Welcome one and all to my little corner of insanity of SV, mind the ADHD bunnies.
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The cutting room floor (Fic ideas and snippets)
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jwolfe_beta
Semi Genre-Savvy Overlord
- Location
- Canada
Welcome one and all to my little corner of insanity of SV, mind the ADHD bunnies.
Over the years here and on SB, I've generated a number of fic ideas that have either stalled due to RL, muse bouncing off to the next idea or simply writing myself into a corner and needing to rework the idea from the ground up. So I figured scrape up the various snips, consolidate the stuff into one thread and between having it all in one place along with potentially more directed feedback, maybe my writing will get somewhere again.
Also if a certain question/complaint/query etc repeatedly comes up, I'll toss up an FAQ spoiler in this post so that any newcomers will be properly informed.
Over the years here and on SB, I've generated a number of fic ideas that have either stalled due to RL, muse bouncing off to the next idea or simply writing myself into a corner and needing to rework the idea from the ground up. So I figured scrape up the various snips, consolidate the stuff into one thread and between having it all in one place along with potentially more directed feedback, maybe my writing will get somewhere again.
Also if a certain question/complaint/query etc repeatedly comes up, I'll toss up an FAQ spoiler in this post so that any newcomers will be properly informed.
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[Oneshot] GuP: SCO-An old soldier
jwolfe_beta
Semi Genre-Savvy Overlord
- Location
- Canada
Series:Girls Und Panzer
Steel-clad Observations: An old soldier
My genesis was one of great expectations for father had put his all into designing myself and my kin. We were to be the next generation, marvels that our allies to look upon in awe and incite terror into our enemies. But like the Icarus of legend my father reached to far, too quickly when creating us with reality being unable to support his dreams and plans.
What was to be a powerful and mighty heart that would give us the strength and speed to charge across the battlefield was instead crippled and stuttering. When we were first shown to our father's master, my elder brother could not even make it across the field before collapsing in agony. And so we were passed over with our cousins being chosen instead. But even a lesser warrior can still serve so we were called into service to do all we could.
We fought, fought hard but in the end we failed for we could not drive back what we and our cousins had been made to defeat. The last I ever saw of the young souls that I had come to consider family was them escaping my broken form as the unending tide of the enemy continued to creep closer. To my sorrow I do not know if they ever made it to safety. And that was how my first war ended: in failure.
Years passed and I changed hands many times, until I was finally brought to those I would consider my second family on a great ship. They did not see me as a flawed curiosity or amusing side-show but as something more. I was to take part in a new war, not one of nations or ideologies but of status and prestige. And so amidst other cast-offs and relics I was restored to what I once was. While my heart was still weak and they did not have the skill to heal it, none saw this as failure, but a challenge to overcome. I could never be the charging avalanche that I had been meant to be so a new role was cast. I would act as the great steel-clad guard standing firm while striking down any who came into reach.
We fought well, basking in our achievements and learning from mistakes. It was a different war then the one I was made for but more enjoyable. No matter what occurred or how badly I was torn apart by the enemy those that I carried within would be safe. Years passed and I watched my family grow, introducing new members to me even as the older ones inevitably left for new voyages.
But as time went on the tides began to turn. It was said that I and the others on the battle-line were unneeded, that we served no purpose and efforts should be directed elsewhere. I remember hearing the impassioned pleas the commander gave to the ship's leader all the way from my place of rest. She asked for a chance to prove our worth, to show that our presence was valuable. And so the challenge was set: in the next series of battles, crush all in our path, leave nothing but broken wreckage in our wake and achieve uncontested victory.
We fought with all our skill and capability and spirits began to rise, that this war would be won, that our worth would be proven in the eyes of our doubters. Until we met those that had deterred us many times before. We brought everything we had and more into this conflict hoping it would be different then the one before. It was not. My second war ended much as the first did: In failure with my body lying broken upon the field of battle, incapable of carrying out my duties.
The sorrowful tears of my family fell onto me as they spoke of the fate of my comrades and myself. That we were to be rendered asunder, torn apart and sold as a means of 'recompense for the expense' we had incurred by our presence. But my family did not meekly accept their loss and our destruction. They spirited us away, hiding us in forgotten places, myself deep within the twisting corridors of their home. As my commander gave one last look at my form before dousing the lights and closing the door behind her, I knew my time was over.
I do not know how long I slept, months, years, decades? There was no way to tell, nothing reached me except the soft groans and creaks of the metal all around me. Until one day a series of young souls arrived before me. The first group lost and confused, the second to find them. Surprisingly upon seeing my form they grew excited and spoke of recovering me. Why? Was not the war over, what use could they have for me now?
But as I was raised from the depths and began to be reassembled I heard whispers from those that worked on me. That a new war had begun and unlike my previous, the stakes were not simply glory and standing. No, this war was more akin to my first, that unless it was won all that they held dear would be destroyed by those that stood against them.
And so I watched as the four who would pilot me learned my strengths and weaknesses. Even when my heart gave out they did not despair, instead repairing the new wounds but more surprisingly, seeing if they could repair what others never could. And with each attempt, I felt stronger. lighter, closer to what my long-lost father had intended for me.
When I saw the forces that would be opposing us for the final battle (to my shame I was not completed soon enough to lend aid earlier) I decided fate must have a sense of irony, for the enemy were my kin and allies from my first war. Granted they were not the same individuals, but a new generation made in their likeness. Their youth was easy to see, they radiated arrogance and pride like spotlights, such attitudes had never lasted long against the tide of foes we had faced towards the end. The commander's was different however. We had never before met but a fellow veteran was easy to see, his calm and purposeful demeanor matching that of his commander. No words were exchanged between we two old soldiers however, previous allegiance or not, in this place, at this time, we were enemies.
The battle was then joined and it was a battle unlike any I had ever experienced before. I snarled defiance from atop the hill as the enemy slowly crept upward, more then one falling to our collective fury. Laughter then erupted, my heart rumbling as I watched the arrogant youngsters lurch about when the little one brazenly dashed up into their ranks allowing us to escape, my armor deflecting their rushed shots as we all raced to safety. However what had been waiting for us in the town was far less amusing. Gazing up at that massive edifice I wondered if this is what the vast majority of my opponents had felt when they met me. Despite our new losses the commander once again found the path to victory and slew the hulk. Though I suspect no military planner ever envisioned (while sober or drunk) the means that she employed.
As the climax of the commander's plan approached I caught a brief glimpse of her and her counterpart racing through a tunnel which I promptly wedged myself in, blocking the approach of the subordinates who would have otherwise followed. I would have dearly loved to aid the commander more directly but this was the only option. We did not have the strength to wipe the enemy from the board, rather the head must be cut from the snake.
Strike after strike hammered into me, tearing my armor and body asunder even as I replied in kind, cutting down several of the enemy that then served as additional protection. It was a futile attempt but one that had to be fought. We had to buy our commander the time she needed to finish this battle once and for all. Even my broken hulk served this purpose, the enemy being unable to simply shove me aside and rush to their commander's aid. Hearing the girl pleading for her commander to fall back, the desperation and panic in her voice was an immense change from her previous arrogance and derision towards us. But for all her frantic attempts it was far too late for her to change the outcome.
