"Hello, Patricia. I am Anna Vosyem - just Anna will do. I'm afraid I don't have the impressive military background that you all can lay claim to. My skills lie more in the realm of medicine, actually. And baking. Speaking of which - would anyone like a biscuit? I made some this morning and brought them along in case anyone felt peckish."
Anna brought out a lovely enamelled tin that smelled enticingly of butter, vanilla, cinnamon and other good things. She popped the lid and offered the tin around.
"I'm sorry I can't offer tea," she said. "I'd have brought a thermos, but it wouldn't have held enough for everyone."
Sarge gave a 'hmpf'. Of course the dirty blue would be the one to try to confuse the issue.
"What's wrong with blue? Why don't you tell me what isn't? It's the color of evil, it stands for everything good people don't! It's the symbol of traitors, liars, cowards, and general snake and the grass kind of folk."
Sarge moved right up to Sayaka. "It's bad enough when a person wears blue, but dyeing their hair blue?" Sarge shuddered. "Why don't you just worship Satan by listening to rock music backwards while yer at it?"
"Oh." The Sheriff replied. "Guess that's another difference between worlds, because I am certain that hair isn't supposed to be blue normally." He paused. "Not that I have much myself, of course."
The alternative that he knew about was she was born in an area covered by an Improbability Drive. Still, that couldn't be the case. Those places were too hostile in the long term to have thriving communities. There was one zombie demon clown running about in Nevada, which is three of those too many for the his tastes. Not that he was alive at the same time as said... entity, but hearing about it from the survivors he encountered still gave him the creeps. Not for the first time, he silently thanked any higher powers for letting him get out of that place.
"<I am not programmed for primarily social interaction, but average conversation are not necessarily required to include physical contact and/or the conveyance of directions, correct?>"
"<However, your base philosophy is sound. Have you collected sufficient data yet?>"
"They're figures of speech. Touching a sore spot means mentioning a subject that makes somebody sad or angry, and getting lost in conversations means not really understanding what the other person means when they say something. But yes, I think I have learned enough. People call me Mr. Sandman, because I'm good at putting people to sleep, and by that, I mean knocking them unconscious."
"They're figures of speech. Touching a sore spot means mentioning a subject that makes somebody sad or angry, and getting lost in conversations means not really understanding what the other person means when they say something. But yes, I think I have learned enough. People call me Mr. Sandman, because I'm good at putting people to sleep, and by that, I mean knocking them unconscious."
Sometime during the PCs many conversations, the truck had now turned into a road paved with brick, which led right up to the front gates of a military base. What was odd, was that they seem to have driven from the ocean, as the road ended abruptly in a sheer cliff when one tries to look back at where they came from.
"We're right here, folks!" the truck driver cheerily said, with a Texan accent so strong, you can hear the cows mooing. "Make yerselves right at home, 'cause it'll be your home until you die or this war's over!"
After checking the truck driver's identification, the guard at the gates waved her through, and the gates opened automatically.
The first thing the PCs would see upon entering the base was a grand parade square, with many flagpoles bearing different flags on one side of it. On it, masses of uniformed personnel arranged in rectangular formations were apparently rehearsing for a parade.
After that, the truck driver drove through twisty little rows of barracks buildings, all alike; drove right by a canteen where smells both familiar and strange intermingled; it went past concrete basketball courts, barber shops, running tracks, and what might even have been a convenience store.
At one point, the truck turned into a road that ran across the shoreline of whatever landmass they were on. Just off the empty beach, one could see the female humanoid forms in the distance, with what appear to be naval weaponry strapped to their back.
The sound of jets could be heard roaring overhead, and if one were to look up, they would find a squadron of F-22 Raptors flying in formation, the lead in particular having a rather distinctive emblem on it's wing, if one's eye was quick and keen enough.
Following the jets were tinier, human forms, with engines apparently worn around their legs, and wielding guns.
As the truck continued along, it overtook several tanks (and one tank destroyer) that were also trudging along the road. A Panzer IV, StuG III, Type 3 Chi-Nu, and an M3 Lee. They all had rather... distinctive insignia painted on their sides or turrets.
Panzer turret
StuG side
M3 Lee side
Chi-Nu turret
As the truck passed by the Panzer, it's loader's hatch opened, and out came a girl with fluffy hair. She spotted the PCs (especially NorthStar) with a look of surprise, but then she started grinning and waving at them as they passed on.
