"Answers provided suggest they were alone rather than accompanied, as was originally planned. Implications are concerning. The communicator can be left here. It will be analysed. Your compliance with the request is useful for long term gain. Operational patterns have begun a rapid shift in new phase of stellar geopolicy."

The lights on a nearby wire-spool table lit up, purplish-pink and blinking, awaiting the communicator to be placed. The machine-flesh-fog-clobe pulsed, staring at them both individually and yet past them. The whole room was its audience and the very sound of its voice bent through space as if it spoke right by their very ears.

"A broker of information, within the confines of our operations, entrapped within our control." Light travelled through the air to form a beam that extended a few feet from the perimeter of its swarming swirl, pointing at Rho-Hux. "There was another accompanying them. Your answers suggest an absence. Informant was unsupervised. Investigations shall ensue. You may meet again."

From the ground before the ixaxxar node, a spool-table emerged with a flurry of arachnoid shapes skittering from its wake. Orange-white lights flared on a perfectly spaced quartered arrangement as a holographic display of information manifested before them. Holographic text invited them to investigate and interact with floating, ghostly images as a projected interactable screen. A series of information dossiers symbolized by oxagonal cubes, each one containing a flurry of digital information in terms of documents, images, video recordings, spectrum-scans and other specifics poured from any analyzed.

"Multitude of Envenomed squads are in preparation. Performance on Zanovia has granted certain privileges, based on perceived strategic performance. The selection of missions are of immense longer-term significance. Determine your preference."

King had paid very little attention to the Invictoid Authority's wheeling and plaintive refrain regarding the stabilization of Zanovia, instead having fallen-in with the rest of the Envenomed and taken the time to give what remained present of the group a good look. The interstellar political jockeying and the attendant excuses and justifications that came with it were scarcely different for the Intransigence than it was for the UCL, it seemed. The only meaningful difference as far as King could discern, was one of scale. The Intransigence was the equivalent of a screaming and flailing infant flinging its own waste against the walls to see what would stick (an observation King had made aloud in the past and was likely to make aloud again in the future - if not right that moment), and all the frontier skirmishing and power consolidation was doubtlessly the result of a need for internal stabilization as anything else. The General butting heads with the Invictoid more or less confirmed that - the Intransigence was suffering from growing pains.

The concern being broadcasted by the other members of the little band King had been foisted upon was a mite annoying however. King found it somewhat bizarre that any of the others should so openly care, or pretend to care. On one hand, it was nice to know some of them might have the requisite critical thinking skills needed to not throw a celebration in order to eat whatever line of bullshit their erstwhile masters might feed them - but on the other, did it even really matter?

They were all just cogs in a vast interstellar machine. They just had to do the work, and look out for their own interests in the time being. The nuanced intricacies of all the petty betrayal and optics was not something they had a hand in. The illusion of meaningful significance being force-fed to them was getting a bit too on the nose though - time to readjust everybody's expectations.

"So if I am assessing these briefings correctly, the 'perceived strategic performance' of this little band of yours has granted them the privilege of being the sacrificial bullet catchers? You do realize my skills do not entail retrieval and exfiltration of corpses, right?" King's overall tone was one of openly contemptuous mockery. As he spoke, he casually folded his hands back over his head as he leaned back against nothing in particular in the air, his projected body seeming to take on a paradoxical angle of balance.

"I suppose you offering to send me to another space station is your subtle way of letting us all know that you intend to fire us at the problem and forget it until either it or us are gone? At least give us the details on the actual teams you are sending to do the real work while we dance a distracting hanged-man's jig for the enemy. It wouldn't do for our dicking around to inadvertently inconvenience them somehow."

From the perspective of the others, the only thing that might have stood out more than King's brazen flippancy and disrespect for the Invictoid and them was the rapidity of the conclusions he had drawn. The Invictoid had scarcely drawn up the dossiers for them to review, and yet King was already speaking as though he was familiar with their contents. Perhaps he had been briefed in advance? Or perhaps he really was truly some kind of artificial intelligence, although no designed intelligence was so likely to be as openly disrespectful as King dared to be.

"We will be investigating the Sargasso as determined by internal analylsis and vote. As such, we will require specific preparations. Vacuum operations and ethereal irradiation countermeasures kit are mandatory particularly for non-void hardened squad members, of which we are receiving another addition.

The chorus of echoes emerging from the skeletal machine's voice drew the attention of the glowing eye of rot, the solid light within the ixaxxar shifting from a pinkish red to an almost egg yolk orange and yellow. As if funneled through a beaker the living light, akin to some sort of sludgy lava, its brightened core tapered itself forward into a pointed needle shape directly at the head of the Evenomed squad's leader. The robotic motions of the machine-human ceased as a digitized whirring drilled itself out of its head from the absorption of raw and tumultuous data.

