.D. 2070
Motor Pool outskirts

"This is a horrible idea, LT," Henry said flatly over the radio.

"You're saying this now?" Wilde asked incredulously.

"Well, yeah," Henry admitted. "Granted, I'm going along with it. If just to see what happens."

"Aw, don't be like that," Wilde said back. "Heheh, I really wanna see what this many actuators do."

"After you reinforced them all with steel plate, then welded them all together?" Henry sighed. "You did fill out your insurance claims, right, Sir?"

"Oh, ye of little faith!" Wilde laughed. "Now, this here wild beast is going to roar right up to these here – "

"Just start the car, wiseguy," Henry said as he spotted certain figures approaching. "They're on their way."

The only answer he heard was an utterly primal-sounding roar echoing from the motorpool.

"What in God's name was that?" Peters demanded as she approached.

"Ma'am," Henry greeted the general with a salute. He could only shrug as Major Devin and Captain Sasaki gave him inquiring looks. "We had some technical difficulties with the Variable Configuration, but Lieutenant Wilde had an idea for a fix. He's-"

Henry was immediately cut off by the sounds of screeching wheels along the driveway behind him. Uh oh, he thought.

A moment later, he could see the CRX approach rapidly. Too rapidly. Whatever the lieutenant did to the engines, it clearly was overshooting their original intent. He could make out Wilde's expression through the windshield as he approached.

It was a difference of opinion, but a giggling laugh was probably not the right response here.

Fully expecting Wilde to tumble into a burning wreckage, Henry blinked in surprise as the car abruptly configured mid-skid, the front of the car rising and leaning heavily against the back sets of wheels. Very rapidly, but in jagged spurts, the 'torso' and 'arms' rapidly unfolded, all the while skidding to a halt as the legs finally stood tall. Wilde had judged it to a nicety, as he managed to estimate the right distance; the CRX halted but six feet away from the officers.

"Lieutenant Wilde and Sergeant Henry, reporting in the CRX-01A!" Wilde announced triumphantly, the CRX proudly spreading its arms in triumphant pose. As much as a stubby car-mech hybrid could, anyway.

Henry blinked. But it only disoriented him for a moment. "This is our project, Ma'am," he said, going straight to business. "Variable Configuration. This is one step towards making a Super Robot. This is just a proof of concept; we put this together with available parts, and while they sort of work, they aren't ideal."

As if on cue, one of the arms abruptly snapped and fell off with a large CLANG sound.

"Now, this proves the concept works," Henry kept explaining, doing his best to maintain a straight face. "But it is going to require some custom fabrication from us to really make it work. But we think we can upscale this to larger vehicles, and of different functions." He resolutely ignored the sound of the other arm clattering to the ground. "Pending further questions, Ma'am."

"No further questions," Peters said. "But you may wish to help your lieutenant get down."

"Oh, he'll be fine, Ma'am," Henry dismissed.

Turning to Major Devin, Peters said, "Major. I would very much like to see further progress made on this."

"…little help?"

---

Spoiler: GM Note

Turn 4 post is likely to come tomorrow sometime.

 

[Basarin]

Spoiler: GM Note

Just thought I'd try writing something like this. Also do need to do some cleanup on the lore sections, but I'll get to those. Eventually. For now, have at this. It's not a complete list, but I felt this would be fun to do.

---

From: Sasaki, Haruko, Captain
To: Devin, Johnathan, Major
Subject: Facilities Progress Report

Sir,

As we are entering our ninth month in operation, I felt it prudent to keep you updated on the current state of operations. This should hopefully help quantify our achievements beyond the breakthroughs we have achieved.

I have no doubt that attention beyond the establishment in the EUDF will soon turn to us. As such, I am working with BG Peters' public relations officers to provide just enough information to satisfy curiosity, but not enough to give away our developments.

Respectfully,

Sasaki Haruko
EUADF, Captain
Executive Officer

---

The Defense Force Research Institute

Since beginning operations in January of 2070 the Defense Force Research Institute (DFRI) was granted the ruins of a university campus dating back to the Old World. Though destroyed in a Kaiju attack, within nine months the personnel of the DFRI have turned the situation around. What began as a set of ruins too costly for any private venture to consider investing in has abruptly become an established Earth Union Defense Force (EUDF) base of operations.

Its stated mission, as laid out by Brigadier General Louis Peters, is to conduct research and data collection in the nature of the extraordinary threats facing the Earth Union, and then research and develop the means through which to defeat them. With a steady stream of resources being granted to the DFRI, the hardworking personnel of this establishment are already responsible for revolutionary designs making their way towards EUDF distribution.

---

Defense Force Assets

Much of the credit to the campus' restoration falls with the engineering units attached to the DFRI. What began as a dilapidated ruin has now become a rapidly growing bastion of security and research.

Defense Net: (Strong): Though the wider counties near Gasparton were never particularly unruly before, it is now actively patrolled and protected by the EUDF. Especially in uncertain times when the threat of kaiju attacks, terrorists and kausen raids are the norm, their presence is a reassuring one.

