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colony dark; the fall of Saachistan

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—Izrali Shantytown #46, Keziksten

active localesubject to change pending plot progression

 

Krugis_zpssaxojuip.png

 


 

OOC Notes

 

RP SPECS

Type | adventure; horror; science fantasy; space fantasy
Classification | collaborative; canon
Combat | PvE--NPC Dice System(suggestion); PvP--T1 Story

 

 

Dramatis Personae

Ravi Al-Saajis

 

 

Status

Type | Open
Activity | Semi-Active; 1-2 posts a week
Limit | 72 hrs; subject to change pending # of players
GM | paradigm; subject to change pending conversations

 

SYNOPSIS

The year is After Riva 1018 (AO 28). It has been fifteen years since a collective of Alterion's brightest minds headed into the vastness of space, intending to start a colony, absent the involvement of a Company, only to never be heard from again. That was, until a transmission came through all open Alterion Channels with a terse horrifying announcement. 

The voice is small, yet heavy, weighed more by sadness than fear. A child's voice, or what was once a child, at least. 

"We can't stop it. We've tried everything. They're all dead, we will be soon. The colony...the colony is..."

 

The Masons, Alterion's leading political party, have remained silent, but the Rebellion is certain they will take action, if only to investigate the possibility of a bilogical weapon. The Rebellion cannot allow the Masons to best them, in this. Rounding up nearly all of its funding, the Rebellion has put forth its best, brightest and most expensive operatives in order to investigate the troubled colony. 

 

The stage is set for the the Rebellion's resurgence and the Mason's downfall. 

 

off topic: Keziksten is where the Rebellion has hidden one of its few space faring vessels. (I say few, there are perhaps a 50-60 not including mobile suits, but compared to the Masons that's nothing.) Those brave souls sworn to the Rebellion fight for the freedom of their Realm from the Masons' iron grip and control of the parasitic Crystal, those hired or in frequent employ of the Rebellion see this as an unparalleled opportunity to change the course of history. First few rounds will be to establish characters, make introductions and get loaded on the vessel.

Story Note: There are multiple Alterion Space Colonies but all of them are beholden to a Company and operate as off planet war machines, manufacturing weapons etc, away from the Rebellion. Saachistan was an attempt at unifying all of Alterion, with its founders being devotees of true pacifism.

Anchors away...

 

 
layout credit | paradigm

Edited by paradigm

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-Sylar Borealis-

 

Bells and whistles sounded like alarms, a hazy vision coming back into focus. Warning lights illuminate the control panel, reflecting off amber-hue tinted glass that was cracked, spiderwebbed from the center out. Through the struggle of focus, blood could be seen dripping to pool at the heels of boot clad feet. The war, he thought just as his body cringed to a pain shooting through his core. "Core Power Cell failure. Reserve energy, 10% remaining. Oxygen levels dangerous. Immediate ejection recommended…. Sylar, you're going to die." Leda's voice came through like a loudspeaker in his head. Her voice was stoic and seemingly careless; robotic. All except for the last part, that was her. Genuine concern for his safety and well being. The A.I. and Sylar have become close in the passing decades. They've piloted many Nexxis Mech's together, though this one.. Nexxis I, might be their last. 

With his vision still a little fuzzy, and certain parts of his body felt asleep or paralyzed now, he looks up and through the mechs front visor. There was a planet near by, not too far away either. "It's worth a shot.." He snapped, grabbing the controls. "Leda… focus all reserve energy to the main boosters. We're not dying today" In a flash, his request was sent and executed. Shoving the sticks at full throttle, his aim was dead center of the planet. "Reserve power drained. Sylar, I hope you know what you are doing. I'll send out the distress beacon incase there are any friendlies in the.." Sylar cut in. "No, we don't know if the Federation base here and we wouldn't stand much of a chance against bandits picking up our signal either. We'll ride it.. gah.. We'll ride it in, try to land without killing ourselves and go from their." More blood spilled out onto the floor of the cockpit. 

