So, looking back along the last year or so, I realised that I'd actually done more writing last...
Whiskey Golf's collected snippets
- Thread starter Whiskey Golf
- Start date
-
- Tags
- snippets
- Created
- Status
- Ongoing
- Watchers
- 23
- Recent readers
- 0
- Threadmarks
- 8
-
Statistics (8 threadmarks, 10k words)
User Total Whiskey Golf 8 Threadmarks Reader mode
Whiskey Golf
Being of Editing & Technical Assistance
- Location
- Chained to my desk
So, looking back along the last year or so, I realised that I'd actually done more writing last year than in a long time, though most of the writing was done in the form of various snippets for various fandoms here and there.
As a result, I've decided to collate all of the snippets I've written into this one thread, just for the heck of it.
I'll use this as a catchall index I guess, while I store all this stuff here, and maybe some thoughts and commentary on what I was writing, as a way of evaluating my own output.
As a result, I've decided to collate all of the snippets I've written into this one thread, just for the heck of it.
I'll use this as a catchall index I guess, while I store all this stuff here, and maybe some thoughts and commentary on what I was writing, as a way of evaluating my own output.
Whiskey Golf
Being of Editing & Technical Assistance
- Location
- Chained to my desk
This is a ZNT/ME3 MP cross, although it actually makes more references to something LGear cooked up, called Element of Zero, where Louise reverse summoned herself into the Mass Effect universe several decades chronologically before ZnT started, and became an indepentant trader, and finally found Halk.
Also, this is somewhat tangentially related to ZnT. Specifically, this was born from a discussion on overheating Phaeston rifles, whether thermal clips are actually hot from absorbing heat, and speculation that you could probably use buckets of water to cool them. (Over the long run, anyway, and for a while, until the water all boiled away.) Story itself is Miracle At Palaven, aka Kei writes Mass Effect meets Black Hawk Down, in the style of Band of Brothers. And it is AWESOME.
Reinforcements
Sidestory to Element Zero, by LGear
A Zero no Tsukaima/Mass Effect crossover
-Principality of Tristan. Unclaimed Planet.-
Personal Log, Major Franz Jaeger, Systems Alliance Marine Corps, N7.
It has been twenty four hours since we've landed at this planet. I was not keen on this little adventure at all - I've had more than my fair share of those such things, and I really wanted to spend some leave time at home relaxing. Yes, my apartment is a small one-room box with a small kitchen and a small living area. it's also just enough for me and I like it. It is my rock, my castle, my refuge from the chaos of the world. Unfortunately, my partner - curses upon that cute ass of hers - had cottoned on to some interesting scuttlebutt. Major Miriya Kahoku's emergency beacon went live sometime ago. Kahoku went MIA 2 years ago. For her beacon to activate was cause for hope. And then the old man took an interest in the case and set us out here.
Which is probably what Captain Valliere was counting on, now that I think about it. Girl's got some pull with the old man. I hear rumors of her being associated with the Spectres, so maybe there's that. Wouldn't be surprised if Shepard knows her.
It's disappointing to learn that this world is in a civil war. Some sort of coup. Captain Valliere's friends with the deposed monarch. Our orders were to do an SR and find Kahoku. I figured I'd find her dead. I just didn't expect to find out she'd died of old age. Some sorta negative space wedgie dumped her in this ass end of nowhere, decades ago, can you believe that shit? I mean, you're supposed to keep an open mind, and I read Starship Troopers once every 3 months, and like any good son of the Sabah colony I torrent the shit outta any anime I can find, but it's one thing to see it on a screen and see it for reals.
Things aren't too good for the loyalists. We made contact with our first group of ruffians yesterday and dealt with them. I never knew preindustrial civilisations had armies made of looters and thugs. We're holed up at a makeshift refugee camp of sorst. Civillians, mostly peasants and serfs. Their protector is, of all people, a former maid. Kahoku's granddaught. Threw me for a loop when I first saw her - she was wearing Kahoku's gear and carrying her rifle and for a moment I had hope. Shoulda remembered what I learned on Sierra-Bravo: Hope, first step, disappointment, all that jazz. Add to the refugees usual problems - shortages of food, water, the essentials - and you've got bandits, deserters, and regular army chasing them. Price on all their heads, especially that girl - Chevalier, they called her. French for knight. Interesting - who's tagging along with Granddaughter Kahoku, wearing an N7 Shadow suit. And filling it in all the right places. Though I will allow that my partner fills out her engineer armor a lot better. That whole package all flows together... and I will never tell anyone any of this on the pain of death.
Captain Valliere's gone to secure transportation - she doesn't have enough lift for all these refugees. No idea yet where to take them, but anywhere is better than here. And then Naomi opens that sweet sweet mouth of hers and says "We'll help protect your people!" Actually that was kinda cool. And a total heartwarming moment. But goddamnit there's only two of us! There is no way in hell I brought enough thermal clips for this. At least it's a good thing I brought that modded Lancer.
So now we're setup in a good overwatch position. We're rotating shifts as sniper and spotter, but things seem to be quiet enough. We've got mini-sensors emplaced (though setting them for lifesigns means I have to keep checking to see if these are animals or human, given that nobody's wearing a hardsuit here) and Naomi's got a combat drone sniffing around as a sentry. I swear she's too attracted to that thing. Calls it Chihya, and actually kissed it before she sent it on her way. She doesn't know I saw her. That's actually kinda cute. I never realised that I could be jealous of a combat drone before.
We just gotta hold up until Captain Valliere comes back. I'm confident we could defeat a platoon-sized force of infantry. But if they've got those mages with them... yeah, that ain't going to be fun, fighting elemental effects. Still, they're human. They bleed, so we can kill them. But I'll be damned if I let Kahoku's grandkid and those refugees get hurt. The Marine Corps is not in the business of letting bullies have their way. And well, I suppose it's sort of a vacation. Not really much to do. Bandits or insurgents keep making their way around, but in small groups. It's almost like a turkey shoot. But that's only if we stay in range. Get in CQC and we're probably going to be toast. You hear of mages creating fire, summoning creatures from the earth, casting explosions at your location... it sounds incredible, but then we have biotics and adepts and vanguards, so who's to say it's not possible? But I think we'll be okay. We outgun leg infantry. Dragons are just squisher gunships. And I've got my Hawk launcher for anything heavy, plus I'm carrying Drill and Incendiary Ammo. And Isuzu can do tech bursts on anything that can't be killed with enough gun. Yeah. We'll be fine. Nothing to worry about.
And, well, this is actually kinda pleasant. Two of us together, chilling over a rifle and binocs, relaxing, none of this hustle and bustle. It's pleasant. Nice. Comfortable. I could get used to this. Not that I like Naomi or anything like that. But she is pretty. And the way she keeps watch on the sensors with that omnitool, and the way she handles that Mantix... such a thing of beauty-
"Contact, two o'clock. Foot mobiles. I count one, three, six foot mobiles. Wearing mismatched gear. They're bandits."
"I see them," Franz says, his omnitool log abandoned, the systems of his T5-V battlsuit marking the targets in his HUD, moving from a seated position to prone. He rests the Viper on the improvised shooting perch and settles the stock into his shoulder. "Range 500 meters. Windage."
"Right, 4 meters per second."
"Roger." He mentally calculates, adjusts his aim, stills himself, ready to take the shot.
The bandits are moving in a spread out line formation, and not single file. They aren't making a good deal of separation either, though it wouldn't have made much difference anyhow. As soon as they entered his sights, they were dead.
"By the way, Franz," says Naomi, "It's your turn to cook dinner."
"Understood." The N7 Destroyer operator inales, holds his breath, and squeezes the trigger.
The Viper fires a sliver of metal at hypersonic speeds - fast enough that at this range, the trajectory is nearly flat, with no discernable dropoff. It's as easy as point and click. Aim and shoot. The rifle bucks in his arms, but his aim is true, and his target falls to the ground, dead as a doorknob. The messy remains of his head make it quite clear that he won't be getting up soon, even if the corpse is reanimated. Simple metal helmets made by a preindustrial civilisation are no match for a Viper semiautomatic sniper rifle loaded with armor piercing ammo.
He's in the zone now, time seemingly slowing. One bandit, his face splattered with the blood of his fellows, turns to the headless body; his head is next to burst, like an overripe melon. Number 3 draws his sword, and meets a similar fate. Four, five, six; all dispatched with equal effectiveness, each shot through the head. Six shots, six kills, and the Viper beeps urgently, the overheat warning telling him his thermal clip is at max capacity.
"All hostiles down," reports Naomi, and Franz grunts. He does a quick sweep with his rifle, then pulls himself to a crouch, retreating back from the perch. His actions are smooth, borne of much practice; he angles his rifle as he ejects the spent thermal clip, which falls into a bucket of water, that immediately begins heating up. There's a reason nobody goes into combat without wearing a combat hardsuit: overheated thermal clips are hot. So hot, in fact, that the water in the bucket is starting to boil. It serves several purposes: the water acts as a coolant, allowing him to reuse the thermal clip sometime later, there's hot water for shaving and light washing up, and it lets them heat up their MREs. He completes the cooking process by taking two MRE packets and dropping them into the water.
"You were trying to show off again," says his spotter, a Human Engineer, smiling at him. Once again he marvels at how her long dark hair frames her face, and is glad he's wearing his helmet, so she can't see his expression. Not that he finds her cute or anything, no. "You know, If I found a pool of water, I bet I could use these thermal clips and make a hot spring."
"Seriously? That's what you're thinking of? When you don't have a swimsuit?" Franz manages to keep his voice level. His imagination, on the other hand... Curse that teasing Engineer!
"You don't need a swimsuit in a hot spring," she chides him, a saucy smirk on her face. "Join me. It'll be fun."
"Pass. There's only two of us protecting the refugees. Major Kahoku's granddaughter and that chevalier they picked up are decent, but they aren't good. And right now, they need good. Until Captain Valliere and that Elcor tank get back, we're it."
"You might as well take your helmet off. Disengage Devastator Mode," says Naomi. "You should get comfortable. Besides, you don't have emergency induction ports." She reaches into a pocket, removes a small piece of candy, and brings it to her mouth. Her tongue snakes out, licking the sweet, drawing it between her lips, as her hand plays with her hardsuit's collar, pulling the zip down, and Franz desperately wishes for a distraction.
He really should be careful for what he wished for.
An animal roar sounds, and both of them instantly snatch up their weapons, and pause at the sight of the creature that has arrived.
"I should have brought a Cain," said Franz, clipping the Viper to his back, and pulling his assault rifle from it's place. The Lancer assault rifle, still keeping the old cooldown mechanism, modified with armor piercing mods and an extended barrel, with an adjustable combat scope, easily fits into his arms, as he kneels and sights in on the dragon and it's rider.
"Taking the dragon," says Naomi, and a crack like a peal of thunder sounds, as she fires her Mantis sniper rifle. Her aim is true, and the round goes through the dragon's head, killing it instantly. She pulls her hair into a quick bun, and zips up her hardsuit and seals her helmet, while Franz maintains overwatch. "Are there any more dragons?"
"No, no more dragons. Lots of foot mobiles and war golems, though. Think they're just sightseeing?"
"My ass they're sightseeing."
"And a very nice ass it is," says Franz absently. "You'd better borrow my Viper. You're an artist with that Mantix, but you need rate of fire here, not power."
"Thank you," says Naomi, taking the offered sniper rifle and slotting in a fresh thermal clip, and as she snuggles up to the rifle, she's glad that her helmet means Franz can't see her blush, as she uses his rifle.
* * * * *
Notes: My debut effort, as it were. IIRC I banged this out in one afternoon after managing to clear my schedule and it has never been proofed or BETA'ed.
Also, this is somewhat tangentially related to ZnT. Specifically, this was born from a discussion on overheating Phaeston rifles, whether thermal clips are actually hot from absorbing heat, and speculation that you could probably use buckets of water to cool them. (Over the long run, anyway, and for a while, until the water all boiled away.) Story itself is Miracle At Palaven, aka Kei writes Mass Effect meets Black Hawk Down, in the style of Band of Brothers. And it is AWESOME.
Reinforcements
Sidestory to Element Zero, by LGear
A Zero no Tsukaima/Mass Effect crossover
-Principality of Tristan. Unclaimed Planet.-
Personal Log, Major Franz Jaeger, Systems Alliance Marine Corps, N7.
It has been twenty four hours since we've landed at this planet. I was not keen on this little adventure at all - I've had more than my fair share of those such things, and I really wanted to spend some leave time at home relaxing. Yes, my apartment is a small one-room box with a small kitchen and a small living area. it's also just enough for me and I like it. It is my rock, my castle, my refuge from the chaos of the world. Unfortunately, my partner - curses upon that cute ass of hers - had cottoned on to some interesting scuttlebutt. Major Miriya Kahoku's emergency beacon went live sometime ago. Kahoku went MIA 2 years ago. For her beacon to activate was cause for hope. And then the old man took an interest in the case and set us out here.
Which is probably what Captain Valliere was counting on, now that I think about it. Girl's got some pull with the old man. I hear rumors of her being associated with the Spectres, so maybe there's that. Wouldn't be surprised if Shepard knows her.
It's disappointing to learn that this world is in a civil war. Some sort of coup. Captain Valliere's friends with the deposed monarch. Our orders were to do an SR and find Kahoku. I figured I'd find her dead. I just didn't expect to find out she'd died of old age. Some sorta negative space wedgie dumped her in this ass end of nowhere, decades ago, can you believe that shit? I mean, you're supposed to keep an open mind, and I read Starship Troopers once every 3 months, and like any good son of the Sabah colony I torrent the shit outta any anime I can find, but it's one thing to see it on a screen and see it for reals.