Local authorities have already proclaimed citations of the Soldiers of the EUDF, and are held as spearheading the effort to uncover a previously undetected Westphalian terror cell, dispatching the cell before they could inflict any damage to the surrounding communities.

Sasaki: If this is as far as their narrative goes, then so be it. We do not need to advertise the Jackal just yet. We can let the FRC handle this.

The campus itself is now home to hundreds of EUDF personnel. Refurbished dormitories are now (rather luxurious) barracks, walls expanded to fortress levels, and more. Even local businesses are beginning to make inquiries as to expanding services to the Soldiers within.

Sasaki: Unlikely. The actual local businesses in Gasparton and the surrounding areas would get rather upset.

---

Engineering Assets

Campus Ground Repairs (Pristine): If there lies any reason why the personnel of the DFRI can live in comfort, it is due to the efforts of young, talented officers and non-commissioned officers. Where before there was nothing but tents and field works, now there is a modern campus with all basic services restored. Already safe behind expanded walls, the grounds enjoy their own independent power supply and running water.

Variable Configuration (Capable): The DFRI is understandably quiet about what they are developing at this time. While instructed to do so on orders of Brigadier General Peters, Major Devin, the commandant of the facility, did hint that the new innovations promised by BG Peters in a previous speech could be expected within a few months. "I won't promise anything," Major Devin was quoted as saying, "but I have some very bright and established people working on something both familiar and new. You'll know it when you see it."

Sasaki: Excellent deflection, but do please be careful with your words, Sir.

---

Science Actions

[THIS SECTION IS ORDERED REDACTED BY ORDER OF BRIGADIER GENERAL PETERS]

Sasaki: What part of 'this is confidential information' did that lieutenant not understand?

---

From: Devin, Johnathan, Major
To: Sasaki, Haruko, Captain
Subject: RE: Facilities Progress Report

Captain,

For public dissemination, this will do after we get some editing done (see attached). I'll want to do our own internal one later, though. There is still a lot we aren't going to disclose to the public for reasons of confidentiality.

I'd better get in touch with BG Peters though. Thanks for this heads up.

Respectfully,

Jonathan Devin
EUGDF, Major
Commandant

 

[Basarin]

31 June, A.D. 2070
?????

The Peace of Westphalia. The peace treaty that established the sovereignty of nations. The peace treaty that ended the many wars of religion in the seventeenth century, all (mostly) sparked by a protesting priest who pinned his complaints to a church door.

He wondered how he'd have seen the most recent movement named in that era's honor. Because it sure as hell wasn't very peaceful.

The man chuckled as he leaned back in his chair, one hand idly tapping a shotglass. Well, 'throne' was probably more accurate. He was all for independence and freedom of action, but he also very much did enjoy his creature comforts. A suit of fine silk, lavish tapestries and art, and all the creature comforts the modern era could provide. That he was able to collect them only under the banner of Westphalia?

Details, really. 'Liberation' of the Old World was all well and good, but it didn't really pay the bills. He'd found much more useful enterprises to profit off of all while technically in 'support' of this movement.

"Please excuse me, Sir," an assistant said as he walked up towards the throne. Bowing, as was appropriate, he held forth a tablet. Continuing to speak in their native tongue, the assistant continued, "You have some dispatches. One is a communications request from Mr. Koenig-"

The man huffed in amusement. More hot air, he supposed.

"-the other is a dispatch from the field. One of our products captured something of interest."

"Really, now?" The man grinned from behind a set of tinted glasses. "Well, let us not keep 'Herr' Koenig waiting. Let's see it."

"As you will." The assistant bowed once again and offered the tablet with both hands. The man, very lackadaisically, activated the communications request. To his utter lack of surprise, the communications read "SOUND ONLY."

"Pak," a guttural, digitized voice growled.

"Herr Koenig," Pak replied back with a sly grin, switching his language to English. He knew the man on the other side couldn't see it. He just didn't care. Propping the tablet onto the nearby table, he said, "To what do I owe this call?"

"That your warmachines are not living up to their promise," the man on the other line said.

"Now that's a little harsh, wouldn't you say?" Pak replied. Downing his shotglass (freshly distilled soju – he was nothing if not traditional) he sighed in satisfaction before continuing, "I sold you exactly what I promised: warmachines that the Earth Union Defense Force would unlikely be able to contend with. If your pilots aren't performing to your standards, that's frankly your problem to solve."

"Then explain how the likes of Valiant continue to defy our return."

Pak sighed inwardly. Oh, not this again. "One: I am not responsible for your pilots," he said. "Two: trying to force the return of the Old World like this is counterproductive."

"So you keep saying," Koenig replied. So far, so very standard – Pak had lost count of all the times they'd had this very conversation, and all the variations therein. "The usurpers continue to lose ground, and lose face, against the threats they face. The Kausen continue to sap at their economic strength. They continue to falter under Sheol's monsters. We have but to give them a push."

"So are you trying to push the mountain, Koenig?" Wordlessly, Pak's assistant handed him the other dispatch tablet. Pak frowned, but he wordlessly took it; if he was being handed this in the middle of a 'VIP' discussion, it was probably important. Or pertinent to said discussion.

