Gathering the ashes / scatter as they blow away

psikeout · Posted: Tue Oct 02, 2012 6:43 pm

Quote:

You've found my memories.

I quit this world because I couldn't take the guilt and madness of limbo. I died here in the nothingness I created. I tried to blame someone, anyone else for what I had done, but it all came back to me.

Chimera. Anyone who lives now knows this name. It could not have existed if not for me. I created it, I unwittingly named it, and I destroyed it—and with it, myself. No, it wasn't the government's doing, nor "heroes" or anything else. It was my plan, and its simple undoing.

I thought I had orchestrated it perfectly. I sent Gardyner's task force chasing the orders of a synthesized voice around the globe. They went to Angel Island to get an artifact to construct a teleporter; they went to Central City to take an emerald from some do-gooders fighting the empire to help my plot further. Just for the slim chance to get a shot at Chimera and those running it, Gardyner's people—"good" people—fought other good people, other heroes, tooth and nail. I confronted them with trial after trial in their pursuit of the emeralds and the destruction of this organization, and they performed excellently. They kept their eyes on the goal; no matter what conflict arose, they stayed focused on the fact that they thought they were doing the right thing.

I look back now and I realize they really were doing the right thing. Even though I engineered the plan for their failure and embarrassment, they still somehow managed to succeed with it in ways I never could have imagined. That's something I never wanted to do and never could have done.

At its simplest, they thought they were going to use the teleporter to infiltrate the Typhaon and stop Chimera. I led them to believe the emeralds they stole were necessary to "stabilize" the teleporter, or some sort of nonsense. I think I used a different excuse every time they asked. And, they thought that once they were aboard, they would be able to run the same virus as before and hijack control anew. The reality of the plan, however, was far, far different.

I felt this world had tormented me too long. I had no control over who I was made to be, and I had suffered at the hands of a world that had formed me into what I was, then hated me for it. I only did what I was made to do, and what I had to do. Didn't I? I don't know now. I was angry. I think I still am, but without real emotion, or physiological response, or... anything, now, I'm not sure I can still meaningfully comprehend the anger and jealousy I used to feel. I think I carried it on out of hubris, plain and simple. It all seems so shallow now, so meaningless, the way I wanted to put an end to everyone who made me what I was, and to everyone who had a hand in killing me.

My plan was to start with the entire population of Central City, and eventually end with the Typhaon itself. I wanted the emeralds to power the Typhaon's main cannon, and those ignoramuses were going to deliver them right to me. And they did. And I still failed. I knew the "good guys" would do everything in their power to stop the big, bad "villain" as soon as they knew what was happening and who I truly was, and I accounted for it. What I didn't expect was... cooperation. There was too much bad blood, I thought—far too much, so much that I didn't expect the two sides would to be able to see eye-to-eye long enough to work together against me for even a moment. And I thought, even if they did, only my heroic playthings would have been the ones willing to give up anything to stop me. I never once foresaw a sacrifice from the true monsters.

That is why Chimera is dead. That is why G.U.N. is dead. That is why Lazarus Lochert is dead. And that is why I am dead.

There is more to the story—a story I, my mind and memories trapped without eyes or ears, have had many months of complete silence and darkness to reflect on—but in the shame of my failure, I no longer wish to tell a word more. Just know that I am fully aware of where it is the blame lies for what has become of this world. I failed to rule it or save it. And if I could, I would give you a name to remember and hate for this failure, but I've never had a name of my own—only a number.

This is Project 7, self-terminating.

And this is the story of how it all came to be.

The warehouse lingered on the edge of the so-called no man’s land of Central City; a strip of metropolis unoccupied with silent, dark buildings that served as a flimsy border between the haze-filled skies of Eggman’s industrialized territory and that of the regular, unchanged city. Symbols on both sides of the conflict were scattered about the area, either being on fallen robots or the various other resources now unused and dismantled in the confines of the dark, urban strip. It was an abandoned battlefield, left to stagnate until either faction decided a push was needed in the opposite direction. For now, though, a stalemate remained, and only the smallest of patrols could hope to infiltrate from either side.

Yet that one building held life, although it was the frantic sort. Long shadows were being cast upon it in the dimming twilight, making the lights of patrolling, guarding G.U.N. vehicles all the more apparent. Soldiers were stationed along the perimeter as well, Beetles hovering about at various altitudes. Nothing was to approach without heavy resistance, it seemed.

Inside, things were in a rush. Troops strode about in some sort of preparation, commands were uttered, echoing across the fairly empty expanse of the warehouse, and a palpable tension ebbed everywhere. Sitting center stage, however, was the object of most importance: a relic from an ancient culture, spherical in shape and a deep red in color, resting on a stone support. All sorts of machinery were somehow connected to the thing, creating an interesting clash of modern invention and untouched, primeval “technology”.

Three Chaos Emeralds glowed expectantly from within a nearby console.

Amidst the activity was a lone figure, quiet and unresponsive as he sat upon a crate. He went unnoticed, despite his own importance at the time and how much he contributed to this very upcoming moment.

