The Major
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Iziz
Jun 27, 2013 4:21:25 GMT -8
Post by The Major on Jun 27, 2013 4:21:25 GMT -8
"Friend? Dinnae make me laugh. Yue'd slash me to ribbons if thon 'ad a mind to. My last friend died five years ago. An' in this outfit, yue don't want friends. Yue do, 'owever, want people who stand side by side with yue an' shoot at enemy, be they ready or not."
Mccan blows her next cloud of smoke away from Chloro's face, since that would be unnecessarily hostile. Never mind that they had assault rifles that were unknowingly based upon similar designs laying comfortably in their hands. The unfocused eyes drift downward while a white gloved hand, stained like the rest of her, proceeds to return the minx's gesture and pats the girl on a shoulder.
"Blastech arms, eh? Based off th' Kalashnikova spec, eh? 7.62 cartridge; thon gun packs a punch tha'a make Christ fink twice afore coming down. Can yue 'andle tha' recoil an' be accurate on full auto? I hope so. We'll need evera ounce o'suppresion to survive even twenty seconds. An' yuer friend, he seems th' dissuasive sort. Due yue fink he'll tag along? "
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Iziz
Jun 27, 2013 7:13:41 GMT -8
Post by Deleted on Jun 27, 2013 7:13:41 GMT -8
Eralam could of course hear the conversation through the paper-thin walls of the male latrine. It didn't sound like things were going to turn particularly hostile, so he took care of his needs, washed up, grabbed the free beer off the bar, and posted up outside the door. He'd let the ladies finish their conversation as they pleased, but he had a few questions for the officer when they emerged. A real diva, she had said. And she'd torn through at least a squad, probably more, like a hot knife through butter. Now that rang a few alarm bells. He hadn't been lying when he said that the last few minutes on the ship had been but a blur; all he remembered was a hopelessness and a blinding burst of heat and light.
The former Shard suspected that, if that crew really had been torn apart by the thing he suspected, it probably wasn't in the mood to answer questions. But hell, most beings were inclined to be a little more talkative with a few .44 caliber lead balls lodged in their chest. His LeMat had been destroyed with the ship, but the Colt was still sitting comfortably in the drop-leg holster he wore everywhere these days. And hey, it's not like he could be hurt. Any injuries vanished almost instantly. Even spraying his brains across the little apartment he'd rented hadn't done more that make a mess that took hours to clean up. The Force might be killing him, but it seemed pretty damned determined that nothing else would have the pleasure. Maybe that was its price for failure.
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Chloro
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Jun 27, 2013 8:55:22 GMT -8
Post by Chloro on Jun 27, 2013 8:55:22 GMT -8
Chloro commiserated silently with the officer's loss, showing kinship that seemed to bloom out of thin air. Her social contact was returned to her, a typical sign of a meeting of minds. Biologically, it was a real - real emotion, real chemicals crossing synapses, trust shared, trust built. This was the natural progression of lowering one's guard to let a friend in. But the bloodied Lieutenant was right, if she had the mind to, Chloro would have nailed her to ground like a goat. And now that she had her hand around the barrel of the STG44, she could easily turn the rifle away from cutting her in two. Because, unlike the Lieutenant, Chloro assembled trust like a explosive. With great care and effort and to be shredded in an instant once it was in the right position.
"I don't know. He's going through postpartum depression."
She shrugged. Her obligation to punting his ass into shape had been done for her already. He'd be dead, hopefully when his liver failed from a combination of drink and STDs. Besides, she never needed anyone to hold her hand and she wasn't about to start now. But it was useful to play stupid, especially if it meant humouring the natural-born leaders called officers. She slouched next to her, loading her 40mm launcher with a HE round, while she waited for Mccan to take the lead.
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The Major
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Iziz
Jun 27, 2013 17:22:08 GMT -8
Post by The Major on Jun 27, 2013 17:22:08 GMT -8
Where do these half-baked terrorists come from? What was their deal with raising up something and then utterly bringing it to ruin? Perhaps Lt. Mccan had a face that sent out a sort of softness to all who saw it. Another thought came to mind: the galaxy was becoming a sicker and sicker place with tortures and perversions more outrageous and soul sapping than the last batch. Kurt's words replay one of his more impressionable lines, the one about his planet being turned to ash once the Fascists came. For Margot, it was five years ago when the Reich was at its strongest, its most beautiful. Once you cleaned out all the vermin and alien excuses for gnats, society really could advance into something higher -or so it seemed. Those were happy times to serve, when your world was united, where all was held to an ideal as strong as iron. And then the signing mouthpiece came, with tears of ice and arms filled with sorrow. Mist and shadow, stars waning and endless mud -all did fail. All did fade.
