Atom Cats Garage, Southeast corner of Boston, MA
Clad in a suit of power armor salvaged from the Brotherhood of Steel, Vina stepped forth with determination to challenge an enemy she had never faced, one that made her nervous beyond anything she'd seen before with few exceptions: freestyle poetry night with the Atom Cats. Sammy was spending the evening with her sister and most of the Pokemon had chosen to roam the wilderness; only Shaggy lay in the back of the improvised stage as a small gathering of fellow power armor enthusiasts waited patiently.
"When I wear my plates, I feel as if I could move the Earth,
No bullet can stop me, no blade can pierce,
Yet when I think of love, the thing that is of most worth,
Armor cannot guard from a pain most fierce.
My dearest fights in the depths of space,
She rides a horse with silver wings,
But I know she yearns to return to this place,
And out to her, my soul doth sings.
Thank you."
Vina stepped down from the hand-built stage as her audience politely clapped and cheered, many of them wearing power armor suits of their own. She murmured thank yous as she took a seat next to a being in a suit of T-60 armor with red flames painted on it; his name was Duke, if Vina remembered correctly.
"Far out poem, pal," Duke said with a nod.
Vina nodded back. "Thanks. Never tried poetry before."
"Could've fooled me," the Atom Cat answered with a verbal grin.
Vina leaned over and began scratching one of Shaggy's heads while another visitor began reciting something about the joys of personalized armor. She politely clapped along with the rest of the group when he finished. Everyone took a turn reading, a generally-positive atmosphere purveying, until throats were dry and fonts of inspiration dryer. Once the event turned to mingling, Vina turned to leave, whistling to Shaggy before leaving the garage.
"You can read a poem next time, Shaggy," Vina promised. "Might even get you a suit of your own."
The Zweilous snorted.
Friday, April 1, 2016
Wednesday, March 30, 2016
Making a Treaty with the Devil
Princess Sasami's fleet, Rebecca Brandes commanding - Deep Space
Following the victory over the Decepticon supply depot, Rebecca was prepared for more boring cruises through space. The grand offensives against the Decepticons and - to her surprise - their allies from a presently-undetermined organic race were being fought by the regular Juraian military. Fleets of Juraian cruisers and battleships were on the front lines, engaging Decepticon ships in captured territory and unclaimed systems the robots had begun colonizing for their war efforts. The irregular fleet Rebecca commanded, consisting of the Juraian Soja-type battleship that served as the princess' flagship, the J-Ark, and a dozen-plus Mandalorian vessels, was being used to patrol the outskirts of the Juraian empire's territory for enemy incursions. The robot aggressors seemed content to avoid Cybertron and other Autobot worlds, preferring instead to plunder the resources of unaffiliated planets teeming with uptapped resources.
That made for pretty boring patrols, but things were about to get more interesting.
Rebecca, currently commanding from the flagship's bridge, was in the middle of studying a map of the overall war effort when an alarm began to ring.
"Enemy fleet incoming!" an officer reported. "Estimated strength twenty Supreme-type vessels and one unknown!"
"Give me a visual of the Unknown," Rebecca ordered, her curiosity piqued. "And put the fleet on yellow alert."
The bridge crew was clearly puzzled at only going to yellow alert with enemy ships in sight, but complied. The image of a large vessel, almost resembling Terran aircraft carriers, appeared on the screen with the now-familiar Decepticon emblem painted on its bow.
"Calculate their speed and trajectory," Rebecca continued ordering. "Have they launched any fighter analogues?"
"Direct intercept course for our ships, no fighters deployed, and..." the officer paused for a moment. "They're coming in at a cruising speed, not a combat speed."
"Enemy flagship is hailing us, sir," the communications officer reported. "Their leader says he wants to parlay."
"Oh, great, some random flunky probably wants to challenge me to a duel or something..." Rebecca sighed. "Prepare cannons and..."
"Negative, Admiral!" the officer rudely interrupted. "It's...it's their Emperor, Scourge."
Rebecca's interest was really piqued now. A personal chat with the bastard machine who'd helped Quick Fix almost drop a giant floating island on Las Vegas?
"Well, I'll take the call this time," Rebecca feigned nonchalance. "Main screen turn on."
Moments later, the metallic visage of Scourge appeared. The would-be Decepticon Emperor of Destruction sat comfortably in a chair almost ostentatious enough to call a throne, his posture casual.
"Greetings, Admiral Brandes. I thank you for taking my call!" Scourge beamed, gesturing grandly.
"I still have a few minutes left on my cell phone I wanted to use," Rebecca deadpanned. "May I ask the purpose of this social call?"
"Ah, straight to the point. Excellent." Scourge rumbled happily. "I have come to negotiate a treaty with you."
"Ending the war so soon?" Rebecca gasped melodramatically. "Unfortunately, the only thing I have the authority to offer you is a prison cell and three Energon cubes a day."
"Generous indeed," Scourge answered. "No, this is not to be a treaty between the Decepticons and Jurai. This is one you have all the authority you need to negotiate."
"Oh, now I AM interested in this," Rebecca chuckled. "Alright, Emperor, what are your terms?"
Scourge's throne moved to the side and a display appeared, showing the planet Earth.
"They're quite simple: Decepticons of all factions, not just my own, will avoid Earth for the duration of the present Decepticon/Jurai war. I will even appoint an Enforcer to the planet to uphold my end of the agreement."