Things aren't too good for the loyalists. We made contact with our first group of ruffians yesterday and dealt with them. I never knew preindustrial civilisations had armies made of looters and thugs. We're holed up at a makeshift refugee camp of sorst. Civillians, mostly peasants and serfs. Their protector is, of all people, a former maid. Kahoku's granddaught. Threw me for a loop when I first saw her - she was wearing Kahoku's gear and carrying her rifle and for a moment I had hope. Shoulda remembered what I learned on Sierra-Bravo: Hope, first step, disappointment, all that jazz. Add to the refugees usual problems - shortages of food, water, the essentials - and you've got bandits, deserters, and regular army chasing them. Price on all their heads, especially that girl - Chevalier, they called her. French for knight. Interesting - who's tagging along with Granddaughter Kahoku, wearing an N7 Shadow suit. And filling it in all the right places. Though I will allow that my partner fills out her engineer armor a lot better. That whole package all flows together... and I will never tell anyone any of this on the pain of death.
Captain Valliere's gone to secure transportation - she doesn't have enough lift for all these refugees. No idea yet where to take them, but anywhere is better than here. And then Naomi opens that sweet sweet mouth of hers and says "We'll help protect your people!" Actually that was kinda cool. And a total heartwarming moment. But goddamnit there's only two of us! There is no way in hell I brought enough thermal clips for this. At least it's a good thing I brought that modded Lancer.
So now we're setup in a good overwatch position. We're rotating shifts as sniper and spotter, but things seem to be quiet enough. We've got mini-sensors emplaced (though setting them for lifesigns means I have to keep checking to see if these are animals or human, given that nobody's wearing a hardsuit here) and Naomi's got a combat drone sniffing around as a sentry. I swear she's too attracted to that thing. Calls it Chihya, and actually kissed it before she sent it on her way. She doesn't know I saw her. That's actually kinda cute. I never realised that I could be jealous of a combat drone before.
We just gotta hold up until Captain Valliere comes back. I'm confident we could defeat a platoon-sized force of infantry. But if they've got those mages with them... yeah, that ain't going to be fun, fighting elemental effects. Still, they're human. They bleed, so we can kill them. But I'll be damned if I let Kahoku's grandkid and those refugees get hurt. The Marine Corps is not in the business of letting bullies have their way. And well, I suppose it's sort of a vacation. Not really much to do. Bandits or insurgents keep making their way around, but in small groups. It's almost like a turkey shoot. But that's only if we stay in range. Get in CQC and we're probably going to be toast. You hear of mages creating fire, summoning creatures from the earth, casting explosions at your location... it sounds incredible, but then we have biotics and adepts and vanguards, so who's to say it's not possible? But I think we'll be okay. We outgun leg infantry. Dragons are just squisher gunships. And I've got my Hawk launcher for anything heavy, plus I'm carrying Drill and Incendiary Ammo. And Isuzu can do tech bursts on anything that can't be killed with enough gun. Yeah. We'll be fine. Nothing to worry about.
And, well, this is actually kinda pleasant. Two of us together, chilling over a rifle and binocs, relaxing, none of this hustle and bustle. It's pleasant. Nice. Comfortable. I could get used to this. Not that I like Naomi or anything like that. But she is pretty. And the way she keeps watch on the sensors with that omnitool, and the way she handles that Mantix... such a thing of beauty-
"Contact, two o'clock. Foot mobiles. I count one, three, six foot mobiles. Wearing mismatched gear. They're bandits."
"I see them," Franz says, his omnitool log abandoned, the systems of his T5-V battlsuit marking the targets in his HUD, moving from a seated position to prone. He rests the Viper on the improvised shooting perch and settles the stock into his shoulder. "Range 500 meters. Windage."
"Right, 4 meters per second."
"Roger." He mentally calculates, adjusts his aim, stills himself, ready to take the shot.
The bandits are moving in a spread out line formation, and not single file. They aren't making a good deal of separation either, though it wouldn't have made much difference anyhow. As soon as they entered his sights, they were dead.
"By the way, Franz," says Naomi, "It's your turn to cook dinner."
"Understood." The N7 Destroyer operator inales, holds his breath, and squeezes the trigger.
The Viper fires a sliver of metal at hypersonic speeds - fast enough that at this range, the trajectory is nearly flat, with no discernable dropoff. It's as easy as point and click. Aim and shoot. The rifle bucks in his arms, but his aim is true, and his target falls to the ground, dead as a doorknob. The messy remains of his head make it quite clear that he won't be getting up soon, even if the corpse is reanimated. Simple metal helmets made by a preindustrial civilisation are no match for a Viper semiautomatic sniper rifle loaded with armor piercing ammo.
He's in the zone now, time seemingly slowing. One bandit, his face splattered with the blood of his fellows, turns to the headless body; his head is next to burst, like an overripe melon. Number 3 draws his sword, and meets a similar fate. Four, five, six; all dispatched with equal effectiveness, each shot through the head. Six shots, six kills, and the Viper beeps urgently, the overheat warning telling him his thermal clip is at max capacity.
"All hostiles down," reports Naomi, and Franz grunts. He does a quick sweep with his rifle, then pulls himself to a crouch, retreating back from the perch. His actions are smooth, borne of much practice; he angles his rifle as he ejects the spent thermal clip, which falls into a bucket of water, that immediately begins heating up. There's a reason nobody goes into combat without wearing a combat hardsuit: overheated thermal clips are hot. So hot, in fact, that the water in the bucket is starting to boil. It serves several purposes: the water acts as a coolant, allowing him to reuse the thermal clip sometime later, there's hot water for shaving and light washing up, and it lets them heat up their MREs. He completes the cooking process by taking two MRE packets and dropping them into the water.
"You were trying to show off again," says his spotter, a Human Engineer, smiling at him. Once again he marvels at how her long dark hair frames her face, and is glad he's wearing his helmet, so she can't see his expression. Not that he finds her cute or anything, no. "You know, If I found a pool of water, I bet I could use these thermal clips and make a hot spring."
"Seriously? That's what you're thinking of? When you don't have a swimsuit?" Franz manages to keep his voice level. His imagination, on the other hand... Curse that teasing Engineer!
"You don't need a swimsuit in a hot spring," she chides him, a saucy smirk on her face. "Join me. It'll be fun."
"Pass. There's only two of us protecting the refugees. Major Kahoku's granddaughter and that chevalier they picked up are decent, but they aren't good. And right now, they need good. Until Captain Valliere and that Elcor tank get back, we're it."
"You might as well take your helmet off. Disengage Devastator Mode," says Naomi. "You should get comfortable. Besides, you don't have emergency induction ports." She reaches into a pocket, removes a small piece of candy, and brings it to her mouth. Her tongue snakes out, licking the sweet, drawing it between her lips, as her hand plays with her hardsuit's collar, pulling the zip down, and Franz desperately wishes for a distraction.
He really should be careful for what he wished for.
An animal roar sounds, and both of them instantly snatch up their weapons, and pause at the sight of the creature that has arrived.
"I should have brought a Cain," said Franz, clipping the Viper to his back, and pulling his assault rifle from it's place. The Lancer assault rifle, still keeping the old cooldown mechanism, modified with armor piercing mods and an extended barrel, with an adjustable combat scope, easily fits into his arms, as he kneels and sights in on the dragon and it's rider.
"Taking the dragon," says Naomi, and a crack like a peal of thunder sounds, as she fires her Mantis sniper rifle. Her aim is true, and the round goes through the dragon's head, killing it instantly. She pulls her hair into a quick bun, and zips up her hardsuit and seals her helmet, while Franz maintains overwatch. "Are there any more dragons?"
"No, no more dragons. Lots of foot mobiles and war golems, though. Think they're just sightseeing?"
"My ass they're sightseeing."
"And a very nice ass it is," says Franz absently. "You'd better borrow my Viper. You're an artist with that Mantix, but you need rate of fire here, not power."
"Thank you," says Naomi, taking the offered sniper rifle and slotting in a fresh thermal clip, and as she snuggles up to the rifle, she's glad that her helmet means Franz can't see her blush, as she uses his rifle.
* * * * *
Notes: My debut effort, as it were. IIRC I banged this out in one afternoon after managing to clear my schedule and it has never been proofed or BETA'ed.
Last edited:
Whiskey Golf
Being of Editing & Technical Assistance
- Location
- Chained to my desk
Reinforcements 2
Sidestory to Element Zero, by LGear
A Zero no Tsukaima/Mass Effect crossover
-Principality of Tristan. Unclaimed Planet.-
Personal Log, Major Franz Jaeger, Systems Alliance Marine Corps, N7.
I really wish I hadn't jinxed us. I knew I shouldn't have commented on enemy strength.
It's been 12 hours since a company-sized combined arms force engaged us. Got hit by golems, infantry, couple of dragons and riders. We drove them off, which is something I'm not happy about – survivors mean they'll return in force. Scouts tried to probe our perimeter six hours ago – I dealt with them. Just because I wear a Devastator battlesuit doesn't mean I don't know this stealth warfare shit. No mages yet, thank god, but I have a feeling we'll be seeing more of them, along with plenty of war golems.
Should anyone other than myself find this log, note that explosive rounds, combined with an armor piercing mod for a rifle, make an excellent way of dealing with war golems. The Lancer fires it's rounds at sufficient velocity that they actually embed themselves into the golems just before detonating. It's not a knockout punch, but put enough rounds into a target and it'll go down. Incidentally, I recommend using either a Revenant or a Typhoon for this, given that the Lancer's internal heatsink and cooling requirements mean it cannot deliver equivalent volumes of fire, which is a drawback in a situation where final protective fires are required. Still, I can mitigate somewhat - I'm using a Lancer modded for lower recoil with an extended mag. I suppose I'm cheating in a way.
But then the only fair fight is the one you lose.
We still can't abandon this area. And unfortunately we don't have air support options. Captain Valliere didn't have a spare shuttle to lend us, and Major Kahoku's ship isn't in any shape to fly. Pity; even a Kodiak with a door gun would have been an unbelievably effective force multiplier against a preindustrial fantasy build army.
We're dug in as best as we can. I really, really don't like it, but we have no choice. We're in two pairs; Granddaughter Maid and Loyalist Chevalier are one pair, Naomi and I are another. Loyalist Chevalier has proven very handy with a pistol and a sword, while Granddaughter Maid's setup in overwatch with a scoped Saber. And me? I'm the machinegunner equivalent.
Naomi's been jury-rigging bandoliers for her thermal clips. We don't have the numbers to fight the enemy head on, so we've had to try and funnel them into a killzone. There's only so long we can hold out here, until the enemy eventually arrives and overwhelms us. But if that happens, I'm taking down every single one of those motherfuckers with me. There's an orphanage full of kids and refugees behind me. The only way these motherfuckers are going to get to them will be past me.
I wish we had a support pylon right now. Omnigel microfabrication technology to pump out thermal clips would be a godsend for Naomi.
I've given Naomi almost all my thermal clips. I'm keeping a few for my Viper - never know when you need to reach out. With the rate of fire her Hurricane's pouring out, she's going to need them more. I'll stick to my Lancer for my main gun. All I need to do is controlled bursts. Every little advantage I can give her. I suppose this is what love is. A desire for someone most precious to you to survive, even at the cost of your own life. Better me than her. Wish I'd told her earlier how I feel.
The numbers aren't good – major enemy force looks to be heading our way, judging from the sensors. Night has fallen; we're all trying to get some rest before the battle.
Well, we've seen some pretty bad shit. We can survive, I think.
And if we survive this, I'm going to ask Naomi to dinner. We'll go to the best place I can afford on my salary and what I've saved up. Time I stopped acting like some goddamned tsundere.
End log.
"Do you think a night attack is likely?"
"I don't dare think, Naomi," said Franz, shrugging, setting aside his omnitool notes. He sat leaning on the ground, against one of the orphanage walls, his helmet beside him. "Your biggest mistake is looking in the mirror, because then you start to think your enemy is like you. That's wrong. Your enemy doesn't think like you. I would think like you. But I'm not them. And at least they don't have nightvision gear, or this would be a pain in the ass. I suspect they'll attack us at dawn; that's when most people are barely awake." He sighes, looking around. "At least this is a good place to make a last stand. The Marine Corps have never believed in letting murderers kill children."
"Well, you should relax. Take a shower. You've been in that suit for over a day. Take it off, let your skin breath. Relax a little."
"Yeah, I'll relax when I- why are you undoing your hardsuit in a combat zone?"
"Because I'm going to have a bath," said Naomi, matter-of-factly, pulling her hardsuit zipper down with one hand, working her long dark hair into a bun with the other. "And I'd like you to join me."
"I get chills from cold water," said Franz, his eyes tracking her hand as it dragged the zipper down, the hardsuit parting to tantalisingly tease at the naked skin beneath.
"I tossed a couple of thermal clips into the water. It's heating up nicely."
"I'm fine. You go and have that bath of yours." Franz's expression was wry and tired, as he consciously forced his eyes away, picking up his Lancer and examining it.
"Oh, come on, join me! It'll be fun!"
"Let me get this straight," said Franz, speaking slowly, in tones one would use to coax a suicidal jumper off a ledge. "You want me to strip down and join you in a bathtub. And your tone and body language imply that you want things to progress further from there. Am I correct? And why are you shrugging yourself out of your hardsuit?"