And you know something? Since then? It felt like someone was playing every soul in this group out. It felt like they were part of a game; each of the lot of those who embraced the same stubby "X" Margot did felt it too. Not the new blood, not those candy ass divisions raised from Reecee, Bilbringi, Empress Teta, and Pzob. They were vicious, caught up in the propaganda spewed out from their de facto leader. Oh yes, Margot was quite aware of how the chain of command was actually being pulled. So who was playing them like a joke? Who decided to make it their mission to make them no more than a forgotten gag? You'd look among the other grizzled veterans and you'd see the same complacent look in their eyes. They were afraid because their life was one giant forlorn hope. Do you abandon the cause? How? How do you stop and justify what you've done. How do you move on, have kids, grow old, and rock yourself to sleep on a porch. You realize everything you've been a part of was a giant lie -no more than insanity spouted by the neighborhood spastic.
Die in a fair fight: this was all Lt. Mccan could hope for. And this little shite, this grinning little bitch was going to take that away by insulting her experience to undercut it with some token of trust? That 40mm grenade would no doubt enter Margot's spine and spread her ribcage like a blossoming flower the moment she turned her back to Chloro. This was a problem. Death wasn't the problem. It was just that she wanted it to be an honorable fight, face to face, with nothing even close to the supernatural touching it.
And yet, where was honor in the way she killed Kurt no less than ten minutes ago?
Mccan's face contorts with what appears to be momentary pain, as if a violent headache suddenly struck.
No good. She was getting soft. Feeling guilt. She just wanted to escape, be left alone, gnaw at her guts and tremble with the thoughts of all the innocent people her group had executed over the years, and grow terrified at their looks of horror.
Seriously, she needed some strong whiskey.
The Einsatzkommando proceeds to leave the ladies' room, but in a manner that did not denote any sense of causality. For instance, Margot did not at any point turn her back upon the AK toting sprite, instead backing up slowly, one hand still ready to aim up the StG. Eventually her back touches the door, and out she goes. Once clear, she lets the tension roll off quite obviously.
"Hyuahhhh.... Hahhhhh...... Ahhhhhhhh....."
She then replaces the cigarillo in the corner of her mouth, and realizes that Chloro's partner, the taller gentleman, has been standing just outside the door. A sort of nervous smile plays across that blood droplet stained faced.
"I'm off'ta face me fears. Care to escort me, Mister? It's worth a keg of whatever is yuer poison."
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Iziz
Jun 27, 2013 21:14:23 GMT -8
Post by Deleted on Jun 27, 2013 21:14:23 GMT -8
Eralam grinned roguishly and offered his arm to the officer.
"I'm just coming along to watch you two get killed and ask the beasty a few questions."
The funny thing was, he meant it. A year ago, he'd have willingly fought and died with the both of them if he thought it'd make the galaxy a better place. Now though, he only wanted a bit of closure. The galaxy could find someone else to save it from here on out.
"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to be a gentlemen and escort you to the gates of hell. And for what it's worth, I'll shoot you, nice and clean if it looks like the cold bitch wants to play with her food."
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Chloro
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Jun 28, 2013 0:48:29 GMT -8
Post by Chloro on Jun 28, 2013 0:48:29 GMT -8
Eyes were the mirrors to one's soul and clearly, whatever Mccan had seen in the hole in Chloro's head had terrified her. Treachery was a nightmarish slope to be tumbling down. But Chloro knew this much: it was even worse to see it in oneself. The galaxy lived in fear that a maddening disease would rob people of their humanity and turn them against each other. And Chloro's profession was geared around the systematic disintegration of the ties that bound beings to commonsense. Once people caught on that nothing made sense, that every good deed would brutally punished, they went berserk. Chloro was like a virus, with no soul of her own, that could only infect others with her brand of madness.
She smirked as Lieutenant Mccan used her derrie to look for the exit, while she tested the safeties on her launcher.
Click-tch Armed Click-ck Safe
Unfortunately, someone had broken her blissful ignorance and returned, with immediate effect, her brain to her. Her first and immediate urge had been to want to air out her dome with the nearest explosive she could find but that had been the beginning of a very long and painful session where her personality had to be impressed on a soft and malleable sheet in her pain. At the end of that, the need had subsided and it left her in a truly gut-wrenching vacuum, unable to begin to make an account of all that she did.
She whisked out another one of her cigarrettes, fighting the anxiety. The "No Smoking" sign shone balefully at her. Sighing, she walked out of the toilets before lighting up.
"Don't bother with me. The universe owes me one death and I intend to deserve it."
And here was Eralam, back again. Chloro didn't offer her surprise or accept his generous offer, but it was like wearing your comfortable shoes again. A huge comfort.