"Why should I care if Earth is neutral?" Rebecca asked. "I don't live there; I just visit once in a while."
"Ah, but your Conjunx Endura, your....spouse, I believe you would say, currently resides there, does she not?" Scourge countered. "Not to mention dearest Princess Sasami."
The display changed from Earth to a live image of the Royal Pain, showing Vina giving Sammy a lesson in how to use a Power Armor frame. The two practiced martial arts for a moment, pulling at Rebecca's heart until the moment Scourge returned the focus to him.
"As you can see, my agents are already watching them," Scourge continued. "Maybe they could repel the ones I have in place now, but what about the next?"
Rebecca gripped the armrest of her chair until she hurt, using that pain to keep a straight face. "I see. It's obvious how I and Jurai would benefit, but what good does it do you to stay off Earth?"
"Quite simple: it doesn't. The planet is rich in energy sources, which is why Decepticons have been drawn to it for decades. However..." Scourge began.
The tyrant rose from his throne.
"In exchange for the boon of leaving Earth free of Decepticon influence, you - in turn - would not be allowed to call upon your Kobber friends for assistance in our war, no matter how vested an interest they might have because of Beatbox and Quick Fix."
Ah, so there it was. Forfeit any possible assistance from a living, breathing, drinking group of living weapons and the robots would ignore Earth until the Juraians were crushed.
"An interesting proposal. Please give me a moment to consider it," Rebecca considered, trying to keep panic from her face.
"Take two," Scourge added as the channel was cut.
There was no way she could realistically believe that a robot called a Decepticon would do anything BUT deceive her. She could hardly believe he'd keep his word to keep robots off of the planet and definitely believed he'd made this proposal to keep Kobbers from wrecking his fleets. On one hand, she hadn't even PLANNED to ask them for help. On the other hand, maybe it wasn't such a bad idea. Indeed, she could agree to the terms and violate them later; it wasn't a binding agreement between two governments. More like a gentleman's agreement that both sides knew the other was going to violate eventually. Not to mention, if Scourge DID gun for her family, he'd bring the Kobbers upon him, treaty or not.
"Open the channel back up," she ordered. "Emperor Scourge, I accept your terms. Decepticons will leave Earth alone and Kobbers will leave the Decepticons alone."
"Excellent! I'm quite pleased to find you so...reasonable about this," Scourge beamed, clapping his hands together. "Then the...oh, it needs a good name...the Brandes Accord has been struck. I shall immediately appoint an Enforcer and send him to Earth."
"And he'll just be there to keep other Decepticons away?" Rebecca asked.
"Of course," Scourge answered. "Well, he will also be there to make sure your Kobber friends don't try interfering. Enforcement DOES run both ways."
Rebecca rolled her eyes. Of COURSE it did. "Very well. Who is he?"
"You may have seen him in action once already in one of those Fites. He is Borodan the Hunter and thoroughly and bafflingly-incorruptible."
"I'll send word ahead to expect him then," Rebecca nodded, satisfied.
"Very good, and in the spirit of parlay, my fleet shall depart this system immediately," Scourge stated, waving to one of his officers to carry out an order. "I expect, in turn, for you to honor our parlay and not seek to strike while our backs are turned."
"Of course. Good day, Emperor."
Rebecca motioned for the connect to be cut and muttered under her breath, "Arrogant bastard."
On board his flagship, Scourge muttered, "Organic twit."
~
Las Vegas
A Gigan-shaped robot approached the Den of Lions. He had received word from his Emperor and immediately set out to begin his assignment.
Following the victory over the Decepticon supply depot, Rebecca was prepared for more boring cruises through space. The grand offensives against the Decepticons and - to her surprise - their allies from a presently-undetermined organic race were being fought by the regular Juraian military. Fleets of Juraian cruisers and battleships were on the front lines, engaging Decepticon ships in captured territory and unclaimed systems the robots had begun colonizing for their war efforts. The irregular fleet Rebecca commanded, consisting of the Juraian Soja-type battleship that served as the princess' flagship, the J-Ark, and a dozen-plus Mandalorian vessels, was being used to patrol the outskirts of the Juraian empire's territory for enemy incursions. The robot aggressors seemed content to avoid Cybertron and other Autobot worlds, preferring instead to plunder the resources of unaffiliated planets teeming with uptapped resources.
That made for pretty boring patrols, but things were about to get more interesting.
Rebecca, currently commanding from the flagship's bridge, was in the middle of studying a map of the overall war effort when an alarm began to ring.
"Enemy fleet incoming!" an officer reported. "Estimated strength twenty Supreme-type vessels and one unknown!"
"Give me a visual of the Unknown," Rebecca ordered, her curiosity piqued. "And put the fleet on yellow alert."
The bridge crew was clearly puzzled at only going to yellow alert with enemy ships in sight, but complied. The image of a large vessel, almost resembling Terran aircraft carriers, appeared on the screen with the now-familiar Decepticon emblem painted on its bow.
"Calculate their speed and trajectory," Rebecca continued ordering. "Have they launched any fighter analogues?"
"Direct intercept course for our ships, no fighters deployed, and..." the officer paused for a moment. "They're coming in at a cruising speed, not a combat speed."
"Enemy flagship is hailing us, sir," the communications officer reported. "Their leader says he wants to parlay."