"Kuromorimine's flag tank has been immobilized! Ōarai Girls Academy WINS!"
I am the last Panzerkampfwagen VI Tiger (P), hull number 150014, named Leopon by the Ōarai Academy automotive club, and my third war: is a victory.
AN: Because if new tanks are being made for Sensha-do, there would be no reason for anyone to make the Porsche instead of the Henschel. Ergo Leopon had to have come from the original series that Porsche made in WW2.
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GuP: SCO 1- We Ride forth once more?
jwolfe_beta
Semi Genre-Savvy Overlord
- Location
- Canada
AN: This was meant to be a series of short story bits that was inspired by the original SCO oneshot following the GuP series. Stalled until I can get a better handle on potential personalities of the other tanks.
'Another wonderful day of staring at four walls while gathering rust and dust with no end in sight. Truly I am blessed like no other.'
That the Panzer IV Ausf. D (admittedly a modern replica, original models were far too expensive to justify) was less then happy with his current situation was understandable. He was a tank, ergo he was meant to be used, not lying forgotten in an abandoned garage. It hadn't always been this way though; the times before the end had been memorable.
Sensha-dō, the very purpose of his creation and one he and his crews had greatly enjoyed participating in. Ōarai had never been a top-ranking school in the tournaments (that went to the ships with more funding than god) but the lack of a 'theme' had given the club more freedom when choosing their tanks. That aspect had made him all the prouder to serve them. They had not chosen him because they had to pick a German tank, but because they wanted him. The fact that he had been selected to serve as the command tank was merely icing on the cake as it were.
There had been good years and bad years for the club. Some times they made it all the way to the semi-finals. Others, they had been defeated right out the gate. But they had always managed to hold their heads high regardless of the outcome. Ōarai might never be champions but no-one (well aside from Kuromorimine, but they crushed everyone) could ever afford to take them lightly. Well, for a while anyway.
If his math was right it was now twenty years to the day. The day when his commander had smashed open the garage doors and called for all hands on deck. She'd been a talented girl with a good head on her shoulders but poised and lady-like? Not so much. Turns out the fool of a principal was cutting the Sensha-dō program for some reason. Fortunately Yoshiko had managed to cut a deal with the man: Get to (at least) the finals in the national tournament and give a great showing of Ōarai's capabilities and talent.
He'd only ever listened to the Old Cat with half an ear whenever the Tiger-P had rambled on about German crews performing near-impossible feats against the endless tide of the Allies. After that tournament he would freely admit Porsche knew exactly what he had been talking about. The girls had always been motivated but in that tournament? They were demons. He felt his tracks quake and engine howl as the driver swung him about in insane maneuvers; while his barrel should have glowed from the gunner and loader attempting to replicate the RoF of a heavy machine gun. And all the while, Yoshiko continued to bellow orders, driving the entire team to new heights.
They were magnificent. By any and all rights the team should have torn right to the finals and given even Kuromorimine a run for their money. Until they ran headlong into St. Gloriana and their hot-shot of a commander. He still remembered her smirk from across the battlefield as his flag popped out, his commander silent in shock and dismay.
After that it was over. Most of the tanks had been sold off while he and a handful of others had been hidden away by their crews, one final act of defiance against an uncaring world. As he and his commander looked at each other one last time, she started to reach out to his battered hull. For reassurance? An attempt to deny what was happening? He'd never know, but as she withdrew and walked away he knew that the same thought echoed through both Yoshiko and himself.
'I'm sorry, I failed you.'
Suddenly he was disturbed from his melancholy reminiscing by something rather unexpected. Sounds of conversing people from outside the garage. And it wasn't just passers-by. They were gathering outside for some reason.
"The Sensha-dō class will now begin."
He had to be hearing things. Sensha-dō was starting again? He might be put to use once more? It seemed far to good to be true. But the girl's words were proven true as for the first time in twenty years, the garage doors opened, letting a large group of students inside. A rather colorful looking crew, true, but he had worked with worse in the past.
"What is that?"
.....OK, at least one was greener than grass and/or needed glasses. 'I'm a tank! It's not that hard to figure out.'
"It looks totally worn out"
'You try sitting here for twenty years with no maintenance and we'll see how good you look.'
"Let's just say it has a transient beauty."
'Right, let's go with that.'
"This is just a mass of rusted iron."
'Bite me. No seriously, bite me you little brat.'
As the comments flowed he noticed one of the students walk forward and begin looking at him with what appeared to be a well-trained eye before placing a hand on his hull. Odd thing was, she seemed familiar but he just couldn't place her.
"The armor and the wheels look all right. I think this will work."
'........Yes. Yes it will.'
Steel-clad Observations 1: We ride forth once more?
'Another wonderful day of staring at four walls while gathering rust and dust with no end in sight. Truly I am blessed like no other.'
That the Panzer IV Ausf. D (admittedly a modern replica, original models were far too expensive to justify) was less then happy with his current situation was understandable. He was a tank, ergo he was meant to be used, not lying forgotten in an abandoned garage. It hadn't always been this way though; the times before the end had been memorable.
Sensha-dō, the very purpose of his creation and one he and his crews had greatly enjoyed participating in. Ōarai had never been a top-ranking school in the tournaments (that went to the ships with more funding than god) but the lack of a 'theme' had given the club more freedom when choosing their tanks. That aspect had made him all the prouder to serve them. They had not chosen him because they had to pick a German tank, but because they wanted him. The fact that he had been selected to serve as the command tank was merely icing on the cake as it were.
There had been good years and bad years for the club. Some times they made it all the way to the semi-finals. Others, they had been defeated right out the gate. But they had always managed to hold their heads high regardless of the outcome. Ōarai might never be champions but no-one (well aside from Kuromorimine, but they crushed everyone) could ever afford to take them lightly. Well, for a while anyway.
If his math was right it was now twenty years to the day. The day when his commander had smashed open the garage doors and called for all hands on deck. She'd been a talented girl with a good head on her shoulders but poised and lady-like? Not so much. Turns out the fool of a principal was cutting the Sensha-dō program for some reason. Fortunately Yoshiko had managed to cut a deal with the man: Get to (at least) the finals in the national tournament and give a great showing of Ōarai's capabilities and talent.
He'd only ever listened to the Old Cat with half an ear whenever the Tiger-P had rambled on about German crews performing near-impossible feats against the endless tide of the Allies. After that tournament he would freely admit Porsche knew exactly what he had been talking about. The girls had always been motivated but in that tournament? They were demons. He felt his tracks quake and engine howl as the driver swung him about in insane maneuvers; while his barrel should have glowed from the gunner and loader attempting to replicate the RoF of a heavy machine gun. And all the while, Yoshiko continued to bellow orders, driving the entire team to new heights.