"Because I've been trying to get your attention since forever and you don't seem to notice that I'm a woman!" yelled Naomi. "Everything I do to try and get your attention fails and you're always such a cold fish and you don't see how I have these strong feelings for you and I'm desperate because tomorrow we're going to die and I don't want to die a virgin-"
"Funny. I have exactly zero problems with dying a virgin," said Franz coldly. "Go. Have your bath. Try and relax. That's an order, Lieutenant. And then maybe, once you've cooled your head, you can check your equipment. There's a war coming, Lieutenant Isuzu. It would behoove you to be prepared to face it, instead of attempting to seduce your superior officer for a one night stand."
Naomi emitted a wordless animalistic noise and stomped away, and Franz pretended he hadn't seen the tears of anger and frustration sliding down her cheeks. He leaned back, his eyes closed, and sighed deeply.
Saint Gordon and Saint Shughart, patrons of snipers: Smile upon me tomorrow as I do battle. Watch my eyes and hands, that my aim be true. Saint Puller, Patron of Marines: infuse me with your badass, that I may honor the Marine Corps. Saint Michael, Patron of Soldiers: Guard my partner in battle, for her life is that which is most precious to me. Vigilio confidio, and please don't let me fuck up.
* * * * *
In all honesty, Franz found himself somewhat impressed at two things: that his prediction was right, and that the enemy was sending what looked like three companies to deal with him.
"But then, it was to be expected," he whispered to himself. "There's an elf here, and they're great threats. It'd make sense that they devote a large force here to take out that elf. Though I wonder how they knew she was here…"
He recalled the morning. A messenger had come from the force arrayed before them, demanding their surrender, and ordering that the vile elf that dwelt there be relinquished to them. Which was curious, given that there should have been no way for them to know that there was an efl - well, a half-elf bastard child heir to Albion royalty - residing here.
As an officer and a gentleman, Major Franz Jaeger, N7, Systems Alliance Marine Corps, did not do anything so uncouth as beheading the messenger or shooting a man under a flag of truce. He did, however, firmly decline the terms of surrender, carefully raise a pistol to the messenger's face, politely advise him that he would relinquish one bullet, and politely inquire as to where the messenger would prefer the aforesaid bullet to be delivered.
The messenger had soiled himself, and returned to his commander, and as the first ranks advanced upon them, Franz and Naomi went to work.
They were stiff and uncomfortable today, he realised. Well, that was his fault, afterall. No girl would have been very happy at him after her advances had been rejected – especially when she'd had feelings for him for quite some time.
Funny, he thought, as he squeezed the trigger of his M-7 Lancer, I coulda sworn she didn't see me that way. Ah, well, shoot first and think later.
The commander of this attacking force actually has a brain: he sends war golems up ahead to soak up the damage, with infantry following behind and archers raining arrows at them, alongside musket volleys. It's actually a pretty good plan. The four of them are near-invulnerable to musket fire, thanks to the shields on their hardsuits, but enough hits will still overwhelm their kinetic barriers – to say nothing of a punch from the golems.
Franz is starting to wish he'd brought his Typhoon instead; he's having to put up a volume of fire so fast that he risks overheating his Lancer, and can't maintain final protective fires. While Naomi, Agnes and Siesta go picking off soldiers, musketeers and archers, he concentrates on the golems – but each golem, even when being shot with AP explosive rounds, takes a lot of killing.
* * * * *
It's the most wonderful sound that he hears, once the battle has been joined for some time - a sound so wonderful that he actually laughs in delight.
"All allies on this network, this is Cain 1-1. Be advised, reinforcements dropping to your in position in three-zero-zero seconds. Say again, reinforcements in three-zero-zero seconds."
"Cain 1-1, Cain 1-1, this is Hunter Actual! Fucking beautiful! Get them here on the bounce, we're about to be overrun! Maid! Musketeer! Friendlies incoming, five minutes!" yelled Franz, blazing away with his Lancer. "Hold till the- oh FUCK! I'm out! Replacing ammo block! Naomi, cover me!"
"Covering!" replied Naomi, her Mantis sniper rifle long since abandoned for an N7 Hurricane submachinegun, firing in quick bursts. Spent thermal clips littered the ground by her feet, while Franz cursed and frantically tried to insert a fresh ammo block into his M-7 Lancer assault rifle. Beside them, Siesta and Agnes continued firing their weapons, trying to make up for the reduction in firepower. He works the block into position, snapping parts back together, as a shadow falls above him-
-and an explosion of fire and blue lightning erupts, Naomi having fired a tech blast at the approaching golem - she may be cross with him, but at least she doesn't want him to die just yet. Stone erupts from the ruined construct, peppering them both, but their kinetic barriers hold and Franz scrambles to his feet, and sees another golem in Naomi's blind spot, about to strike her.
Their lines are collapsing. They won't be able to hold out much longer.
"Cain 1-1 to all friendlies. Arrival in six-zero seconds."
He can't kill the golem before it hits Naomi, but they only need to last one minute. He only needs to buy them sixty seconds. His life, for the orphanage, and for his partner, the one person he loves the most in the world.
It's an easy decision for Franz Jaeger.
He charges Naomi, tackling her down, just as the golem's fist strikes him. They go flying, crashing on the ground. Naomi's kinetic barriers flicker as they recharge, her vision blurry; she shakes her head to try and clear it, and feels a stab of horror as she sees Franz's still form, and the war golem that turns to them. She looks around, but can't find her Hurricane – it must have been dropped when they went flying, she realises. She scrambles toward Franz's still form, snatching up his Lancer, sparing a moment to check his vitals and inject medigel. He's out of immediate medical danger, but there's still a threat in front of them, and she raises the Lancer, squeezing the trigger, seeing rounds spark on the golem's body-
And the war golem explodes in a flash of bluish-white light.
Barely seconds later, a large form crashes on what's left of the golem. The air shimmers as it's kinetic barriers recharge, as it deploys a large glowing curtain of light in front of Siesta and Agnes' position, and steps forward calmly, shielding Naomi and Franz with its body. It is large, easily 10 feet tall, and it turns to her, its three red eyes glowing, and says, in an electronic voice, "Cain 1-1 on station. Vigilio confidio."
Vigilio confidio. The Latin phrase used by their team as a motto and a passphrase. "I am watchful, be confident." Or, Franz's favorite interpretation: "Don't worry, I've got this."
And then the red machine strides forward, ready to do battle.
* * * * *
Agnes has seen many wondrous things since her rescue by Siesta. Flying carriages, muskets so powerful as if by magic, beings she has never seen before. This war golem, is yet another one of those spectacular things. It is sentient, moving of its own power, carrying a large musket with many barrels, standing boldly in front of the enemy host. Though it does not speak, the golem somehow displays contempt for the army arrayed against it.
This is madness, her mind tells her. No single golem can turn the tide. It will be overwhelmed.
And then the golem speaks:
"This platform came to engage in foot-based kinetic impact with posteriors and simulate the mastication of bubblegum. And this platform is presently devoid of bubblegum."
The many-barreled musket in its hands comes to life, spitting out a stream of blue fire, cutting down the swordsmen who have come near. War golems approach, and the golem fires blue-white blasts that tear them asunder. Arrows and musket balls rain down on the golem as it advances methodically, but it ignores the enemy fire, as if it is beneath its notice. An enterprising mage draws near, launching fireballs at the golem; it walks through the smoke and flames, raises a hand, and lightning leaps forward towards the mage, killing him swiftly. Earth mages erect walls; the golem smashes through. A mage tries to collapse the ground under the golem, but it merely plows on. Dragons and their riders try to attack, but the golem alternates shooting them down with its many-barreled musket, and sending lighting after its foes. Wind mages try to blow it away, but the golem's feet remain planted and secure. An orgy of destruction is thrown towards the golem, but it does not falter in its advance.
"What manner of foul sorcery is this?" gasps the Albion commander, and the golem fixes its glowing eyes on his form.
"This platform is the Juggernaut, female canine."
It is the last thing the Albion noble hears.
* * * * *
Notes: As with the above, never proofed, never betaed. It honestly could be done better.
In my mind, Franz rejecting Naomi's advances was kind of a rejection of ME2's sex before the Relay bit, where Shep and the LI consummate their relationship. Though I didn't really make that clear.
As was pointed out to me, military romance shouldn't happen, and I agree - it's detrimental to good order. On the other hand we kinda give shep and LI and Garrus and Tali a pass (for the record, I have to be honest and admit that I played one MShep/Miranda game, one femshep/Garrus game, one Mshep/tali game).
On the other hand when it came to ME3 I actually stubbornly started a brand new ME2 game just so I could play a celibate broshep Engineer.
Sidestory to Element Zero, by LGear
A Zero no Tsukaima/Mass Effect crossover
-Principality of Tristan. Unclaimed Planet.-
Personal Log, Major Franz Jaeger, Systems Alliance Marine Corps, N7.
I really wish I hadn't jinxed us. I knew I shouldn't have commented on enemy strength.
It's been 12 hours since a company-sized combined arms force engaged us. Got hit by golems, infantry, couple of dragons and riders. We drove them off, which is something I'm not happy about – survivors mean they'll return in force. Scouts tried to probe our perimeter six hours ago – I dealt with them. Just because I wear a Devastator battlesuit doesn't mean I don't know this stealth warfare shit. No mages yet, thank god, but I have a feeling we'll be seeing more of them, along with plenty of war golems.
Should anyone other than myself find this log, note that explosive rounds, combined with an armor piercing mod for a rifle, make an excellent way of dealing with war golems. The Lancer fires it's rounds at sufficient velocity that they actually embed themselves into the golems just before detonating. It's not a knockout punch, but put enough rounds into a target and it'll go down. Incidentally, I recommend using either a Revenant or a Typhoon for this, given that the Lancer's internal heatsink and cooling requirements mean it cannot deliver equivalent volumes of fire, which is a drawback in a situation where final protective fires are required. Still, I can mitigate somewhat - I'm using a Lancer modded for lower recoil with an extended mag. I suppose I'm cheating in a way.
But then the only fair fight is the one you lose.
We still can't abandon this area. And unfortunately we don't have air support options. Captain Valliere didn't have a spare shuttle to lend us, and Major Kahoku's ship isn't in any shape to fly. Pity; even a Kodiak with a door gun would have been an unbelievably effective force multiplier against a preindustrial fantasy build army.
We're dug in as best as we can. I really, really don't like it, but we have no choice. We're in two pairs; Granddaughter Maid and Loyalist Chevalier are one pair, Naomi and I are another. Loyalist Chevalier has proven very handy with a pistol and a sword, while Granddaughter Maid's setup in overwatch with a scoped Saber. And me? I'm the machinegunner equivalent.
Naomi's been jury-rigging bandoliers for her thermal clips. We don't have the numbers to fight the enemy head on, so we've had to try and funnel them into a killzone. There's only so long we can hold out here, until the enemy eventually arrives and overwhelms us. But if that happens, I'm taking down every single one of those motherfuckers with me. There's an orphanage full of kids and refugees behind me. The only way these motherfuckers are going to get to them will be past me.
I wish we had a support pylon right now. Omnigel microfabrication technology to pump out thermal clips would be a godsend for Naomi.
I've given Naomi almost all my thermal clips. I'm keeping a few for my Viper - never know when you need to reach out. With the rate of fire her Hurricane's pouring out, she's going to need them more. I'll stick to my Lancer for my main gun. All I need to do is controlled bursts. Every little advantage I can give her. I suppose this is what love is. A desire for someone most precious to you to survive, even at the cost of your own life. Better me than her. Wish I'd told her earlier how I feel.
The numbers aren't good – major enemy force looks to be heading our way, judging from the sensors. Night has fallen; we're all trying to get some rest before the battle.
Well, we've seen some pretty bad shit. We can survive, I think.
And if we survive this, I'm going to ask Naomi to dinner. We'll go to the best place I can afford on my salary and what I've saved up. Time I stopped acting like some goddamned tsundere.
End log.
"Do you think a night attack is likely?"
"I don't dare think, Naomi," said Franz, shrugging, setting aside his omnitool notes. He sat leaning on the ground, against one of the orphanage walls, his helmet beside him. "Your biggest mistake is looking in the mirror, because then you start to think your enemy is like you. That's wrong. Your enemy doesn't think like you. I would think like you. But I'm not them. And at least they don't have nightvision gear, or this would be a pain in the ass. I suspect they'll attack us at dawn; that's when most people are barely awake." He sighes, looking around. "At least this is a good place to make a last stand. The Marine Corps have never believed in letting murderers kill children."
"Well, you should relax. Take a shower. You've been in that suit for over a day. Take it off, let your skin breath. Relax a little."
"Yeah, I'll relax when I- why are you undoing your hardsuit in a combat zone?"
"Because I'm going to have a bath," said Naomi, matter-of-factly, pulling her hardsuit zipper down with one hand, working her long dark hair into a bun with the other. "And I'd like you to join me."
"I get chills from cold water," said Franz, his eyes tracking her hand as it dragged the zipper down, the hardsuit parting to tantalisingly tease at the naked skin beneath.
"I tossed a couple of thermal clips into the water. It's heating up nicely."
"I'm fine. You go and have that bath of yours." Franz's expression was wry and tired, as he consciously forced his eyes away, picking up his Lancer and examining it.
"Oh, come on, join me! It'll be fun!"
"Let me get this straight," said Franz, speaking slowly, in tones one would use to coax a suicidal jumper off a ledge. "You want me to strip down and join you in a bathtub. And your tone and body language imply that you want things to progress further from there. Am I correct? And why are you shrugging yourself out of your hardsuit?"