"Oh, great, some random flunky probably wants to challenge me to a duel or something..." Rebecca sighed. "Prepare cannons and..."
"Negative, Admiral!" the officer rudely interrupted. "It's...it's their Emperor, Scourge."
Rebecca's interest was really piqued now. A personal chat with the bastard machine who'd helped Quick Fix almost drop a giant floating island on Las Vegas?
"Well, I'll take the call this time," Rebecca feigned nonchalance. "Main screen turn on."
Moments later, the metallic visage of Scourge appeared. The would-be Decepticon Emperor of Destruction sat comfortably in a chair almost ostentatious enough to call a throne, his posture casual.
"Greetings, Admiral Brandes. I thank you for taking my call!" Scourge beamed, gesturing grandly.
"I still have a few minutes left on my cell phone I wanted to use," Rebecca deadpanned. "May I ask the purpose of this social call?"
"Ah, straight to the point. Excellent." Scourge rumbled happily. "I have come to negotiate a treaty with you."
"Ending the war so soon?" Rebecca gasped melodramatically. "Unfortunately, the only thing I have the authority to offer you is a prison cell and three Energon cubes a day."
"Generous indeed," Scourge answered. "No, this is not to be a treaty between the Decepticons and Jurai. This is one you have all the authority you need to negotiate."
"Oh, now I AM interested in this," Rebecca chuckled. "Alright, Emperor, what are your terms?"
Scourge's throne moved to the side and a display appeared, showing the planet Earth.
"They're quite simple: Decepticons of all factions, not just my own, will avoid Earth for the duration of the present Decepticon/Jurai war. I will even appoint an Enforcer to the planet to uphold my end of the agreement."
"Why should I care if Earth is neutral?" Rebecca asked. "I don't live there; I just visit once in a while."
"Ah, but your Conjunx Endura, your....spouse, I believe you would say, currently resides there, does she not?" Scourge countered. "Not to mention dearest Princess Sasami."
The display changed from Earth to a live image of the Royal Pain, showing Vina giving Sammy a lesson in how to use a Power Armor frame. The two practiced martial arts for a moment, pulling at Rebecca's heart until the moment Scourge returned the focus to him.
"As you can see, my agents are already watching them," Scourge continued. "Maybe they could repel the ones I have in place now, but what about the next?"
Rebecca gripped the armrest of her chair until she hurt, using that pain to keep a straight face. "I see. It's obvious how I and Jurai would benefit, but what good does it do you to stay off Earth?"
"Quite simple: it doesn't. The planet is rich in energy sources, which is why Decepticons have been drawn to it for decades. However..." Scourge began.
The tyrant rose from his throne.
"In exchange for the boon of leaving Earth free of Decepticon influence, you - in turn - would not be allowed to call upon your Kobber friends for assistance in our war, no matter how vested an interest they might have because of Beatbox and Quick Fix."
Ah, so there it was. Forfeit any possible assistance from a living, breathing, drinking group of living weapons and the robots would ignore Earth until the Juraians were crushed.
"An interesting proposal. Please give me a moment to consider it," Rebecca considered, trying to keep panic from her face.
"Take two," Scourge added as the channel was cut.
There was no way she could realistically believe that a robot called a Decepticon would do anything BUT deceive her. She could hardly believe he'd keep his word to keep robots off of the planet and definitely believed he'd made this proposal to keep Kobbers from wrecking his fleets. On one hand, she hadn't even PLANNED to ask them for help. On the other hand, maybe it wasn't such a bad idea. Indeed, she could agree to the terms and violate them later; it wasn't a binding agreement between two governments. More like a gentleman's agreement that both sides knew the other was going to violate eventually. Not to mention, if Scourge DID gun for her family, he'd bring the Kobbers upon him, treaty or not.
"Open the channel back up," she ordered. "Emperor Scourge, I accept your terms. Decepticons will leave Earth alone and Kobbers will leave the Decepticons alone."
"Excellent! I'm quite pleased to find you so...reasonable about this," Scourge beamed, clapping his hands together. "Then the...oh, it needs a good name...the Brandes Accord has been struck. I shall immediately appoint an Enforcer and send him to Earth."
"And he'll just be there to keep other Decepticons away?" Rebecca asked.
"Of course," Scourge answered. "Well, he will also be there to make sure your Kobber friends don't try interfering. Enforcement DOES run both ways."
Rebecca rolled her eyes. Of COURSE it did. "Very well. Who is he?"
"You may have seen him in action once already in one of those Fites. He is Borodan the Hunter and thoroughly and bafflingly-incorruptible."
"I'll send word ahead to expect him then," Rebecca nodded, satisfied.
"Very good, and in the spirit of parlay, my fleet shall depart this system immediately," Scourge stated, waving to one of his officers to carry out an order. "I expect, in turn, for you to honor our parlay and not seek to strike while our backs are turned."
"Of course. Good day, Emperor."
Rebecca motioned for the connect to be cut and muttered under her breath, "Arrogant bastard."
On board his flagship, Scourge muttered, "Organic twit."
~
Las Vegas
A Gigan-shaped robot approached the Den of Lions. He had received word from his Emperor and immediately set out to begin his assignment.
Tuesday, March 29, 2016
Obligatory Parsee Blogpost
parsee is (probably) alive
~
Explosions! Chaos! Anarchy!