The mech spiraled through the stratosphere, catching fire. In a ball of flames, Sylar's Nexxis I hastily carried him towards a vast desert type climate where he crash landed, creating quite a crater and a sonic boom at point of impact. The spectacle happened right outside a decent sized village or town. Someone had to have witnessed. 

"We've landed.. But you're unconscious… I'm sorry, Sylar.. You've been hurt very badly and I am seeing you've lost 80% of your life's blood… I know it's against your wishes, but the beacon is sent. Lets just hope for the best." Leda materialized digitally before Sylar's sleeping body. SHe stood only a foot and a half at the moment, taking on any size she sees fit given there is space to do so; typically she remains as a voice in his head as they are linked neurologically and digitally through enhanced biotics and the chip in his brain. She sat, resting with her right leg extended and the left folded under, her back pressed against his shoulder and neck. With her left hand she moved his hair from view of his face. Blood trickled from his nose and mouth and ears. Lacerations along his face were deep enough to need stitches and the right side of his chest had a hole blown through it from an enemy Mech's weapon; a lance was used to pierce the cockpit from the rear in a raptor style abash attack. Leda sat, waited, and worried. Even though she was an A.I. who held knowledge of all mankind and its own self undoing, Leda had compassion for this one.  "If anyone is coming… They need to hurry….."

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A-kaneda_zpsn9jkewtd.pngrain had begun to blanket the lands in this desolate, lonely corner of Alterion. As if the war-scorched lands needed anymore torture, yet another scar had been carved into the hills.

The deluge came as relief; the metal hissed and moaned as the cool air embraced the surface still scorched by the descent. The machine, much like the earth around it, clambered for the respite. And, judging by the countless cracks in the sand, it had been so very long since rain had graced the desert landscape.

The silence of the cockpit belied the circumstances. The quiet spat in the face of how dire circumstances were for this unnamed man and his programmed counterpart. Yet, in the face of disaster, the cooling rain was not the only providence that evening.

The groaning metal and whine of fried electronics was broken first by a shuffle noise from outside. The fractures in the frame would've let just enough sound in to make out what was likely a human-sized figure hoisting himself up along the side. The sporadic clank of metal against metal decorated the image of the man as equipped: perhaps armored, maybe armed.

Then, silence.

The silence droned on. And then some. The pause chipped away at the clock, second-by-second, into moments, then minutes.

Only then, after the numbers were run and all of the possibilities were considered, the least of which was likely help, did a soft glow of violet perforate the metallic interior of mech. Within seconds, the metal had turned white-hot and had begun to peel away and fold back upon itself before, finally, the entire frame had been twisted away into an opening just large enough for a large man to hoist himself through.

Through the opening, a head and arm had extended, open, slow, steady, reaching out to whoever was inside, perhaps at great self-detriment. The low lightning and eerie glow of the still-hot metal made it hard to make out much more than a contour, but they seemed interested in helping as opposed to harming.

  kaneda_zpstp29xyif.png
Edited by Reign
Finally got around to proofreading ): -- "torchered?" Lol.

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-Sylar-

All Leda could do was set and wait, worry and wander. Sylar was still out cold and losing more and more blood. Just then, her proximity scanners picked up life forms. Well, just one. Judging by the thermal optics, much like if she were the lens of the camera itself, Leda could see it was a man, a hulk of one at that. "It isn't your time yet, Sylar…. Look, someone's here." Leda could only hope her words reached the unconscious mind of her fleshy companion. 

In the background of molten steel, Sylar's form could be seen under a luminescent glow, hunched over the controls of a shattered terminal. His dark leather jacket soaked wet in his blood. The same fate for his jeans and undershirt. Lacerations from the crash didn't help the giant hole through his upper right torso. When the man reached his hand through slowly, he would receive no holds or replies. Silence filled the cockpit as Leda too fled back into the chip hot-wired into Sylar's brain. The good-semeritan would find a large Gun-Blade laying next to the man, the two were obviously an item, a pair perhaps. 