Even for those who glanced at Geoff wouldn’t find much of an initiative to approach. All that would be noticed in a glimpse would be that of his wounded body, how a good portion of his head hid behind a pattern of bandages, how his outline was a unsymmetrical mess of missing, charred quills, how his arm hung uselessly within the confines of a sling, coated in his own blood. It was an appearance of one who was more suited in a grave than sitting there defiantly like a battle-weary spectator.

His eyes were fixated on that of the gem-like sphere sitting before him across the building, his face a mask of weariness and hardened emotion. Conflict had brought him to this moment — this physical state — and all that lay before him was even more, waiting for him beyond that orb. It was a horrible proposition, sending him back into the fire. He already carried the burns from before.

And that was where his muddled thoughts remained, back in the recent past. Images swirled on the circle as his gaze drilled deeper into it, his vision being overwhelmed by red.

…

A broken body. A corpse. Fire and rubble. A strangled cry of a companion — no, a friend. A friend who spewed fire from his arm before being overtaken by the walking machine.

A roar of fury and pain from his own lungs. A gun somehow wretched from an unmoving hand. The machine turns back, distracted. He fights the pain. Raises his arm. Looks through the broken visor of the machine. Something vulnerable is there. Something that can die.

He pulls the trigger.

Geoff’s eyes snapped open, the harsh reverie obliterated and his heart beating in a pit in his stomach. The pain had been lit anew in his body, relentlessly clashing with his nerves and reminding him what had caused such injury, reminding him of who had been lost, reminding him he was a killer. None of the memories settled well. They probably never would.

The hedgehog decided to linger in a state of distraction now, trying to focus on to what was happening around him. More soldiers were starting to gather around the device taken from Angel Island, the final preparations coming to an end. Weapons were loaded and the plan already known. It was just a matter of a few more minutes wait… and then the quick step to the heavens.

He pushed to his feet with a wince, at first trudging along before forcing a sterner, determined stride, his good hand clenched into a fist. The crushing weight didn’t do the favor of releasing the pressure on his shoulders or muffle the pain, but it wouldn’t be long before he could unleash such a force forward.

A klaxon blared for several seconds. Immediately, the gurgling rumble of innumerable combustion engines starting followed, chugging and popping and thudding. Black motorcycles with black-clad agents revved their engines uproariously; the warehouse smelled warmly of exhaust. A man's voice, loud but not noteworthy for anything other than the message he conveyed, trumpeted orders.

"Portal transmission to begin in fifteen seconds. Alpha squad, stand by. Beta and Gamma squads, prepare for deployment."

An audible countdown began. Ramps leading up to the waiting platform blurred and glowed as a pillar of blue light slowly began to emanate from the huge jewel. It was for a significant reason that the so-called "Alpha" squad wasn't going in first; Alpha was Geoff's team, and the one that needed to survive long enough to let Fenn and his fellow technicians do some good.

"... four, three, two, one. Beta squad, deploy!"

The beam instantaneously widened and became nearly opaque, burning white in color. The first swarm of motorcycle-riding soldiers charged forward with motors screaming and guns and equipment jangling, straight up the metal ramp and into the unknown, vanishing into the beam.

"Alpha and Delta squads, prepare immediately for deployment. Gamma squad, deploy now!"

The second group of about twelve troops raced forward, but rather than with squawking and chirping tires, there were clomping boots. This group was largely non-human, and judging by their raw speed and athleticism, they weren't the sort to need transport. Up the ramp and out of sight they went.

"Alpha squad, deploy!"

***

On the other side of the gate, in that immense, central atrium chamber of the Typhaon where there spilled motorcycles and heavily-armed troops like water out of a faucet, opposition was remarkably little. There were a few Capsule Troopers standing on the command center platform, and though they turned to the gate and almost immediately opened fire, they were quickly overwhelmed by sheer numbers. None of them fled; the team, ill-equipped for a sudden breach of security, just went down in a blaze of armor-piercing bullets.

An alert sounded immediately. The real fight would come quickly.

Mie · Posted: Thu Oct 04, 2012 11:54 am

She couldn't have been certain which ship she was on. Honestly, they all looked the same to her, varying only in expansiveness, and frankly, it was hurting Jam's ability to keep track of her stuff.

For whatever it was worth (mental labeling), today, she found herself on The HMS Where-I-left-my-toothbrush,-my-roller-blades,-and-my-stash-of-Twonkies, and she was utterly and sophomorically bored. It wasn't for lack of trying to occupy herself, either. She'd tried to watch TV, but found herself unamused by the daytime offerings. She'd passed up a game of chess with Green ("You'll cheat with your computer brain."), and Dizzy ("I'll cheat with my... not being Dizzy."), and had only managed to find skating around the ship with an obnoxiously blaring boombox entertaining for so long (it was less than five minutes). Eventually, the likelihood presented itself that she may just need to find some way to be productive.

It was that thought that compelled her to the hangar, where her whiter, brighter counterpart could nearly always be counted on to be doing something useful and industrious. Maybe, she hedged, if he was feeling himself in a nurturing mood, she could pick up a few randomly useful skills, or perhaps even (competent though she was becoming) go out for a private flying lesson...