All of these described the movie Parsee was spending Saturday morning watching. Despite having the occasional attack by Middle Class extremists and strange demons, Las Vegas was considerably more boring since "Kobber Season" had ended, giving her plenty of time to catch up on movies people insisted she needed to see. She still wasn't sure what the movie was about but, as the end credits began to roll, she began to wonder how bad the Lost World could be if this Warrior could find a cabal of psychic monks to fix his robotic motorcycle.
She briefly considered asking someone to build her one of those motorcycles, but decided the dump truck with the flamethrower - "Megaweapon" - would be more interesting to drive around.
She soon put the DVD back in its case and went back to planning a birthday party for Cian, Vanessa, Alvin, and any of the other former Sins who happened to be hanging out at the time. She didn't know if it really was their birthday - they probably didn't remember either - but it was a good excuse to have a party.
Then she took a nap. The end.
What? They can't all be about assassinations and space wars.
~
Explosions! Chaos! Anarchy!
All of these described the movie Parsee was spending Saturday morning watching. Despite having the occasional attack by Middle Class extremists and strange demons, Las Vegas was considerably more boring since "Kobber Season" had ended, giving her plenty of time to catch up on movies people insisted she needed to see. She still wasn't sure what the movie was about but, as the end credits began to roll, she began to wonder how bad the Lost World could be if this Warrior could find a cabal of psychic monks to fix his robotic motorcycle.
She briefly considered asking someone to build her one of those motorcycles, but decided the dump truck with the flamethrower - "Megaweapon" - would be more interesting to drive around.
She soon put the DVD back in its case and went back to planning a birthday party for Cian, Vanessa, Alvin, and any of the other former Sins who happened to be hanging out at the time. She didn't know if it really was their birthday - they probably didn't remember either - but it was a good excuse to have a party.
Then she took a nap. The end.
What? They can't all be about assassinations and space wars.
Monday, March 28, 2016
Escape from DC
Several days had passed since Labrys and the President of the United States of America had almost been assassinated mid-meeting. The FBI, CIA, and Army had all launched investigations into the events, including beginning technical analyses on what was left after Michael Wilson had single-handedly disposed of all three robots with a suit of power armor. Labrys, in her guise of Larissa Joyce, had been interviewed no less than eight times, each by a different agent of each branch. She'd given them as much information as she could without compromising her own identity, but she was quickly running out of things to say. She also knew she was, to a limited extend, under surveillance from numerous agencies; she'd managed to spot agents from at least three foreign agencies, based on their methods. She also knew she was poorly-trained in the art of non-electronic surveillance. Thus, she'd taken to keeping her disguise on at all times and maintained what she calculated to be the minimum number of appointments she needed to make to keep from arousing suspicion.
Thus she found herself in the middle of preparing another speech, this one to some corporate bigwig who was vacationing in the nation's capital for some reason; she hadn't yet tried to find out why but at present it seemed like a minor concern. Admittedly, she was distracted by the need to keep a sensor open for potential threats.
Thus, when someone knocked on her door, she did a backflip over her couch and reached for an axe that was hidden in her closet. Fortunately, to her knowledge, there weren't many things currently in DC she couldn't crush with her bare hands if need be.
She briefly considered getting out her bear hands, but that was a joke for another blogpost.
She answered the door like a normal, semi-frightened human being, but was surprised when there was nobody at the door. Had she been....PRANKED?! Dang kids and their not having anything better to do...
"Good evening, Miss Joyce," a voice said from behind her.
Labrys once more did a backflip and, out of reflex, fired a rocket punch behind her, hoping she'd remembered to shut the blinds. The figure, an anonymous humanoid in a concealing dark trench coat and fedora, behind her dodged out of the way and grabbed the chain of her Chain Knuckle.
"Be at peace, Labrys. I'm an ally," the figure said.
"Oh yeah, eh? Well, my allies don't need ter sneak into me apartment wile I'm answerin' me door!" she countered, drawing her arm back in.
The figure chuckled, a flat, mechanical voice devoid of any way to tell who was speaking. "In this case, yes, I do. Maybe you haven't noticed, but you're being watched."
"I know I'm bein' wotched. It's why I 'aven't tried leavin' tahn yet; they'd follow me wherever I went and I'm not getting me mates caught up in this," Labrys growled. "But woss yor story, guv? 'oo are yer?"
The figure chuckled and adjusted an expressionless mask. "I'm someone who knew you were Larissa Joyce without having to do more than look up your address. I've been around the Kobbers before and I'm here to provide you assistance in getting back to Las Vegas."
Labrys glanced at her windows; she HAD remembered to close them. She made a note to complain about loud neighbors and gaudy signs loud enough that a careful listener could hear her. Then she realized someone probably WAS listening right now. The figure noticed and held up a hand to calm her.
"I'm not unaware of the danger; I'm using a white noise generator to interfere with listening devices. You are still safe."
"But for how long?" Labrys muttered, neglecting her accent.
"Not long," the figure answered. "Some careful infiltrations and sabotage have kept the army's analysts from uncovering the origins of your dopplegangers thus far, but there are too many pieces in too many places to keep your connection quiet for long."
Labrys hesitated. Leaving meant months of work would be undone, her new reputation as an impassioned activist for numerous causes would likely be drowned by the untruth that she was an assassin trying to get close to the president. She felt like breaking something, but she liked her furniture too much. Her place was...homey.