 

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T-kaneda_zpso6tuasxe.pngime vanished for the unconscious man.

When he did finally come to, he would find himself in a dark, dank room some distance from where he had begun. The dim lighting that flickered along the ceiling danced. The anachronistic flashes spun a story that might've included power surges or poor wiring in whatever little corner they had come to occupy.

And a little corner was about right.

The room was absent any windows with white-washed walls of permacrete (or whatever it was they called it out here in Alterion). A mammoth steel door decorated the far wall of the room drawn shut and bolted off on the opposite side by any number of locks, bars, and security systems to isolate the inhabitants therein.

Directly beside the door sat the hero of the day, not as hulking as one might have thought despite the feat to clear the machine some hours prior. In fact, he was quite unassuming; at under six feet and fairly thin, the asian man beneath stark-white hair spoke nothing of magnitude in any fashion. Yet, he was in fact the one that had ushered the injured across the desert atop his back, gun blade-and-all— a fact the unannounced and unknown A.I. might've attested to were she more disposed.

The man's demeanor was relaxed considering the potential threat the injured man should have posed. Unknown variables: they didn't seem marr the occupied expression one-bit as he paged through a book clutched in his right hand. He hadn't seemed to notice the man come-to.

   

 

 

 

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DSaZDut.jpg

Some people--a lot of people…well most people, thought Ravi Al-Saajis was crazy. While he considered himself a bit of an eccentric, to be sure, Ravi always found himself of sound mind and in full control of his mental faculties. Let a man who worked all day in a box, just to live in another box, keep his opinions. A lion, so rarely concerned itself with the opinions of sheep and wasn't there a saying about doing the same task everyday and expecting different results?The madness of monotony?

Just because they didn't like what he did, he was crazy? A century ago they fought to shove their ripe young daughters and sons in front of monsters like him.Therein rested the dilemma of the world—it catered to a mass of soft bellied swines and the men in charge somehow forgot that it was their perogative to slit the throats of those hogs who raised the most shit. An abundance of hogs necessitated wolves, such as himself.

They could hate him, revile him and loathe his methods—but he was a product of history and he was as much a cog in the Crystal's machine as the rest of them. These thoughts and more plagued him throughout this journey through Alterion.

 

The Samaritan coasted overhead, a streaking tendril of black across the vast empty sky. Keziksten, the shit hole of all shit holes awaited him, along with the promise of coin and excitement. Money was all well and good, but the thrill of the unknown and the promise of trouble drove him onward.In flight mode, the Samaritan appeared no different than any other airship, if a bit more compact. Touching down, Ravi spied a throng of Rebel engineers tinkering over the remains of a battered mobile suit—a tall man, dark hair cascading over a long blue scarf, barked an order and turned to approach the Samaritan.

Tall and wiry and too pale to claim the outer Izral provinces as his home, the man carried himself with the crisp movements of a man who took himself far more seriously than others did. Coming to a stop just outside the mobile suit, the man folded his arms across his chest and frowned, mouthing something Saajis couldn't hear.

The Samaritan opened and a hiss sounded as the cockpit depressurized. Climbing out, Saajis arched a dark brow and leapt down into the street.

"Say again?" He asked.

"You were supposed to be here yesterday."

"Well it's good to see you too, Bright."

Bright Fairbanks huffed and fiddled with the scarf at his neck. The man served as the chief coordinator for most of the Rebellions operations, but like most data crunchers he was easily replaced. Bright’s eyes might once have held the glow of ‘the cause’ and the youthful exuberance of the meat shield recruits, but whatever light lived within them died a long time ago. Battered down by the realization that his position was really nothing more than a slip of paper in a file.

Shoving a crystal thumb drive into Saajis’ hand, Bright turned and motioned for the mercenary to follow him, leading the man towards the wrecked suit.

“We found it just outside of Keziksten. Well, one of our operatives found it and the pilot, neither one were in pristine order.”