The way her sluggish gait had suddenly sprung into a skip, it begged consideration just what kind of "higher learning" was on her mind.

***

Soon, an unrefined series of grunts huffed out from inside the cramped cockpit of one of the many fighters in the resonant hangar, where a white and reddish pair huddled together in stuffy proximity under a dangling worklight.

"Geeze this' tight," complained the slighter of the pair, strained with effort.

"Need me to move?"

"Nah, I got it-- Just -- ungh, needed a better grip. Okay. So now where does this go?"

"Nnnnhang on a sec, I don't usually approach it from this angle... Let me try--"

"Ow, ow! Hang on, hang on, my leg's cramping -- Not used t'being down here so long."

"I could take over. You wanna switch?"

"For just a second? I'll watch."

Tools clattered and Jam stood clear of the top of the cockpit, allowing Rock to get to the instrument panel she had been trying to work on. The situation suddenly seemed ten times less suggestive.

As time whiled away however fast or slow it was going, Jam had at the very least found ways (very small ways) to make herself useful; fitting into small spaces to handle simple work, or holding parts, or tools, or towels or what have you within easy reach, as she continued to prod and pry into the befuddling world of one of aviation's niche fields. It wasn't ridiculously out of left field, either. The hangar had seen more than its fair share of the reddish girl since she'd started flying, but the curiosity existed more in how much time she spent like this: Learning, grilling, annoying, whatever one wanted to call it, she was doing it, and apparently of her own volition.

It must have been irritating. If not, the best case scenario for Jam's intrusion was that it was only "distracting," but Rock's patience would have to be measured in some unfathomable amount of whatever unit patience is measured in to not find the constant "What's that do?" irksome. For whatever reason, though, the questions had kept coming in a steady stream, as the slighter of the primates hovered intrusively over the whiter's shoulder, with a cocked head, and an unusually engaged stare.

"Provided there was 'some means'," insert awkward, stuff-juggling air quotes, "to actually get it up there, I don't understand why a bird like this wouldn't be space-worthy. What makes spacecraft so special?"

From his flattened posture, laying with his back on the uneven, cramped metal floor of the unfinished fighter cockpit, Rock's voice was a bit muffled and strained, but nonetheless came through with yet another answer, perhaps the hundredth that day.

"This one looks like the others, but it's gonna be an, uh, an econo-model," he explained. "There's a lot of things a spacecraft's gotta have. Chief thing this one's missing, besides radiation shielding, is any kind of maneuvering thrusters. There's no air in space, no friction or anything, so it's all inertia, kinda like... being in three-dimensional, infinitely-slippery ice. Mr. Newton's nowhere to be seen. Aerodynamic features like control surfaces, y'know, like ailerons, elevators, rudders, etcetera, don't mean jack anymore. The first design we made here has engines with fully vectorable thrust, practically any direction, in a bunch of combinations of directions, so you can turn and rotate the ship along any axis and—"

An alarm sounded. It was the particular siren used when there was an attack of some sort—the "hell of a big deal" alert.

Rock squirmed out of his place in the floor, grasped the edge of the cockpit and yanked himself up next to Jam, brows furrowed as fished for his mobile in his baggy shorts pocket to find out what the heck was happening.

Sheff · Posted: Fri Oct 05, 2012 12:33 am

Geoff watched as the varied forces disappeared into the glowing maw that was the teleporter, eyes nearly squinting at the intensity of the light. The booming orders became muted, the beam taking priority and dazing the hedgehog as disbelief seeped into him. Was it truly this simple to return to the battleship, a place steeped with a foul substance in his memory? It was a site of failure, but now it could potentially be one of redemption.

He heard his squad's order, albeit through a distracted state of mind. Slowly, he strode forward, eyes never leaving the beam. A pistol, issued by his new employer, hung from his hip. At first, their offer was answered with disgust and anger, but after many arguments of his own well-being (what was left of it now, that is), the hedgehog was forced to begrudgingly accept the weapon. It would remain untouched, hanging there, a dirty thing that would bring only the smallest of acknowledgement to itself when it tapped against his thigh.

Such disgust was not prevalent now, however, Geoff having halted only a few feet down the ramp from the beam. Somewhere behind him he heard urgent shouting, probably to keep him moving, but there was blatant hesitation in his wounded figure.

He could turn back. He could put this all behind him, go on to live his life and let these forces far greater than he have their petty battles over power. This was supposed to be beyond him, to be some snippet of news spewing out of an ignored television in a normal home, having no true consequence to his average self. Yet he was here, part of this struggle. It was a blurry line where vengeance and righteousness intersected, but this was as much as his fight as it was for the soldiers around him. He had the purpose needed.

The portal took him in a rush, and all the hedgehog knew for a brief moment was that of glaring white light and a dizzying amount of acceleration before unceremoniously being dumped at an elevation far beyond the Earth. Immediately he was overwhelmed by the close proximity of roaring engines and other G.U.N. personnel, staggering off to the side in an attempt to not collide with any other arriving forces. Regaining himself with some comfortable distance between him and the "entry point", he finally realized where he stood.