"Because I've been trying to get your attention since forever and you don't seem to notice that I'm a woman!" yelled Naomi. "Everything I do to try and get your attention fails and you're always such a cold fish and you don't see how I have these strong feelings for you and I'm desperate because tomorrow we're going to die and I don't want to die a virgin-"
"Funny. I have exactly zero problems with dying a virgin," said Franz coldly. "Go. Have your bath. Try and relax. That's an order, Lieutenant. And then maybe, once you've cooled your head, you can check your equipment. There's a war coming, Lieutenant Isuzu. It would behoove you to be prepared to face it, instead of attempting to seduce your superior officer for a one night stand."
Naomi emitted a wordless animalistic noise and stomped away, and Franz pretended he hadn't seen the tears of anger and frustration sliding down her cheeks. He leaned back, his eyes closed, and sighed deeply.
Saint Gordon and Saint Shughart, patrons of snipers: Smile upon me tomorrow as I do battle. Watch my eyes and hands, that my aim be true. Saint Puller, Patron of Marines: infuse me with your badass, that I may honor the Marine Corps. Saint Michael, Patron of Soldiers: Guard my partner in battle, for her life is that which is most precious to me. Vigilio confidio, and please don't let me fuck up.
* * * * *
In all honesty, Franz found himself somewhat impressed at two things: that his prediction was right, and that the enemy was sending what looked like three companies to deal with him.
"But then, it was to be expected," he whispered to himself. "There's an elf here, and they're great threats. It'd make sense that they devote a large force here to take out that elf. Though I wonder how they knew she was here…"
He recalled the morning. A messenger had come from the force arrayed before them, demanding their surrender, and ordering that the vile elf that dwelt there be relinquished to them. Which was curious, given that there should have been no way for them to know that there was an efl - well, a half-elf bastard child heir to Albion royalty - residing here.
As an officer and a gentleman, Major Franz Jaeger, N7, Systems Alliance Marine Corps, did not do anything so uncouth as beheading the messenger or shooting a man under a flag of truce. He did, however, firmly decline the terms of surrender, carefully raise a pistol to the messenger's face, politely advise him that he would relinquish one bullet, and politely inquire as to where the messenger would prefer the aforesaid bullet to be delivered.
The messenger had soiled himself, and returned to his commander, and as the first ranks advanced upon them, Franz and Naomi went to work.
They were stiff and uncomfortable today, he realised. Well, that was his fault, afterall. No girl would have been very happy at him after her advances had been rejected – especially when she'd had feelings for him for quite some time.
Funny, he thought, as he squeezed the trigger of his M-7 Lancer, I coulda sworn she didn't see me that way. Ah, well, shoot first and think later.
The commander of this attacking force actually has a brain: he sends war golems up ahead to soak up the damage, with infantry following behind and archers raining arrows at them, alongside musket volleys. It's actually a pretty good plan. The four of them are near-invulnerable to musket fire, thanks to the shields on their hardsuits, but enough hits will still overwhelm their kinetic barriers – to say nothing of a punch from the golems.
Franz is starting to wish he'd brought his Typhoon instead; he's having to put up a volume of fire so fast that he risks overheating his Lancer, and can't maintain final protective fires. While Naomi, Agnes and Siesta go picking off soldiers, musketeers and archers, he concentrates on the golems – but each golem, even when being shot with AP explosive rounds, takes a lot of killing.
* * * * *
It's the most wonderful sound that he hears, once the battle has been joined for some time - a sound so wonderful that he actually laughs in delight.
"All allies on this network, this is Cain 1-1. Be advised, reinforcements dropping to your in position in three-zero-zero seconds. Say again, reinforcements in three-zero-zero seconds."
"Cain 1-1, Cain 1-1, this is Hunter Actual! Fucking beautiful! Get them here on the bounce, we're about to be overrun! Maid! Musketeer! Friendlies incoming, five minutes!" yelled Franz, blazing away with his Lancer. "Hold till the- oh FUCK! I'm out! Replacing ammo block! Naomi, cover me!"
"Covering!" replied Naomi, her Mantis sniper rifle long since abandoned for an N7 Hurricane submachinegun, firing in quick bursts. Spent thermal clips littered the ground by her feet, while Franz cursed and frantically tried to insert a fresh ammo block into his M-7 Lancer assault rifle. Beside them, Siesta and Agnes continued firing their weapons, trying to make up for the reduction in firepower. He works the block into position, snapping parts back together, as a shadow falls above him-
-and an explosion of fire and blue lightning erupts, Naomi having fired a tech blast at the approaching golem - she may be cross with him, but at least she doesn't want him to die just yet. Stone erupts from the ruined construct, peppering them both, but their kinetic barriers hold and Franz scrambles to his feet, and sees another golem in Naomi's blind spot, about to strike her.
Their lines are collapsing. They won't be able to hold out much longer.
"Cain 1-1 to all friendlies. Arrival in six-zero seconds."
He can't kill the golem before it hits Naomi, but they only need to last one minute. He only needs to buy them sixty seconds. His life, for the orphanage, and for his partner, the one person he loves the most in the world.
It's an easy decision for Franz Jaeger.
He charges Naomi, tackling her down, just as the golem's fist strikes him. They go flying, crashing on the ground. Naomi's kinetic barriers flicker as they recharge, her vision blurry; she shakes her head to try and clear it, and feels a stab of horror as she sees Franz's still form, and the war golem that turns to them. She looks around, but can't find her Hurricane – it must have been dropped when they went flying, she realises. She scrambles toward Franz's still form, snatching up his Lancer, sparing a moment to check his vitals and inject medigel. He's out of immediate medical danger, but there's still a threat in front of them, and she raises the Lancer, squeezing the trigger, seeing rounds spark on the golem's body-
And the war golem explodes in a flash of bluish-white light.
Barely seconds later, a large form crashes on what's left of the golem. The air shimmers as it's kinetic barriers recharge, as it deploys a large glowing curtain of light in front of Siesta and Agnes' position, and steps forward calmly, shielding Naomi and Franz with its body. It is large, easily 10 feet tall, and it turns to her, its three red eyes glowing, and says, in an electronic voice, "Cain 1-1 on station. Vigilio confidio."
Vigilio confidio. The Latin phrase used by their team as a motto and a passphrase. "I am watchful, be confident." Or, Franz's favorite interpretation: "Don't worry, I've got this."
And then the red machine strides forward, ready to do battle.
* * * * *
Agnes has seen many wondrous things since her rescue by Siesta. Flying carriages, muskets so powerful as if by magic, beings she has never seen before. This war golem, is yet another one of those spectacular things. It is sentient, moving of its own power, carrying a large musket with many barrels, standing boldly in front of the enemy host. Though it does not speak, the golem somehow displays contempt for the army arrayed against it.
This is madness, her mind tells her. No single golem can turn the tide. It will be overwhelmed.
And then the golem speaks:
"This platform came to engage in foot-based kinetic impact with posteriors and simulate the mastication of bubblegum. And this platform is presently devoid of bubblegum."
The many-barreled musket in its hands comes to life, spitting out a stream of blue fire, cutting down the swordsmen who have come near. War golems approach, and the golem fires blue-white blasts that tear them asunder. Arrows and musket balls rain down on the golem as it advances methodically, but it ignores the enemy fire, as if it is beneath its notice. An enterprising mage draws near, launching fireballs at the golem; it walks through the smoke and flames, raises a hand, and lightning leaps forward towards the mage, killing him swiftly. Earth mages erect walls; the golem smashes through. A mage tries to collapse the ground under the golem, but it merely plows on. Dragons and their riders try to attack, but the golem alternates shooting them down with its many-barreled musket, and sending lighting after its foes. Wind mages try to blow it away, but the golem's feet remain planted and secure. An orgy of destruction is thrown towards the golem, but it does not falter in its advance.
"What manner of foul sorcery is this?" gasps the Albion commander, and the golem fixes its glowing eyes on his form.
"This platform is the Juggernaut, female canine."
It is the last thing the Albion noble hears.
* * * * *
Notes: As with the above, never proofed, never betaed. It honestly could be done better.
In my mind, Franz rejecting Naomi's advances was kind of a rejection of ME2's sex before the Relay bit, where Shep and the LI consummate their relationship. Though I didn't really make that clear.
As was pointed out to me, military romance shouldn't happen, and I agree - it's detrimental to good order. On the other hand we kinda give shep and LI and Garrus and Tali a pass (for the record, I have to be honest and admit that I played one MShep/Miranda game, one femshep/Garrus game, one Mshep/tali game).
On the other hand when it came to ME3 I actually stubbornly started a brand new ME2 game just so I could play a celibate broshep Engineer.
Whiskey Golf
Being of Editing & Technical Assistance
- Location
- Chained to my desk
Copying some more posts from SB -_-;;
A while back, I did some ZnT crossed with Mass Effect 3 Multiplayer snips, working off LGear's Element Zero snips.
The following snip is a speedwrite excercise, and was influenced by the above, but is essentially more of a pure ME3/ZnT cross. No proofing has been done; I sat down and hammered at my keyboard and this is the result.
Stand Together
A Mass Effect/Zero no Tsukaima Crossover
[Originally written 17/04/2013]
"Creator Megara, does this unit have a soul?"
"The question I ask you, Kain, is do I have a soul?"
"Error. No data available."
"Then how about we find out together?"
"That is acceptable, Creator Megara."
* * * * *
On the hills of Saxe-Gotha stand two figures. The smaller of the two is a mere girl, barely seventeen summers old, a flower not yet blooming into full womanhood.
The taller of the two is a war golem, one of a kind not seen on Halkegenia. It is over ten feet tall, painted red, with chips and dents in its metal form, and it is older than three hundred solar cycles.
Louise Francoise de la Valliere stands and looks at the mighty host, and her courage fails her. The combined armies are retreating. To save themselves, to preserve as much of their fighting strength as possible, this one girl has been offered as a sacrifice on the altar of military expediency. One girl, for the lives of many. She recalls her orders: she is not to retreat, she is not allowed to surrender, she is to stand and continue to cast for as long as possible to delay the Albion host. She is to die that others may live.
"Stand with me?" she asks her familiar, and the mighty golem turns its three red eyes upon her.
"That course of action is acceptable."
* * * * *
"These are holovids. Action holovids. Blockbuster action holovids."
"Creator Megara, we do not understand? How is this discovering a soul?"
"You have to understand bravery and badass first. Only then can you build a soul!"
* * * * *
"I'm afraid, Kain."
"We do not experience fear, but we understand how it affects you," the geth Juggernaut replied placidly. "Though this platform proceeds via foot-based manual locomotion through the valley of termination, this platform will dread no diabolism, for this platform is the matron fornicator of greatest size in the valley."
Louise looked at her familiar, smiling despite herself at its oddities.
* * * * *
"Go! Get out of here! They'll destroy you! G-"
"Creator Megara, what is your status? Creator Megara?
* * * * *
The Albion host arrayed in front of it is numerous, but the geth Juggernaut - once a simple platform known only as Kain, who had been a fried to its Creator - stands firm and brings its weapon to bear.
It's strange; ever since Legion's sacrifice, it's been reflecting more and more about the past. It's been thinking more about Creator Megara's sacrifice. For years it has wondered why its Creator did so. Geth were to sacrifice themselves for the Creators, not the other way around.
"Creator Louise. Your orders?"
Louise stares at the Albion host, swallows, and in a small voice, hesitatingly asks: "Stand with me?"
"That is acceptable."
"I'm sorry we won't have a good ending."
"Positive, negative, this platform is the geth with the mass accelerator weapon."
Louise laughs, a shrill laugh of fear and humor and absurdity, and says, "How many of those sayings do you have anyway?"
"This platform has never needed to tabulate these remarks, prior to this conversation." The Juggernaut pauses, seemingly thoughtful. "This platform's Creator taught that reciting sayings of diabolical asinus were a prerequisite to attaining a soul."
* * * * *
Yeah, Louise summoned a Juggernaut. Not quite my best work, but I'm making it a point to do one speedwrite a week to try and kickstart my creative juices.
A while back, I did some ZnT crossed with Mass Effect 3 Multiplayer snips, working off LGear's Element Zero snips.
The following snip is a speedwrite excercise, and was influenced by the above, but is essentially more of a pure ME3/ZnT cross. No proofing has been done; I sat down and hammered at my keyboard and this is the result.
Stand Together
A Mass Effect/Zero no Tsukaima Crossover
[Originally written 17/04/2013]
"Creator Megara, does this unit have a soul?"
"The question I ask you, Kain, is do I have a soul?"
"Error. No data available."
"Then how about we find out together?"
"That is acceptable, Creator Megara."
* * * * *
On the hills of Saxe-Gotha stand two figures. The smaller of the two is a mere girl, barely seventeen summers old, a flower not yet blooming into full womanhood.
The taller of the two is a war golem, one of a kind not seen on Halkegenia. It is over ten feet tall, painted red, with chips and dents in its metal form, and it is older than three hundred solar cycles.
Louise Francoise de la Valliere stands and looks at the mighty host, and her courage fails her. The combined armies are retreating. To save themselves, to preserve as much of their fighting strength as possible, this one girl has been offered as a sacrifice on the altar of military expediency. One girl, for the lives of many. She recalls her orders: she is not to retreat, she is not allowed to surrender, she is to stand and continue to cast for as long as possible to delay the Albion host. She is to die that others may live.
"Stand with me?" she asks her familiar, and the mighty golem turns its three red eyes upon her.
"That course of action is acceptable."
* * * * *
"These are holovids. Action holovids. Blockbuster action holovids."
"Creator Megara, we do not understand? How is this discovering a soul?"
"You have to understand bravery and badass first. Only then can you build a soul!"
* * * * *
"I'm afraid, Kain."