Ravi Al-Saajis studied the suit, his eyes alight with wonder and curiosity.

“It’s not one of the Masons’,” he said, answering Saajis’ question for him. Nothing Daius, MaGNUS, or Proteus about it. We’ve either got a foreign suit, which is unlikely since our techs are fairly familiar with Renovatio’s general design, or a new player entirely.”

“A new player?”

“Something we’ve never seen before. Output wise it seems like it’ll be on par with any Alterian or Renovatian suit, but it’s design is just…well, different. It doesn’t appear superior or inferior, just...not something we’ve seen.”

“The pilot been much help?” he said, studying the suit.

“Still unconscious. We have an operative with him, but we’re focused on finishing preparations for tomorrow’s launch.” Bright canted his head towards a series of rundown buildings. “Speaking of, you should get geared up for the trip and dock the Samaritan on the transport ship.”

Saajis shrugged and headed back towards his suit. He’d only just arrived and already things were getting interesting.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Edited by paradigm
Added Al-Saajis tag.

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A dim lit room, damp and musty. Sharp pains bolting through his core. Sylar winced as in his repose, it proved excruciatingly painful to raise up only enough to press shoulders against the corner. His vision was hazy still but shapes could be made out in contour outline alone. A bulk shape only chest heigh sat near a tall rectangle shape that seemed to be a door. His mouth opened to speak, but his throat was far too dry. With some effort and obvious discomfort, he managed one word. "Water.." It came through as a frail whisper. 

"Is this how you tend to all those you rescue??" An angry female tone breaks the silence within. Just then, the form of a woman could be seen materializing just feet from where Sylar laid. The digitally materialized woman strolls towards the man by the door. "Surely you could spare something for him to drink.. and what have you done with our Nexxis?" She stood there in a more sassy pose with hands on cocked hips and her head tilted slightly to the side as she lent forward slightly. That 'I mean business' look. 

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T-kaneda_zpso6tuasxe.pnghe rustle against the bed grabbed Kaneda's attention; his eyes drifted over the brim of the book. As the other man struggled to put his request into words, Kaneda had already set the novel against the corner table and had risen to his feet. His own empty silence was filled only by the hoarse breath off the lips of the injured pilot.

The whisper wasn't hard to hear, and though he had made his way to a bottle of water situated atop a shelf on the side wall, he had yet to directly acknowledge the other in the room

Even as the woman appeared to materialize beside her companion, Kaneda's gaze remained fixed on the glass he had now set face-up next to the bottle.

"Is this how you tend to all those you rescue?"

Only a handful of months had passed since the white-haired man had found himself in very much the same position. He hadn't the machine and technology, something so very rampant in this corner of Valucre, but it hadn't changed the caution they'd visited upon him. He was an outsider in a war that harnessed outsiders as blunt instruments. He remembered the expressions that descended upon him like arrows.

At first, those eyes cut like daggers, attempting to peel away his outer layer to see what it was he was hiding. When they were finally satisfied that this strange white-haired man really had no recollection of where he'd come from and how he'd gotten here, those eyes had immediately switched to appraising. What a weapon Kaneda could become, the sentiment oozed from their pores.

Even so, here he was.

The follies of "greater" men aside, there was something in this cause worth fighting for. He had seen that firsthand what seemed like a short lifetime ago: a lifetime framed by nothing more than vague images and outlines of a life he hadn't been entirely sure was his own, and of the lives he had plummeted into.

By the time he had realized how far off course his mind had drifted, his autopilot had already brought him beside the man with the glass of water outstretched. He hadn't noticed his face contort during his trip down memory lane and only now did he struggle to brush it back under the surface.