He was not disappointed when he glanced over what he saw.

"And what's this I hear about you losing a cell in the Pacific Northwest?" he asked. Now this promised to at least provide some variation on this tired old conversation. "All hands lost, one of my tank-mobiles completely destroyed, not even any footage left over – Koenig, Koenig…this is why I don't like giving you nice things."

Pak's expression, even at that moment, was still placid and calm, if of a chiding nature. Inwardly, he had what could only be described as a 'shit eating grin.' It was so very rare he got to needle him about something new!

Koenig was silent for a few moments. Seething, or taken aback…Pak never knew. He'd never met his 'primary' customer in person. He was fine with that. "The Defense Forces established a new base of operations in that area," Koenig said. "Over the ruins of Morrison University."

Pak blinked at that revelation. "Intriguing," he admitted. "I can see why you sent a cell out there. Do you suppose they were after what he left behind all those years ago?"

"Anything is possible," Koenig rumbled. "My spies reported nothing but active patrols and a reconstruction effort before they self-terminated." Pak rolled his eyes. He never understood the fanaticism Koenig's half of the Westphalian movement displayed. "Which is why I am submitting a new order for you, shortly."

"Making another attempt, are we?" Pak asked. Pausing to accept a refill of his shotglass, he asked, "What makes you think they won't be expecting you this time?"

"The Defense Forces are weak," Koenig said. "And with time, they will be lulled into a false sense of security. It is just as well that they are doing all the excavation work for us; my forces will strike, and seize what they have uncovered."

"I do hate to blunt your enthusiasm," Pak said with every sense of false sincerity he could muster. Which was quite a bit, really. "But are you asking me to really disrupt the timetables for your other concerns? Poor old Yuan can only design something as inspiration permits, you know."

"You have until the end of the year, Pak," Koenig said. "I require equipment for a swift strike force. You will provide this to me."

"Oh, of course, of course, my Red King," Pak said, sarcasm dripping from his voice like venom. "Will there be anything else you'd like to disrupt? Your little venture is already cutting into our future operations in the European District."

When the line abruptly cut, Pak huffed in annoyance. "너 미쳤어," he muttered, reverting back to his native tongue.

Still, he calmed himself down as he looked much more closely at the other dispatch. He wasn't completely honest; his own blackboxes transmitted something back to him, though the image was somewhat undefined. Which was fine; it was more information than that bastard was getting.

His smile then grew back onto his face. Prominently on display was a robotic frame, reaching back to strike a punch at the tank-mobile unit Koenig had sent with them. And…how interesting! A robotic frame with…was that the front of a Coyote engine as the torso? Or was that the outline of a Blue Jay rover? The blurry outline made it so hard to tell, but it was definitely of Union make.

It was so...new. He didn't think the Earth Union had it in them.

He saw no reason to inform his 'customer' of the new development. He wanted enough equipment to outfit a strike force to hit an 'unprepared' foe? He'll get it alright.

Pak began to chuckle, before calming himself down again. Maniacal release could come later. "Well now," he said, "It looks like the Earth Union isn't happy with the rules…"

The lights flashed briefly against his glasses as he leaned back against his throne, still holding his shotglass in one hand while slowly developing a manic smile. "…this should be fun."

 

[Basarin]

???, 4 November, A.D. 2070
<ERROR, LOCALE NOT RECOGNIZED>

"Stupid, misaligned, defective humans."

"Aww, is someone upset they got their aft smashed in?" a mocking, cultured voice said from above.

Bandit took that moment to reactivate his optics, having been in rest mode prior. The smug, pale form of Scrapheap greeted him. "Get bent, Scrapheap," Bandit groaned. Shaking his head, he looked down to see that the damage to his chassis was mostly done. "I'd smash your face in if you weren't good for the shards."

"Oh, of course, of course," Scrapheap said with a dismissive wave of his bone-like claw-manipulator. The 'medic' glanced down at him, balefully-blue optics staring right at him. "I take pride in my work, and it's no good if someone thinks I short-circuited them."

"Bad for business," Bandit reluctantly agreed. As much as he thought the medical Kausen had more than a few haulers short of a convoy, he had to admit that they both had a very similar business outlook on life. "How long was I offline?"

"Three rotations, sure enough," the medic replied. "I made sure your plunder was stored away. Safely. You did pay for the insurance, after all. Though, I must say." The image of one of the human warforms in the hold appeared, hanging in front of the medic's grinning face. "That is most intriguing." Bending slightly to begin welding on a fresh plate to Bandit's chest, he asked, "Did the Solarians actually build something worthwhile?"

"Humans," Bandit corrected him. "The little pests call themselves 'humans.' And yes, they built them." He didn't need to go into the story of how he got these injuries, so he left it there.

"Fascinating," Scrapheap said. Applying fresh adhesive, he said, "…there. Now hold still until I say so." Turning his attention back to the warform, he frowned. "…you left a bit of local still in there."

"Hmm?" Bandit turned to the image. Sure enough, there was something of a red stain near the chest. "Oh. I'll have to clean that out. Guess there was still something in there."