They were magnificent. By any and all rights the team should have torn right to the finals and given even Kuromorimine a run for their money. Until they ran headlong into St. Gloriana and their hot-shot of a commander. He still remembered her smirk from across the battlefield as his flag popped out, his commander silent in shock and dismay.
After that it was over. Most of the tanks had been sold off while he and a handful of others had been hidden away by their crews, one final act of defiance against an uncaring world. As he and his commander looked at each other one last time, she started to reach out to his battered hull. For reassurance? An attempt to deny what was happening? He'd never know, but as she withdrew and walked away he knew that the same thought echoed through both Yoshiko and himself.
'I'm sorry, I failed you.'
Suddenly he was disturbed from his melancholy reminiscing by something rather unexpected. Sounds of conversing people from outside the garage. And it wasn't just passers-by. They were gathering outside for some reason.
"The Sensha-dō class will now begin."
He had to be hearing things. Sensha-dō was starting again? He might be put to use once more? It seemed far to good to be true. But the girl's words were proven true as for the first time in twenty years, the garage doors opened, letting a large group of students inside. A rather colorful looking crew, true, but he had worked with worse in the past.
"What is that?"
.....OK, at least one was greener than grass and/or needed glasses. 'I'm a tank! It's not that hard to figure out.'
"It looks totally worn out"
'You try sitting here for twenty years with no maintenance and we'll see how good you look.'
"Let's just say it has a transient beauty."
'Right, let's go with that.'
"This is just a mass of rusted iron."
'Bite me. No seriously, bite me you little brat.'
As the comments flowed he noticed one of the students walk forward and begin looking at him with what appeared to be a well-trained eye before placing a hand on his hull. Odd thing was, she seemed familiar but he just couldn't place her.
"The armor and the wheels look all right. I think this will work."
'........Yes. Yes it will.'
Vigilo Confido: XCOM 2/40K
jwolfe_beta
Semi Genre-Savvy Overlord
- Location
- Canada
Setting: XCOM 2/40k
Segmentum: Ultima
Sector: -Unknown-
Planet: Gaia novus
Imperial Calendar: 828-M30
XCOM mobile HQ Avenger: Command meeting room
'These letters never get any easier, not matter how many I write.' Thought Alaric Wardell, Commander-in-chief of XCOM forces and currently the most celebrated figure on all of Gaia. It had been two weeks since the all-or-nothing assault on the Elder's seat of power through the psionic gate, and he was the only member of that squad with the ability to be up and about. Mostly because the aliens had been shooting at the Elder/human hybrid he'd been 'driving'. Everyone else from Striketeam-1 was still in the medbay....those that hadn't been killed that is.
People were celebrating as if with that one battle Gaia's freedom was assured, that the war was over. Even if he hadn't learned what he did, he'd tell them that was complete Nerf-shit. Even with the psionic network down and the Elders dead, the planet still teamed with aliens and automatons that were quite willing and able to kill as many people as possible before they were put down. As much as he would have liked it, XCOM was not going to lack work for a long time to come.
A chime from the closed door puled him from his wool-gathering and made him check the time on his data-pad. 'That time already. Hopefully this will be better news than the stuff I'm writing to the families of the fallen.' Saving his work and setting the pad aside, he pressed the toggle to open the door and let in what he considered the three most vital parts of XCOM: Central Officer John Bradford, Chief Engineer An-Yi "Lily" Shen and Dr. Richard Tygan. No matter what his command talents were, if it hadn't been for these three miracle workers, the rebellion never would have gotten off the ground.
"Doctors, Central. Good you to come."
"No reason not to, Commander. Though if I may ask, why the face-to-face? Normally you just want us to send memos regarding project status." Shen asked as they all sat down and the door sealed behind them.
"That's the second item of this meeting. First however, I need to hear your reports on the ADVENT Black Site facility we captured."
"Of course Commander." Dr. Tygan took the lead as he inserted a datachip from his pocket into the table. Instantly a 3D wireframe image of the building was projected on the briefing screen.
"As speculated by Shen and Central when Striketeam-2 first penetrated the site, it is indeed a production facility. But what is most important is just what it was producing. Previously we had been able to capture transports of Elerium and 'alien alloys' but we never managed to locate the source with our focus on the Avatar project. Now however we have at last discovered one of the aliens production facilities."
"It's utterly amazing what we're finding here, Commander." Shen tapped a key, causing the display to flash through images of the facility interior along with what appeared to be strange microscopic constructs. "We always knew that the aliens somehow changed these alloys to have different proprieties based on the role required but could never figure out how. From what we've been able to determine the base material is created here and then, well 'programed' into becoming whatever is desired. That was why we could never figure out how to replicate the alloys. We were looking at the final product of a multi-step design process."
At this Tygan interjected. "Indeed. In some ways calling the material a metal alloy is woefully inadequate considering the exotic and varied components that make it up. The base material has characteristics that resemble a mass of undifferentiated cells that upon receiving the correct signals change themselves into specific forms of tissue. While this discovery answers many question we had regarding the materials used by the aliens, it is completely eclipsed by what was found in the deepest portions of the facility."
Here the screen changed to show images of storage crates containing glowing crystals with others depicting some sort of exotic machinery and emitters glowing with violet psionic energies. Bradford looked closer at the latter images and then turned to Tygan with a toothy grin on his face. "You mean our guess was right? It's not just a processing facility?"
Tygan nodded, a similar grin on his face. "Quite so. It would appear that Elerium is indeed an artificial element. From what we have determined so far, the facility is connected to an automated mine that funnels raw minerals into a sort of.....exotic breeder reactor that produces a mixture of transuranic elements which are then forged via psionic energies into the Elerium that we know. From what I can tell the aliens used Gatekeepers as the source of psionic energies for the process but I suspect that we should be able to substitute our Psi Operatives with a little work."
Alaric modded. Good news and the existence of the site had confirmed what he had learned. Of course this also meant certain other facts could be true as well. Still one step at a time. And first of all....
"Good work all around people but now the hard part begins. Bradford, get Fireteam-3 down to that place loaded for extended guard duty ASAP. Considering how important that facility likely is, any alien leftovers will probably move the Void and Gaia to reclaim it. Shen, pull any available engineers you have and get a defense matrix set up down there pronto. I don't care about the supplies cost, I want enough of your Mk2 automated turrets installed to drop a Sectopod in it's tracks. Tygan, did the databanks of the facility have any information about where the alloys and particularly the Elerium were being shipped to?"
Tygan blinked at the sudden change in topic direction. "Er, yes Commander. There were, but the records were all heavily encrypted. I had assumed that you would wish to have the facility fully operational before following those leads."
"No. Crack the files, find out where the materials are being sent and what they are used for. Get your best people on this Tygan, we need that info yesterday."
"Certainly. I will inform Mr. Murphy and Ms. Libby of their new priority at once. I'm sure...'Acid Burn' and 'Crash Override' will enjoy the challenge of tearing apart an entirely new alien encryption algorithm."