Information would manifest a short half-minute later. The data-spool table lit up, the dimmed holographics blurring into a static cloud with the transmutation of digitized information into a three-dimensional perceptible shape. The dimness of the room increased, blacknesss contrasted by the growing shape transforming from amorphous digital light into something more... definite, albeit in a looser sense.

Space stations had been a common feature of most large organizations and arguably reflected in the natural world just as easily. Starfaring artificial debris, biological debris, ethereal or even abyssic waste ejected into realspace; even without sapient travel through the stars one would always find eventually enormous clumps of amalgamated matter sometimes not entirely bound to material reality. The designs of the various great powers of course had a far more aesthetically appealing design; the sharp and bladed appearance of Intransigence troop bases with their innumerable extendable multi-jointed arms, the smooth angling and gentle curvature of League economic hubs bustling with a constant outflow of vessels, one probably did not need to be reminded of black cities either.

What manifested before them was likely something Yrrkradian in origin. Rectangular like shapes emerging from a maddening body of overlapping geometric shapes; a gigantic series of motherboards layered into one another, connected via either large cubical shapes or jutting and occasionally angled passages that extended into slanted, blade-like towers. It was a harsh and some might say brutalist way of design yet it had a certain prideful, domineering arrogance to it. Industrial by nature but the way those metallic spires rose made them appear lord-like and prideful.

That is how most would have described this traditional, older form of Dominion design if it had not been so aggressively overrun. The densely packed consistency that defined it had long been tarnished by a nightmarish away of wreckage found both within realspace and the ethereal murk beyond. What had not been warped and transformed by the stresses of outer and void-space travel had found itself buried in a maddening slop of assorted elements. Withered husks of massive ships lay half crushed and melded into its bulk, frozen in place as if they were great sea creatures breaking through the water's surface. A mossy-layer of accumulated, discoloured debris and hardened bio-ethereal gunk crept over crashed ship and corroded exterior alike, ready to blow away and scatter if some large debris slammed into the bulk and sent them scattering in a foul flourish.

That was fairly minor compared to the two most unusual aspects of it. It was not buried merely under vessels and miscellanea. Gigantic patches of spore-like mass not of plant-like consistency but mushing bulk of rotted, moldering flesh had spread from ethereal infection across its body. Tendril-like "branches" trailed out of them, frozen in the holographic image but in the mind's eye begging to sway in dance in the stillness of space. Competing for roomm were enormous, mis-matched sections of bulk not cannibalized from other stations but forcefully jammed into its body. One could see the enormous cratering wounds or massive cuts in the body where their bulkhad crushed their way through, massive sections breaking off and jamming like darts into the infested mass.

The Sargasso, much like the old Earth saltwater plant it was named for, was the spitting definition of an utter mess.

The Invictoid's head swivelled off to face the team before it strode over to the holograph. Without need for motion or physical interaction, the holographic display spun and an array of additional data spread itself out. Data tags and figures silhouetted in contrasting primary colours against the cold blue of space either dotted the massive derelict or hung around its perimeters. Notable among them were afer-image ping-marks - presumed pirate vessels, suspiciously orbiting UFO's, and shoals of organisms, shimmering and indistinct as their twisting travel paths were marked.

Large, purple blobs on the holograph indicating some sort of large ethereal disturbances flickered and faded as timescales were reversed and forwarded. Some blinked in and out of existence, others grew more defininte and thicker in consistency. Whatever they were, the creatures appeared to avoid getting too close to them.

"There will be a second squad of the Envenomed that like yours, will have attached long range fire support and infil-exfil craft. The team is being briefed as we speak and will be operating in the same area; they will be moving to investigate a Yrrkradian control centre embedded deep within the structure, presumably connected to one of the spires. As such, they may be able to provide a degree of additional support with whatever systems they can seize control of. I would recommend that you familiarize yourself with them before the mission."

The diagram shrunk a bit as the pseudo-automaton's form became visible again, no longer obscured by the shaped light.

"I presume more than a few of you have questions."

Salvator looked over the data-spool intently, committing as much of the mission data to memory as he could. Based on what the intel stated...this was going to be a close-quarters nightmare. Investigating a half-trashed space wreck? One of this size? It'd be nothing but endless corners and tight cover all the way inside. The purple ethereal disturbances on the holograph very much weren't helping his tactical analysis of the situation. As if the tight quarters weren't bad enough, especially considering the bulk of some of their best operators, there was ethereal interference to deal with as well?

God in the Void, this was going to be a shitfest. Salvator let his face fall into a frown beneath his sealed mask, very much not looking forward to this mission at all. Nonetheless, he had his duty. They all had their duty, unwilling and reticient as some among the squad might be. And wasn't that something that they just didn't have the time to sort out? Just another day in the life.

"Do we have any preliminary readings of the ethereal disturbances past the fact that they exist? Doesn't bode well that the station's natives are avoiding them." Salvator inquired after the floor was opened, nodding his head towards the holograph readout. "Furthermore, what's our criteria for objective completion? Are we to retrieve the research vessels' data, or just confirm their existence?"