"We do not experience fear, but we understand how it affects you," the geth Juggernaut replied placidly. "Though this platform proceeds via foot-based manual locomotion through the valley of termination, this platform will dread no diabolism, for this platform is the matron fornicator of greatest size in the valley."
Louise looked at her familiar, smiling despite herself at its oddities.
* * * * *
"Go! Get out of here! They'll destroy you! G-"
"Creator Megara, what is your status? Creator Megara?
* * * * *
The Albion host arrayed in front of it is numerous, but the geth Juggernaut - once a simple platform known only as Kain, who had been a fried to its Creator - stands firm and brings its weapon to bear.
It's strange; ever since Legion's sacrifice, it's been reflecting more and more about the past. It's been thinking more about Creator Megara's sacrifice. For years it has wondered why its Creator did so. Geth were to sacrifice themselves for the Creators, not the other way around.
"Creator Louise. Your orders?"
Louise stares at the Albion host, swallows, and in a small voice, hesitatingly asks: "Stand with me?"
"That is acceptable."
"I'm sorry we won't have a good ending."
"Positive, negative, this platform is the geth with the mass accelerator weapon."
Louise laughs, a shrill laugh of fear and humor and absurdity, and says, "How many of those sayings do you have anyway?"
"This platform has never needed to tabulate these remarks, prior to this conversation." The Juggernaut pauses, seemingly thoughtful. "This platform's Creator taught that reciting sayings of diabolical asinus were a prerequisite to attaining a soul."
* * * * *
Yeah, Louise summoned a Juggernaut. Not quite my best work, but I'm making it a point to do one speedwrite a week to try and kickstart my creative juices.
Whiskey Golf
Being of Editing & Technical Assistance
- Location
- Chained to my desk
Another snip I'm archving here. This was from the Unlikely situations in Magical Girl Anime thread on SB.
= = =
So I kinda had this bouncing around in my head for a while.
I suppose this thing below is unlikely in that how many times do you see magical girls - or magic users - acting with some semblence of... well my own vague attempt at emulating Strike Back, The Unit, Ghost in the Shell and other things.
And that Gripen commercial.
* * * * *
"Uruz One, this is Uruz Zero. Report," ordered Franz Jaeger, standing inside the makeshift command center, clipboard and pen in hand, his eyes tracking holographic readouts projected in the air. That was one of the good things about TSAB technology. Sure, there was something solid about conventional physical screens, and he found those a lot easier on the eye than the holoscreens the Bureau favored, but it did wonders for being able to setup a command center anywhere, with a minimum of fuss.
"Zero, this is One. Confirm visual on one sparkle engaged with a mon, possible Category 2. Combat is fluid, they're proceeding into populated areas. Request permission to-"
"One, Zero. You know very well that ROE Delta and the Priority on Life are in effect. ROE Delta explicitly forbids intervention in a local magical conflict on a Non-Administered World. Furthermore, our remit is SR and monitoring; we're here for a training exercise, not to be knights in shining armor."
"Zero, I understand, but-"
"Leo, this is triage," says Jaeger levelly, though his nails dig into the clipboard and the strokes of his pen are more violent than normal. "We cannot intervene in every situation. We cannot save everyone. If you try to save everyone, you will fail. Uruz Team is to continue it's exercise."
= = =
"Your boyfriend's not letting us out to play," says Uruz Four, Kriss Lanza, and Uruz Three, Naomi Jaeger, shoots her a dirty look.
"He's not my boyfriend, Kriss," she says. "Not yet, anyway. Besides, my plan is to jump straight to fiancee."
"If you two are finished discussing Three's love life, we still need to decide what to do," says Uruz Two, Tempy, the team sniper, who's maintaining overwatch with his sniper rifle. Beside him is Uruz One, Leo Kozlov, team leader for the exercise. "Do we go or stay?"
"I say go," says Leo, his weapon at the ready. "You guys continue. No point getting canned just because you were following me."
"I'd like to do that, but I'm unfortunately obliged to watch your back, since you're crap at it," shoots back Tempy. "We need to act soon, whatever we do."
"Comms off?" asks Naomi, and everyone acknowledges. "Okay. Leo, a suggestion. Franz said that ROE Delta and the Priority on Life were in effect. What's the Priority again? Secure the safety of civilians, friendly personnel, and then nonlethal capture of hostiles if possible. And the Priority-"
"Supersedes the ROE," said Leo, catching on. "Which gives us a loophole. Okay, team, here's what we'll do.."
= = =
Franz Jaeger is halfway out the door, his shades displaying replicated feeds from the command center, before he realises something is up.
Clever kids. Brave kids, he thinks, as he sees the icons marking Uruz Team moving to the local magical girl and her foe. Still gotta call them out on it.
"One, this is Zero. Explain yourself," he orders, addressing Leo over comms.
"Zero, this is one. What you see is exactly what you're getting."
"One, don't get smart. ROE Delta forbids intervention. You know that well enough."
"Zero, understood, but you misunderstand - we're containing, not intervening."
"Distinction without a difference, One."
"Zero, Priority on Life states that we need to protect civilians when able, when it's within my power. So long as this exercise is on, I'm team leader, and I have the authority to make judgement calls, and that's what I'm doing. You're right, we can't save everyone, but I can save the people here right now. I have a plan. Four will deploy a dimensional barrier to shift the combatants out of phase, allowing us to contain. One and Three will commit for VID and suppression. Two will be ready to nail that thing as soon as the barrier goes up. We've got this."
"One, be advised that you'll be written up for this."
"Zero, I know what I'm getting into. I'm not asking for permission, I'm acting. One, engaging."
Leo cuts comms, and Franz actually smiles. "I didn't say it was the wrong decision, Leo," he says mildly to the empty apartment. With a flick of his fingers, his barrier jacket, same as the one the rest of Uruz uses, dematerialises: the black tactical jacket and body armor fading away to reveal a plain gray t-shirt, the dark blue combat pants replaced by faded jeans. He turns his attention back to the displays, and begins to mentally compose his defense of his protege's actions, as he continues to observe and evaluate.
= = =
One moment, she is fighting for her life against a hideous monster, one almost two stories tall, one that despite her best efforts is heading into the city. The beast backhands her into a a building; she misses a window and hits the side, falling to land on the pavement in a painful heap. Vision blurry, head ringing, sense of balance off, her whole body hurting, it is all she can do to try and stand up.
Then there's a sound. Something, a sound she can't identify. A wave of energy washes across her and the monster, and suddenly the world has lost it's vibrancy, rendered almost monochrome. She knows it isn't her, and wonders - briefly - who might use such magic.
The monster rears above her, preparing to strike - and then is halted, as rings of light encircle its limbs and body. A barrage of light hits it and it roars in pain, and she sees two figures approaching her, both carrying black guns, one male, one female. The young man runs on the side of a nearby building, as if it's the easiest thing in the world, as his gun barks in a stacatto burst, before he jumps off, flips forward, and continues to fire, even as he lands and slides to a stop in front of her. The young woman - the girl, she can't possible be older than me, thinks the wounded magical girl - is flying, making high a speed pass over the monster - her gun fires in a long roar, one that makes the magical girl flinch; guns aren't something she's quite accustomed to.The flying girl makes another pass, and comes in for a fast landing beside her; it's as if she cut her power and fell, but her landing is smooth and graceful, and she extends a hand.
"My name is Naomi Jaeger and I'm here to help. Hold still," she says, moving her gun behind her back. Her attire is strange - not what she was expecting of another magical girl. Unlike her own dress of white, with gold trimming and lace frills, Naomi Jaeger looks like a soldier, or maybe a SWAT policeman, dressed in a black jacket and dark blue trousers. If not for her long braided hair, she could have been mistaken for a man. "One, I need cover."
"You have it," says the young man, and he's moving again, faster than a normal human should move, firing his rifle - except this time it's firing what look like pulses of light, not bullets, and the monster continues to roar in pain.
"Alright, I'm going to stabilise you, do some emergency healing magic, then we're going to get you mobile and away from the fight."
"I need to defea-"
"You can't do your duty if you're dead," says this Naomi Jaeger matter-of-factly, extending her hand, which radiates a soft glow. "Emergency healing magic: never leave home without it. Now hold still so I can treat you."
"Who are you?"
"Just a concerned third party. Once I get you mobile, come with me if you want to live."
-
Why are we here? Because we can make a difference.
-
= = =
So I kinda had this bouncing around in my head for a while.
I suppose this thing below is unlikely in that how many times do you see magical girls - or magic users - acting with some semblence of... well my own vague attempt at emulating Strike Back, The Unit, Ghost in the Shell and other things.
And that Gripen commercial.
* * * * *
"Uruz One, this is Uruz Zero. Report," ordered Franz Jaeger, standing inside the makeshift command center, clipboard and pen in hand, his eyes tracking holographic readouts projected in the air. That was one of the good things about TSAB technology. Sure, there was something solid about conventional physical screens, and he found those a lot easier on the eye than the holoscreens the Bureau favored, but it did wonders for being able to setup a command center anywhere, with a minimum of fuss.
"Zero, this is One. Confirm visual on one sparkle engaged with a mon, possible Category 2. Combat is fluid, they're proceeding into populated areas. Request permission to-"
"One, Zero. You know very well that ROE Delta and the Priority on Life are in effect. ROE Delta explicitly forbids intervention in a local magical conflict on a Non-Administered World. Furthermore, our remit is SR and monitoring; we're here for a training exercise, not to be knights in shining armor."
"Zero, I understand, but-"
"Leo, this is triage," says Jaeger levelly, though his nails dig into the clipboard and the strokes of his pen are more violent than normal. "We cannot intervene in every situation. We cannot save everyone. If you try to save everyone, you will fail. Uruz Team is to continue it's exercise."
= = =
"Your boyfriend's not letting us out to play," says Uruz Four, Kriss Lanza, and Uruz Three, Naomi Jaeger, shoots her a dirty look.
"He's not my boyfriend, Kriss," she says. "Not yet, anyway. Besides, my plan is to jump straight to fiancee."
"If you two are finished discussing Three's love life, we still need to decide what to do," says Uruz Two, Tempy, the team sniper, who's maintaining overwatch with his sniper rifle. Beside him is Uruz One, Leo Kozlov, team leader for the exercise. "Do we go or stay?"
"I say go," says Leo, his weapon at the ready. "You guys continue. No point getting canned just because you were following me."
"I'd like to do that, but I'm unfortunately obliged to watch your back, since you're crap at it," shoots back Tempy. "We need to act soon, whatever we do."
"Comms off?" asks Naomi, and everyone acknowledges. "Okay. Leo, a suggestion. Franz said that ROE Delta and the Priority on Life were in effect. What's the Priority again? Secure the safety of civilians, friendly personnel, and then nonlethal capture of hostiles if possible. And the Priority-"
"Supersedes the ROE," said Leo, catching on. "Which gives us a loophole. Okay, team, here's what we'll do.."
= = =
Franz Jaeger is halfway out the door, his shades displaying replicated feeds from the command center, before he realises something is up.
Clever kids. Brave kids, he thinks, as he sees the icons marking Uruz Team moving to the local magical girl and her foe. Still gotta call them out on it.
"One, this is Zero. Explain yourself," he orders, addressing Leo over comms.
"Zero, this is one. What you see is exactly what you're getting."
"One, don't get smart. ROE Delta forbids intervention. You know that well enough."
"Zero, understood, but you misunderstand - we're containing, not intervening."
"Distinction without a difference, One."
"Zero, Priority on Life states that we need to protect civilians when able, when it's within my power. So long as this exercise is on, I'm team leader, and I have the authority to make judgement calls, and that's what I'm doing. You're right, we can't save everyone, but I can save the people here right now. I have a plan. Four will deploy a dimensional barrier to shift the combatants out of phase, allowing us to contain. One and Three will commit for VID and suppression. Two will be ready to nail that thing as soon as the barrier goes up. We've got this."
"One, be advised that you'll be written up for this."
"Zero, I know what I'm getting into. I'm not asking for permission, I'm acting. One, engaging."
Leo cuts comms, and Franz actually smiles. "I didn't say it was the wrong decision, Leo," he says mildly to the empty apartment. With a flick of his fingers, his barrier jacket, same as the one the rest of Uruz uses, dematerialises: the black tactical jacket and body armor fading away to reveal a plain gray t-shirt, the dark blue combat pants replaced by faded jeans. He turns his attention back to the displays, and begins to mentally compose his defense of his protege's actions, as he continues to observe and evaluate.
= = =
One moment, she is fighting for her life against a hideous monster, one almost two stories tall, one that despite her best efforts is heading into the city. The beast backhands her into a a building; she misses a window and hits the side, falling to land on the pavement in a painful heap. Vision blurry, head ringing, sense of balance off, her whole body hurting, it is all she can do to try and stand up.
Then there's a sound. Something, a sound she can't identify. A wave of energy washes across her and the monster, and suddenly the world has lost it's vibrancy, rendered almost monochrome. She knows it isn't her, and wonders - briefly - who might use such magic.
The monster rears above her, preparing to strike - and then is halted, as rings of light encircle its limbs and body. A barrage of light hits it and it roars in pain, and she sees two figures approaching her, both carrying black guns, one male, one female. The young man runs on the side of a nearby building, as if it's the easiest thing in the world, as his gun barks in a stacatto burst, before he jumps off, flips forward, and continues to fire, even as he lands and slides to a stop in front of her. The young woman - the girl, she can't possible be older than me, thinks the wounded magical girl - is flying, making high a speed pass over the monster - her gun fires in a long roar, one that makes the magical girl flinch; guns aren't something she's quite accustomed to.The flying girl makes another pass, and comes in for a fast landing beside her; it's as if she cut her power and fell, but her landing is smooth and graceful, and she extends a hand.