Alaric nodded even as he hid his amusement that Tygan's near-wince at the two hackers nom de guerres. Those two may have been quirky anti-authority throwbacks to a programmer and hacker culture that had virtually vanished after ADVENT, but he was glad to have been able to recruit both of them. What they could do to ADVENT networks and systems given time and a connection bordered on insane occasionally.
"Good. Because I want to know where the UFOs that chased the Avenger during the last few months came from. Considering their flight patterns they had to have been based on-planet and they no-doubt require a hefty amount of fuel. Capturing one of them intact potentially along with a maintenance port will be an Founder's sent boon."
Bradford looked up in the middle of typing out orders, a querying look on his face. "I have to ask Commander, how did you guess the location of this Black Site? As far as I'm aware neither us or the Resistance at large had any idea of it."
Alaric sighed. 'Well, time to come clean. Hope they're willing to believe me and not think I'm compromised or anything.' "I was intending to tell all of you about this at the end of the meeting anyway. All I ask is that you keep this between the four of us for the moment at least."
The other three looked at each other for a few moments before turning back and giving him nods of acceptance. In response he tapped the button to seal the room, took a deep breath and began.
"From the after action reports I read you all saw that the Elders were trying something to the Avatar and me after I lost contact with you. My best guess is that they were trying to download into the Avatar in order to open a gate and escape. The fact that it would kill me was probably a bonus for them. We started a psychic brawl and fortunately Shen and Tygan's Avatar was just as powerful as the Elder made ones in that regard. Problem is that with that sort of fight you tend to have 'leakage' resulting in side effects."
At this he held up a cupped hand and in his palm were faint flickers of psionic energy. "You already know about the first one. It's why I've been spending all my free time in the Psi-lab to get this under control. The second-"
"It's the transfer of thoughts and concepts, isn't it?" Interrupted Bradford. "I remember what happened happened after 'Xavier' managed to dominate that Gatekeeper. He could barely function for a week with constant nightmares, insomnia and hallucinations."
"The other Psi-ops suggested it was some sort of mental virus. A final 'screw you' from the Gatekeeper right before it's mental defenses were breached. We couldn't even remove it, just let the effects fade over time. Commander if they-"
Holding up a hand, Alaric interrupted Shen. "No. Nothing like that as far as I can tell Shen. My guess is that the Elders were either distracted by the psionic network crashing along with the base or they didn't want to risk frying the neurons of the body they wanted to hijack. What I got was a shotgun spread of memories, facts and locations that I'm still sorting through. The facility location was one of the bits 'on top' as it were. Half the reason we ended up searching the area was to prove to myself I wasn't going nuts."
"And yet it would appear that at least some of the information you inadvertently stole from the Elders is of use Commander. Have you recovered anything else?" Queried Tygan.
"Just one other real tidbit so far. The Elders were running from something. Something bad and while I haven't been able to make sense of what said thing was one thought was clear. They saw the avatars as the key. Not just to escape their decaying bodies but to finally turn the tide against this unknown enemy."
A grim chuckle escaped Bradford as he leaned back in his chair. "Never rains but it pours eh Commander? And here I was thinking XCOM would eventually be able to relax a little. That's why you want those UFOs and ports so badly isn't it? You want orbital and system wide defenses and that tech is our best way to boot-strap ourselves."
"On the credit Bradford. Nothing says that whatever was chasing the Elders isn't going to eventually find us. XCOM....no, all of Gaia needs to be ready for what's out there in the void. We got damned lucky with this invasion but we can't count on luck again. The next time something shows up, we need a big enough stick to ensure it comes in peace or leaves in pieces."
"Do the memories give any indication as to how long we have to prepare for more unsolicited guests Commander?"
"Sadly no Tygan. The Elders did something to hide their psionic signatures and from what I can pick out we inadvertently copied the technique. But with the network collapsing, them dying, the avatars........could be 10 months, could be 10 years. I simply don't know."
"Well then it looks like we have our work cut out for us Commander, Doctors. After all it would be rude not to have an appropriate welcome mat prepared for guests."
Everyone chuckled at Bradford's bad joke as they rose from the table and left the room. No matter what horrors would attack humanity, XCOM would always be there to defend it.
Vigilo Confido.
Alaric Wardell was not wrong. Despite everything done to shroud their minds and souls, the the fierce battle he waged and the death of last Ethereals echoed throughout the galaxy for those who could hear it.
In a realm beyond linear time and sanity, surrounded by madness, depravity, slaughter and decay, four entities heard the death cry of a species and hazily remembered a small but relatively enjoyable meal/amusement. Some servants were sent to investigate the occurance before they turned to more interesting matters.
On a world crafted from will and bone, an ancient observer of the strands of fate saw a thread end and paid it little mind. The eventual fate of the lesser species mattered little unless they effected his people's.
Finally on a massive vessel clad in gold, a God born from man turned and focused his attention. The death echos of xeno souls mattered little to him. But beneath it was the sight of a spark battling them. A spark that was of the twenty, his greatest works. On that day so long ago they have been torn from him and two of the lights had been battered, broken and extinguished by the storm. Eighteen still blazed like suns but here, where one of the two lights he had thought snuffed out, an ember now glowed.
AN: This idea is something that requires less in the way of writing motivation and more in the way of reworking. Because my original intent was to include the entire world of XCOM 2 including all the expansion packs (though ignoring the sequel hook at the end of the game). The issue is that not only would the Commander be corrupted in the Emperor's eyes, he's also working with psykers (Psi operatives), Silica Animus (Sparks), xeno hybrids (Skirmishers) and using xeno technology all over the place (XCOM R&D). All that combined would probably result in Russ getting his orders cut to act as the Emperor's Executioner once again.
So the next thought would be to shift the timeline to after the Horus Heresy but then I run into to be problems of when to introduce them, along with what sort of introduction to the 40k universe a post XCOM 2 world could survive.
Segmentum: Ultima
Sector: -Unknown-
Planet: Gaia novus
Imperial Calendar: 828-M30
XCOM mobile HQ Avenger: Command meeting room
'These letters never get any easier, not matter how many I write.' Thought Alaric Wardell, Commander-in-chief of XCOM forces and currently the most celebrated figure on all of Gaia. It had been two weeks since the all-or-nothing assault on the Elder's seat of power through the psionic gate, and he was the only member of that squad with the ability to be up and about. Mostly because the aliens had been shooting at the Elder/human hybrid he'd been 'driving'. Everyone else from Striketeam-1 was still in the medbay....those that hadn't been killed that is.
People were celebrating as if with that one battle Gaia's freedom was assured, that the war was over. Even if he hadn't learned what he did, he'd tell them that was complete Nerf-shit. Even with the psionic network down and the Elders dead, the planet still teamed with aliens and automatons that were quite willing and able to kill as many people as possible before they were put down. As much as he would have liked it, XCOM was not going to lack work for a long time to come.