"Fine. I take it you have more for me than just this obvious news," Labrys said, going to retrieve her axe.
"Indeed. I have a plan and resources to get you away from here undetected," the figure confirmed. "Get anything you need to take ready; I've got a distraction coming in five minutes."
"Five minutes?! You just showed up with five minutes and expect me to be able to get ready that quickly?!" Labrys protested.
"FOUR minutes."
The anti-Shadow weapon muttered with annoyance as she packed her most important possessions: a few knickknacks and photos, a laptop computer she'd upgraded extensively, a love letter a secret admirer had slipped her one day. She packed it all into a suitcase and turned to leave, but remembered one more treasure.
In the other room, the figure counted down the seconds until it felt the floor rumble. Right on time.
"Labrys, the distraction is here. A little kaiju called Trespasser is coming to make a splash here, but don't worry; I've also arranged something to stop it."
Heavy footsteps answered the voice.
"I've called in some favors and gotten Yongary of the Neo-Kobbers to appear and battle Trespasser. You can slip out of the city while they're battling; your shadows will be too busy requesting orders and doing what they can to protect the president to chase you."
More heavy footsteps.
"And then you will head south along the coast where a train is waiting...are you listening, Labrys?"
"Labrys isn't here," a deep, male voice answered.
Six feet tall, covered in freshly-plainted, finely-polished, meticulously repaired armor, Labrys entered the room, hefting her axe and her suitcase.
"You can call me Hal, stranger."
Thus she found herself in the middle of preparing another speech, this one to some corporate bigwig who was vacationing in the nation's capital for some reason; she hadn't yet tried to find out why but at present it seemed like a minor concern. Admittedly, she was distracted by the need to keep a sensor open for potential threats.
Thus, when someone knocked on her door, she did a backflip over her couch and reached for an axe that was hidden in her closet. Fortunately, to her knowledge, there weren't many things currently in DC she couldn't crush with her bare hands if need be.
She briefly considered getting out her bear hands, but that was a joke for another blogpost.
She answered the door like a normal, semi-frightened human being, but was surprised when there was nobody at the door. Had she been....PRANKED?! Dang kids and their not having anything better to do...
"Good evening, Miss Joyce," a voice said from behind her.
Labrys once more did a backflip and, out of reflex, fired a rocket punch behind her, hoping she'd remembered to shut the blinds. The figure, an anonymous humanoid in a concealing dark trench coat and fedora, behind her dodged out of the way and grabbed the chain of her Chain Knuckle.
"Be at peace, Labrys. I'm an ally," the figure said.
"Oh yeah, eh? Well, my allies don't need ter sneak into me apartment wile I'm answerin' me door!" she countered, drawing her arm back in.
The figure chuckled, a flat, mechanical voice devoid of any way to tell who was speaking. "In this case, yes, I do. Maybe you haven't noticed, but you're being watched."
"I know I'm bein' wotched. It's why I 'aven't tried leavin' tahn yet; they'd follow me wherever I went and I'm not getting me mates caught up in this," Labrys growled. "But woss yor story, guv? 'oo are yer?"
The figure chuckled and adjusted an expressionless mask. "I'm someone who knew you were Larissa Joyce without having to do more than look up your address. I've been around the Kobbers before and I'm here to provide you assistance in getting back to Las Vegas."
Labrys glanced at her windows; she HAD remembered to close them. She made a note to complain about loud neighbors and gaudy signs loud enough that a careful listener could hear her. Then she realized someone probably WAS listening right now. The figure noticed and held up a hand to calm her.
"I'm not unaware of the danger; I'm using a white noise generator to interfere with listening devices. You are still safe."
"But for how long?" Labrys muttered, neglecting her accent.
"Not long," the figure answered. "Some careful infiltrations and sabotage have kept the army's analysts from uncovering the origins of your dopplegangers thus far, but there are too many pieces in too many places to keep your connection quiet for long."
Labrys hesitated. Leaving meant months of work would be undone, her new reputation as an impassioned activist for numerous causes would likely be drowned by the untruth that she was an assassin trying to get close to the president. She felt like breaking something, but she liked her furniture too much. Her place was...homey.
"Fine. I take it you have more for me than just this obvious news," Labrys said, going to retrieve her axe.
"Indeed. I have a plan and resources to get you away from here undetected," the figure confirmed. "Get anything you need to take ready; I've got a distraction coming in five minutes."
"Five minutes?! You just showed up with five minutes and expect me to be able to get ready that quickly?!" Labrys protested.
"FOUR minutes."
The anti-Shadow weapon muttered with annoyance as she packed her most important possessions: a few knickknacks and photos, a laptop computer she'd upgraded extensively, a love letter a secret admirer had slipped her one day. She packed it all into a suitcase and turned to leave, but remembered one more treasure.
In the other room, the figure counted down the seconds until it felt the floor rumble. Right on time.
"Labrys, the distraction is here. A little kaiju called Trespasser is coming to make a splash here, but don't worry; I've also arranged something to stop it."
Heavy footsteps answered the voice.
"I've called in some favors and gotten Yongary of the Neo-Kobbers to appear and battle Trespasser. You can slip out of the city while they're battling; your shadows will be too busy requesting orders and doing what they can to protect the president to chase you."
More heavy footsteps.