Yet, Kaneda continued to ignore the A.I., peculiar as though she may be, as he addressed the would-be captive, "Drink."

  kaneda_zpstp29xyif.png
Edited by Reign

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It did not take much time to make ready for the voyage. He came prepared for the work, he often did. Sitting alone at a rundown bar, Ravi Al-Saajis nursed his drink and pondered ordering another. The bar tender, along with most of the patrons ducked out just as Ravi entered—more so to spy on the foreign weapon than to avoid the mercenary, though few of them would have shared a drink with Mad Saajis.

The Rebels and the Masons weren't as different as either side wanted the world to believe. The Rebellion lauded his methods with fervor in private, but condemned his actions in public and did so with the same loud sanctimony of the Church. They were monsters cut from the same cloth, save one sought to wrap the world in order and the other sought to wrap it in anarchy.

Ravi truly held no convictions, either way. Both sides paid well and both seemed vested in keeping the conflict alive. So long as the world kept spinning, odds were he'd have work.

At a faint buzzing in his breast pocket, Ravi placed the glass upside down on the counter top and fished the small device out and peered at the faintly glowing crystal screen. The number was encrypted, a habit the Masons used when they were placing calls to operatives in the Rebellion's territory. Sliding his finger across the screen, Ravi accepted the call and answered with his favored pseudonym when dealing with the Masons.

 

"Eli L. Sanchez." 

"Sanchez." A voice said in a perfunctory tone. "This is Holland Reath with the High Mason's office. Vice-director of general affairs." 

"I'm busy." Ravi answered, letting the Mason know he was currently in the middle of a job with the Rebellion. The masons possessed plenty of mundane codes, and a varitety of follow ups to verify that the codes being referenced were indeed codes and not just a mundane response...a tedious and unnecessary task for tedious and unnecessary people. 

"About that," Holland said. "We understand the Rebellion is intending on moving for the Colony. We have no qualms with that." 

"You aren't worried they'll get whatever's up there and bring it down?" 

"On the contrary. We would prefer they bring it down...all of it. Are you interested?" 

"You mean--" 

"We can double the contract price and promise a bonus if special circumstances are met." 

Ravi made his mind up in an instant. "Deal. What are you planning?" 

"Best not to discuss the details here. There's a Masonic Operative en route to join your operation. A Royal playing the part of the exiled prince. He has instructions to rendezvous with you, specifically. Happy Hunting, Red Dagan." 

 

Slipping the phone into his pocket, Ravi sighed and flipped his glass back over. He was going to need another drink before all this shit got started. 

Edited by paradigm
Added Al-saajis tag

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After what amounted to hundreds of trips out of Valucre’s atmosphere, the journey felt purely routine to Ravi. A rote, inconsequential vertical bus ride that felt no different than an air cab transit to Cosanastre, at this point. Ravi’s colleague couldn’t make that claim. Tall for his age, but still sleight, the Imperial brat wrapped his slender tan fingers about the arm rest of his chair in a white knuckles grip. The comely features seemed flat and strained in an attempt to hide his unease. 

 

“You got a name, brat?” Ravi asked between fits of laughter when the boy arrived, prior to their flight. No more than fourteen, the boy looked gangly to boot. 

 

“Anomanderis.” The youth said, sternly. 

 

Making no efforts to hide his disdain for the absurd code name, the mercenary held a hand up. “You sure that’s what you want to go with? You want me calling you that the entire trip? What about when you’re bleeding out in the middle of the fuck mothering Colony? You wanna go with ‘Nice knowin ya, Anniemonderries?”

 

The youth exhaled heavily through his nose, evidently finding no humor in Ravi’s jest and murmured a name between clenched teeth. What in Riva’s tits were the Masons thinking sending an unseasoned shitstain to help him. 

 

“Viktus.” 

 

Ravi nodded his head and wiped tears of laughter from his cheeks. “Ravi Al-Saajis,” he tapped the countertop and downed the second drink he’d ordered before the boy could grab it. Ravi couldn’t condone underage drinking, wouldn’t be right. Turning on the barstool to face  the boy, Ravi raised a thick black eyebrow. “I thought kiddie soldiers were more the Rebellion’s wheelhouse. I mean, I know the Masons scoop you up young, but don’t they spend a few years fucking and training you first?” 