A chime from the closed door puled him from his wool-gathering and made him check the time on his data-pad. 'That time already. Hopefully this will be better news than the stuff I'm writing to the families of the fallen.' Saving his work and setting the pad aside, he pressed the toggle to open the door and let in what he considered the three most vital parts of XCOM: Central Officer John Bradford, Chief Engineer An-Yi "Lily" Shen and Dr. Richard Tygan. No matter what his command talents were, if it hadn't been for these three miracle workers, the rebellion never would have gotten off the ground.
"Doctors, Central. Good you to come."
"No reason not to, Commander. Though if I may ask, why the face-to-face? Normally you just want us to send memos regarding project status." Shen asked as they all sat down and the door sealed behind them.
"That's the second item of this meeting. First however, I need to hear your reports on the ADVENT Black Site facility we captured."
"Of course Commander." Dr. Tygan took the lead as he inserted a datachip from his pocket into the table. Instantly a 3D wireframe image of the building was projected on the briefing screen.
"As speculated by Shen and Central when Striketeam-2 first penetrated the site, it is indeed a production facility. But what is most important is just what it was producing. Previously we had been able to capture transports of Elerium and 'alien alloys' but we never managed to locate the source with our focus on the Avatar project. Now however we have at last discovered one of the aliens production facilities."
"It's utterly amazing what we're finding here, Commander." Shen tapped a key, causing the display to flash through images of the facility interior along with what appeared to be strange microscopic constructs. "We always knew that the aliens somehow changed these alloys to have different proprieties based on the role required but could never figure out how. From what we've been able to determine the base material is created here and then, well 'programed' into becoming whatever is desired. That was why we could never figure out how to replicate the alloys. We were looking at the final product of a multi-step design process."
At this Tygan interjected. "Indeed. In some ways calling the material a metal alloy is woefully inadequate considering the exotic and varied components that make it up. The base material has characteristics that resemble a mass of undifferentiated cells that upon receiving the correct signals change themselves into specific forms of tissue. While this discovery answers many question we had regarding the materials used by the aliens, it is completely eclipsed by what was found in the deepest portions of the facility."
Here the screen changed to show images of storage crates containing glowing crystals with others depicting some sort of exotic machinery and emitters glowing with violet psionic energies. Bradford looked closer at the latter images and then turned to Tygan with a toothy grin on his face. "You mean our guess was right? It's not just a processing facility?"
Tygan nodded, a similar grin on his face. "Quite so. It would appear that Elerium is indeed an artificial element. From what we have determined so far, the facility is connected to an automated mine that funnels raw minerals into a sort of.....exotic breeder reactor that produces a mixture of transuranic elements which are then forged via psionic energies into the Elerium that we know. From what I can tell the aliens used Gatekeepers as the source of psionic energies for the process but I suspect that we should be able to substitute our Psi Operatives with a little work."
Alaric modded. Good news and the existence of the site had confirmed what he had learned. Of course this also meant certain other facts could be true as well. Still one step at a time. And first of all....
"Good work all around people but now the hard part begins. Bradford, get Fireteam-3 down to that place loaded for extended guard duty ASAP. Considering how important that facility likely is, any alien leftovers will probably move the Void and Gaia to reclaim it. Shen, pull any available engineers you have and get a defense matrix set up down there pronto. I don't care about the supplies cost, I want enough of your Mk2 automated turrets installed to drop a Sectopod in it's tracks. Tygan, did the databanks of the facility have any information about where the alloys and particularly the Elerium were being shipped to?"
Tygan blinked at the sudden change in topic direction. "Er, yes Commander. There were, but the records were all heavily encrypted. I had assumed that you would wish to have the facility fully operational before following those leads."
"No. Crack the files, find out where the materials are being sent and what they are used for. Get your best people on this Tygan, we need that info yesterday."
"Certainly. I will inform Mr. Murphy and Ms. Libby of their new priority at once. I'm sure...'Acid Burn' and 'Crash Override' will enjoy the challenge of tearing apart an entirely new alien encryption algorithm."
Alaric nodded even as he hid his amusement that Tygan's near-wince at the two hackers nom de guerres. Those two may have been quirky anti-authority throwbacks to a programmer and hacker culture that had virtually vanished after ADVENT, but he was glad to have been able to recruit both of them. What they could do to ADVENT networks and systems given time and a connection bordered on insane occasionally.
"Good. Because I want to know where the UFOs that chased the Avenger during the last few months came from. Considering their flight patterns they had to have been based on-planet and they no-doubt require a hefty amount of fuel. Capturing one of them intact potentially along with a maintenance port will be an Founder's sent boon."
Bradford looked up in the middle of typing out orders, a querying look on his face. "I have to ask Commander, how did you guess the location of this Black Site? As far as I'm aware neither us or the Resistance at large had any idea of it."
Alaric sighed. 'Well, time to come clean. Hope they're willing to believe me and not think I'm compromised or anything.' "I was intending to tell all of you about this at the end of the meeting anyway. All I ask is that you keep this between the four of us for the moment at least."
The other three looked at each other for a few moments before turning back and giving him nods of acceptance. In response he tapped the button to seal the room, took a deep breath and began.
"From the after action reports I read you all saw that the Elders were trying something to the Avatar and me after I lost contact with you. My best guess is that they were trying to download into the Avatar in order to open a gate and escape. The fact that it would kill me was probably a bonus for them. We started a psychic brawl and fortunately Shen and Tygan's Avatar was just as powerful as the Elder made ones in that regard. Problem is that with that sort of fight you tend to have 'leakage' resulting in side effects."
At this he held up a cupped hand and in his palm were faint flickers of psionic energy. "You already know about the first one. It's why I've been spending all my free time in the Psi-lab to get this under control. The second-"
"It's the transfer of thoughts and concepts, isn't it?" Interrupted Bradford. "I remember what happened happened after 'Xavier' managed to dominate that Gatekeeper. He could barely function for a week with constant nightmares, insomnia and hallucinations."
"The other Psi-ops suggested it was some sort of mental virus. A final 'screw you' from the Gatekeeper right before it's mental defenses were breached. We couldn't even remove it, just let the effects fade over time. Commander if they-"
Holding up a hand, Alaric interrupted Shen. "No. Nothing like that as far as I can tell Shen. My guess is that the Elders were either distracted by the psionic network crashing along with the base or they didn't want to risk frying the neurons of the body they wanted to hijack. What I got was a shotgun spread of memories, facts and locations that I'm still sorting through. The facility location was one of the bits 'on top' as it were. Half the reason we ended up searching the area was to prove to myself I wasn't going nuts."
"And yet it would appear that at least some of the information you inadvertently stole from the Elders is of use Commander. Have you recovered anything else?" Queried Tygan.
"Just one other real tidbit so far. The Elders were running from something. Something bad and while I haven't been able to make sense of what said thing was one thought was clear. They saw the avatars as the key. Not just to escape their decaying bodies but to finally turn the tide against this unknown enemy."