"And then you will head south along the coast where a train is waiting...are you listening, Labrys?"
"Labrys isn't here," a deep, male voice answered.
Six feet tall, covered in freshly-plainted, finely-polished, meticulously repaired armor, Labrys entered the room, hefting her axe and her suitcase.
"You can call me Hal, stranger."
Sunday, March 27, 2016
War is Hell...if Hell is the line at the DMV...
Unidentified Star System, 1200 hours...
Rebecca listened idly at the announcement that a flight of Mandalorian stealth-equipped fighters had launched from their carrier at roughly the time she had scheduled them to launch, barely registered the announcement that they would be sending back telemetry data to the ships of her fleet, and almost nodded off when her ship's computer reported that missile tubes were being loaded and would be ready to fire when a solid lock was achieved.
"Count on machines to manage to something as exciting as launching a missile so damn boring," she thought to herself, stifling a yawn.
She'd need to issue a few orders personally in a few minutes, but after that there was nothing to do but wait. After her ships had tracked a squadron of Decepticons back to a hidden base, she'd flinched at the sight of the thick asteroid belt. She didn't know how her robotic foes were getting their corvette-sized Sentinel ships through that rock field, but only the J-Ark and her fighters were nimble enough to actually maneuver through without getting pulverized and no way in Hell was she sending unsupported fighters in there.
And so she'd decided on a less risky/more lengthy method of bombarding the enemy base with bunker buster missiles. The only problem was that missiles were too dumb to maneuver through the asteroid field as well. Hence sending out squadrons of fighters with as much stealth and sensor equipment as could be scrapped up, meticulously scanning the asteroid field while the combined processing power of three Mandalorian cruisers tried to forecast the trajectories of a few million...nay...billion tons of rock.
Not to mention there had to be an equal number of ships on the lookout for hostile reinforcements, ships scrambling to bring as many missiles from a supply depot as possible, and a hundred other difficult-to-coordinate tasks, none of which actually required her direct input.
And so Rebecca waited. She tried watching a movie, reading some books she'd downloaded from Gloria's library, and even took a moment to perform a few backlogged repairs aboard J-Ark. That damn water heater would face her wrath. For a moment, she WAS needed and she ran back to her bridge covered in grease.
"Sighted Decepticon freighter, sank same," came back a report from a Crusader gunship.
"Confirm it and get back to me," Rebecca ordered, stifling a yawn until the connection was cut.
Indeed, there was very little for her to do at the moment and, to her later chagrin, she actually nodded off. Fortunately, nobody seemed to notice as a quick alarm jolted her awake.
"Trajectories plotted," one of her calculator cruisers reported.
"All ships, five second laser barrage on target coordinates, then do a wide-field tractor beam sweep followed by a full missile barrage. Fire until dry, then begin reloading," Rebecca ordered.
It was very precise. Her people WERE professionals. She watched as cannons fired, bits of rock were quickly emptied from one cone of space, and thousands of missiles were fired into the gap, with slighly more than half of them actually getting through to the base - better than projected. The principle asteroid determined to be the Decepticon space station began breaking apart, spewing metal into space as robotic warriors attempted to escape. Rebecca's fleet fired again, though she ordered nobody to pursue them further into the field; she'd settle for shattering one of their supply lines if it meant a minimum of casualties on her side. Her comm channel suddenly erupted in Mandalorian battle cries; apparently some of the hostile Decepticons had chose to try running right through her fleet despite her current bombardment.
A chorus of "Oya" and "Kandosii" rang out; hostiles eliminated. There were be songs sung tonight, some tales embellished, and a few more comrades to remember each night.
"Attention all hands," Rebecca said, activating a fleet-wide channel. "Mission accomplished. Stand down to yellow alert and prepare to move on to our next destination."
Rebecca flipped the channel off as the cheers renewed; she wanted nothing more than to share in their enthusiasm, to yearn for the glories of more battles, but she needed to focus. As much as she wanted to chase down Decepticons all day e'ery day, to be back with Vina on Earth, there was too much at stake to be so reckless.
That didn't mean she couldn't still share in the celebrating though. She quickly donned her armor and dashed to her personal fighter.
"Netra'gal with Clan Lok or Tihaar with Clan Tenau? So much drinking, so little time..."
Rebecca listened idly at the announcement that a flight of Mandalorian stealth-equipped fighters had launched from their carrier at roughly the time she had scheduled them to launch, barely registered the announcement that they would be sending back telemetry data to the ships of her fleet, and almost nodded off when her ship's computer reported that missile tubes were being loaded and would be ready to fire when a solid lock was achieved.
"Count on machines to manage to something as exciting as launching a missile so damn boring," she thought to herself, stifling a yawn.
She'd need to issue a few orders personally in a few minutes, but after that there was nothing to do but wait. After her ships had tracked a squadron of Decepticons back to a hidden base, she'd flinched at the sight of the thick asteroid belt. She didn't know how her robotic foes were getting their corvette-sized Sentinel ships through that rock field, but only the J-Ark and her fighters were nimble enough to actually maneuver through without getting pulverized and no way in Hell was she sending unsupported fighters in there.
And so she'd decided on a less risky/more lengthy method of bombarding the enemy base with bunker buster missiles. The only problem was that missiles were too dumb to maneuver through the asteroid field as well. Hence sending out squadrons of fighters with as much stealth and sensor equipment as could be scrapped up, meticulously scanning the asteroid field while the combined processing power of three Mandalorian cruisers tried to forecast the trajectories of a few million...nay...billion tons of rock.