"My name is Naomi Jaeger and I'm here to help. Hold still," she says, moving her gun behind her back. Her attire is strange - not what she was expecting of another magical girl. Unlike her own dress of white, with gold trimming and lace frills, Naomi Jaeger looks like a soldier, or maybe a SWAT policeman, dressed in a black jacket and dark blue trousers. If not for her long braided hair, she could have been mistaken for a man. "One, I need cover."
"You have it," says the young man, and he's moving again, faster than a normal human should move, firing his rifle - except this time it's firing what look like pulses of light, not bullets, and the monster continues to roar in pain.
"Alright, I'm going to stabilise you, do some emergency healing magic, then we're going to get you mobile and away from the fight."
"I need to defea-"
"You can't do your duty if you're dead," says this Naomi Jaeger matter-of-factly, extending her hand, which radiates a soft glow. "Emergency healing magic: never leave home without it. Now hold still so I can treat you."
"Who are you?"
"Just a concerned third party. Once I get you mobile, come with me if you want to live."
-
Why are we here? Because we can make a difference.
-
- Location
- Austrlia
I like this one. Well, I like all of them, but I can see this one extended into a full story, one I'd like to read.
10
Whiskey Golf
Being of Editing & Technical Assistance
- Location
- Chained to my desk
Sooooooooo I had a strange dream that became a snippet.
I blame @Strypgia's dangerously cute Imp of chaos for this.
I suppose you could consider this a spinoff from Swordomatic & Strypgia: On the Inquisition's Secret Service.
Attack on Imp 2.0
Once upon a time, there was a man. He was a good man. He had faith in his heart and wore a flag on his shoulder, and he met a good woman, and love blossomed between them, and they had two beautiful little girls.
That was decades ago.
Things change.
Today, Imp stands in her command room, glaring at the many screens. What was supposed to be another normal day on her island supervillian base was interrupted by loud explosions. SAM and point defense sites went up in flames. The hardened bunkers where she kept her Deathstrike missile launchers had their access tunnels collapsed. Her lair was under attack.
"Mistress, we are under attack," said Sara, one of her minions. Normally, Imp tolerated her Captain Obviousness tendencies because Sara was a delight on the eyes, but not today.
"I can see that!" she snarled. "What the hell is happening, and what the hell is the QRF doing?"
"I've mobilised the QRF and quadrupled the guards for the Command sector," said Imp 2.0, or Zwei, as she preferred to be called. "UCAVs have been launched to secure our airspace and I'm flooding every access point to here with every gun servitor, power loader, drone and mecha we have. We're under attack by what looks like a special forces team who know what they're doing, who're making a strike on our air defenses to make us think an airstrike is coming, when they're going to sneak in here and grab us."
Imp nods gratefully at her sister and 2nd in command and the only person she both trusts to get shit done and not backstab her. Her face falls momentarily, as she looks at Zwei. "It's Daddy, isn't it?"
Zwei's face is just as unhappy. "I'd bet on it."
* * * * *
"Strypgia, man. Look you've done us a solid plenty of times. We're all brothers. You don't need to do this."
"I have to do this, Swordo. They're my daughters. They're my responsibility."
* * * * *
Somehow, Zwei was unsurprised it had come to this.
She stood on the edge of airfield, holding Imp's hand, as they watched yet another part of their island explode. All thanks to Daddy and his crazy friends and that Inquisitor they worked for. Really, who brought a Baneblade superheavy tank to an infiltration mission?
(The Rhino with the pintle-mounted lascannon didn't elicit much of a reaction because Zwei was still trying to parse that her Daddy had brought a God-Emperor bedamned Baneblade to a snatch and grab and had somehow managed to do an unholy fusion of a stealth mission and a loud mission.)
Above them, their combat UCAVs were dogfighting with the gunships that Daddy had brought along for the ride - turns out Zwei had miscalculated, and the destroyed air defense sites were destroyed so that Daddy's friends in gunships could rain death from above on them. She was still kicking herself for misreading the situation. Imp, in her infinite patience, hadn't said anything, but Zwei could tell she was disappointed.
The Concorde-like shuttle was fast and agile and more importantly, this particular shuttle was orbit-capable, given that Imp had always intended it to be her escape to her ship in orbit. Tears run down Imp's furious and determined face.
"It's just a setback, Zwei," she says, trying to comfort her sister and herself. "Come on. Let's go. We can rebuild."
"IN THE NAME OF THE INQUISITION, FLESHY MEATBAG SCUM ARE TO SURRENDER NOW OR BE SHOT!"
"Damnit cpj don't call strypgia's kids scum!"
"THEY'RE STILL FLESHY MEATBAGS!"
"Fuck you cpj so am I!"
"All of you can it, i swear to the God-Emperor why did I become an Inquisitor"
Zwei twitches as she picks up the commbead transmissions. Yes, Inquisitorial retinues do have good encryption, but she's just that good. It's just that she wishes her adoptive uncles weren't so silly. It'd be a little embarrasing to be arrested by them.
She can see the arrest force charging up to them, and her heart skips a beat as she sees the three vehicles, black save for the inquisition =][= in gold, and knows she has only minutes to spare. Before Imp can react, Zwei punches her in the gut, winding her, and rushes to the shuttle, tossing her in, ordering the crew to get out of there. As the shuttle takes off, racing down the runway, she runs forward to meet her fate.
The Valkyrie swoops in, the nose-mounted lascannon crackling with energy, and a couple of people in carapace and wielding hellguns jump out, and she winces as she recognises uncles Scrage, and Whiskey, the former guardsmen. Uncle Frost mans one of the door heavy bolters, covering them. Auntie ckk detaches her door heavy bolter and jumps out, landing easily, moving gracefully yet dangerously in her Adeptas Sororitas power armor, accesorised with a skirt made of grenades, knives, and ammo. And more knives.
Zwei sees the bunny ears and does her best not to laugh at the incredulity.
The Valkyrie pulls forward, attempting to chase down the shuttle and prevent it from escaping, meanwhile the Rhino and the Baneblade pull up, and the rest of the inquisition party dismount. Zwei merely grins madly at them. "You can take my life! But you can never take my sister! Or my freedom!"
There's a moment of silence (with engines roaring in the background), and then Interrogator Strypgia, her father, steps forward and says, "Daughter, you are so grounded."
I blame @Strypgia's dangerously cute Imp of chaos for this.
I suppose you could consider this a spinoff from Swordomatic & Strypgia: On the Inquisition's Secret Service.
Attack on Imp 2.0
Once upon a time, there was a man. He was a good man. He had faith in his heart and wore a flag on his shoulder, and he met a good woman, and love blossomed between them, and they had two beautiful little girls.
That was decades ago.
Things change.
Today, Imp stands in her command room, glaring at the many screens. What was supposed to be another normal day on her island supervillian base was interrupted by loud explosions. SAM and point defense sites went up in flames. The hardened bunkers where she kept her Deathstrike missile launchers had their access tunnels collapsed. Her lair was under attack.
"Mistress, we are under attack," said Sara, one of her minions. Normally, Imp tolerated her Captain Obviousness tendencies because Sara was a delight on the eyes, but not today.
"I can see that!" she snarled. "What the hell is happening, and what the hell is the QRF doing?"
"I've mobilised the QRF and quadrupled the guards for the Command sector," said Imp 2.0, or Zwei, as she preferred to be called. "UCAVs have been launched to secure our airspace and I'm flooding every access point to here with every gun servitor, power loader, drone and mecha we have. We're under attack by what looks like a special forces team who know what they're doing, who're making a strike on our air defenses to make us think an airstrike is coming, when they're going to sneak in here and grab us."
Imp nods gratefully at her sister and 2nd in command and the only person she both trusts to get shit done and not backstab her. Her face falls momentarily, as she looks at Zwei. "It's Daddy, isn't it?"
Zwei's face is just as unhappy. "I'd bet on it."
* * * * *
"Strypgia, man. Look you've done us a solid plenty of times. We're all brothers. You don't need to do this."
"I have to do this, Swordo. They're my daughters. They're my responsibility."
* * * * *
Somehow, Zwei was unsurprised it had come to this.
She stood on the edge of airfield, holding Imp's hand, as they watched yet another part of their island explode. All thanks to Daddy and his crazy friends and that Inquisitor they worked for. Really, who brought a Baneblade superheavy tank to an infiltration mission?
(The Rhino with the pintle-mounted lascannon didn't elicit much of a reaction because Zwei was still trying to parse that her Daddy had brought a God-Emperor bedamned Baneblade to a snatch and grab and had somehow managed to do an unholy fusion of a stealth mission and a loud mission.)
Above them, their combat UCAVs were dogfighting with the gunships that Daddy had brought along for the ride - turns out Zwei had miscalculated, and the destroyed air defense sites were destroyed so that Daddy's friends in gunships could rain death from above on them. She was still kicking herself for misreading the situation. Imp, in her infinite patience, hadn't said anything, but Zwei could tell she was disappointed.
The Concorde-like shuttle was fast and agile and more importantly, this particular shuttle was orbit-capable, given that Imp had always intended it to be her escape to her ship in orbit. Tears run down Imp's furious and determined face.
"It's just a setback, Zwei," she says, trying to comfort her sister and herself. "Come on. Let's go. We can rebuild."
"IN THE NAME OF THE INQUISITION, FLESHY MEATBAG SCUM ARE TO SURRENDER NOW OR BE SHOT!"
"Damnit cpj don't call strypgia's kids scum!"
"THEY'RE STILL FLESHY MEATBAGS!"
"Fuck you cpj so am I!"
"All of you can it, i swear to the God-Emperor why did I become an Inquisitor"
Zwei twitches as she picks up the commbead transmissions. Yes, Inquisitorial retinues do have good encryption, but she's just that good. It's just that she wishes her adoptive uncles weren't so silly. It'd be a little embarrasing to be arrested by them.
She can see the arrest force charging up to them, and her heart skips a beat as she sees the three vehicles, black save for the inquisition =][= in gold, and knows she has only minutes to spare. Before Imp can react, Zwei punches her in the gut, winding her, and rushes to the shuttle, tossing her in, ordering the crew to get out of there. As the shuttle takes off, racing down the runway, she runs forward to meet her fate.
The Valkyrie swoops in, the nose-mounted lascannon crackling with energy, and a couple of people in carapace and wielding hellguns jump out, and she winces as she recognises uncles Scrage, and Whiskey, the former guardsmen. Uncle Frost mans one of the door heavy bolters, covering them. Auntie ckk detaches her door heavy bolter and jumps out, landing easily, moving gracefully yet dangerously in her Adeptas Sororitas power armor, accesorised with a skirt made of grenades, knives, and ammo. And more knives.
Zwei sees the bunny ears and does her best not to laugh at the incredulity.
The Valkyrie pulls forward, attempting to chase down the shuttle and prevent it from escaping, meanwhile the Rhino and the Baneblade pull up, and the rest of the inquisition party dismount. Zwei merely grins madly at them. "You can take my life! But you can never take my sister! Or my freedom!"
There's a moment of silence (with engines roaring in the background), and then Interrogator Strypgia, her father, steps forward and says, "Daughter, you are so grounded."
Last edited:
- Location
- National Capital Region, USA
"Girls, you are so grounded! Wait until your mother hears about this!"
LilithPrime
Shadow Cabal Team Mom
12
Whiskey Golf
Being of Editing & Technical Assistance
- Location
- Chained to my desk
The rest of the Inquisitor's party spreads out. Brother-Sergeant Cyrus, a Deathwatch Space Marine on loan from the Space Wolves stands by at the Rhino, with bracket-mounted Lascannon at the ready. A couple of heads have popped out from the Baneblade's hatches - Techpriest cpj and Magos Alpha - before they pop back in, muttering about fleshy meatbags. Sister Superior Jo ckk's heavy bolter is trained on Zwei. Alastor is on edge inside the Rhino, ready to move at a moment's notice and be hax in his driving.
And side by side, Inquisitor Swordomatic walks beside his friend and partner, Interrogator Strypgia, as they approach Zwei.
"Zwei Strypgia," announces Swordo firmly. "You are under arrest, by the authority vested in me, Inquisitor Swordomatic of the Ordo Malleus of His Most Divine Majesty's Inquisition. Dead or alive, you are coming with me. Surrender and face the Emperor's judgement."
"Judgement for what? All I've been doing is helping my big sister!"
"Don't lie, Zwei," says Strypgia, his voice firm yet sad. "We know you and Imp are behind the plot to destabilise this region and take over this world. Come quietly. Turn yourself in."
"This would be a matter for the Hereticus, not the Mal-"
"An Inquisitor's an Inquisitor. My rosette gives unlimited jurisdiction. Now, we've kicked the shit out of your forces. It's only a matter of time before we bring Imp in. Surrender." Sword's eyes are firm and determined.
"Don't make it harder on yourself," adds Strypgia. "Or else... you. Get. A. Haircut."
Zwei yelps and clutches her long red twintails to herself, her face paling with shock.
"Anything but that!" she squeals in terror, before she remembers herself and tries to restore her haughty smirk to her face. The expressions of the Inquisitorial retinue soften a little at Zwei's girlish antics. "But you've underestimated me, Daddy. Do you know why I came to meet you?"
"Because deep down, you're a good girl and you want to do the right thing and surrender," says Strypgia, his expression lightening and becoming more hopeful.
"No, it's because if I didn't meet you here you'd have overshot my melta charges."