A grim chuckle escaped Bradford as he leaned back in his chair. "Never rains but it pours eh Commander? And here I was thinking XCOM would eventually be able to relax a little. That's why you want those UFOs and ports so badly isn't it? You want orbital and system wide defenses and that tech is our best way to boot-strap ourselves."
"On the credit Bradford. Nothing says that whatever was chasing the Elders isn't going to eventually find us. XCOM....no, all of Gaia needs to be ready for what's out there in the void. We got damned lucky with this invasion but we can't count on luck again. The next time something shows up, we need a big enough stick to ensure it comes in peace or leaves in pieces."
"Do the memories give any indication as to how long we have to prepare for more unsolicited guests Commander?"
"Sadly no Tygan. The Elders did something to hide their psionic signatures and from what I can pick out we inadvertently copied the technique. But with the network collapsing, them dying, the avatars........could be 10 months, could be 10 years. I simply don't know."
"Well then it looks like we have our work cut out for us Commander, Doctors. After all it would be rude not to have an appropriate welcome mat prepared for guests."
Everyone chuckled at Bradford's bad joke as they rose from the table and left the room. No matter what horrors would attack humanity, XCOM would always be there to defend it.
Vigilo Confido.
Alaric Wardell was not wrong. Despite everything done to shroud their minds and souls, the the fierce battle he waged and the death of last Ethereals echoed throughout the galaxy for those who could hear it.
In a realm beyond linear time and sanity, surrounded by madness, depravity, slaughter and decay, four entities heard the death cry of a species and hazily remembered a small but relatively enjoyable meal/amusement. Some servants were sent to investigate the occurance before they turned to more interesting matters.
On a world crafted from will and bone, an ancient observer of the strands of fate saw a thread end and paid it little mind. The eventual fate of the lesser species mattered little unless they effected his people's.
Finally on a massive vessel clad in gold, a God born from man turned and focused his attention. The death echos of xeno souls mattered little to him. But beneath it was the sight of a spark battling them. A spark that was of the twenty, his greatest works. On that day so long ago they have been torn from him and two of the lights had been battered, broken and extinguished by the storm. Eighteen still blazed like suns but here, where one of the two lights he had thought snuffed out, an ember now glowed.
In canon 40K we know of the 20 sons of the Emperor, 18 named and two deleted from all Imperial records. Superhumans with great size, strength, enhanced physical capabilities and highly intelligent. They were also made to be very charismatic, as they were to be the generals and leaders of the Imperial military.
Now the thing that struck me when I read about the Primarchs getting scattered by the Warp vortex is that they all came out completely intact on the other end. These sorts of phenomena tend to do bad things to the individuals caught in them unless you have strong and well control psyker abilities or appropriate shielding etc.
And so the idea of a crippled Primarch took root. That the infant's unconscious attempts (all Primarchs had some degree of psyker capability considering their 'father') to resist the vortex caused it to strike at him in return. Twisting and distorting his form, devolving him until he was little normal than a normal human. He kept the mental aspects of a Primarch but would not become a nearly invincible giant in a handful of years. He would mature and grow just like an ordinary human but would have a rather extended lifespan in comparison.
As for where he landed? An isolated world that was fairly comparable to 21th century Earth (got blasted down at the beginning of the Age of Strife but managed to rebuild). The boy was adopted, grew up and joined the military, rising up through the ranks. He became known as an excellent commander who could bring out the best in his soldiers, always getting the job done and having an uncanny knack for picking the right people for the job.
However all that changed when an invasion began that no one could have predicated or prepared for (No it wasn't the Fire Nation attacking
).
He pulled every rabbit out of his hat that he could, but in the end the world's forces were overrun and nations conquered, he was imprisoned and the invaders tore apart human society and history to rebuild it for their own purposes. Fortunately his 2IC and some other key personnel managed to escape and form a resistance movement. It took time but they finally managed to find and break him out.
At which point the invaders started having problems with the disobedient monkeys who wanted their planet back.....
Now the thing that struck me when I read about the Primarchs getting scattered by the Warp vortex is that they all came out completely intact on the other end. These sorts of phenomena tend to do bad things to the individuals caught in them unless you have strong and well control psyker abilities or appropriate shielding etc.
And so the idea of a crippled Primarch took root. That the infant's unconscious attempts (all Primarchs had some degree of psyker capability considering their 'father') to resist the vortex caused it to strike at him in return. Twisting and distorting his form, devolving him until he was little normal than a normal human. He kept the mental aspects of a Primarch but would not become a nearly invincible giant in a handful of years. He would mature and grow just like an ordinary human but would have a rather extended lifespan in comparison.
As for where he landed? An isolated world that was fairly comparable to 21th century Earth (got blasted down at the beginning of the Age of Strife but managed to rebuild). The boy was adopted, grew up and joined the military, rising up through the ranks. He became known as an excellent commander who could bring out the best in his soldiers, always getting the job done and having an uncanny knack for picking the right people for the job.
However all that changed when an invasion began that no one could have predicated or prepared for (No it wasn't the Fire Nation attacking
).He pulled every rabbit out of his hat that he could, but in the end the world's forces were overrun and nations conquered, he was imprisoned and the invaders tore apart human society and history to rebuild it for their own purposes. Fortunately his 2IC and some other key personnel managed to escape and form a resistance movement. It took time but they finally managed to find and break him out.
At which point the invaders started having problems with the disobedient monkeys who wanted their planet back.....
AN: This idea is something that requires less in the way of writing motivation and more in the way of reworking. Because my original intent was to include the entire world of XCOM 2 including all the expansion packs (though ignoring the sequel hook at the end of the game). The issue is that not only would the Commander be corrupted in the Emperor's eyes, he's also working with psykers (Psi operatives), Silica Animus (Sparks), xeno hybrids (Skirmishers) and using xeno technology all over the place (XCOM R&D). All that combined would probably result in Russ getting his orders cut to act as the Emperor's Executioner once again.
So the next thought would be to shift the timeline to after the Horus Heresy but then I run into to be problems of when to introduce them, along with what sort of introduction to the 40k universe a post XCOM 2 world could survive.
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The last children of the Old Ones SR/40K
jwolfe_beta
Semi Genre-Savvy Overlord
- Location
- Canada
Setting: Shadow Raiders/40k
The last children of the Old Ones
Before the shattering of the galaxy, before the War in Heaven which tore apart the galaxy, the Old Ones traveled amongst the start, observing and nurturing life as they went. While their touch was strongest in their home, some adventurous members also explored the small satellite galaxies caught up in the wake of what humanity would one day call the Milky Way.
One small cluster was a sad oddity for the immensely powerful race. For some reason, the Sea of Souls was weak and diffuse there. It was so weak in fact, that no life greater than simple bacteria would ever be able to form on the multitude of barren rocks inhabiting the dwarf galaxy. Even the webway, the Old Ones masterpiece of galactic travel, could not properly function in this place forcing them to utilize their personal reserves of power to move from system to system.