The familiarity was laced with an unsettling clench in his chest. Even though the platform was clearly more pristine than he last remembered, he still saw flashes of the chaotic fight that once graced it. Electricity, rock, CE and gunfire had all combined into a final fight that had fallen out of his favor and ended with a forgotten corpse. It was not the most pleasant of spots.

Once again he was reminded that this was his second chance.

He turned back to the center, waiting for the rest of his squad. Time would be short soon enough once resistance started to increase.

Tau · Posted: Sun Oct 07, 2012 6:14 pm

"Alert Unauthorized tele..po..rt de..."

"ERROR. Cannot connect to external network."

"Rerouting network access... ERROR rerouting failure."

As the Typhaon's command deck was overrun, Tau's physical body began to stir admits the interwoven cluster of wires and cables the AI had used until now to interface with the ship. The AI had been content in foregoing a physical form to travel about the vessel while it had free reign over the ship's network, a freedom he had slowly been losing in a fight against an unknown force in the past few weeks and had fully lost to in the attack.

"Initiating independent laboratory security procedures."

Elsewhere in the in the Typhaon, a pair of Capsule Troopers were at work in the research labs at the time of the attack. Well, at least one of them was a Capsule Trooper. The taller imitation CT was in the process of persuading a slightly unwilling test subject to comply with an untested weapon. As the alarm went off and the cluster of labs went into lockdown, the two would receive a message from Tau over the research wings one of the few remaining secure com channel.

"You are ordered to reach communications equipment Project #87625, activate it and transmit the included encoded message. Use of deadly force is authorized for both you and the research wings security system." Tau's voice cut off, either by choice or loss of of the com channel.

Had the labs of been breached, their task may have been a complicated one. Fortunately, Tau's desire to keep the research wing's network separate from the rest of the ship had kept the laboratory secure from the unknown cyber-intruder's meddling, at least for the time being. Sawbones had simply left Iso in the other chaos drive.

The message, prerecorded due to current event, was transmitted to both General Green's vessel and the last known one Rock & Jam were aboard. The communications equipment was different from the standard in use by Chimera, but it remained to be seen if the signal would get through.

" This is a prerecorded message. Priority one security breach occurring aboard the Typhaon. Hostile forces have taken control over the bridge and the ship-wide network. Enemy forces are making use of an unknown transporter and are gaining control over Chimera's transport network. Further communications will take place on the following channel." Paired with the message was a full situation report of the current incursion along with a list of possibly secure communication channels.

Back aboard the Typhaon, the cluster of research labs' automated security turrets slipped from their resting places in the walls and ceilings, doors sealed and security shields and Egg Gunners activated. It wasn't much compared to the attackers' force, but Tau intended on attempting to keep the last remaining bit of the vessel he had control of secure for the time being.

psikeout · Posted: Sun Oct 07, 2012 7:24 pm

There were a few minutes where Geoff and the others could take in the view, seemingly before the defenses had a chance to kick in properly. The immense chamber indeed looked virtually unchanged from the last time they had visited it. The command center platform, the mesa-like tabletop of an enormous, mechanical pillar of steel, stood fully extended many, many stories above the bottom floor of the ship's dark atrium. Computer terminals and screens were all around, but still couldn't obscure the view that was to be had—the nearly-kilometer-long, who-knew-how-many-meters-high dome of hexagonal glass windows into starry, infinite space in the artificial sky above was dazzling and dizzying. Drones, noticeable only by their glowing thrusters, appeared like fireflies above, transporting materials and equipment to and fro through the ship's internal airspace, but they were having to swerve out of the way of some other glowing dots that seemed much more intent on joining the party: Egg Gunners diving toward the group's location.

Before any of them could even get into the range where any G.U.N. operatives would need to engage them, there were surprise visitors. Like a blur, three aging Egg Robos crested the deck and buzzed over the troops' heads at a speed too high to track or intercept.

Something shot out of the portal, straight into the Egg Robos' arms as they sped past.

Three glimmering, diamond-cut stones, the likes of which Geoff had just seen plugged into a console back at GUN HQ minutes ago, powering the teleporter. Had they been baited so easily to deliver the gems straight to Rock? And if so, why did he even want them?

The portal closed abruptly, stranding Geoff, his squad, and the company of eighty or so troops who had managed to make it through with them. The Egg Robos meanwhile dove below the horizon of the deck and down into the atrium's perpetual city-like blur of lights and activity. Even if they had a mind to try to pursue, they'd soon have a suitable distraction to contend with in the form of a steady stream of Gunners flying in and spewing full-auto energy blasts their way.