Not to mention there had to be an equal number of ships on the lookout for hostile reinforcements, ships scrambling to bring as many missiles from a supply depot as possible, and a hundred other difficult-to-coordinate tasks, none of which actually required her direct input.
And so Rebecca waited. She tried watching a movie, reading some books she'd downloaded from Gloria's library, and even took a moment to perform a few backlogged repairs aboard J-Ark. That damn water heater would face her wrath. For a moment, she WAS needed and she ran back to her bridge covered in grease.
"Sighted Decepticon freighter, sank same," came back a report from a Crusader gunship.
"Confirm it and get back to me," Rebecca ordered, stifling a yawn until the connection was cut.
Indeed, there was very little for her to do at the moment and, to her later chagrin, she actually nodded off. Fortunately, nobody seemed to notice as a quick alarm jolted her awake.
"Trajectories plotted," one of her calculator cruisers reported.
"All ships, five second laser barrage on target coordinates, then do a wide-field tractor beam sweep followed by a full missile barrage. Fire until dry, then begin reloading," Rebecca ordered.
It was very precise. Her people WERE professionals. She watched as cannons fired, bits of rock were quickly emptied from one cone of space, and thousands of missiles were fired into the gap, with slighly more than half of them actually getting through to the base - better than projected. The principle asteroid determined to be the Decepticon space station began breaking apart, spewing metal into space as robotic warriors attempted to escape. Rebecca's fleet fired again, though she ordered nobody to pursue them further into the field; she'd settle for shattering one of their supply lines if it meant a minimum of casualties on her side. Her comm channel suddenly erupted in Mandalorian battle cries; apparently some of the hostile Decepticons had chose to try running right through her fleet despite her current bombardment.
A chorus of "Oya" and "Kandosii" rang out; hostiles eliminated. There were be songs sung tonight, some tales embellished, and a few more comrades to remember each night.
"Attention all hands," Rebecca said, activating a fleet-wide channel. "Mission accomplished. Stand down to yellow alert and prepare to move on to our next destination."
Rebecca flipped the channel off as the cheers renewed; she wanted nothing more than to share in their enthusiasm, to yearn for the glories of more battles, but she needed to focus. As much as she wanted to chase down Decepticons all day e'ery day, to be back with Vina on Earth, there was too much at stake to be so reckless.
That didn't mean she couldn't still share in the celebrating though. She quickly donned her armor and dashed to her personal fighter.
"Netra'gal with Clan Lok or Tihaar with Clan Tenau? So much drinking, so little time..."
Sunday, March 13, 2016
President Evil
West Wing Lobby, White House
Labrys took one more look in the mirror, adjusting her currently-blond hair, her designer makeup, her professionally-tailored skirt. Anything to make sure her disguise was still in place. It was a huge pain to put on actual makeup, actual clothing, and even dying her artificial hair blonde to fit in with her "Larissa Joyce" identity, but she knew her preferred holograms wouldn't work here. Not in the White House.
The friggin' White House.
Ever since she'd created the fictional Corner Consortium and moved to Washington DC after the annual Kobber Split, she'd been working hard to find other ways to change the world without having to resort to Joyce Jr.'s ideas of armed insurrections and Kobber Takeover of the government. She'd been successful thus far, through diplomacy, money, and - from time to time - blackmail. She did what she could to foster change without outright breaking the law. Sure, she'd used her abilities as a digital intelligence to sneak into computer systems, but only when other methods had failed.
It had also been the only way to get an appointment to meet with the president to discuss some of his recent policy decisions. She hoped the Make America Livable Party didn't mind having their appointment mysteriously eaten by the aether or wherever deleted scheduled items went when you hacked into the White House computers and replaced one meeting with another.
Ever since she'd confirmed that appointment, she'd worked furiously to prepare. She'd only managed to secure five minutes with President Michael Wilson and she was determined to make the most of it. She'd even worked in her "sleep", the time she spent in her maintenance chair recharging and receiving repairs, on how the meeting should go. Now she say in the West Wing Lobby making sure everything was perfect: she adjusted her disguise with her body and practiced her speech in a digital Oval Office in her mind. She finally felt ready as an orderly instructed her to follow him to the president.
Michael Wilson, a man who secured national fame by leading the armed forces against a military insurrection several years ago alongside his vice-president Richard Hawk, was known to be passionate, energetic, and direct. A man who appreciated straight talk and directly confronting issues over backroom deals and double-talk.
"Good morning, Miss Joyce. How are you this morning?" the president asked as an aide seated Labrys.
"Oi'm doin' jist gran', sir. 'tis an 'onor ter meet witcha," 'Larissa' answered.
"So what can the White House do for you?" Michael Wilson asked with maybe a touch of weariness, as if anticipating more partisan dealings or lobbyist meddling.
"Tanks for meetin' wi' me, sir. Ah've cum ter yer ter explain de corner consortium's growin' concerns over de condishun av several key american 'ighways an' freeways. dees strategic roads clap a combined eighty...do yer 'ear somethin'?"