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The Major
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Iziz
Jun 28, 2013 5:25:20 GMT -8
Post by The Major on Jun 28, 2013 5:25:20 GMT -8
The dull blue eyes turn a shade grayer as eyelids narrow. Margot's eyebrows cock upwards as she regards the man who smelled of rich tobacco.
"Yue know exactly who't is. . . Blauteufel, Dee, Ace Spade of Ice, Death's 'ead, Siren, Witch, Worldeater, Lady laughter, th' Fooking Bitch Who Kills Yue an Everything Yue Love. We call 'er, or et, by anything but ets name. Troops say tha's a bad omen, tha' she comes fer yue th' moment yue due. Ets not true, o course. She comes fer yue any which way, right as rain post sun, eventually. "
A hand reaches out and puts out the cigar stub against a wall before tossing the rest into an ashtray.
"Yue must be iron t'th marrow because no one I know goes an' looks fer 'er twice. She take somefink from thon as well?"
The El-tee takes Eralam's offered arm, adopting a position of femininity that looked completely ridiculous not only because she was so stained, but also because of her BDU itself. It did not matter. When one was quite aware that their time living was at an end nothing seemed ridiculous. Besides, it reminded her of walking with a gentleman on brighter days, when all was not lost, when you did not think you were cosigned to oblivion. Well, now the those rivers she so loved to look at and walk along were ash and rubble, those nice gentlemen and friends were not even dust on the wind.
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Iziz
Jun 28, 2013 6:47:06 GMT -8
Post by Deleted on Jun 28, 2013 6:47:06 GMT -8
In the weeks since the man he knew as Dresden had started to frequent his bar, the bartender had never once seen him with a woman. Oh, the usual suspects tried, whether for money or boredom or the like, but he had always turned them down. The bartender thought the man had been polite enough, but some of the more popular girls had definitely taken offense and boycotted the bar whenever Dresden was present. It had cost him some business, but the man drank enough for three people and didn't invite trouble that he couldn't handle himself. Most of the locals had written him off as either gay or snipped.
And now he was leaving with one woman on his arm and another in tow. And they were all armed. The assault rifles on the females would raise a few eyebrows even in this neck of the woods, and while he knew damn good and well that Dresden was armed only with that wretched pistol and a few other odds and ends, the bartender knew for a fact that he could take apart an armed mob with ease.
In the tradition of Force users everywhere, he couldn't help but say it.
"I've got a bad feeling about this."
Meanwhile, Eralam was, for once, listening to the woman on his arm. So far, everything she said matched up with what he knew.
"Let's just say that she and I have unfinished business. What about you? How does a lovely lady like yourself get caught up in all this?"
Out of habit, the former Shard paid close attention to his surroundings as they left the bar. The streets were nearly empty, which was odd. Ordinarily, you couldn't go five feet without some hooker or dealer trying to push something. Street vendors would be selling greasy, unidentifiable food to the drunks as they left. Swoop gangs would race up and down the narrow road on occasion, heedless of those pesky things called pedestrians.
Now though, it was dead quiet. The detritus of a hard day's business was strewn about, but there wasn't a person in sight. What was even more odd was that the clubs and bars and brothels were all still open, and apparently lively. This was definitely not good.
As a precautionary measure, he called upon the Force and summoned the durasteel tube he had stashed on top of a nearby building upon arriving to the area. As it flew down, it opened up to reveal a gorgeously made rapier. The scabbard was black leather with silver accents. The guard was similarly colored, and had he drawn the blade, one would see that the metal was black with silver engraving all up and down the length. You should be noticing a theme here.
At any rate, all this was accomplished without so much as a glance in the general direction of the weapon. And if Chloro noticed as it clipped itself to the appropriate spot on his pistol belt seemingly of its own accord, Eralam wasn't terribly inclined to care.
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Chloro
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Jun 29, 2013 1:42:34 GMT -8
Post by Chloro on Jun 29, 2013 1:42:34 GMT -8
It was a dissonant scene - the merry revelry with Dresden and Margot, walking arm in arm through the mess of humanity, like a couple through a park. Chloro gave a throaty laugh as she walked behind their wake, that redoubled as the shocked silence seemed to spread over the bar as everyone seemed to be sharing in one drunken hallucination. It was as close to a salute that they would be getting from this crowd, in honor of those about to sail off to certain doom. A soldier, off to fulfil her death-wish, a man, who had nothing better to do and a terrorist, trying to get a little peace of mind. They exit the bar on this punchline. "I've got a bad feeling about this." Chloro admired the pavement, wheezing and hacking, nearly losing her cigarette from her private joke, but politely interested in the question and answer session between Dresden and Margot. Finally getting her wind back, she looked at the empty street. Chloro hated fighting so exposed. She needed cover, lots of soft, warm bodies between her and her attackers. Haunting memories of her last street fight came back. This was she was raised to fight, the logical way but she could feel the wrongness. For once, she was a little out of her depth. She knew she was fighting that blue-eyed girl she had seen the photos of, but how to actually go about killing it? Usually, she would have reserved weeks to prepare, bait, trap and kill. But she wasn't sure if she had a week, let alone a day.