"A quick pressure wash will do just fine," Scrapheap agrees. Bandit deferred to his opinion; he was an expert, no matter how crazy. "That said…how does it work? I know the Legion dirt-side has been trying something similar."

"They have," Bandit confirmed. "Only think one or two of 'em got it right. Dunno, though." He shrugged, and promptly winced as some of the adhesive came close to undoing itself. Thankfully, the paste righted itself quickly. "But the humans…this is new. This wasn't anywhere back when the solar cycle started."

"But you don't know how it works?" Scrapheap pressed.

"Not yet…" Bandit then paused. "…hmm. Might be good if I had a better idea of how this works before I give another one to the boss man."

"Ohhh. You're giving this to Tyrannous?"

"Wouldn't you?" Bandit smirked. "The first sample from earlier? Curiosity, he paid well enough, but, eh, not important. Now there's even more? Now it's a point of interest, yeah?"

"I would say so," Scrapheap acknowledged. "…tell you what. I will waive this fee…if you let me study this."

"Deal," Bandit said quickly. He didn't even have to make the first pitch this time! A new record. But… "Sweeten the deal some? You study this, we both go to the boss man and present this in a rotation or two. You give me the next patch job on the house. Eh?"

"I suppose…" Scrapheap thought it over, a claw-manipulator tapping against his chin. "…deal. I trust you will also bring me any additional samples?"

"Sure, sure," Bandit, but his processor was already wandering away from the conversation.

The damage was just about fixed. You could hardly tell it was ever there. But.

But.

The vision of that damned human warform refused to leave his memory banks. So unlike the ones he'd captured. So unlike the 'resistance' the human pests put up when he walked right up to their base while Tyrannous' boys kept the Legion distracted at that power plant.

And that combination warform…he'd barely hurt it. He could clearly remember burning out great gouges from it, but it didn't seem to care all that much.

He could clearly remember the strange beast-like scorch mark his weapons left behind on its chest.

"Timberwolf," the pilot had announced.

Bandit clenched his fists. Whatever name that damned thing would go by…this wasn't business.

This was personal.

"Oh, they'll get what's coming to them," he muttered under his breath. "One way. Or another."

 

[Basarin]

"Useless."

The beast thrashed against its prison, roaring its protests against its coming fate. Encased in its genetic sculpting cage, a mixture of water and the strange energies projected from the deceptively thin barriers rendered the mighty blows of the kaiju as helpless as an infant. Yet for all the restraints, the cage shuddered from each blow.

It didn't matter.

"Oh, my latest little disappointment, would you grant me the courtesy of at least attempting to recognize the futility of your efforts? As I do my own, for the wasted time I've put into your creation?"

With the press of a button, the kaiju was engulfed in a flash of blinding light. He impassively watched the writhing silhouette within struggle fruitlessly for a full minute as the arcane machines stripped flesh from the bone, blood from the marrow, and rendered the priceless genetic material back to its base components.

"You will be far more useful as building blocks for your successor," he said to himself as he turned about, his mind already on more pressing matters.

Alien lights of indescribable colors highlighted the pallid nature of Dr. George Sheol. Once pale skin was now green in appearance, brown eyes now an unnatural yellow. Well-trimmed hair had grown out of control, splayed in all directions. Any trace of the man who always strode confidently towards his experiments was gone, replaced by a shuffled limp as he supported himself with a cane pilfered by his minions.
None of this bothered him. Let other fools claim that he was slowly losing himself in the depths of this paradise. He was invigorated.

And yet not all was well.

As he approached his throne at the end of the walkway, Sheol spied the disheveled form of his aide. "Ahh," Sheol said as he slowly ascended the steps to his throne, laboriously pulling himself up each step with his cane. "A communique for me?"

Light passed over the hunched over figure, revealing its lizard-like face and scales. Sheol smirked at the appearance. Proclaim him mad, would he?

Well, the investigator would never think anything ever again.

Accepting the tablet, he then tapped the mindless thrall's head with his cane, signifying it was dismissed. As the creature scrabbled down the steps in a hurried manner, Sheol sighed as he settled into the throne. "I will have to make more," he mused as he looked over the tablet. One eyebrow raised at the contents.

"A contract from Koenig?" he muttered. "…hmmph. He thinks I can magically summon a kaiju on the drop of a hat, does he?" He paused. "…however close to the actual truth of things that is." His reverie was interrupted by the skittering of claws, punctuated by the muffled screams of-

He smiled. "Ahh. Fresh material. Good. I was running low on raw resources." He frowned abruptly. "Still running low." He looked over the contract once more. "…an attack on the North American District's west coast," he mused. "It has been far too long since we have seen fit to entertain such a wonderful audience. High time that they were given an encore performance."

The genetic memories of his last failure flashed across the flesh-like monitors in front of him. The image of that damnable black giant featured prominently as it reared its fist back to strike at the kaiju. "Mercury V," he scowled. "Always there to save the little parasites that rule from Unity Station." A fist clenched, and shook violently. "Damn you, Rin! Damn you and your Aeon Particle theorem! I would be so much closer were it not for your - !"