A beat passes, and then Swordo screams "Hit th-
The buried melta charges go off, shooting up, punching through into the Rhino and Baneblade.
Alastor's foot was already on the gas pedal and the Rhino was in gear, so instead of catastrophic destruction, it's only the back half of the Rhino that's completely fucked. He and Cyrus bail, the Space Wolf 1) loudly roaring his displeasure at having to abandon the lascannon and 2) loudly proclaiming his pleasure at getting to fight up close and personal.
The Baneblade, being of sterner stuff, fares a bit better. It's mission killed and mobility killed and there's no way in hell it'll be useful, but at least the outer shell is alright! cpj and Alpha likewise bail, angry and pissed off. Most people don't think Techpriests are dangerous. Most people haven't seen Techpriests with mechadendrites holding all manner of guns. Most people havent seen a giant of a man who's got mechadendrites up the wazoo who looks ready to beat Zwei to death with his bare metal tentacles.
"POTATO!" roars Alpha. cpj merely scowls. The rest of the party pick themselves up from where they hit the dirt, and notice several things:
1) the Valkyrie is heading back to them and it is on fire.
2) There are still some air units chasing the Valkyrie - some sort of lascannon equipped helicopter. Alastor scowls and makes a note to scold Matt-420; the mechanicus scrub obviously needs to get good.
3) A whole fucking company of robot knockoff necron terminator is rising up and advancing on them.
4) Did I mention the Valkyrie that's on fire and heading their way chased by little lascannon-armed scout helicopters like piranhas chasing a fat large fish?
The retinue look around. A beat passes. And then they scramble into action like the professionals they are. (Hint: They're not really professionals, they're just really experienced amateurs who've been doing this for a while.)
The Sister Superior tosses two Servo Skulls into the air, and pulls a targeting monocle over her right eye, and screams a defiant yell extolling the virtues of the God Emperor and how faith and fire can solve all problems. Well, that's what the Inquisitor's AAR (carefully edited and jointly written by the rest of the retinue, particularly by Adept Gregor @Cornuthaum ) will say. Which is a slight exaggeration and expansion of what Sister Superior Jo actually said:
"BALLS!"
And side by side, Inquisitor Swordomatic walks beside his friend and partner, Interrogator Strypgia, as they approach Zwei.
"Zwei Strypgia," announces Swordo firmly. "You are under arrest, by the authority vested in me, Inquisitor Swordomatic of the Ordo Malleus of His Most Divine Majesty's Inquisition. Dead or alive, you are coming with me. Surrender and face the Emperor's judgement."
"Judgement for what? All I've been doing is helping my big sister!"
"Don't lie, Zwei," says Strypgia, his voice firm yet sad. "We know you and Imp are behind the plot to destabilise this region and take over this world. Come quietly. Turn yourself in."
"This would be a matter for the Hereticus, not the Mal-"
"An Inquisitor's an Inquisitor. My rosette gives unlimited jurisdiction. Now, we've kicked the shit out of your forces. It's only a matter of time before we bring Imp in. Surrender." Sword's eyes are firm and determined.
"Don't make it harder on yourself," adds Strypgia. "Or else... you. Get. A. Haircut."
Zwei yelps and clutches her long red twintails to herself, her face paling with shock.
"Anything but that!" she squeals in terror, before she remembers herself and tries to restore her haughty smirk to her face. The expressions of the Inquisitorial retinue soften a little at Zwei's girlish antics. "But you've underestimated me, Daddy. Do you know why I came to meet you?"
"Because deep down, you're a good girl and you want to do the right thing and surrender," says Strypgia, his expression lightening and becoming more hopeful.
"No, it's because if I didn't meet you here you'd have overshot my melta charges."
A beat passes, and then Swordo screams "Hit th-
The buried melta charges go off, shooting up, punching through into the Rhino and Baneblade.
Alastor's foot was already on the gas pedal and the Rhino was in gear, so instead of catastrophic destruction, it's only the back half of the Rhino that's completely fucked. He and Cyrus bail, the Space Wolf 1) loudly roaring his displeasure at having to abandon the lascannon and 2) loudly proclaiming his pleasure at getting to fight up close and personal.
The Baneblade, being of sterner stuff, fares a bit better. It's mission killed and mobility killed and there's no way in hell it'll be useful, but at least the outer shell is alright! cpj and Alpha likewise bail, angry and pissed off. Most people don't think Techpriests are dangerous. Most people haven't seen Techpriests with mechadendrites holding all manner of guns. Most people havent seen a giant of a man who's got mechadendrites up the wazoo who looks ready to beat Zwei to death with his bare metal tentacles.
"POTATO!" roars Alpha. cpj merely scowls. The rest of the party pick themselves up from where they hit the dirt, and notice several things:
1) the Valkyrie is heading back to them and it is on fire.
2) There are still some air units chasing the Valkyrie - some sort of lascannon equipped helicopter. Alastor scowls and makes a note to scold Matt-420; the mechanicus scrub obviously needs to get good.
3) A whole fucking company of robot knockoff necron terminator is rising up and advancing on them.
4) Did I mention the Valkyrie that's on fire and heading their way chased by little lascannon-armed scout helicopters like piranhas chasing a fat large fish?
The retinue look around. A beat passes. And then they scramble into action like the professionals they are. (Hint: They're not really professionals, they're just really experienced amateurs who've been doing this for a while.)
The Sister Superior tosses two Servo Skulls into the air, and pulls a targeting monocle over her right eye, and screams a defiant yell extolling the virtues of the God Emperor and how faith and fire can solve all problems. Well, that's what the Inquisitor's AAR (carefully edited and jointly written by the rest of the retinue, particularly by Adept Gregor @Cornuthaum ) will say. Which is a slight exaggeration and expansion of what Sister Superior Jo actually said:
"BALLS!"
Thellton
Lover of giant mecha jets
FTFY
@Whiskey Golf
On another note, this is exactly the sort of hilariousness I've been searching for lately so thank you whiskey...
- Location
- National Capital Region, USA
I'm too sober for this. Perfect gif, though.
Whiskey Golf
Being of Editing & Technical Assistance
- Location
- Chained to my desk
Ore ni Twintails ni Narimasu was the source, and it was one of the most lol and amusing anime I watched last year, not least because of how it affectionately skewered and parodied various things, including tokusatsu, magical girl anime and 2chan.I'm too sober for this. Perfect gif, though.
In that actual scene, the monster of the week, who has a fetish for twintails and goes HNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG when he sees cute lolis, begs Tail Red for a chance to stroke her twintails. Tail Red's reaction follows. (And then afterwards she goes home to play with her twintails, that hypocrite.
)
14
Whiskey Golf
Being of Editing & Technical Assistance
- Location
- Chained to my desk
Today, on Swords & Stripes: On The Inquisition's Secret Service...
An Imperial Inquisitor's reports are going to be read by the highest echelons of his Ordo, and his peers. Many Inquisitors thus try to project a certain image in their reports.
This of course means that Inquisitors - and their adepts who really write these reports - will thus engage in some creative reinterpretations of the event.
In recounting the incident in which Inquisitor Swordomatic and his retinue engaged the would-be Traitor Guard cultists on [REDACTED], the report simply states that the Inquisitor and his retinue, while proceeding to arrest the culprits, were ambushed by an armored platoon using Chimeras and, most troublingly, a Baneblade. The report goes on to say that the Inquisitor was made aware as to the presence of the Baneblade and with great presence of mind, alerted his retinue to the danger posed by the new threat and directed them to immediate action.
Which was Adept Gregor Cornuthaum's creative reinterpretation of what Inquisitor Swordomatic actually said, which was:
"OH FUCKING WHAT ITS A FUCKING BANEBLADE HOLYFUCKINGSHITGOGGLES SCATTER!"
* * * * *
The battle had been long and arduous. None of the retinue had emerged unscathed. Everyone sported some manner of injury, though at least there were no grievious wounds.
Well, save one. Whiskey was still staring despondently at the remains of his rucksack.
He'd acted on instinct. He'd seen a frag grenade fly into their midst. Without hesitation, running on pure adrenalin, he'd unslung his rucksack and thrown it and himself on the grenade. The rucksack and its contents had absorbed most of the explosive force, and Whiskey's carapace armor had done the rest, keeping him alive (if bruised).
"You alright, Guardsman?" asked Interrogator Strypgia, and Whiskey slowly turned his head to sadly look at the older man, who in years past had been his platoon sergeant.
"It's gone, Sarge," he said, tears running down his face, his voice choked. "It's all gone."
"Equipment can be replaced. Good soldiers can't. Good friends can't be replaced, Whiskey."
"But... my treasures. They were in that rucksack. And now they're gone."
Strypgia looked carefully at the remains of the rucksack, and nodded thoughtfully to himself, recalling that Whiskey had stuffed about five kilos of dataslates into the rucksack. He paused for a moment, trying to find the right words to comfort the boyish soldier.
"It was for a good cause," he said finally. "I appreciate the sacrifice you made, choosing us over your porno slates."
Whiskey bravely tried to smile, the tears flowing unceasingly. "I guess it's not a sacrifice if it doesn't hurt, does it Sarge?"
Strypgia merely gave him a weak smile and patted him on the shoulder, before moving on to check on the rest of Inquisitor Swordomatic's retinue.
"Cheer up, Whiskey," said Scrage, sitting beside him. "Greater love hath no man than this, that he lay down his porn for his bros."
"You're just happy my porn's all gone."
"No, really, I'm not." Scrage pauses for a moment, and pats Whiskey on the back. "I wanted to burn your porno slates myself."
Whiskey buries his hands in his face and weeps, even while a commotion arises and someone yells for the seminary dropout to come and cleanse the Baneblade they captured.
An Imperial Inquisitor's reports are going to be read by the highest echelons of his Ordo, and his peers. Many Inquisitors thus try to project a certain image in their reports.
This of course means that Inquisitors - and their adepts who really write these reports - will thus engage in some creative reinterpretations of the event.
In recounting the incident in which Inquisitor Swordomatic and his retinue engaged the would-be Traitor Guard cultists on [REDACTED], the report simply states that the Inquisitor and his retinue, while proceeding to arrest the culprits, were ambushed by an armored platoon using Chimeras and, most troublingly, a Baneblade. The report goes on to say that the Inquisitor was made aware as to the presence of the Baneblade and with great presence of mind, alerted his retinue to the danger posed by the new threat and directed them to immediate action.
Which was Adept Gregor Cornuthaum's creative reinterpretation of what Inquisitor Swordomatic actually said, which was:
"OH FUCKING WHAT ITS A FUCKING BANEBLADE HOLYFUCKINGSHITGOGGLES SCATTER!"
* * * * *
The battle had been long and arduous. None of the retinue had emerged unscathed. Everyone sported some manner of injury, though at least there were no grievious wounds.
Well, save one. Whiskey was still staring despondently at the remains of his rucksack.
He'd acted on instinct. He'd seen a frag grenade fly into their midst. Without hesitation, running on pure adrenalin, he'd unslung his rucksack and thrown it and himself on the grenade. The rucksack and its contents had absorbed most of the explosive force, and Whiskey's carapace armor had done the rest, keeping him alive (if bruised).
"You alright, Guardsman?" asked Interrogator Strypgia, and Whiskey slowly turned his head to sadly look at the older man, who in years past had been his platoon sergeant.
"It's gone, Sarge," he said, tears running down his face, his voice choked. "It's all gone."
"Equipment can be replaced. Good soldiers can't. Good friends can't be replaced, Whiskey."
"But... my treasures. They were in that rucksack. And now they're gone."
Strypgia looked carefully at the remains of the rucksack, and nodded thoughtfully to himself, recalling that Whiskey had stuffed about five kilos of dataslates into the rucksack. He paused for a moment, trying to find the right words to comfort the boyish soldier.
"It was for a good cause," he said finally. "I appreciate the sacrifice you made, choosing us over your porno slates."
Whiskey bravely tried to smile, the tears flowing unceasingly. "I guess it's not a sacrifice if it doesn't hurt, does it Sarge?"
Strypgia merely gave him a weak smile and patted him on the shoulder, before moving on to check on the rest of Inquisitor Swordomatic's retinue.
"Cheer up, Whiskey," said Scrage, sitting beside him. "Greater love hath no man than this, that he lay down his porn for his bros."
"You're just happy my porn's all gone."
"No, really, I'm not." Scrage pauses for a moment, and pats Whiskey on the back. "I wanted to burn your porno slates myself."
Whiskey buries his hands in his face and weeps, even while a commotion arises and someone yells for the seminary dropout to come and cleanse the Baneblade they captured.
- Location
- National Capital Region, USA
Not the Porn! NOOOOOO! Even Slaanesh mourns that one...
16
Whiskey Golf
Being of Editing & Technical Assistance
- Location
- Chained to my desk
This is what happens when you play close to 100+ hours of Metal Gear Solid and have weird dreams.
1984
Approaching Da Shago Kallai
North of Kabul
Afghanistan
The hot Afghan sun beats down on the olive drab helicopter as it thunders its way across the desert. In the pilot's seat, Whiskey spares a moment to adjust his shades and check the mapboad clipped to his left leg, and his navigation systems. Right on course, and on-schedule.
Whiskey - Desk Pilot of Last Resort
Afghanistan and Africa are violent, more or less lawless and wild, and that's the perfect place for Private Forces - mercenaries, really. It's a cutthroat dog eat dog world, where platoon-sized fly by night PFs are killing each other for a slice of the pie, where big firms like Zero Risk Security, Contract Forces of Africa, Rogue Coyote and Diamond Dogs are gobbling up minows... but for now, WB survives. Though it's reliant on doing as many jobs as possible, which can be a little problematic.