Margot had her plan to mow it over with her StG44.
Eralam was going to try and needle it to death.
Taking off her drunkard's coat, she spread it on the ground and assembled her Light Anti-Tank Launcher, which she had a feeling would make a better first volley than using her AK. Most of her missiles were homemade, so biting her tongue, she primed the missile and loaded it.
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The Major
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Iziz
Jul 1, 2013 7:32:05 GMT -8
Post by The Major on Jul 1, 2013 7:32:05 GMT -8
". . .a lovely lady like yourself get caught up in all this?" That was nice of him. Such a nice gentleman, although it was obvious the glue holding this encounter together was made of blood specks splattered across her face like freckles. Still, wasn't it nice to be listened in another aspect other than barking orders for squad movements, watching those orders -tactics you presented in order to save the lives of those you commanded- fail as you were overtaken, hearing the men and women who trusted you be torn asunder like cheap toys -each one them a river hidden underneath slate gray camouflage- hearing them die, hearing them scream, wail, and shriek like newborns. No, this was far more pleasant. However, Margot did not deserve such kindness before the end, but if the universe wanted to hand her one final dignity, so that she might die bravely before her eviscerated corpse defecated itself, so be it. The El-tee was not a complicated woman, for a hard living for many years without even a semblance of friendship or family has effectively gutted her capacity for dishonesty through emotional expression. Giving Dresden's arm an affectionate squeeze, she turns to properly regard him in the light; Ms. Mccan's face says all that needed to be said about her impression of him: she was quite charmed, smiling genuinely. Good enough. The kommando begins to guide him over a parked hovertruck painted in drab colours. On its side was a large black cross, and an inscription that reads:Für unsere Partei und unser FührerFor the first time in her life Margot reads the words and she cannot help but wonder what a load of shit everything was."I made th' wrong decision. No, tha's a lie. Believed in this once, I deed."She jiggles the stubby "X" pinned to her dogtags."I though' et was th' answer. 'elp stop man from killin fellow man, but all I deed was kill those who dinnae agree. Strength thru discipline, courage thru sacrifice. All of et was a crock of horseshite. We're not an army of knights fightin for a thousand year reign of peace an' protection -we're thugs, boots stomping down because we were wailing for change.
Me unit was sent here, tue a place called th' Zoo. I dinnae if tha's a codename or wha 'ave yue, but oor orders were to seize th' grounds, resist any interlopers, even Onderon military, mind yue -shoot any on sight. Get this, there's an egghead with us, a creep ov'a woman who could barely speak straight Basic, although I 'ave seen afore on All'geh'mine, my adopted homeworld. Yeah, she talked just like a native, jus' like 'em. She was god awful, with a gaze tha' somehow never left shadow, e'en in th' high noon. A week later, me platoon is escorting 'er into a fookin' crypt, gettin' mad creep out vibes with evera step thon group take. Now this is where it gets really screwy. We're ordered to set up th tomb like somefink outta a movie: candles, a circle, yue fink o'et, it was there. Th' scientist pulls out a bullet. One bullet, places et down, an' she screams out whilst cutting 'er 'and. She said th' name.
Et all hit th' fan in a moment. Half me platoon was down, fookin blue light evera which place. I tried to move to protect th' egghead, figured she could stop et. She was gone! Wisped away like a ghost, Lad. Then we tha' was left in there heard et. We heard th' same voice we done 'eard five years ago, singing tue us. Two o'me guys, the fooking el-em-gers, fellas aboot yuer size, they put their pistols to their 'eads an off 'emselves. Just like tha'. They were me best fighters, like steel in evera operation, an' they fookin' offed themselves right next tue me.
Wha' due yue fink I did? I screamed out a'general order to retreat outta th' crypt. We get out, lose another two people on th' way oot, an' warn th' rest. Et was cold in there, Friend. Cold like th' witch's 'eart shaped box. Th' rest of th' unit is mustered, a company of Einstaz'kays. A fookin company. Tha's enough to manage to invade an' secure a small planet. Against 'er, et was just a formality. Th' X.O buys et, I inherent command, an' order evera one to escape th' zoo an' seal th' tunnels triple time. I wasn't gonna let the Ice Bitch out on this planet. These people do not deserve wha' happened to me back then. I don't care wot anyone said. I would die first.