It wasn't to suggest the agents would just stand around like cattle for it, though. Geoff may have even been pleasantly surprised, if pleasantry was even remotely possible in that moment, to see them competently intercepting their would-be interceptors, firing first shots, and taking first blood (or oil?) by sheer volume of fire. Two of their larger specialists even had some sort of man-portable flak cannons to dole out anti-air power; it seemed like the kind of thing Casey would have brought along if he'd made it that far. And as for the motorcyclists? They were already going full-throttle down the huge, straight flight of stairs that led toward the ground floor, riding and gunning. A small squad of Capsule Troopers who'd had a mind to try to respond quickly to the threat found themselves in an unexpected hailstorm of bullets as they rumbled their way down; three were torn asunder by large-caliber gunfire from the bikes' mounted weapons before they could move far or fire much themselves, and the other two only escaped by bailing off the sides of the staircase. A couple motorcyclists were wiped in the exchange, and sent crashing, tumbling, smashing, and sparking violently down the stairs with their machines, but the stampede continued unabated.

At the going rate, it seemed like they may have had a capable-enough force to take even the Typhaon. Things could always get worse, though. "Things," as they were, had a knack for—nay, an everloving habitual addiction to—getting worse.

And things got worse.

"Wouldja look at this," said Rock's voice, distorted by resonance as it was simultaneously aired from every single terminal, every single speaker on the command center deck. His face and upper body appeared on all the monitors. Blurry by poor transmission quality and partially obscured by the open, gold-dusted visor of his silvery helmet, it was apparent that he was in motion, and his posture, with both arms forward, indicated he was piloting something—something very fast and very loud, judging by the noise and vibration.

"Geoff. $%#*in'. Hawkins."

His smile, audible in his words and visible on his face, was dripping with rancor.

"What'chu do, son?" he said, patronizingly chummy, yet somehow still darkly vindictive. "Get mauled by a tiger?"

Geoff's torn up face suddenly occupied at least half the monitors, from all different angles. It seemed the built-in cameras on the terminals were tracking him. Rock clearly had some degree of control left—maybe only because he had nothing to lose by trying to connect for communications, unlike Tau, who had a lot of crucial equipment and hardware at stake.

Sheff · Posted: Sat Oct 13, 2012 3:11 pm

Being more of the outside observer for the time being, Geoff was perhaps one of the few who really took notice of the snatched emeralds, distraught leaking across his features as whatever sort of realization crept into his mind. Had his first impressions really been so true before he'd thrown himself into this unstable plan? Should he'd not wavered with his distrust to that disembodied voice all those days ago? Such clashing thoughts remained prevalent even when the main assault upon the squads commenced, relying on the soldiers competence to ward them off.

Perhaps a sort of reassurance would have managed to grow once the hedgehog began to notice the substantial combat efficiency of his fellow troops. They certainly were holding their ground, even advancing down the tower, proving that they may have some chance of completing their mission. Of course, there was always a dampener on such hope.

Rock.

Fully expecting the monkey to be filled with haughty success over a cleverly planned plot, Geoff was surprised to find only a tone of displeasure like one given to an unwelcome house guest greeting him. However noteworthy that observation may have been, however, was soon lost in a piercing glare and a sudden distraction from whatever battle was occurring around him. But only one pair of eyes could focus on a single face of many, only questionably lessened when the hedgehog's own battle scarred features replaced Rock's visage on some of the monitors. Welcome to hell they seemed to murmur.

"Lochert," he replied coldly, his voice a raw croak as he focused on a single screen. He noted that his own face stared back at the edges of his vision, presenting his wounds in all their glory. "I think one of your pets got loose."

The subject of him having to put it down went unmentioned.

"Was hoping you'd be here," he continued with venom, thinly veiled by a fake affability. "See to welcoming the party and all. Or are you runnin' a bit late?"

psikeout · Posted: Sat Oct 13, 2012 10:12 pm

"Yeah, I'm late. I bet you wish I was there," Rock spat back in a bitter laugh. "Naw, see, actually, I don't think you yet comprehend the deep, mahogany depths of $%@& you just got yourself and all these soldiers in."

There was something very earnest in his words. His tone ceased to ring of mockery, or posturing, or anything else, and became very straightforwardly threatening. His eyes, though otherwise occupied with what he was doing in the cockpit of his ship, seemed like their glare could have seared holes in the camera every time he could spare a few seconds to glance back.

"You strut your broken ass in here, actin' like you wanna draw blood, thinkin' like you're some kinda hard man, nothin' left to lose. And then you talk about a 'party' here? A'right! Have some music for your #%$*in' welcome-to-hell party."

He could be seen reaching forward and jabbing buttons on controls offscreen. Everything muted for a second as he said something to some unseen third party; a couple seconds later, a raucous guitar riff started blasting on virtually every radio band, through every headset, and through the ship's PA system, too, completely obfuscating the boarding party's communications. The communication feed abruptly disconnected, leaving them with nothing but their noisy distraction.

***

Outside, in the darkness of space, several glowing, energetically-charged squash-head projectiles, fired from a great distance, flattened like putty across one of the gigantic, hexagonal windowpanes that domed the top of the Typhaon's fuselage.

The explosion that followed was completely mute from that vantage point, but thundered below, as pieces of charred, warped, half-melted glass and polymer blasted free of the newly-created vacuum suction and hurtled toward the command center deck below. It'd have quite a bit of free-fall before it even reached the platform, though.

"We're goin' in hot, so remember there's gonna be a shock when you ram into all that air pressure," advised Rock as he lined up his fighter to take the plunge into the open window first.