 

Whatever response the boy intended smoldered quietly upon his tongue behind pursed lips. Seeing that the boy would not rise to the bait, Ravi turned his thoughts to the matter at hand. 

 

As Valucre became a radiant sphere at their backs, Ravi peered over at the youth, their initial meeting still fresh on his mind. “Once we’re Colony-Side we’ll take the Mobile Suits and scout ahead, but the frames are gonna be too big to maneuver in most buildings. You’re gonna hang back and serve as Operator if we end up needing to go deeper.”

 

Still holding on for dear life, Viktus shook his head and moved to speak but Ravi cut him off. “Easy, Newbie. It’s nothing personal. We’ll need someone in a mobile suit outside anyway. Besides you’ll be better suited to supervise from there.” 

 

The real message remained unspoken. If shit goes sideways, you can take the whole complex down before anyone knows what happened. 

 

The initial thrust eased after several moments and the carrier evened out into a state of relative calm. “Best of luck...” Bright Fairbanks monotone voice eked our over the comms. Ravi doubted the man expected to ever see any of her again. It would be several hours before they reached their destination, but the Colony Saachistan awaited and within it lie horrors and wonders untold. 

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The idea of leaving the planet was a novel, and if he was honest, somewhat frightening notion to Eru Karauna; something he was reminded of as the ship broke the atmosphere. If it hadn't been for the suit he now wore, he probably never would have spared a thought for the inky black void of space. But then he had made a critical discovery; a breakthrough that put everything he thought he knew about the thing into doubt. Namely that the suit contained metals that did not exist anywhere on Valucre. It was an earth shattering revelation; as up to that point he had assumed the suit was merely a highly advanced, but terrestrial piece of technology. 

Knowing that he had reached the limit of what he could accomplish on this planet; Eru knew that he had to get off world if he hoped to learn more. The last clue he had were a string of numbers that had been discovered in the armors resting place. The idea that they had been coordinates had occurred to him, but the numbers didn't match any place on Valucre. But after learning of the suits extraterrestrial origin, he had realized that the coordinates were for somewhere in space, not on Val. 

He wanted to charter a ship to take him to the location, but he had used all the money he had just getting to Alterion. Then he had heard about a job looking for engineers to help strip some abandoned colony for valuables. It sounded shady as hell; but the money they were offering made him willing to overlook that. Now as he felt the g forces generated by lift off press him back into his seat, he just hoped he wouldn't come to regret that choice later.

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Accessible ventures into space had become sparse on Valucre’s western hemisphere. Terran engineer and physicist, Dr. Theodore Amantis, had stared at the stars every night for almost two years since his study on the Inquest, awaiting an opportunity to analyze the same nebular waves. So it was that he would travel the seas to a land he had been to only once before, with his former employer. Thanks to this employer, Theo had some underground connections- professionals at starting wars as evidenced by the state of his hometown- who informed him that Alterion was his key to returning to the sky. Based on this information, he traveled the globe to work with a faction he assumed to be much better suited to his tastes for morally questionable experimentation.

He’d taken a ship, then quite literally come walking from over the desertous horizon, his head wrapped in a wet cloth. He carried with him a large backpack of water, from which he drank and wet his clothing every 10 miles. When the Rebels scouted his approach toward their base and intercepted him, they found him counting his steps.

“26,756; 26,757-- Oh! Hello, nope, I’m the Tian space guy!” he pulled off his goggles and responded to the pointing of weapons in his direction, raising his hands. With a safely skeptical escort of one man on either side, Theodore was brought aboard a vessel that took him the rest of the way to the base so his identity could be verified.
So,” said one of the Rebels, ignoring the most obvious abnormality- that he had been walking through the desert, “why were you counting your steps?”
“Tracking muscle endurance,” Theodore responded perkily.
Oh, like working out?
“Nope!” the doctor flipped the robes away from legs to reveal that they were wrapped in some encasement bulging with pulsing organic tissue. This elicited some horror from the Rebel but Amantis, a relatively nonthreatening presence, was able to calm him. “It’s okay it’s okay! Have you ever heard of stem cell research? Basically what I’m doing is using recycled muscle tissue to augment my muscle tissue! It’s actually really neat,” he concluded, looking at a space in front of him.