Well, we succeed. We seal the exits with explosives, an' manage tue escape. Oooo-ah. Only Kurt an' meself made et out. Otherwise, all 'ands lost.At this point Margot is shivering, and she doesn't realize this until completely finishing off her ramble. The woman pulls away from the gentleman and tries to light up a deathstick, failing as the she can't seem to work her lighter with a trembling thumb."Damn all th' lot o this. May I get thirty minutes in 'eaven afore th' Devil realizes I'm dead."
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Iziz
Jul 1, 2013 22:09:50 GMT -8
Post by Deleted on Jul 1, 2013 22:09:50 GMT -8
Well that was one hell of a story. Made a lot of sense too. Eralam knew firsthand how dangerous their opponent could be. She had nearly managed to fight him to a standstill. Normal humans wouldn't have stood a chance. He took the lighter from her trembling fingers, cupped the flame against the wind, and struck the flint. The sparks lit the gas, and the flame burst into life.
"Those things will kill you, you know," he said gently. "If you're lucky though, it'll make the bitch sick if it tries to take a bite."
Eralam offered the young LT his best mischievous grin. He knew she had no illusions about her chances for survival beyond the next half hour or so. Hope didn't even begin to play into this. But if there couldn't be hope, maybe there would be some comfort in knowing that the end would come quickly, and at the hand of someone who, under different circumstances, might have been a friend.
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The Major
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Iziz
Jul 2, 2013 19:46:17 GMT -8
Post by The Major on Jul 2, 2013 19:46:17 GMT -8
There could only be one response to Dresden's concise utterance -proceeded by a first pull from the killing cigarette illegal in over a hundred star systems which you could feel traveling down to your lungs like ink, mortifying cells, filling you with dread and joy unparalleled. And so Margot Mccan takes a year off of her life, passing out dark clouds through her nostrils thoughtfully, gravely. Then the woman's mouth twists from the corners upwards, then spreads, bares, and becomes a full frontal grin. A crack in the lungs follows, a rise, bubbles and nerve endings, rise, rise, rise; swelling, pop, electric, up and up, and then:
"!HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!"
The multi-verse weeps, and in another a flower blooms. When Alderaan eyes are laughing you could hear the angels sing.
"Th' world isnae beautiful 'enceforth et is!"
An about face, hand darts unto her chest, and Em-Em wrenches the stubby "X" off of her chest and tosses the silver pendant like garbage in one motion. It soars, landing into grass well after the El-tee flicked out the deathstick unto the ground. A quick march later she throws the driverside door ajar, turns to the companions, both so wonderfully different, and waves them towards the lorry.
"Let's gue. Th' back o'th lorry 'as a full stock o'weapons -redesigned stuff from th' old skool, courtesy of th' Reich th' can proudly kiss me arse. Oy, Hempgirl, Floss-Queen, th' panzerfausts in dere will 'ave more ommphf than tha' anti-jadg rifle yuer sportin. Lighter too. Why waste thon ammo when th' state is payingk?"
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Chloro
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Iziz
Jul 2, 2013 21:14:27 GMT -8
Post by Chloro on Jul 2, 2013 21:14:27 GMT -8
Warhead primed. She had walked her fingers over the usual fare - the high-explosives, the anti-personnel, the fire and straight to her personal favourite - chemicals. The nerve/blister/respiratory agent was the nastiest of the nastiest in her arsenal. Most explosives had the mercy to kill instantly but these things kept you alive long enough to enjoy it. If that didn't work, she could always switch over to her grenade launcher. Phew. It hadn't prematurely gassed them all, so it was safe to say that as long as she didn't drop the launcher, everything would be alright.
Click. The reels in Chloro's head started rolling, recording the Mccan's lifestory. During her time as an interrogator, she had learnt to pick up the subtle nuances that was the beginning of a full confession. In the Lieutenant's case, it was a her autobiography that was her crime. She skimmed over the details, picking out the salient points that would probably be vital to her survival in the next few hours and some. The eye narrowed and there was sickly grin at the trembling hand that begged help to light a cigarette. Eralam boldly stepped into that breach, comforting the weak.
There was a flourishing dramatic as Lt Margot got high and tossed her iron cross into the trash and offered her the world of explosives. The Panzerfausts would be a useful to blow stuff and run, but for her target, she'd stick to her LAW. She wrapped up her gear and got aboard, nodding graciously at the Lieutenant's offer. Chloro wasn't in any mood to mince words.
Her own hands trembled slightly but for a completely different set of reasons. There was the usual pre-battle jitters but there was a uncanny fear about the entire situation that made her want to hitch up her skirt and run, far, far away. But that would be prolonging the inevitable. She was a dead person walking. Every waking moment ground at her person as she was confronted with every murderous action she had committed. The worst was when she caught in her peripheral vision the faces of the people she had tortured. The idea of going to ground and having to do more of the same turned her stomach. It wasn't like she could go into retirement. They'd retire her in a grave. She wanted the dignity to at least choose her own. But there was something that told her that it would be best, for everyone, if she fired off her chemical weapon in the van and killed herself with the Lieutenant. It was her gut instinct, that homed in on what would make the most splash, but then again, her guts were squirming in protest.