Finally, the truck stopped beside a small field opposite a barracks building. This barracks was much like the barracks to it's left and right, except this one had the words Fifth World Foreign Legion painted in cyan on the side of the building, between the second and third floor.
As for the small field besides which the truck was parked, it had dozens of people (including little human girls and what appeared to be green-skinned humanoids), all in uniform, and all going through a kind of obstacle course-slash-combat exercise on the field opposite the PCs. There was also a smaller group running laps around the outskirts of the field.
The truck driver motioned for the PCs to get off. She then spoke.
"Now then, it's best be a good idea to stay right here, recruits! I've been told that yer supposed to be meetin' your CO here, but that you'll have to wait a bit 'cause they suddenly needed a few extra Witch patrols today." she shrugged. "But she'll probably be back in a few mins. Good luck. She's a real stickler, if ya know what I mean."
She then waved her hat at the Recruits, and drove off, leaving the PCs to their own devices (at least, for the moment). At the moment she drove off, a platoon of soldiers in full combat gear jogged through the same sidewalk the PCs did, and would probably approach them in a minute or so if the PCs did not move.
"HIII HOOO SIIIILLVEEEERR!!" the man at the lead bellowed.
NorthStar observed the proceedings with what appeared to be a mix of childish wonder and an almost deadly paranoi. The former was helped by the fact that her 'eye' barely stayed in one spot long. The latter was helped by the fact that, wherever her eye went, her missile pods followed.
She did, however, manage to give a bewildered wave back to the tank-girl.
Once the group had been unceremoniously deposited, she stood, almost befuddled for a second as her inner systems attempted to make sense of everything she had just seen.
Eventually they gave up and NorthStar decided to relay the facts she did know.
"<None of these unit markings are registered in IMC databases. I doubt they are valid.>" then, "<do we get one?>"
If the other non-robots hadn't known any better, they might have though the last question sounded excited
NorthStar observed the proceedings with what appeared to be a mix of childish wonder and an almost deadly paranoi. The former was helped by the fact that her 'eye' barely stayed in one spot long. The latter was helped by the fact that, wherever her eye went, her missile pods followed.
She did, however, manage to give a bewildered wave back to the tank-girl.
Once the group had been unceremoniously deposited, she stood, almost befuddled for a second as her inner systems attempted to make sense of everything she had just seen.
Eventually they gave up and NorthStar decided to relay the facts she did know.
"<None of these unit markings are registered in IMC databases. I doubt they are valid.>" then, "<do we get one?>"
If the other non-robots hadn't known any better, they might have though the last question sounded excited
The Titans eye returned to the girl, who now seemed oh-so-much smaller without the elevation provided by the truck.
"<Since the death of its last pilot, this Unit bears no aesthetic decoration. Patricia Von Rohr is authorized to change this....if Patricia Von Rohr wishes.>"
The Titans eye returned to the girl, who now seemed oh-so-much smaller without the elevation provided by the truck.
"<Since the death of its last pilot, this Unit bears no aesthetic decoration. Patricia Von Rohr is authorized to change this....if Patricia Von Rohr wishes.>"
The Titan paused. Technically, the chassis belonged to the IMC, who had manufactured it and programmed it. It's ownership was then partially passed to her pilot, who shared maintenance duties, and ownership tag with IMC crews. Now though, she had no tag. Until the obligatory Fifth World Foreign Legion tag was added to her ID, no one owned her.
No one but herself, she supposed.
"<Such action would be....preferable, Patricia Von Rohr. Additionally, this unit's tertiary directive is to bond with a pilot. As prime and secondary directives are currently invalid, this has become its prime directive.>"
The massive machine paused, as if weighing the benefits of its next action.
"<Patricia Von Rohr, this unit has deemed you the most suitable pilot identified thus far. However, the choice is yours.>"
It paused again.
"<Regardless, aesthetic markings would be preferred.>"
"Well... there's one government for all the world and all the other worlds humans colonized. On Earth, the only thing we can't make is space, so other than waiting in line, you don't have to pay for anything. People are biologically immortal now, and we don't have to sleep if we don't want to. AI's are everywhere, and they're actually sapient and considered people. Actually, we have a way to measure humanity now."
She considered for a while.
"Not that it's.... all rosy. We've been at war with the Cephalopods for about 20 years, since they attacked our colonies and killed everyone on them. Magical girls are drafted into the military immediately, since we're the best force humanity has. Mami... Marshal Tomoe, she's the first woman and magical girl to be appointed Supreme Commander of the Governance military."