These wraps were concealed by his garments, but covered Theodore’s arms and legs. He had a theory that, not only would they increase his strength and endurance on Valucre, they would also help him control his limbs better in a zero-g environment. As turbulence, pressure, and thrust exerted themselves on the spacebound craft, Theodore stood fast with his arms crossed and watched out an observation port wearing a grey jumper that concealed his wraps. The term “watch,” though, must be used loosely, as he initially did very little watching of Valucre’s planetary curvature upon exiting the atmosphere. A holographic display projecting from what appeared to be a mole above his right eyebrow scrolled diagnostics on the muscle tissue’s performance on his walk to the base. That is, until Valucre’s moon came into sight through the porthole.

Amantis’s display switched from a diagram of a foot’s skeletal structure to a three-dimensional display of the universe as far as he had charted it. There was Valucre, a massive sun that he’d scaled down so he could see other things, and its moon. Drifting from the moon to Valucre, and from the moon into the abyss of space, were what he called nebular magic drifts. He thought they might be streams of energy that emitted from other planets and supplemented certain types of magic depending on Valucre's current axis position. These waves resolved in reds and blues to compensate for a color spectrum the human eye couldn’t perceive. Studying this had been his last mission into space, and he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t on his mind this time.

“Once we’re Colony-Side we’ll take the Mobile Suits and scout ahead, but the frames are gonna be too big to maneuver in most buildings. You’re gonna hang back and serve as Operator if we end up needing to go deeper.”

He snapped from his reverie to at the sound of “mobile suits.” Now that had been what he hoped for last time. Mostly because he would have gone rogue on that PeaceKeeper and flew into space for some real AFV time, but also in part because of those damn nebular drifts. He had brought a sensor with him, but it had to be fastened onto the ship’s outside in order to detect the type of frequency these waves presented themselves in. Luckily a guy named Bright let him hook it up after some ensuring it wasn’t going to do any harm. It was this which enabled his holo-tracking of the waves now. His display flipped off as he turned toward the man and the brat.

“Easy, Newbie. It’s nothing personal. We’ll need someone in a mobile suit outside anyway. Besides you’ll be better suited to supervise from there.”

“Hellooo there, ‘scuse me,” he said politely, sidling toward the one known as Mad Saajis. There were some meaty fellows lingering around, so he moved casually to avoid anyone jumping to. He ignored the kid- Theodore didn’t like kids- and put himself between Ravi and Annie’s Berries or whatever the kid had called himself before.

“Are you in charge here? Dr. Amantis,” after having it turned away one too many times in the past, the doctor did not extend his hand to be shaken. “Got a trusty bird here. How long has it been in operation?”

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Ravi’s attention was pulled from the youth and towards a new figure he didn’t recognize. This wasn’t alarming, the Rebellion churned out new bodies like most men squeezed out a shit and if luck was then today, the former would be worth more than the latter. A consummate professional, despite the gruff demeanor, Ravi turned his would-be handshake into a raised hand of greeting. “Ravi al-Saajis and I s’pose I’m the closest thing to it.” Leaning over he wrapped a knuckle against the hull as the good doctor addressed the ship—a force of habit, it seemed some superstitious rituals were ingrained deeper than others. “She’s an old MaGNUS Corp holdover. Probably hit the market about 5-6 years ago...not the newest ship the Rebellion’s but she sure ain’t the oldest. Last one we went up in was held together by prayer and birdshit and the praying was fucking useless. “

 

Arching a thick brow at Amantis, Ravi’s tan face twisted into a look of incredulity. “Don’t have too many men of learning along for the ride. Got some green ones along for the ride who might make use of your medical skill...unless you’re not that kinda doctor?”