One more time, I promise. Then no more. One more time, and I won't need to feel this way.
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Iziz
Jul 2, 2013 22:47:35 GMT -8
Post by Deleted on Jul 2, 2013 22:47:35 GMT -8
Eralam glances in the back. Chemicals. Chloro.
"Oh shit."
He grabs a pro-mask and a CANA injector and leaves the other toys alone. A few short months ago, he wouldn't have even had to bother with the mask, even in the HRD. That in itself was depressing. His body would recover from the effects of the various agents almost instantly, but that wouldn't make them fun. Back in his glory days as the Robot Space Ninja, Eralam had largely avoided chemical agents unless absolutely necessary. Their usefulness was undeniable under the right conditions, but the danger to friendly forces always has to be considered.
After taking a minute to make sure that the mask would clear and seal properly, the former Shard climbed into the cab of the truck and began to pack his pipe again. The tobacco would be almost overpoweringly strong in the confined space, but, well, a certain someone smelled unpleasantly like a death stick. The cloying aroma of the tobacco was infinitely preferable, and it also covered up the slightly garlicky smell that often accompanies blister agents.
And just in case things weren't awkward enough as is, Eralam had a flashback to the last time he'd let an LT drive. They had started on Kashyyyk and somehow ended up on Malastare. Without leaving the speeder. Dozens of sophisticated simulations had been unable to determine just how it happened. The galaxy's leading scientists had been baffled. The LT had claimed he knew where he was going the whole time. Oh well, too late to turn back now.
"Alright LT, this is your show from here until we get there. You're fuckin' this duck, I'm just holding the wings."
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The Major
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Iziz
Jul 3, 2013 4:50:04 GMT -8
Post by The Major on Jul 3, 2013 4:50:04 GMT -8
Bah, chemical warfare. Ghouls didn't stop at gunshots or fire. The mass gas cloud attacks over Essen and Seelower Höhen didn't really do anything but kill off enough of the Volk divisions assigned to hold those areas - enough to precipitate their overrun and consumption. Which of course added about 30,000 bodies of all shapes of disrepair to come swarming in with songs about the end of pain. Although the sense of irony present if they all died from a suicide fired chemical round caused a fit of mirth to touch upon the El-Tee's mind."Heh."The hovertruck has its engines turn over with a throaty rumble and is placed into drive before quickly and smoothly zipping off into the road. A navimap bleeps on the dash showing the gird that was Iziz. The driver pushes the truck into alley ways and cuts through parks and other public squares that all seem empty for some strange reason. A few minutes later they are speeding through the country side, overtaking other speeders here and there before turning into a road unused. Mr. Speedometer cranks ups and the needle detailing their momentum starts to shake just a bit. 100 KPH, 200 KPH, 250 KPH. . ."Dinnae concern thonself with th' shakin. These things are made to gue as fast as possible t'supply advancing troops."Margot starts to hum to herself, then absentmindly checks a control on a panel which begins to play this jaunty tune as loud as the speakers could handle without blaring with bass static.
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Chloro
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Iziz
Jul 4, 2013 22:03:33 GMT -8
Post by Chloro on Jul 4, 2013 22:03:33 GMT -8
The rocket tube bounced painfully on Chloro's collarbone, but that was the only padding she trusted. It was the highlight of her day to see both the veteran soldiers visibly cringe when they got the whiff of her chemical joys. This is why she succeeded where convention failed. Because human convention couldn't solve the problems it created. Like take for instance this particular problem they were solving tonight. Clearly a human had caused a problem that was clearly beyond human means to solve. Luckily, none of those present in the hovertruck were even vaguely human, apart from the skin wrappers they wore.
So, Chloro smoked and listened to the music, her mind finding a pleasant blank before the mayhem. If the Lieutenant overturned the truck, so what? Being free from fear of death was a liberating experience. And being a dealer in it was an enlightening one.
"How much further?"
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Flo
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Ow. That doesn't hurt.