Rock received little more than an assenting grunt in reply to his warning; the second fighter shimmied in behind his for the approach with a fluid ease, but perhaps following a mite zealously.

The subtle sound of perfunctory gum-chewing transmitted pointedly for a loaded second or two, before, without a trace of emotion -- not anger, indignation, or malice -- Jam at last spoke actual words. She said:

"'M tired of dickin' around with this asshole."

"If I get the chance," she sniffed humorlessly, "I'm'nna kill him."

"Yeah, all well and good, but stay on your objective. You gotta make sure nothin' interferes with Tau," replied Rock firmly as he rammed into the gale-force windtunnel of the open dome with a crisp, supersonic bang, and accordingly decelerated in a way that tested his safety harness. Happy day! It was indeed bolted on well. Else, he would have been taste-testing the windshield right about then.

G-forces clawed his helmeted head toward his own chest as his fighter nosed up from its insane dive, but not before peppering the command center platform with indiscriminate and largely unaimed gunfire. He soon streaked and arced around and through the enormously spacious atrium at high speed, taking in the battlefield, and lining up for his next move.

Tony · Posted: Sun Oct 14, 2012 12:49 pm

And so, as things heated up overhead in the main hub of the spaceship Typhaon, a lone hero stepped forth to challenge the maintenance tunnels of the beast, slipping by unnoticed into a hidden entrance leading to the chute in question. The service panel was quietly settled back into place, and the great hero began to his way into the belly of the beast. The HEART of the ship..!

Or, rather, that's how Fenn was describing it to himself via inner monologue. Really, all he had done was mosey on past any potential hazards and jump into a service chute leading further down into the core of the atrium unimpeded. He was good at that.

As he made his way down, the panda reflected on the events that had long since passed. It was hard to believe just how much trouble he and the others had gone through since his recruitment. It was.. difficult, to say the least. It was especially tough knowing that a handful of the people he had grown to care about, and enjoy working with were either out of commission, or just ... out, for good. Geoff was the remainder of the team that he was really able to connect with, and now... this was it. He, the hedgehog, countless GUN officials, and an AI, against Chimera and everything they had to offer to the fray... The panda fitted himself with his goggles, and looked ahead. It was time to finally do some good and set things right.

He was going to help. Even if he was... kiiiiind of a criminal in the long run... Jacques would be proud. Surely, he would be.

"Arrighty then... S'time to find me a box..."

...

It wasn't long before he began to hum something to make him feel a little better as he began to move towards his objective. Was he... attempting to beatbox, too..?

Rusty · Posted: Tue Oct 16, 2012 7:57 pm

As the two fighters entered the atrium, it would become clear they weren't the only ones of their kind present. A few seconds after they'd appeared, hot on their heels and blasting through the freshly-made entrance were several others similar in design, with a few color and number variations to separate them from the primates and one another. Spacious as the atrium was, the sudden appearance of more than two fighters would mean the opposing force was going to have its hands full a lot more often than they'd like.

"I don't like parties." The voice, gravelly from both its natural tone and the communicator, belonged to General Green. This was said shortly before something near his aircraft was immolated by a torrent of gunfire from the fighter's wings. Fittingly, the something also blew up after he sped by.

The fighters spread in Rock and Jam's wake, seeming to go their own way in search of devastation and targets. Combining the rock 'n' roll with the noise of the jets and explosions and gunfire made for a rather haphazard scene, one that in all likelihood marveled the robots, who had the tendency to blast music while destroying things anyway. This was their den, Chimera's, and journeying into the predator's den meant you faced it where it was most comfortable, and dangerous.

"Never give up," said Zesty, while doing a completely unnecessary barrel roll, "trust your instincts."

"Shut up."

"Yes-sir"

"I like parties," said Magnet.

Sheff · Posted: Wed Oct 17, 2012 12:11 am

If Geoff was particularly threatened by Rock's statements, it wasn't instantly apparent as he whipped away from the suddenly blank monitors, burning contempt in his features, yet still somehow maintaining an unsettling calm in his movement. The invasion of the immense dome was enough to gather his attention, however, seeing how charred debris could only go unnoticed for so long before some random soldier pointed out the incoming danger. Not much avoidance was needed on the hedgehog's part at first other than a few shuffling steps away from the some points of impact, but he came out of the brief, hazardous situation unscathed.

The sonic boom came a second later, forcing his eyes up yet again.

Instantly, he knew who was rocketing downward toward him; who else would bring about so much destruction for the sake of an entry? Geoff's brow furrowed deeply, amplifying a red scar into a raging slash across his forehead. Every wound of his seemed to burn with a little more intensity, reminding him who'd ordered such a treatment. Where the new pain would have limited him at any other time, it now only served to fuel a sudden surge of animosity. It remained hindered as the wild gunfire came spraying down, the hedgehog instinctively armoring his good half and shielding his body with an arm, but as the crystal's use was fulfilled and started to crack, so did he, letting it all rush out.