'That sounds like quite a future,' Madoka thinks. 'One with many wonders... and many terrors. Those Squids are especially concerning. Hopefully I would be able to help out there sometime.'
She silently observes and listens as the others converse, learning a bit about them in the process. Different peoples, different cultures, different perspectives. A very interesting set of companions, really.
Though it seems that the one in red armor really doesn't like the color blue for some reason. Perplexing.
Meanwhile, the scenery outside now seems to be more of a military base. She sees a view of soldiers on parade, various buildings, and what looks like... shipgirls? How else could she describe them?
She hears and sees fighter jets flying above, one of which has a ribbon emblem on its tail, and... plane-girls following them?
Then there are four tanks on the side, which look like something out of an anime with those stylized animal logos, that of an anglerfish, a hippo, a rabbit, and an anteater. Wait, they seem familiar. Something is missing though... four somethings, if she remembers right.
When the truck comes to a halt, she gets off with the others.
"Now then, it's best be a good idea to stay right here, recruits! I've been told that yer supposed to be meetin' your CO here, but that you'll have to wait a bit 'cause they suddenly needed a few extra Witch patrols today." she shrugged. "But she'll probably be back in a few mins. Good luck. She's a real stickler, if ya know what I mean."
The Titan paused. Technically, the chassis belonged to the IMC, who had manufactured it and programmed it. It's ownership was then partially passed to her pilot, who shared maintenance duties, and ownership tag with IMC crews. Now though, she had no tag. Until the obligatory Fifth World Foreign Legion tag was added to her ID, no one owned her.
No one but herself, she supposed.
"<Such action would be....preferable, Patricia Von Rohr. Additionally, this unit's tertiary directive is to bond with a pilot. As prime and secondary directives are currently invalid, this has become its prime directive.>"
The massive machine paused, as if weighing the benefits of its next action.
"<Patricia Von Rohr, this unit has deemed you the most suitable pilot identified thus far. However, the choice is yours.>"
It paused again.
"<Regardless, aesthetic markings would be preferred.>"
-<System.text.transmit(ally PVR): (A pilots duties involving their bonded Titan include care and maintenance of that Titan, supporting that Titan, and occaisionally piloting that Titan to increase the units battlefield effectiveness.)>-
"<This unit is not knowledgeable in aesthetics. You may choose, Patricia Von Rohr.>"
-<System.text.transmit(ally PVR): (A pilots duties involving their bonded Titan include care and maintenance of that Titan, supporting that Titan, and occaisionally piloting that Titan to increase the units battlefield effectiveness.)>-
"<This unit is not knowledgeable in aesthetics. You may choose, Patricia Von Rohr.>"
-|I won't own you. Understand? You deserve to be sapient and make your own decisions. But care and maintenance, that I can do. Agreed?|-
"Let's give you some stars and bows, huh?"
-|I won't own you. Understand? You deserve to be sapient and make your own decisions. But care and maintenance, that I can do. Agreed?|-
"Let's give you some stars and bows, huh?"
-<(System.text.transmit: (you misunderstand. A pilot does not own a Titan, except in name. A pilot and a Titan are a team. Both work together to increase the others battlefield effectiveness in combat. Regardless, Agreed.)>-
The Titan nods and kneels down, it's feet and knees digging furrows in the grassy field.
Emily stepped out of the way of the soldiers as she began taking in what she was seeing. It looked like it was well equipped for whatever it was they were going to be doing. Although she did question what exactly the witches were. She decided to try and get a better idea of how many people were hear, and activated Dark Vision.
"Okay, this somehow got more ridiculous." The Sheriff adjusted his hat once more. "Just how much of our combat power is made up of young girls? We have land, sea and air covered, as well as divine support from them." Here he points to Madoka and Sayaka. "I mean seriously, whose idea was this? Why would we, ugh. You know what, I'll let it slide for now. Stranger things and all that."
He then proceeds to move to the side of the sidewalk, out of the way of the oncoming platoon, and leans back on the wall, waiting for them to pass. He ruminated on what he'd been told, the "Until the war is done or death" thing was expected, but still annoying to hear in person. Still, he could deal. Hopefully he just wouldn't actually be sent to the front any time soon.
-<(System.text.transmit: (you misunderstand. A pilot does not own a Titan, except in name. A pilot and a Titan are a team. Both work together to increase the others battlefield effectiveness in combat. Regardless, Agreed.)>-
The Titan nods and kneels down, it's feet and knees digging furrows in the grassy field.