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Iziz
Jul 4, 2013 22:09:55 GMT -8
Post by Flo on Jul 4, 2013 22:09:55 GMT -8
Disgustedly, her opponent threw his cards into the middle of the table. Flo didn't gloat as she collect the cards and shuffled them, leaving the pot of chips untouched. She and her partner had sat in the back of the bar that Dresden, Mccan and Chloro had exited. They had watched them through one of the many windows as they piled into a hovertruck and drove off into the night. She was glacially calm, carefully cutting the deck for the next hand while her partner stubbed his cigarette out in the overflowing ashtray, which was next to his revolver and her LMG. Immediately he regretted it and lit another. He nearly slumped under the table in dispair. Between losing hand after hand and going through packets of cigarrettes, he seemed to hover between acute anxiety, frustration and impatience. Besides, his ass was probably sat flat. They had been at this charade for longer than Chloro.
Stifling a yawn, she packed away the well-thumbed deck and stood, her LMG slung over her shoulder.
"Get up. Take me somewhere for dinner."
The man rolled his head to look up to Flo and reseated his glasses. There was no end to her cruel mercies. She probably had kept them here for an hour longer than they needed to be, just to needle him. Slowly, he unfurled himself, stretching his gangly limbs out and trying to force the blood to reach his extremities. Flo waited as he tried to draw out the process of checking, cocking, uncocking and holstering his revolver. But his patience worn thin before hers and they exited into the street.
::I smell garlic::
"Blister agent."
He smiled, as if he knew that already and scratched at the translator that hung around his neck.
Where was a takeout place when you needed it?
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Deleted
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Iziz
Jul 6, 2013 3:30:13 GMT -8
Post by Deleted on Jul 6, 2013 3:30:13 GMT -8
Eralam remained silent as they rolled along, politely ignoring the music. There's a time and a place for everything, but for the time being, he needed to find his center. Find that brilliantly burning ball of power that kept him alive even as it killed him. Make sure the proper barriers are up, lest he slip up and vaporize them all.
As his mind flew through its rituals, developed carefully over the past few months, his hands perform rituals of their own. The Colt 1851 Navy, an absolutely ancient .44 caliber cap and ball revolver comes out of the holster. Pull out the wedge, pop off the barrel. Hammer to half cock, remove the cylinder, check for carbon residue. Everything is smooth, oiled. With the cylinder off, hammer to full cock, squeeze trigger. Trigger break is crisp, precise. You just couldn't get that sort of craftsmanship in double action pistols. The barrel is clean, no carbon fouling. The rifling is smooth, no sign of wear. The loading lever works smoothly, and the retaining spring is stiff enough to hold it in place under fire. Hammer back to half cock, cylinder in the proper spot, barrel back on, wedge in place. Cylinder spins smoothly, hammer to full cock, and it stops abruptly. Percussion cap precisely in line with the hammer, perfect. Thumb on hammer, pull trigger, ease hammer down carefully. Hammer is down, ease back a tick, rotate cylinder so that the hammer rests on metal instead of a percussion cap. The weapon is ready.
As had become his custom, Eralam muttered a short prayer he had picked up from a soldier a few wars back.
Lord, make me fast and accurate. Let my aim be true and my hand faster than those who would seek to destroy me. Grant me victory over my foes and those that wish to do harm to me and mine. Let not my last thought be “If only I had my gun”; and Lord if today is truly the day that You call me home, let me die in a pile of brass.
The Lord in question was more of a concept than an actual deity; the soldier had proclaimed to be a devout atheist. Eralam hadn't much faith in any higher power, certainly not any gods. He tolerated the Force because he couldn't be rid of it. But the words brought comfort, and for the human mind he was currently stuck with, that was important all on its own.
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The Major
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Also known as Sailor Titan
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Iziz
Jul 6, 2013 5:48:29 GMT -8
Post by The Major on Jul 6, 2013 5:48:29 GMT -8
These two beings had some habits that were decidedly human, and the irony of it was that a normal human such as Margot could sense that was almost a lie. These improvised komrades were beyond your average person, with minds, hearts, and souls larger than the puny people they dealt with from time to time. Sitting near them, hearing them, even smelling the minuscule aromas they emanated -produced due to their distinct crafts- gave the tangy impression that this measly human was dealing with beings who alter history. Not dogs, no, not like the LT and her cohorts. Not man, because they hid the truth of their natures beneath what was effectively a skin wrapper. What does that make them, if not man or dog? Monsters? Gods? Ghosts?
Dead memories that should stay dead?
The hovertruck lurches upwards as Margot drives them off road and into a group of thick, verdant trees.