Sheol's body shook violently, even as he breathed deeply to reign in the anger. After a minute, the red haze slowly faded away. "…no, no," he muttered, in between gasps. "There will be a time for that…later. For now…I must recoup my losses."

He looked over the contract from the self-proclaimed Westphalian lord with a new eye. "…I suppose there is no harm in this," he decided. "Let Mercury V patter about Asia all he likes. I will turn my attention back when it is time." He looked up at the latest batch of prisoners his minions had brought in. "Soon. Soon I will have enough material to bring this world to my vision."

He began entering commands into the throne's console. "But I must start somewhere…the new product will make for a fine next attempt…yes…"

No one could hear the screams.

No one that mattered.

 

[Basarin]

ERROR: DATE TIME GROUP UNKNOWN
ERROR: LOCALE UNKNOWN

"You don't think small, do you?" Scrapheap murmured. Bandit turned his head and made an inquisitive noise. "Even with all the human warforms you've managed to secure, you aren't satisfied."

"'course I'm not satisfied," the yellow-clad Free Brother grunted. He rolled his shoulders, which still felt different after the modifications. "Not until I get a good showin' against that damned human warform."

"That's it?" Scrapheap asked. The Free Brother 'medic' stared at him through a single bright-blue optic, the only real clean part to him. The rest were nothing but patchwork plates and rivets adorning his body jutting out at odd and random angles. One eye simply was nothing but a plate welded over it, his right hand nothing but a surgical claw implement. Said claw twitched and sparked in anticipation. "You would just wish one confrontation with him?"

"Well, maybe after I smash its face in a few times," Bandit shrugged. Green optics stared back at Scrapheap's as the yellow-clad Brother took a few steps forward through the warship's halls. His outline had changed a significant deal: where it was blocky and humanoid before, now he had gained bulk on top of that to account for all the additional moving pieces. Sure, it wasn't an exact facsimile to the shapeshifting warforms the humans were using, and it wasn't going to fool anyone on closer examination, but it was close enough.

Besides, his was bigger and could shoot bigger cannons at them. His was better by default. Scrapheap did good work there.

"Still, this plan of yours..." Scrapheap's claw twitched again. "You know it carries risk, don't you?"

"Hey, if it's not risky, it's not profitable." They stopped before the door to the bridge. "This might not be a big payoff now, but it'll be a good setup for later. You gotta invest some to make more."

Before Scrapheap could comment, their way was impeded by a large Kaus. "Whaddya want, Bandit?" the giant growled, his deep voice echoing in the empty hallway.

"Hey, Rangefinder, my buddy," Bandit said with the fakest smile plastered onto his face. "We're here to see the boss mech. We're expected."

"Yeah?" The large green-colored Kaus peered down at him, his face coming down so he could stare directly at him. Bandit refrained from commenting that the dumb piston probably needed a decontaminant awhile ago. "...hmm. Suppose you do." Grunting, a massive fist slammed into the console nearby with an echoing thud. A moment later, klaxons sounded and warning lights triggered as the doors slowly opened. "Go on in," he grunted. "His mood's...eh. He's had better, he's had worse." Before Bandit and Scrapheap could proceed, he poked a finger forcefully at Bandit's chest. "Don't. Push. Your. Probablity. Got it?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure, pal," Bandit muttered, desperately trying to smoothen out the dent Rangefinder left behind. The moment they stepped through, the doors immediately slammed shut with a thud, the klaxons thankfully falling silent. In its place was a long walkway, the illuminators all mostly deactivated; only Solaris' primary star dimly provided some measure of light as reflected from the Earth's satellite. It all gave it the effect of simply providing just enough light to see the walkway.

They were then immediately faced with a cheerful sight. "Oh, my," Scrapheap muttered. "Clearly our leader was not pleased with someone."

The impaled remains of a hapless Drone featured prominently in the middle of the walkway to the bridge. The Drone's face was still locked in the image of pain, agony, and suffering as its limbs were dismembered and its processor ripped straight from its core.

At least, he was pretty sure it happened while the Drone was still online. It didn't make sense to do it afterwards. It wouldn't be aware enough to feel the pain, and wouldn't be enough to make every other Kaus around think twice about trying anything.

"It improves the ambiance, don't you agree?" a strong voice echoed from the end of the bridge. As Bandit and Scrapheap looked up, walking past the impaled remains of the luckless Drone, a figure slowly walked out of the shadows from the end of the bridge, with only a pair of blue glowing optics to indicate where he was. "This one failed to kill a single prisoner dirtside," the voice continued. His voice had a hale and cheerful tone to it, all the while still espousing happily the process of casually deactivating a sentient Drone. "I made my displeasure..." The figure emerged, revealing the tall, imposing figure of Tyrannous. "...manifest."

Bandit quickly sketched a salute towards the larger Kaus, as did Scrapheap. Bandit was always reminded of just how much powerful the leader of the Free Brothers was every time they made contact. Primarily red and white in color scheme, with the occasional yellow highlight, Tyrannous looked every bit as if he could rip him limb from limb personally. Come to think of it, that was probably what happened to the poor bastard behind them. The only indication that Tyrannous spoke was the booming voice, and the slight modulation of the faceplate that served to also hide his expressions.