Many considered the tiny galaxy a write-off and that they should return to their home and continue spreading life there. Some however argued that it would be possible for life to flourish in this place. It would 'simply' require the creation of a soul structure that was bound tightly to the physical realm. Such an alteration would allow intelligent life to form without the souls required for such an existence to disperse into the locally diffuse Sea of Souls.
While this would prevent the species from ever being able to become properly psychically active, this was felt to be an acceptable loss for the opportunity to allow life to flourish in this barren realm. And so the Old Ones set about their self-appointed task. To replace the vast transportation capability of the Webway, they constructed a truly massive station; designed to safely envelop a world for the duel process of life-seeding and terraforming. The prepared worlds would then be moved to the pre-selected solar systems.
This continued on for much time until something occurred in the home galaxy. A young race, the Necrontyr had attacked the realms of the Old Ones. At first, everything seemed normal, the deaths of many Necrontyr were regrettable but hopefully they would be more understanding after the short period of several thousand years in forced contemplation in their home system. This was not to be.
The Old Ones of course knew of the Star Vampires. If there was a species that the ancient psychics could have said to dislike, it was them. The creatures drifted from star to star; feeding on the energies until the stellar body died and then moved on. More than once the beings that would be known as C'Tan fed on the stars of systems that the Old Ones had seeded with life resulting in the powerful race forcibly driving them away to prevent loss of life. For the massive energy beings cared little about and barely acknowledged the existence of the many species and solar systems that were left as dead husks as a result of their endless gluttony.
To the Old One's horror, what emerged from the Necrontyr's home system was not an organic race, but silent legions of silent metallic figures enslaved to the will of the C'Tan who now sported bodies of living metal; and glutted on the life energies of an entire race, the murderous entities had become more powerful than any could have ever imagined. The War in Heaven had begun. And it was a war the Old Ones could not win. Only through the creation of multiple species designed for this eternal war (an act that went against everything the ancient race stood for) was the advance of the ever-hungry Star Gods and their metallic legions halted. But even as the unimaginably bloody stalemate began to form, the Sea of Souls writhed and churned faster and faster with the incalculable amount of death and violent emotions being poured into it; far more then the mirrored reality had ever experienced since the dawn of the galaxy.
While the dwarf galaxy had little to offer the war effort t was to be a hidden ark in case all was lost. And so while most of the Old Ones traveled through the massive Way Gate that was the only link between the two galaxies, the few remaining locked the massive construct and continued their work of seeding the galaxy with life, unable to do more then watch as their home galaxy and species slowly died in the madness of war.
But even this small haven was ultimately not safe from the ravages of the War. As the Enslaver plague washed over the Milky Way and Szarekh enacted his plan to take revenge upon the Star-gods for what they had done to his people, the Way Gate opened one more time. A single C'Tan had managed to find and take control of the device and travel to the dwarf galaxy. Had it been fleeing the Necron's wrath, attempts by its 'kin' to devour it or perhaps it intended simply to destroy the last bastion of the Old Ones before the end? None would ever know.
The Old Ones lashed out at the C'Tan with every bit of power they could muster but it was for naught. Centuries of existing in this place with such a weak Immaterium had greatly weakened their powers; they could injure the Star God but could not kill it. So the desperate psyhics did the only thing they could with the power they had; they bound the wounded C'Tan in the most resilient prison they had available: the massive terraforming station. What had once served to give life to worlds would now protect them from a deadly threat.
Still this was ultimately a temporary solution. The C'tan was still powerful enough to slowly twist and wear away at its prison. It might be hundreds of thousands or multiple millions of years but eventually the creature would either break free or convert its prison into a new body. And so with the last of their life force, the dying Old Ones did two final deeds: first was to set in motion a psychic contract that would slowly gather power for the purpose of destroying the C'Tan once and for all. Second was to implant knowledge in the very genetics of as many of the forming species as possible about the dangers of the imprisoned threat and more importantly; how to destroy the captive Star God once and for all.
Unfortunately countless generations over the millennia served to distort and obscure the hard-coded message, that by the time intelligent species walked the worlds that the Old Ones had created, the imprisoned C'Tan that would seek to consume everything was nothing but myth; a story told to frighten unruly children.
Even as the species of the dwarf galaxy lived, died, fought and made peace amongst each other, the Star God was not idle. It could not escape from its prison, the Old Ones had bound it far too well for that. But it was capable of twisting said shell into a more useful form, one that would serve as its new body. And so the immense station that once granted life to countless worlds now devoured them and the species that lived on them as the C'Tan traveled from system to system. It did this for both nourishment and pleasure, for while it could not directly take revenge on the Old Ones for caging it, destroying all their works was an acceptable alternative.
But it could not afford to be complacent. While none of the species could ever hope to harm it directly, it had discovered the message it's ancient foes that left in their very essence by examining those it devoured. Should word of its existence spread, it would be possible for the mortal races to find and carry out the Old One's last gambit. And so it ensured that the races were always distracted or occupied before it made the final approach to devour them.
This tactic served the C'Tan well for untold numbers of years until at last, something happened. A small mistake by the lesser constructs it created to help ensure that the mortal races would not be able to flee allowed for one small ship carrying a single soul to escape through its armada's jump portal to the next target even as it dragged her world into its ever-hungry maw.
And with the message carried by the now utterly-orphaned individual, the fate of a galaxy changed.....
Idea notes:
At the moment this idea requires that I scrape together far more info regarding the T'au Empire and the nearby races to get a better idea as to how the Cluster would be interacting with them.
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You only live but once GL/BT
jwolfe_beta
Semi Genre-Savvy Overlord
- Location
- Canada
Setting: SI, Gen:Lock/Battletech
For all that humans can be spontaneous, irrational beings causing chaos 'just because'; we're also rather fond of routine. After all, if you know at least roughly what's going to happen, it's a lot easier to plan your day. Why do I bring this up? Well one day my routine got wrecked more thoroughly than Cadia did after Abbadon finally got his s**t together. It started simply enough with me waking up to the sunshine on my face and the sounds of some sort of birds singing. The problem was that I keep the blinds closed to avoid this very event and secondly; my alarm does not play birdsong.
As you might imagine this put me from zero to sixty in a big hurry. Jolting upward and looking around a few more erroneous data points popped up. First I was near a lake in the middle of a forest (instead of the suburbs); with trees that looked like somebody had genespliced bamboo and giant redwoods together. Also the fact that I could see all this perfectly clearly where normally I'd need glasses to get any details more than a foot away from my face.
'Please don't let me be Isekai'd. Anything but Isekai.' Was the repeating thought running through my head. Sure in the various media, the protag lands on his feet, gets super powers and potentially a harem or three, but the trope in a realistic setting? Mortality rates in the 'yes' range. And I was no wilderness expert by any stretch of the imagination. Still I'd read about the basics: shelter-water-fire-food in that order so who knows?
As I leveraged myself to my feet a final aspect of my new situation finally penetrated my mind. It wasn't my hand pushing against the ground. Sure it moved and flexed when I thought about it but instead of flesh and bone, there was only black metal and gleaming white claws. Staggering over to the water's edge, I fell to my knees looking at the inhuman features reflecting back at me. As HUD symbols began to start popping up (booting up?) in my vision, five words were unconsciously uttered to the world at large following a sardonic chuckle.