"C'mon, you son of a bitch! Let's just see you try to finish me off!" he roared up to the fighter. "Cause you're right! I don't have jack $%@& to lose."

He knew full well the monkey probably couldn't hear him (and if he did... well, the message would get across), but he could relish Rock's aggravation. It was the least he could do in the situation where he was this incapable of assisting in much else.

psikeout · Posted: Thu Oct 18, 2012 2:04 pm

Tracer rounds raked across the platform, tearing consoles and soldiers to shreds all alike. Flak burst in air, rattling and scattering fighters, which swooped and curved through the atrium's airspace in short, passing runs by the command center, and tight circles around it. Sparks flew, and so did blood, spattering and running across the pockmarked metal floor, and flecking other soldiers. It was likely the most brutal scene any of the G.U.N. crew, even the most hardened of operatives present, had ever seen. Even still, in the face of the smoking, flaming, gory carnage, one operative stayed on point, driven by survival. He grabbed a fallen comrade's surface-to-air missile launcher, shouldered it, got a lock on the first thing to fly overhead, and let loose a heat-seeking missile in pursuit at such a close range that there'd be virtually no time for the pilot to react.

Luck would have it that the passerby was Rock. Even for the best of pilots, there were sometimes situations where there was just no way out, and this was one of them. There was barely a blip and warning on the primate's screen before the missile tore the rear of his craft to flaming shreds ("Hell!"), obliterating the main forward-thrust engines and detonating the left-side maneuvering engines as well. With the twist and yank of a yellow rod, the canopy over his head immediately flew away and his seat launched straight out.

As always, his presence of mind in the hectic situation bordered on supernatural. It was nearly instantaneously that he whipped out his knife, and, in the same stroke as he unsheathed it, before his chute could even deploy, cleanly sliced his harness off and lunged into a freefall with no parachute.

Above him, the ejection seat's chute deployed. Within a couple seconds of slowing in the air, it was immediately torn to shreds by rifle rounds and flak cannons.

The navy-blue-clad primate vanished into the obfuscating din of chaos at the bottom of the Typhaon's grand atrium, not far from the base of the command center stairs.

He hit the metal floor boots-first. He was far too damnably sturdy a physical specimen to even be fazed by the several-hundred-foot plummet, but the forward momentum he carried with him from his strafing run caused him to tumble harshly, skipping like a stone on water, helmet thudding and clunking and filling his head with noise. Rock nonetheless righted himself after sliding a good distance, ducked swiftly into cover by the metal-walled lip of a downward shaft opening (which one could only presume led deeper into the belly of the Typhaon), and collected his bearings.

Mie · Posted: Thu Oct 18, 2012 7:17 pm

The quick thinking agent that had successfully taken Rock out of the aerial fray would likely not even get the chance to register that he'd made his mark before a venomous flurry of retaliatory rounds reduced him to a mess on the floor. As Jam swooped by, now with no one to flank, she noted that there was no visceral gratification at the soldier's demise; just a burdening impression of how many more times it'd have to be done before the day was over. Even more wearying was the steadily increasing confusion and chaos suffusing the atrium. Discretionary aiming was getting harder and harder, and vast though the chamber was, airspace was becoming a commodity.

"Rock, do you still copy?" she asked in a tone markedly level given the situation.

"I'm fine," answered Rock, crouched on the ground and back firmly pressed against a wall, his voice ragged and shaken, but affirming. His helmeted head poked around the corner toward the command center structure. "I'm gonna see if I can get up there through the mainframe's maintenance shafts."

"You got it? I was gonna break off and head for Tau, but if you need me..."

"I got it," he interjected as soon as the air was clear. "Not gonna be fightin' anybody head on if I do this right."

"Okay. Watch yourself. You too, General."

On her last ring around the room, the bird banked hard and suddenly, altering course down a corridor that began generously, but grew progressively narrower as it wound deeper into the Typhaon's inner workings. Given the speed at which the floor beneath her blurred by, it would have been easy to sell short the vastness of the ship/space station/orbital city until one recalled that they were flying a jet through it. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she lamented Rock's absence; though the walls encroached on her wingspan, and turned unpredictably, she maneuvered them with not ease or effortlessness, but a hard-earned, focused grace, cambering around corners, often barely unscathed. In what must have felt like much longer than it was, but in reality amounted to seconds, a pack of speeding motorcyclists crested her skewed horizon.

In a knee-jerk reaction, her finger all but assaulted the trigger, unleashing an indiscriminate, vaguely aimless torrent of gunfire that managed to miss all but the rear wheel of the group's straggler, which careened frenetically out of control, before both bike and rider wiped out into a wall. The others wouldn't likely be so easy; at the price of their fallen comrade, they were officially on the alert; several drew their sidearms, and began plinking ineffectually at their pursuer, while the less rattled simply opened up their throttles. Another, more deliberate and controlled sweep of the guns successfully consolidated the pack in a violent symphony of small explosions that cartwheeled destructively forward with their own undebited momentum.