"Checkin' in, boss," Bandit said. "We had a plan that we wanted to run by you."

"By all means," Tyrannous agreed. With a lazy motion of his hand, he gestured for the two to follow him. Only now as they followed their leader did the illuminators slowly flicker online. "I have to say, I was rather pleased with all the...samples you've been providing," he commented, idly grabbing a nearby Shard. Naturally he didn't offer one to them. "I was actually about to call you up here. I was interested in gathering different ones."

"That is part of our reason for seeing you, my liege," Scrapheap offered. "And a way to draw out the law mechs."

"Oh?" A port on Tyrannous' left arm opened, and the Shard was unceremoniously slammed into it. The fragments sparked and hissed as the Kaus' body greedily absorbed the condensed energy. Where another Kaus might react with a flinch, or a sigh of relief, Tyrannous betrayed no such reaction as he kept his attention solely on the pair. "Well...suppose you should explain this scheme of yours, then."

"Goes like this, Boss," Bandit said. "Last chunk of time, the Legion's been quiet. Like, real quiet. That means either they're really hurtin'...or they're up to something." He then activates a holographic projector, showing an image of the warform he'd fought nearly a solar rotation ago. No need to advertise that part, though. Or the result. "Now the humans? They're comin' up with more stuff. It's probably not just us; they've got their own problems. But that means even more stuff we can nab." He shrugged, but he saw that he had his leader's attention. "And given how the Legion seem to want to help the humans all the time-"

"-you want to get a new sample and draw out the Legion," Tyrannous concluded for him.

"Yes, my liege," Scrapheap confirmed. "We just do not have enough information to process where they might have relocated." The medic shrugged and spread his arms in a placating gesture. "At the bare minimum, we either acquire a physical sample, or we gain image and sound samples of the latest human warforms. If we are truly successful, then we acquire a physical sample and draw out the Legion, and gain clues as to their latest whereabouts."

Tyrannous pondered this information as he also studied the warform's image. One hand rested on his chin while the other tapped against his elbow. This moment, however, was arguably the most dangerous part of dealing with Tyrannous. Bandit knew that he was either seriously thinking about your proposal, or he'd already made up his mind about it and was just thinking about what the most creative way to rip you limb from limb was. You honestly never knew with this crazy, which was why Bandit and Scrapheap took their sweet time putting this proposal together.

It took Tyrannous all of a few moments to make a decision. "Very well," he said finally. "You will have a drop ship and a horde of Drones at your disposal."

Both Scrapheap and Bandit seemed to let go of a tension they didn't realize they were containing. It was short-lived. "However." Both looked up. "I want something for myself," Tyrannous continued casually, reaching for another shard. He sounded jovial now, but Bandit wasn't letting go of that stress again until after they left the bridge. "Find me something destructive," he said, as if he were asking them to simply pick up some chunks of ore from a nearby mining station. "I suppose I should give this 'configuration' business a try."

Translation: Find me something that matches my criteria, or you are getting impaled next. "You betcha, Boss," Bandit managed to say while maintaining a straight face. "And, uh, we'll just get started straight away." Scrapheap behind him nodded fiercely, to the point that Bandit was afraid the poor medic's head would get jettisoned like a spring.

"Good, good," Tyrannous purred. "You both can leave...just send in the next Drone, would you?" The Shard shattered in his hand again like it was just so much tin. "This one's done nothing wrong. I just need to break a mech right now."

Both Kaus walked away at a very brisk pace.

 

[Basarin]

Spoiler: QM Note

I'm not too sure why I wrote this. But here you go.

"Sam here! I just wanted to address a random question some of you all had. It's not exactly important in the grand scheme of things, but I thought I'd take a bit of time away from the Science to answer it anyway."

Spoiler: SCIENCE!

SCIENCE!

"You're welcome. Anyway. Some of you folks've been asking about the sort of music we use to grow the K-Class Materials. You all know by now that we default to heavy metal and rock, but that seems to confuse some of you. 'Sam,' you all ask, 'why metal music? Why not other genres of music? Like blues? Or jazz?'"

"Well I'll admit it's a good question. And believe me, it's one we asked ourselves way back when last year. We stumbled onto the positive kaiju reaction to heavy metal purely on accident, let me tell you. Involved a bit of a scuffle over the playlist, and it just sorta worked. But anyway."

"Turns out, any consistent sound will work just fine. It works even better when you have it in a regularized rhythm. Problem is that certain genres of music just don't encourage the kaiju tissue to grow fast enough for our purposes. We can't just wait on K-Class Material and put on coffee shop music; we'd be there the whole week. And more caffeinated than the Commandant. No need to horn in on his territory."

"So in no particular order:

"Jazz sees very minimal growth. The K-Class is growing, but it's got no sense of urgency. Guess I can't blame it too much for being this relaxed. Jazz typically doesn't encourage you to be on the move like someone's lit a fire on your seat."