He sighs, thinking of the job @Wakka arranged for them. A prisoner, a key Mujaheddin fighter, had been captured by elements of the Soviet 40th Guards Army and was being held at the village of Da Shago Kallai. WB was contracted to rescue to fighter. unfortunately, everybody else who was available was already out on missions, which was why Whiskey was flying and @AlphaCommando their one-man engineering/maintennance team was acting as the shooter.
Speaking of which, Whiskey decided, it was probably time for him to rile up Alpha again.
"Comm check, Alpha," he said over the radio.
Alpha - An Engineer without a Nation
"I read you Whiskey," replied Alpha, the giant bear of a man glaring at him. For all that they probably counted each other as friends, Whiskey had a perverse talent for riling up Alpha. "I don't want to hear any of your deviancy."
"Alpha, I'm hurt," said Whiskey. "All I was going to suggest was that who knows, it might be a cute girl who's the prisoner. Alpha, don't you think that love can bloom on the battlefield?"
"WHISKEY."
"I mean it might be a guy and that sorta weirds me out but it's the 80s, we're a progressive society-"
"WHISKEY I WILL KILL YOU," roared Alpha.
"You need me alive Alpha, you can't fly a Blackfoot."
"DON'T TEST ME WHISKEY I CAN FLY WITH THE POWER OF MY HATE."
Whiskey merely laughed cheekily. His laugh died off as they came close to the village, and his console started showing warning telltales. "Hey, Alpha, did Wakka or Matt mention anything about triple-A?"
"No, why?"
"Well, I'm seeing tracers," remarked Whiskey, as he jerked the collective and cyclic sticks, sending the Blackfoot into a low dive. "Gonna be a hot landing Alpha! Primary LZ is compromised! Gonna have to drop you at secondary and then you'll need to move in on foot!"
"NEGATIVE WHISKEY THERE'S NO TIME!" thundered Alpha, checking over his weapons. "DROP ME IN THE VILLAGE."
"Are you crazy?!"
"ANGRY WHISKEY, ANGRY. THERE'S A DIFFERENCE. DROP ME ON THE BIGGEST BUILDING, AND I'LL MEET YOU AT THE SECONDARY LZ."
"Your funeral Alpha," said Whiskey, as the Blackfoot swings around the village. Whiskey rolls the helicopter as Alpha slides the door open, pulling the helicopter in a maneuver that bleeds as mucch speed as he dares without coming to a dead stop. Alpha throws himself out the helicopter, breaking his fall on a hapless soviet soldier. He gets to his feet, dusts himself off, and spares a moment to bask in satisfaction at the craftsmanship of his customised Battle Dress, the heavy combat armor based on the Sneaking Suit that Diamond Dogs invented and lisenced to various PFs. He draws his customised G44 rifle, and drops down from the flat roof of the two-storey house that is the Soviet outpost's command post.
Time to go to work.
He bursts into the 2nd storey rooms, and sees the prisoner - a woman dressed in a brown jumpsuit - and is momentarily stunned as he looks into her eyes.
Her hair is dark and long, her eyes almond-shaped. Her skin is tanned from years under the afghan sun, but it doesn't disguise her features. This is a Japanese woman. The only question is how a Japanese woman is somehow a key Muj figure.
Miya - A Cherry Blossom of the Desert
But that's a matter for later, not now.
He hears a shout as a Soviet soldier charges in, his rifle raised. Alpha doesn't hesitate: he puts a burst of 5.56mm rounds into the man's unprotected chest, then turns to free the prisoner.
"I'm with a PF," he tells her gruffly, as he releases her from her bonds. "Come with me if you want to live."
Miya painfully drags herself to her feet, wincing as her bare feet pad across the rough floor. Alpha moves to cover the door, as she loots the dead soldier's boots. She gives him a look when he looks at her askance. "Only a fool walks barefoot in Afghanistan," she tells him. Strangely enough, her English is Afghan-accented, not Japanese-accented. She mutters a curse as she laces up the boots and picks up the soldier's rifle, checking it with the familiarity borne of long practice. She rifles through the dead soldier's web gear and pockets a couple of spare magazines; for some reason, she has a dismayed expression on her face as she stands and takes a few steps forward. Alpha ignores her, concentrating on the mission, remembering the layout of the village and what he'd observed on the way in.
"Alright, listen!" he barks. "I go through this door, you stay behind me! We go down the stairs and do a one-eighty and charge through the gates. There'll be a jeep that we can steal. It's 40 meters. Anybody gets in our way, we kill them. Understand?"
"I don't need a kafir to take point," snaps Miya, her eyes blazing.
"You need someone greatly larger than you wearing more ceramic armor than you weigh," retorts Alpha. "Moving!"
1984
Approaching Da Shago Kallai
North of Kabul
Afghanistan
The hot Afghan sun beats down on the olive drab helicopter as it thunders its way across the desert. In the pilot's seat, Whiskey spares a moment to adjust his shades and check the mapboad clipped to his left leg, and his navigation systems. Right on course, and on-schedule.
Whiskey - Desk Pilot of Last Resort
Afghanistan and Africa are violent, more or less lawless and wild, and that's the perfect place for Private Forces - mercenaries, really. It's a cutthroat dog eat dog world, where platoon-sized fly by night PFs are killing each other for a slice of the pie, where big firms like Zero Risk Security, Contract Forces of Africa, Rogue Coyote and Diamond Dogs are gobbling up minows... but for now, WB survives. Though it's reliant on doing as many jobs as possible, which can be a little problematic.
He sighs, thinking of the job @Wakka arranged for them. A prisoner, a key Mujaheddin fighter, had been captured by elements of the Soviet 40th Guards Army and was being held at the village of Da Shago Kallai. WB was contracted to rescue to fighter. unfortunately, everybody else who was available was already out on missions, which was why Whiskey was flying and @AlphaCommando their one-man engineering/maintennance team was acting as the shooter.
Speaking of which, Whiskey decided, it was probably time for him to rile up Alpha again.
"Comm check, Alpha," he said over the radio.
Alpha - An Engineer without a Nation
"I read you Whiskey," replied Alpha, the giant bear of a man glaring at him. For all that they probably counted each other as friends, Whiskey had a perverse talent for riling up Alpha. "I don't want to hear any of your deviancy."
"Alpha, I'm hurt," said Whiskey. "All I was going to suggest was that who knows, it might be a cute girl who's the prisoner. Alpha, don't you think that love can bloom on the battlefield?"
"WHISKEY."
"I mean it might be a guy and that sorta weirds me out but it's the 80s, we're a progressive society-"
"WHISKEY I WILL KILL YOU," roared Alpha.
"You need me alive Alpha, you can't fly a Blackfoot."
"DON'T TEST ME WHISKEY I CAN FLY WITH THE POWER OF MY HATE."
Whiskey merely laughed cheekily. His laugh died off as they came close to the village, and his console started showing warning telltales. "Hey, Alpha, did Wakka or Matt mention anything about triple-A?"
"No, why?"
"Well, I'm seeing tracers," remarked Whiskey, as he jerked the collective and cyclic sticks, sending the Blackfoot into a low dive. "Gonna be a hot landing Alpha! Primary LZ is compromised! Gonna have to drop you at secondary and then you'll need to move in on foot!"
"NEGATIVE WHISKEY THERE'S NO TIME!" thundered Alpha, checking over his weapons. "DROP ME IN THE VILLAGE."
"Are you crazy?!"
"ANGRY WHISKEY, ANGRY. THERE'S A DIFFERENCE. DROP ME ON THE BIGGEST BUILDING, AND I'LL MEET YOU AT THE SECONDARY LZ."
"Your funeral Alpha," said Whiskey, as the Blackfoot swings around the village. Whiskey rolls the helicopter as Alpha slides the door open, pulling the helicopter in a maneuver that bleeds as mucch speed as he dares without coming to a dead stop. Alpha throws himself out the helicopter, breaking his fall on a hapless soviet soldier. He gets to his feet, dusts himself off, and spares a moment to bask in satisfaction at the craftsmanship of his customised Battle Dress, the heavy combat armor based on the Sneaking Suit that Diamond Dogs invented and lisenced to various PFs. He draws his customised G44 rifle, and drops down from the flat roof of the two-storey house that is the Soviet outpost's command post.
Time to go to work.
He bursts into the 2nd storey rooms, and sees the prisoner - a woman dressed in a brown jumpsuit - and is momentarily stunned as he looks into her eyes.
Her hair is dark and long, her eyes almond-shaped. Her skin is tanned from years under the afghan sun, but it doesn't disguise her features. This is a Japanese woman. The only question is how a Japanese woman is somehow a key Muj figure.
Miya - A Cherry Blossom of the Desert
But that's a matter for later, not now.
He hears a shout as a Soviet soldier charges in, his rifle raised. Alpha doesn't hesitate: he puts a burst of 5.56mm rounds into the man's unprotected chest, then turns to free the prisoner.
"I'm with a PF," he tells her gruffly, as he releases her from her bonds. "Come with me if you want to live."
Miya painfully drags herself to her feet, wincing as her bare feet pad across the rough floor. Alpha moves to cover the door, as she loots the dead soldier's boots. She gives him a look when he looks at her askance. "Only a fool walks barefoot in Afghanistan," she tells him. Strangely enough, her English is Afghan-accented, not Japanese-accented. She mutters a curse as she laces up the boots and picks up the soldier's rifle, checking it with the familiarity borne of long practice. She rifles through the dead soldier's web gear and pockets a couple of spare magazines; for some reason, she has a dismayed expression on her face as she stands and takes a few steps forward. Alpha ignores her, concentrating on the mission, remembering the layout of the village and what he'd observed on the way in.
"Alright, listen!" he barks. "I go through this door, you stay behind me! We go down the stairs and do a one-eighty and charge through the gates. There'll be a jeep that we can steal. It's 40 meters. Anybody gets in our way, we kill them. Understand?"
"I don't need a kafir to take point," snaps Miya, her eyes blazing.
"You need someone greatly larger than you wearing more ceramic armor than you weigh," retorts Alpha. "Moving!"
- Location
- National Capital Region, USA
Total lack of fulton'ed sheep. I demand a refund!
Chloe Sullivan
Subdefective
- Location
- 1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale CA
Ahahaha, racist Japanese lady, I'm entertained already.
Whiskey Golf
Being of Editing & Technical Assistance
- Location
- Chained to my desk
Well I wasn't able to get part 2 out so commentary ho!
I've taken the adage of writing what you know to heart and have thus rather indulgently cast friends into various roles based on how I see them, which is partly for our own easy amusement and partly flattering, and partly so I can throw IRC chatroom injokes into my writing.
Generally anybody depicted in any of this is rather exaggerated. Except for Alpha. And possibly myself.
5 kilos of porn is quite easy to put together if you store your porn in 16GB iPads (as opposed to multi terabyte hard drives ), and yes, I do kinda make a habit of riling Alpha up at which point he responds with shouts of WETWARE PLATFORMS or his intent to kill me. That said he's recently learned my great weakness, which is my fear of snakes. T_T
The whole scenario of our chatroom being a PMC is thanks to over 100 hours of playing Metal Gear Solid V, which is slightly @ckk185 's fault in that he gifted me the game, but really I'd have gotten it anyway (legally or not) so it's mostly the fault of my silly imagination and dreamscape.
And now I need to stop less I spoil more story plots. (Story what story Whiskey)
I've taken the adage of writing what you know to heart and have thus rather indulgently cast friends into various roles based on how I see them, which is partly for our own easy amusement and partly flattering, and partly so I can throw IRC chatroom injokes into my writing.
Generally anybody depicted in any of this is rather exaggerated. Except for Alpha. And possibly myself.
5 kilos of porn is quite easy to put together if you store your porn in 16GB iPads (as opposed to multi terabyte hard drives ), and yes, I do kinda make a habit of riling Alpha up at which point he responds with shouts of WETWARE PLATFORMS or his intent to kill me. That said he's recently learned my great weakness, which is my fear of snakes. T_TThe whole scenario of our chatroom being a PMC is thanks to over 100 hours of playing Metal Gear Solid V, which is slightly @ckk185 's fault in that he gifted me the game, but really I'd have gotten it anyway (legally or not
) so it's mostly the fault of my silly imagination and dreamscape.And now I need to stop less I spoil more story plots. (Story what story Whiskey
)
Wakka
Shadow Cabal Man in Black
- Location
- California
The fewer people on a job, the fewer casualties there are. Generic cannon fodder requires salaries too, and worst of all I have to not only specify the number of copies of the generic notification letters on my auto-signed auto-generated auto-addressed madlibs "regret to inform you" letters for their next of kin, I have to then lean over and put them in my outbox. I have to lean, Whiskey. For cannon fodder. I can't work in those conditions, so I've cut back on our supplies of them. If you want cannon fodder, you'll need to get it and look after it yourself.
I thought the presence of anti aircraft weaponry was to be expected literally everywhere around armed forces that don't start with "United States." I'm just surprised you didn't eat a missile with an approach that sloppy, especially around Soviet formations.
Last edited:
Whiskey Golf
Being of Editing & Technical Assistance
- Location
- Chained to my desk
There's a reason my title is Desk Pilot of Last Resort.I thought the presence of anti aircraft weaponry was to be expected literally everywhere around armed forces that don't start with "United States." I'm just surprised you didn't eat a missile with an approach that sloppy, especially around Soviet formations.
(Damnit Whiskey
)...storywise missile shipments are being intercepted and stolen by Swordo, ckk and Yezar so that we can raise funds. <.<