"Alright Northstar. I can't promise I'll be piloting directly the whole time, but I'll team up with you. Now, let's go ask those tanker girls for some paint."
Titus remained standing in his armor as the transport drove away, awaiting the arrival of his new superiors, surrounded by living examples of tek-heresy. Resisting the urge to begin purging in the Emperor's name, he reminded himself he was no longer in the imperium and was surrounded by those who had yet to hear of the light of the Emperor. They had potential, if stifled by xenos influences as shown by Patricia and her kind, but given time, they could be educated and bring humanity into a golden new age. However if he encountered any Tech-priests from his universe, they would be having words.
@Inter-VersaLoli
Patricia approached the tanker girls. Wonder if they're magical girls. They seem pretty young otherwise.
"Guten Tag! I was wondering if you could direct me to paint for my friend here?"
"Alright Northstar. I can't promise I'll be piloting directly the whole time, but I'll team up with you. Now, let's go ask those tanker girls for some paint."
"<This is acceptable. Pilot status verified, Directive 3: Bond with Pilot fulfilled. Directive 1: Protect the Pilot engaged.>" the Titan rises back to its full height. "<You have my thanks, Patricia Von Rohr.>"
@Inter-VersaLoli
Patricia approached the tanker girls. Wonder if they're magical girls. They seem pretty young otherwise.
"Guten Tag! I was wondering if you could direct me to paint for my friend here?"
Sarge wanted to reach for his shotgun, but wasn't about to hit a little girl, even if said little girl was an insubordinate soldier.
"Won kool ereh gnuoy yssim, I nod't wonk woh yeht nur sgniht ereh, tub kcab ni eht Der ymra ereht saw siht gniht dellac eht-" Sarge realized that his speakers were reversing his speech. "Wwa stun, ton neve a keew dna siht nmad gniht's ydaerla gninoitcnuflam." He began trying to see if he could try doing a quick fix, but it seemed this issue was software. "Tignad, fi ylno Snommis erew ereh."
"Neve erom a nosaer rof Snommis ot eb ereh os eh dluoc ees woh gnorw eh saw tuoba ym aedi ot parts eraps stekcor ot ruo sgel ot esu sa a tfihsekam tekcor kcap. 'Yllacigolonhcet elbisaefnu' ym ssa!" Sarge remarked at the sight.
When the time came to leave the truck Sarge ended up dawdling a little bit, still trying to clear up the malfunction. Though it might make things easier to just take his helmet off, Sarge wasn't about to be caught dead out of his armor in a formal setting. Dammit, he had standards.
When he caught up with the group, he asked. "Yeh yna fo ay'll doog htiw hcet? Ti's ton taht I deen eht pleh, I tsuj thguoht ti thgim eb a doog emit ot teg a egduj fo ruoy seitiliba yb gniees ay xif a gub."
Chara sighed and gave Jasper one last pat before floating off. It had been a bit of a shock, to see that many humans again, but therapy spider had helped.
The translucent ghost hovered over the group, looking at the sight before them. It was... Hmm.
It was... Quite something, though life in the Underground did lend itself to becoming acclimatized to what would once have been rather off-putting situations.
That is to say, they were used to weirdness.
Still, the only army the Monsters had had was the Royal Guard, and even discounting the eccentricities their actual job description was closer to a police force, meaning Chara had little in the way of idea on what to expect.
"Okay, this somehow got more ridiculous." The Sheriff adjusted his hat once more. "Just how much of our combat power is made up of young girls? We have land, sea and air covered, as well as divine support from them."
"Hmm. Wrong question, I think. A better one is 'How much of the Fifth's combat power is made of things that look like young girls, but aren't?' The answer may not be to your liking, though."
Ralph looks at the approaching joggers, then at the side of the building, then at the rest of his batch of recruits.
"How much trouble do you think it likely for me to get in if I use something that flies before getting all the paperwork done?"
"Hmm. Wrong question, I think. A better one is 'How much of the Fifth's combat power is made of things that look like young girls, but aren't?' The answer may not be to your liking, though."
Ralph looks at the approaching joggers, then at the side of the building, then at the rest of his batch of recruits.
"How much trouble do you think it likely for me to get in if I use something that flies before getting all the paperwork done?"
"If these things are as valuable as the War Machines I've encountered...enough to make it a horrible idea." Alliera said, frowning "That and I doubt they'd be willing to keep paying you if you steal property."