Labrys' advanced hearing could barely hear the incoming attack moments before they struck. The windows behind the president's desk shattered as three slender figures JUMPED into the room. Labrys managed to duck behind the desk and the president had quick enough reflexes to avoid being shredded as well, but the attackers ignored them, first rushing out into the hall to disable the guards stationed right outside. The president began shouting for guards and hit a button, but Labrys lay there unmoving. For one thing, Larissa Joyce wouldn't be expected to get up and fight assassins; she'd have to wait until nobody was watching or she had no choice otherwise. Another thing though shocked her into further inaction: all three attackers looked almost identical to her. They didn't even pretend to wear clothing and their eyes were a lifeless shade of grey, but they moved just like her and carried axes just like hers, which coincidentally was back at her apartment.
Gunshots rang from the hallway, but none of the robots sounded stopped. One popped back into the Oval Office - presumably to actually murder the president - but it quickly fell to the ground as the sound of a huge automatic weapon rang across the room. The other two robots jumped back in to investigate but they were cut down as well. Curiosity overrode shock in Labrys' system and she peeked over the desk. In the president's place stood a massive blue robot: the president's personal power armor, Metal Wolf.
"I apologize, Miss Joyce. It looks like I'm going to have to cancel our meeting. The guards will need a statement from you I'm sure, but I'll get someone to escort you home."
Metal Wolf looked around the office, picking up one of the ruined robots. If she could have, Labrys would have gulped nervously. Someone was stealing her image and just used it to try murdering the leader of the United States of America.
She just might have to get out of town.
Labrys took one more look in the mirror, adjusting her currently-blond hair, her designer makeup, her professionally-tailored skirt. Anything to make sure her disguise was still in place. It was a huge pain to put on actual makeup, actual clothing, and even dying her artificial hair blonde to fit in with her "Larissa Joyce" identity, but she knew her preferred holograms wouldn't work here. Not in the White House.
The friggin' White House.
Ever since she'd created the fictional Corner Consortium and moved to Washington DC after the annual Kobber Split, she'd been working hard to find other ways to change the world without having to resort to Joyce Jr.'s ideas of armed insurrections and Kobber Takeover of the government. She'd been successful thus far, through diplomacy, money, and - from time to time - blackmail. She did what she could to foster change without outright breaking the law. Sure, she'd used her abilities as a digital intelligence to sneak into computer systems, but only when other methods had failed.
It had also been the only way to get an appointment to meet with the president to discuss some of his recent policy decisions. She hoped the Make America Livable Party didn't mind having their appointment mysteriously eaten by the aether or wherever deleted scheduled items went when you hacked into the White House computers and replaced one meeting with another.
Ever since she'd confirmed that appointment, she'd worked furiously to prepare. She'd only managed to secure five minutes with President Michael Wilson and she was determined to make the most of it. She'd even worked in her "sleep", the time she spent in her maintenance chair recharging and receiving repairs, on how the meeting should go. Now she say in the West Wing Lobby making sure everything was perfect: she adjusted her disguise with her body and practiced her speech in a digital Oval Office in her mind. She finally felt ready as an orderly instructed her to follow him to the president.
Michael Wilson, a man who secured national fame by leading the armed forces against a military insurrection several years ago alongside his vice-president Richard Hawk, was known to be passionate, energetic, and direct. A man who appreciated straight talk and directly confronting issues over backroom deals and double-talk.
"Good morning, Miss Joyce. How are you this morning?" the president asked as an aide seated Labrys.
"Oi'm doin' jist gran', sir. 'tis an 'onor ter meet witcha," 'Larissa' answered.
"So what can the White House do for you?" Michael Wilson asked with maybe a touch of weariness, as if anticipating more partisan dealings or lobbyist meddling.
"Tanks for meetin' wi' me, sir. Ah've cum ter yer ter explain de corner consortium's growin' concerns over de condishun av several key american 'ighways an' freeways. dees strategic roads clap a combined eighty...do yer 'ear somethin'?"
Labrys' advanced hearing could barely hear the incoming attack moments before they struck. The windows behind the president's desk shattered as three slender figures JUMPED into the room. Labrys managed to duck behind the desk and the president had quick enough reflexes to avoid being shredded as well, but the attackers ignored them, first rushing out into the hall to disable the guards stationed right outside. The president began shouting for guards and hit a button, but Labrys lay there unmoving. For one thing, Larissa Joyce wouldn't be expected to get up and fight assassins; she'd have to wait until nobody was watching or she had no choice otherwise. Another thing though shocked her into further inaction: all three attackers looked almost identical to her. They didn't even pretend to wear clothing and their eyes were a lifeless shade of grey, but they moved just like her and carried axes just like hers, which coincidentally was back at her apartment.
Gunshots rang from the hallway, but none of the robots sounded stopped. One popped back into the Oval Office - presumably to actually murder the president - but it quickly fell to the ground as the sound of a huge automatic weapon rang across the room. The other two robots jumped back in to investigate but they were cut down as well. Curiosity overrode shock in Labrys' system and she peeked over the desk. In the president's place stood a massive blue robot: the president's personal power armor, Metal Wolf.
"I apologize, Miss Joyce. It looks like I'm going to have to cancel our meeting. The guards will need a statement from you I'm sure, but I'll get someone to escort you home."
Metal Wolf looked around the office, picking up one of the ruined robots. If she could have, Labrys would have gulped nervously. Someone was stealing her image and just used it to try murdering the leader of the United States of America.
She just might have to get out of town.
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