 

Glancing past Amantis and the boy towards the nearby engineer, Ravi nodded at the man. “Don’t you get sick in that suit, damn near impossible to get every piece of gut chowder outta there. Speaking from experience, and the leavings will make you chafe something awful.” 

 

A small chime sounded up ahead near the controls. ‘We are approaching the destination,” the nav computer chimed. “Docking in twenty minutes.” Ravi’s eyes watered as he failed to fight back a yawn and his hand moved to wipe tears away. “Uaaaaah! You ready for what’s up there, Doc? I heard it ain’t gonna be pretty.”

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13 hours ago, paradigm said:

Glancing past Amantis and the boy towards the nearby engineer, Ravi nodded at the man. “Don’t you get sick in that suit, damn near impossible to get every piece of gut chowder outta there. Speaking from experience, and the leavings will make you chafe something awful.” 

With a snap of his fingers, Eru's suit started to ripple like the surface of a pond in the rain; gradually losing shape until it looked like a grey blob covering his body. Soon though, the blob began to shift around his body and take a new shape; one that began to solidify. A few seconds after the snap, the suit of powered armor had changed into clothing more appropriate for exploration rather than combat. Eru grinned at Ravi, eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Never been a problem for me."

Pedroxan Agent, undercover

 

Turning back to business, he asked, "Anything specific you want me to do, or just strip all the good shiny out of the tech?"

A chime from the navigation system alerted them to the fact that they were not far out from their destination. Ravi was saying that it was supposed to be a mess in there, but he felt pretty confidant that he would be able to pull his weight on this run. For one thing, he might be able to get some of the colonies systems back online, make it easier for everybody to move around. His tech knowledge would also be invaluable in knowing what was worth taking; and what seemingly innocuous things might have valuable components in them.

Edited by danzilla3

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Through conversing with the crew while boarding, the typically amiable Amantis acquired the context of this cruise. So by the time he and Saajis spoke, the doctor held an understanding that this was essentially a colony-grab on the Rebellion’s part. He’d done land grabs. He liked land grabs. He also liked burying his hands in the new and disgusting.

“She’s an old MaGNUS Corp holdover. Probably hit the market about 5-6 years ago...not the newest ship the Rebellion’s but she sure ain’t the oldest. Last one we went up in was held together by prayer and birdshit and the praying was fucking useless. “

“To infinity and beyond,” smiled Amantis with some sarcasm.

“Don’t have too many men of learning along for the ride. Got some green ones along for the ride who might make use of your medical skill...unless you’re not that kinda doctor?”

“Oh I love sewing people up!” Amantis had worked as a surgeon for Cain Rose in his people assembly days, so in addition to ripping things apart he also knew how to put them back together. “I’ve got a medical nano with me I think we might find majorly beneficial if things get dicey out here. It’s been in Alterion for a couple years, but in a very underground capacity. Not to take away from its legitimacy it’s just hard to market.”

Looking next at the engineer as Ravi addressed him, Theodore saw what looked like a trusty tech man. Putting himself between Saajis and Eru, he squatted and looked at all facets of the suit as it morphed to the environment. “Ha! That is something,” he said, saluting the engineer and introducing himself. “Theodore Amantis, doctor and undoctorer.”

“Uaaaaah! You ready for what’s up there, Doc? I heard it ain’t gonna be pretty.”

As they pulled up to their station in preparation to disembark, Theo aligned himself with an exit and his holo display reemerged. This time there was a diagram of a human body- presumably his- scrolling diagnostics that indicated increased blood flow and heightened concentration. In the corner of his holo display there was a circular loading bar labeled phaser. He wasn’t sure what Saajis’ version of “not pretty” entailed, but Theo had seen plenty ugly in his day.

“I'm more than ready sir, I have a PhD in ugly! Just one question, will there be any atmosphere where we’re unloading?”

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