With an injudicious burst of thrust, the fighter flew at the remaining opposition with guns literally blazing. They wove in and out of the fire, though, with an uncanny, hairline precision that frankly and irrationally irked the simian pilot. A second attempt yielded frustratingly similar results, when, much to her surprise, one of the riders out and out abandoned ship, leaping with noteworthy coordination onto the back of a neighboring motorcycle, while his own wobbled, fell, and skid to an utterly negligible stop, soon far behind them. Before she could really ponder the purpose of such questionable tactics, the wing-monkey soon found herself staring down the barrel of the backseat GUN agent's RPG launcher, which came poignantly to bear on her canopy.

With a panicked flinch that was far quicker than it was thoughtful, her hands jerked at the yoke, though there was nowhere to evade the haphazard blast; she hit the ceiling, and then overcompensated by diving to the floor, and proceeded to bounce jarringly between the two. Tracking the erratic movements of the jet poorly, the grenade wound up hitting the ceiling, the concussion of which rammed the jet belly-down into the floor (and, in a rare show of poetic justice, directly on top of its attackers), throwing up showers of sparks (among other things initially) as it jumped and hurdled to a screeching stop.

Tony · Posted: Thu Oct 18, 2012 9:42 pm

Meanwhile, down below, Fenn had been slowly climbing around the rather narrow maintenance tunnel. There were countless wires, blinking lights, swirling fans and locked security panels, all of which seemed to become more plentiful the further the panda moseyed along (also worth noting was the steady rise in temperature the further down he went). It was apparent that, whatever he was searching for, it was more than likely to be somewhere amidst the mess of computer hardware he was practically knee-deep into by this point.

Running a gloved hand over the wall of the maintenance shaft, the panda mumbled quietly to himself, reciting names of bulbs and switches as he gave every new item of interest a short, but thorough, examination. He took another moment or three to gaze upon a colourful display of LEDs along the wall, before he took note of a rather obscure-looking, uninteresting panel, tucked away behind a mess of wires and other similar containers. After reading over a few numbers that were littered about the box's surface, Fenn's fuzzy face lit up.

Thiiis is what I was looking for. Why did you hide from me, eh? Detective Fenn never leaves a turn unstoned. Uh, waitasec, that's... not quite how it goes.. Ffff.

Giving up on that particular line of thought, he reached deep within the confines of his lab coat, before brandishing a tiny pair of clippers. Locating the wires trailing from the little box, he scrunched his features with full concentration as he gave each and every one a resounding snap.

"Aaaand with that, we can accomplish our mission for justice! The tables have turned! The die has been CAST! The... I... uh... hm... Man, I really miss having people to cheer up with this nons'nse.. S'so quiet, now..."

psikeout · Posted: Fri Oct 19, 2012 11:24 pm

Seconds after Fenn finished his handiwork, static began to roar through the speakers that, just seconds prior, had been blasting music. A bizarre laugh resounded through the grand atrium. The identity of its owner was difficult to pin down; it very nearly sounded like two discreet voices in synchronization.

...

A clatter came from beneath Fenn, but it blended into the incessant snap-crackle-pop of gunfire and explosions outside.

A silhouette ascended the shaft below the panda, racing up its ladders, footholds and climbing pegs with an ease that looked more fitting for someone running a floor on all fours than for a man climbing a wall.

Two eyes that did not match gleamed in the dark through the shadowed cavity of a helmet's open visor. By the time they were noticeable, their owner, Rock, was already in the middle of a final, pouncing lunge up the ladder. His right hand darted out to seize at the panda's ankle with a vice's grip; he lashed downward with all his might, intending fully to tear Fenn straight off the ladder by his foot and slam him upside down against the wall and ladder below, as if to beat out a rug.

"WHAT DID YOU DO?!"

It was the controlled, but nevertheless spit-flinging scream of a violent interrogator—the traditional Bad Cop, and with no good counterpart anywhere in sight.

"Don't you people wish... you'd just trusted me in the first place?"

The voice of Tau—the AI voice they had been following all along—transitioned mid-sentence from jarring, electronic distortion to something very clear, very young, very human. It transmitted on all the same radio channels the obnoxiously loud music had previously occupied, too.

"It's good to see this is happening to you all. This is really justice done right."

Sheff · Posted: Sat Oct 20, 2012 7:27 pm

Throughout the heavy gunfire and bloody slaughter, Geoff struggled about in an attempt to avoid it all. Every where he turned, he only found more violent carnage of the squad, numbing his previous emotion and only creating a sickening weight in his gut. It was only more incentive to rush across the wide platform, his wounds throbbing in his desperate motions. Pain could be ignored, however, and death was a much more dominant threat than aggravated injuries. About the time he reached the series of consoles he'd lingered near before, his left side was splattered with blood of an unfortunate soldier, a bullet riddled cocoon of crystal barely maintaining itself as he slid behind the impromptu cover.

He crouched there, sheltered at least for a brief moment, his ears ringing from the battle. It wasn't enough, though, to block out the voice.

His eyes widened out of blunt realization.

"No," he managed to utter, not out of panic, but in absolute denial. "No no NO."

He looked skyward, his expression wild with disbelief.

"YOU are supposed to be DEAD."

Gathering the ashes / scatter as they blow away

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