"Blues...I'm honestly not sure if it was growing or was just moving. When we tested that one, it just sort of sat there for a minute before it tried edging its way towards the alcoholic beakers...

"...we let it have that one. We've all had those days."

"Military marches didn't turn out too bad, actually. Fairly uniform, all things considered. But not fast enough for our purposes. That, and we didn't want to give the kaiju tissue ideas."

"What? Why's everyone looking like they're in pain-?"

*bzzzt*

"And so on and so on. I could go into specifics, but rock and metal strike a nice medium between growth and speed. That and it's the only thing anyone in the staff can agree on, and I'd rather not have to break up fistfights or station a Steed in there as a bouncer. There's too much work to do as is. So hope that answered your question."

"Sam Carlson, we're done here."

 

[DaLintyGuy]

The city of Manila was alive. Not with the energy of the night, the simple Brownian Motion of a large mass of humanity going about their lives, but a directed evacuation. Starting from the waterfront an orderly wave of vehicles and foot traffic were directed inland. It was well that such practices were well taught and prepared for, as the bay heaved and jagged crags punctured the waves.
The word "kaiju" was often ascribed to the monsters that crawled into the cites of man in order to destroy and terrorize, a word rooted in mythology and superstition.

Such descriptions were apt for the strange beast that pulled itself onto the docks. Longer in length than the ships that hadn't made their way out of the port in time, made of matter that defied the comprehension of the brightest in the Defense Force, it's simple passage was enough to start the destruction of the docks. A sweep of the tail as it levered it's body up and out of the ocean collapsed a loading crane, pushing it's mass onto the vessel it had been servicing before the warning had been given.

Such an event hardly went unopposed. Missiles and shells slashed in at the creature. Well aware of the relative power being brought to bear the operators did their best to aim for the eye clusters or other apparent weak spots, to distract and delay the monster. But they were ants trying to fight an elephant, and both sides knew it. With a contemptuous snort the kaiju turned from the prepositioned fire points and ponderously dragged itself inland. Vehicles and men scattered before it rather than even attempt to slow it down further at the cost of their lives.

Wreathed in explosions and trailed by dust and smoke it resembled a demon wading through tall grass. Residential and commercial structures were trampled underfoot or plowed over, while skyscrapers were sent crumbling by blows from the bladed tail.

It was an unstoppable force that destroyed all in it's path. And then it simply wasn't.

"Sorry sir!" At the magnified shout the creature started to turn it's head but had the motion violently reversed by a black humanoid's fists. "But I'm going to need to see your insurance before letting you go any further!"

A pair of buildings collapsed onto the shovel like snout and were shaken off irritably. The creature had found it's match now and that called for a different set of actions. As the six legged crocodilian reoriented on the challenger the pilot of the robot just grinned and raised the fists of his mechanical shadow.

"Hiroki. The kaiju's armor over it's central body seems to be built to break away." At the introduction of the older voice the pilot paused and circled slightly, letting his opponent posture. "I find it likely that it is a reactive defense measure to physical impact."

"Don't hit the body or legs, got it." The pilot smiled, surging forwards as his shadow's head lit up with a baleful glow. The light wavered as water started to spontaneously condense and immediately freeze, tracking over one side of the kaiju's head and one leg. A thunderous downward strike pounded the ground with hundreds of tons of flesh before the unit known as Mercury V had to sidestep away from a sideways snap at it's legs.

Looking at the flaking over the affected areas Matsumoto Hiroki gave a self satisfied grin. "You aren't so tough are you?" He taunted the staggered construct, banging his fists together lightly.

The response was slightly greater than expected, as the kaiju's tail emerged from a line of buildings and slammed into Mercury's shoulder. The black mecha rolled with the impact to deny the blades any purchase and came back to it's feet in the ruins of a supermarket.

"Alright, I guess that teaches me." The pilot commented agreeably as he checked the status of his ranged weapons and pushed his mecha into a run back at his opponent. "First, that tail comes off."

=====

While the battle between man made gods was raging the mere mortals were hardly inactive. Vehicles darted down streets and around corners in clouds of dust and smoking rubber. Darting from cover to cover in order to canvas the area for any sign of straggling civilians.

"Gheist 2-4, be advised that the contact is slowly moving back towards the ocean." A cool voice sounded inside one of the searching vehicles and causing the driver to instinctively glance down at the source. "Make your way east to escape the anticipated channel of destruction."

"Roger that, making for RP Hotel." His vehicle fell apart and reassembled in order to climb over a stretch of rubble that was still shifting in time with the footsteps of the slowly approaching duel. "ETA... Eight mikes."

"Understood Gheist 2-4." The channel cut out and the driver shifted back into road-mode in order to make better time. When a structure started collapsing ahead of him he slid to the other side of the road to avoid the worst of the spray.

He was not prepared for what almost looked like a vehicle to ram into his vehicle and shove it into a small corner shop. Dust flew, the seat restraints did their job admirably, and he waited until he had stopped moving to trigger configuration once more. Standing in the rubble of the structure he swept his gaze over the scene and immediately found the attacker charging him once more. With minimal armaments his only real option was to try to dodge and in that he was partially successful due to having to break through a wall.