"Let the good times roll."
......Seriously Union? You spend god-knows how many resources to rebuild a Holon with bullshitium armor and combat capabilities; and you can't be bothered to give it a voice that doesn't sound like it was designed to scare small children? You fail at not being a stereotypical evil empire.
---One minor freak out later---
Right, well. This changed things. On one hand, food and water wouldn't really be a problem anymore and I'm much less likely to be killed by wildlife since I'm a fifty foot tall killbot. On the other hand, I was a giant killbot whose appearance screams 'I am evil, shoot me with everything you have' to all and sundry. There was also the fact that I was 'inhabiting' a cyberbrain and the series had very bluntly shown that the software of said brains could be modded. Ergo I needed to lock down the settings ASAP before something shifted/broke and I ended up worse than Windows ME.
Fortunately accessing the system ala Cammie turned out to be pretty easy. Just center yourself, direct thoughts inward and bang, welcome to cyberspace. In fact it was a little too easy. Combined with the fact that I hadn't been falling over with a completely different body plan (four arms, different leg shape etc); someone or something had most defiantly made some under the hood tweaks to me already. Fortunately whatever mods were done didn't seem to alter the way I thought based on the readouts in the Self Modification Code tab along with others I flipped through.
Annoying enough there was a ton of the functions (including my personal nanotech swarm) were locked for no apparent reason that I could find. In fact the only real thing that I could really get into was the sensor systems; where there just so happened to be a pre-recorded waypoint that I could activate a direction/distance indicator in my HUD.
Looks like whatever dumped me here wanted a few more hoops jumped through. Sure I could just wander randomly off somewhere but I'd followed RevenVrake's Stuck Somewhere Else back in the day. Finding out that an interventionist and jackass ROB had A: taken an interest in me and B: didn't want me to be boring the hard way would be a bad thing. Particularly considering said discovery would probably be to the tune of the GL team from episode eight dropping in with intent to murder. So down the trail of breadcrumbs we go.
AN: Yes, it's an SI; you may begin throwing the rotten fruit at any time.
It's mostly inspired by Stuck Somewhere Else along with the other BT SI/CYOAs that had started popping up a little while ago. Big twist is that 'I' am stuck in the northern fringe of the Draconis Combine on March 3050 during the Clan invasion. Also that while I as the writer would be tearing through Sarna and other BT information sites to figure the who, the hows, whys and whats; the SI is not going to be any sort of Battletech guru. Mostly due to the fact that prior to putting 'pen to paper' for this idea, my knowledge of the setting came from fics, the new battletech game and the occasional Sarna visit.
You only live but once
For all that humans can be spontaneous, irrational beings causing chaos 'just because'; we're also rather fond of routine. After all, if you know at least roughly what's going to happen, it's a lot easier to plan your day. Why do I bring this up? Well one day my routine got wrecked more thoroughly than Cadia did after Abbadon finally got his s**t together. It started simply enough with me waking up to the sunshine on my face and the sounds of some sort of birds singing. The problem was that I keep the blinds closed to avoid this very event and secondly; my alarm does not play birdsong.
As you might imagine this put me from zero to sixty in a big hurry. Jolting upward and looking around a few more erroneous data points popped up. First I was near a lake in the middle of a forest (instead of the suburbs); with trees that looked like somebody had genespliced bamboo and giant redwoods together. Also the fact that I could see all this perfectly clearly where normally I'd need glasses to get any details more than a foot away from my face.
'Please don't let me be Isekai'd. Anything but Isekai.' Was the repeating thought running through my head. Sure in the various media, the protag lands on his feet, gets super powers and potentially a harem or three, but the trope in a realistic setting? Mortality rates in the 'yes' range. And I was no wilderness expert by any stretch of the imagination. Still I'd read about the basics: shelter-water-fire-food in that order so who knows?
As I leveraged myself to my feet a final aspect of my new situation finally penetrated my mind. It wasn't my hand pushing against the ground. Sure it moved and flexed when I thought about it but instead of flesh and bone, there was only black metal and gleaming white claws. Staggering over to the water's edge, I fell to my knees looking at the inhuman features reflecting back at me. As HUD symbols began to start popping up (booting up?) in my vision, five words were unconsciously uttered to the world at large following a sardonic chuckle.
"Let the good times roll."
......Seriously Union? You spend god-knows how many resources to rebuild a Holon with bullshitium armor and combat capabilities; and you can't be bothered to give it a voice that doesn't sound like it was designed to scare small children? You fail at not being a stereotypical evil empire.
---One minor freak out later---
Right, well. This changed things. On one hand, food and water wouldn't really be a problem anymore and I'm much less likely to be killed by wildlife since I'm a fifty foot tall killbot. On the other hand, I was a giant killbot whose appearance screams 'I am evil, shoot me with everything you have' to all and sundry. There was also the fact that I was 'inhabiting' a cyberbrain and the series had very bluntly shown that the software of said brains could be modded. Ergo I needed to lock down the settings ASAP before something shifted/broke and I ended up worse than Windows ME.
Fortunately accessing the system ala Cammie turned out to be pretty easy. Just center yourself, direct thoughts inward and bang, welcome to cyberspace. In fact it was a little too easy. Combined with the fact that I hadn't been falling over with a completely different body plan (four arms, different leg shape etc); someone or something had most defiantly made some under the hood tweaks to me already. Fortunately whatever mods were done didn't seem to alter the way I thought based on the readouts in the Self Modification Code tab along with others I flipped through.
Annoying enough there was a ton of the functions (including my personal nanotech swarm) were locked for no apparent reason that I could find. In fact the only real thing that I could really get into was the sensor systems; where there just so happened to be a pre-recorded waypoint that I could activate a direction/distance indicator in my HUD.
Looks like whatever dumped me here wanted a few more hoops jumped through. Sure I could just wander randomly off somewhere but I'd followed RevenVrake's Stuck Somewhere Else back in the day. Finding out that an interventionist and jackass ROB had A: taken an interest in me and B: didn't want me to be boring the hard way would be a bad thing. Particularly considering said discovery would probably be to the tune of the GL team from episode eight dropping in with intent to murder. So down the trail of breadcrumbs we go.
AN: Yes, it's an SI; you may begin throwing the rotten fruit at any time.
It's mostly inspired by Stuck Somewhere Else along with the other BT SI/CYOAs that had started popping up a little while ago. Big twist is that 'I' am stuck in the northern fringe of the Draconis Combine on March 3050 during the Clan invasion. Also that while I as the writer would be tearing through Sarna and other BT information sites to figure the who, the hows, whys and whats; the SI is not going to be any sort of Battletech guru. Mostly due to the fact that prior to putting 'pen to paper' for this idea, my knowledge of the setting came from fics, the new battletech game and the occasional Sarna visit.
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