A ball and cap handgun? Yes, "slugthrowers," as the people in this galaxy called them were the superior form of weapon and far more versatile than a blaster, but a ball and cap revolver was pushing the antique range severely. There was no way to reload such a weapon in a combat situation, and five bullets wouldn't be enough. Perhaps Dresden used them as an opening salvo or maybe summary executions. The El-tee had seen that a lot in her tenure with the Fascists: there were a bunch of men and women that carried a special instrument in order to put down the broken, the dying, the conquered, as they sprinted on to make even more broken, dying, and fleeing figures. Odd, this man did not strike her as a person that would fire on walking wounded, but she couldn't judge him for it -she had done it countless times, and her put-down weapon was just a spade. Yup, you'd grab the handle and smash it down on the victim's neck. Sometimes it was one and done. Sometimes you had to really hammer in the point to them -the point being that there were still people in the great world that would put on a two-tone camo uniform, take arms, take an iron cross, scream about loving war, wail for the ecstasy of battle, weep because of the orgasms known as slaughter, trade deaths while barking like happy mongrels, and die and kill, kill and die, for themselves, for humanity, for the twinkling stars above, for the cellos that would inevitably cry out songs of sorrow.
Broom-room. The lorry sails a few meters over the crest of the hill and into a bright, sunny clearing. There is the objective, the château called the Zoo. The grounds gave the impression of something once grand, rich, and even hopeful but have since become overgrown with weeds and bramble. The moss and vine slicked manor house had seen better days under more caring hands, reduced now to looking like a good push in the right spot would send the three story expansive mansion toppling into utter ruination. There were the usual allotments: a vast courtyard and garden, orchards, smaller houses that were presumably the living quarters of the servants, and a large tower casting its ghoulish shadow over a quarter of the estate, all as derelict and desolate as the empty weed fields the trio now zoomed over.
"Dinnae tarry in th' field. Dinnae draw et oot. We keep et in th' building then at least we can bring down th' 'ouse if alla else due fail."
She shifts the truck into neutral, which almost immediately causes the RPMs to quit their roaring and settle on down as momentum zipped them closer and closer. Another button on the dash is chinned, then a dial flipped. Suddenly, a set of what appeared to be anti-air missile batteries slotted out unto the sides of the vehicle, leveled downward as Margot worked a joystick to her right, and then aimed for the ground level of the Zoo. Press. Three of the missiles are released with a satisfying CHOOOM and then snake about the air before smashing and exploding into the side of the building. Light debris ping against the hood as they stop quickly and with a bit of a hover skid. The driver's side door smacks open, and her boots connect with the dirt. Reassurance is granted for this moment, and Onderon gives a trooper the bravery to propel herself into yet another breach for what was the last time.
!CHOOOM!
Another missile launches from the truck purposefully delayed to serve as a measure of suppression if such a thing was possible against the beast they were about to face. It sails just a few meters above the sprinting Einsatzkommando who has now covered 50 of the 100 meter gap between lorry and smoking breach. Her copper braids now fly rather childishly behind in the wake of her rush. Heat touches, warms the soul with lunatic raving, and Margot disappears into the clouds produced from the explosion.
Storm, storm, storm.
On the other side, it was rubble that had to be carefully leaped over to maintain your footing, along with what appeared to be a direct hole into a mess hall of sorts. Every second she is in here, she expects a sudden dagger, a gunshot, anything that would be punctuated by her blood painting the wall. Nothing happened. Nothing resisted her as she cleared the lethal funnel. No contact. The woman kept sighting for every corner, every door, every piece of cover in the mess, and even the ceiling and walls, but there was nothing, nothing but her heavy breathing.
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Chloro
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Iziz
Jul 6, 2013 8:45:51 GMT -8
Post by Chloro on Jul 6, 2013 8:45:51 GMT -8
The back of the van opened with a fairly grim-looking and glowing eye'd Chloro exited, wearing her headgear - a gas mask with night vision. There were still a few hours before twilight and it was plenty dark tonight. Chloro had two modes: real smooth and subtle - a phone or package bomb addressed to yours truly - or razing the entire area - setting up mines, rigging tiers of explosives, mortars and setting up a massive missile strike on the location. Mccan had opted for the brute force route, which suited her fine but she had a sinking feeling that Lieutenant was being a touch half-arsed for her taste. In any event, she'd better make a move-along. But either because she was a rebel at heart or because she simply didn't trust the Lieutenant's tactics, she walked, her boots striding steadily, coat brushing through the stalks of grass, while she kept her AK at her hip, like she had been taught to advance as a child, instead of running like she had been ordered. For one thing, she didn't want to take a spill with her launcher, nor could she move particularly fast, burdened with two weapons. But most importantly, it gave her a chance to drop a remotely detonated cluster mine. She liked to have a handle on their exit.
She pushed through the dust, keeping her steps quiet as she picked her way through the crater in the wall. Sweeping the mess hall, she spots the Lieutenant and takes up an opposite position, keeping low and her rifle pointed at the doorways, waiting for her cue again before advancing. Mccan knew the lay of the land and she had more experience with close quarters combat. As long as she was in front, Chloro wouldn't need to worry about anyone getting up and personal with her, while she could drop whatever explosives she liked on them.
"Ready"
She hoarsely whispered.
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