A set of mandibles closed around one of the Jackal's feet and shut. Armor grade metal and composite simply sundered at the touch, and the pause gave the driver a short look at what was attacking him. An armored back sheltered a pale white body from which extended dark black legs and jaws that were already opening for another bite.

Instead of letting it come to him the driver kicked the thing just below the mandibles with the slightly bent and sharpened remnants of his Variable's foot. Ichor splashed across the ground as the thing screeched in pain, and the driver triggered configuration once more.

"Valkyrie, enemy vehicle analogues are present in the battlefield!" He shouted into his helmet mike, not having the presence of mind to moderate his volume as the damaged Variable slewed around and fled from the site of the ambush. Skidding around another of the constructs another managed to grab hold of the rear and laboriously clamber up onto it's roof despite the evasive driving. Mandibles punched through the roof in the seat next to him and the driver, lacking any better idea, punched the super hard, armor cutting mouth parts.

To his surprise, it had an appreciable effect as the Jackal lurched and the creature's body went tumbling off the roof. Spinning to a stop he stared contemplatively at the now abandoned mouth parts lodged in his roof.

"You're welcome, Gheist." A Bulwark came rumbling up the street, the commander turned out and giving the search and rescue driver a self assured thumbs up from his cupola.

=====

Swearing in fragments of a half dozen languages Hiroki watched the battered kaiju slink back into the depths. While normally he would have pursued a lot closer... Spot failures were rampant as the fragmenting "armor" had been revealed to be a layer of suicide drones. Capable of chewing through the joints between Mercury's armor plates and filled with caustics for when they were inadvertently crushed by moving parts, the accursed creatures made up for the lack of immediate danger from their parent.

"Hiroki?" Yukimura asked, a small amount of concern entering his voice. "I'm not seeing any penetrations near the cockpit-"

"Sorry, just... Steamed at this trick." Hiroki kicked lightly as a section of ship hull that had ended up on top of the docks at some point. "I would have had it!"

"We have to keep in mind our limits." The old scientist pointed out, but wearily. After all, the kaiju would return some day...

EUDF units were pushing past in order to ascertain the damage sustained to the city and to eliminate the dregs of the "bore-mites" to allow for rebuilding. But the city would be rebuilt with customary speed for due to the actions of it's defender actual casualties had been kept to a minimum. Humanity was victorious once more.

 

[DaLintyGuy]

You watch impassively as the lightning storm that was the Arc Cannon utterly destroyed the Pilum.

Click to shrink...

The Foxhound hit the ground with a resounding crash, the sound of a massive weight striking the earth. To an observer the force was enough to sunder small portions of the Combination's legs before the cloud of dust and singed plants could fully rise to obscure it's frame. However, to the pilot it was just automatic stabilization deploying in preparation for the main event.

The Westphalian gunship descended slowly. It was battered and limping, but like a prize fighter it held it's ground unwaveringly. It's hide may have been peeled back from shell and secondaries to show it's twisted and burnt internals and smoke trailed it like the cape of an Old World gunslinger and yet it's pilot spread it's twitching appendages once more.
There would be no surrender this day, only a conviction sealed with blood.

With a rising hum, the Arc Cannon deployed from it's travel mode. Rails smoothly telescoped outwards even as the forearm handle snapped out and the hand of a giant accepted it to further steady the nigh apocalyptic weapon. The main conductors lit up as the main lengths secured themselves against each other and the Foxhound began to scream as it's back mounted engines spun up to full power in the space of seconds to feed the sudden and insatiable hunger that had just been introduced to it's systems.

The red and gold mech stood there on the blasted field. On one shoulder was a brutal instrument of death. A fusion of unholy science liberated from it's mad master and the earnest hope of defenders. Around it were burning husks and the retreating forms of EUDF Soldiers who had been sent to secure the destroyed, lesser war machines that had attacked their home while their champion fought against the enemy master in the skies above their heads. A few desultory last shells pattered off of the Combination as it corrected it's aim.

And then, anarchy.

It was as if a newborn sun had descended on the field as a new sound made itself heard, shining forth from it's cage within the rails of the Combination's weapon. A bass rumble akin to a monstrous dog's growl, continuously reverberating as the Arc Cannon made itself ready to cast judgement at the interloper. As it had been created to do, there would be no mercy for the defeated. Only the fury of a long dead god.

When the Cannon fired it was a ravening shaft of lambent power. A pulsing line that connected the now grounded Combinable to it's target with power inconceivable so few months ago. An all consuming inferno that filled the gunship with actinic flare, eating into and through metal with the appetite of the starving.
In the face of Jupiter's Fury, nothing of the traitorous machine was spared. Ammunition and fuel rebelled at the energies pouring through the gunship's frame and added their voices to the destructive choir to send armor panels spinning like coins scattering across a floor. Their trails framed the descent of the main masses of the once proud and dangerous machine. But now, for it's trespass, it had been reduced to nothing.

The only sound left was the venting of the Combination's weapon as the pilot stared out at the devastation he had wrought.