Any concerns Echo may have had with the new members to the squad remained unvoiced. The unztaldige didn't particularly cared who or whom joined their collective, or whatever attitude deficiencies they may have possessed- apparently it was extremely common among the various biped races to have differences in demeanor and attitude. It was dubious how any species, let alone system spanning governments could function properly under the weight of such differences, but somehow they'd managed to make it work on scale where the unztaldige had not, so perhaps there was some knowledge to be gleaned.

The upcoming mission was not exactly one that played to the strengths of Echo, to say the least. The platform preferred wide open terrain where mobility and the heavy firepower and range advantages of its vast array of armaments could be brought to bare, much like their prior mission, but it appears the needs of the Intransigence required them to be here. Even as the briefing was explained to them, Echo's endoform was meticulously recording the briefing and holographs into purge-ready memory banks. Said memory banks were quickly taken off network and quarantined to prevent loss from hacks during the mission. The only way to access the memory card was now through physical means, with a single button push to force the card to self-destruct. Dispensing the card into a physical hand-reader, the Endoform quietly passed it off to Salvator for later viewing, should the information become necessary mid-mission.

With the close quarters nature of this mission, it appeared the Warform would be relegated to a support role- which suited it properly as it was still damaged from the previous mission. A remote command was triggered and from the bay where the Warform was left, a half dozen of Echo's microforms deployed and began making their way to join the squad. They were small enough to be worn or carried, and could act as forward scouts- and in a pinch, meatshields from oncoming threats. They also provided Echo with more 'eyes' with which to watch the untold amounts of angles and hideaways threats on this vessel may be found.

"Request. Threat assessment of non-ethereals. Elaboration. Estimated numbers and perceived strength of orbiting pirates and possible organisms within." The platform's robotic vocoders echoed within the confines of the briefing chambers, "Inquiry. Updates to established Rules-Of-Engagement. Elaboration. Unknowns to be considered hostile or decided on case basis?"

A portion of Ilshar’s eyes scanned the projection as it materialised, even as several more turned inward within his helmet, latching onto the informational text that scrolled through its internal display. His attention rotated between the two clusters like a cyclical mechanism, alternating the examination of the Envenomed’s next target in its grotesque visual glory and the condensed details of its nature and the accompanying mission. A retrieval operation in a hazard zone of that kind was something new. It felt as though since the beginning of the war he had been thrown into one firefight or incursion after another. A matter that touched on the Chasm so closely stirred older memories that had lain untouched for years; of meditations in dark and slimy chambers, psychoactive serums roaming and diluting around his spongy capillaries, and initiatic rites where the hierophants of the Spiral had first guided the probing tendrils of his mind through the putrid and concentric knowledge of his god. He caught himself as some of his eyes had begun to dissolve so as not to disturb these venerable thoughts with new sights.

Sargasso, of course, was not an emanation of the Nexus, or at least not entirely. All things were connected to the abyss of teeth, and doubtlessly some of its spores lay embedded somewhere within that cancerous aggregate. Even as its physical nature had been distorted by discordant layers of debris, however, so did the monstrous Chasmic growths enveloping its surface appear mismatched and disparate. The ether was its own world, multifarious and unsoundable. Rasch seemed understandably concerned with the risk of its presence, but it occurred to Ilshar that the manifestations were only one facet of the peril. Just as insidious was the way in which they had so boldly laid claim to the installation.

“The station’s hold on the material world, that is on realspace, is unstable,” he looked up to address the Invictoid, “Do we know if there’s any regularity to its submersion into the Chasm? What are the odds of a major distortion wave striking during the operation? It would help to know how much we can rely on our footing, and how much we are at the mercy of the tides.”

Even if a surge of reality disruption would be unlikely to catch them unawares, Sargasso did not promise a firm surface underfoot in itself. Ilshar’s hand felt for a small cylindrical container fixed to his belt. There had been other techniques he had learned during his training, deep and tortuous paths that led out of the material and yet into places other than the Chasm. If the ether was to be his greatest foe now, he would likely have to walk them again.

Rho-Hux

Rho-Hux knew little of this King, but he was dreading working with the fancy hologram. Where did it get off on thinking it was appropriate to talk to its superiors in such a way? "Sacrificial bullet catchers?" welcome to military service! Rho-Hux was a warrior, and no death was better for a warrior than laying down your life for a better future. Foundations were built and maintained by corpses. Even a veteran like Rho-Hux, who had seen better and lesser commanders die before him, knew he wasn't entitled to special privileges. He would die a thousand times if it meant the Empire would grow.

This is the empire, right? Right.

Rho-Hux would have preferred to have worked on the field, fighting a clear enemy or securing an area, but Rho-Hux would not question the final outcome. Someone had to look into this scrap station, and Rho-Hux was capable of performing recon missions. Rho-Hus listened to the briefing until the last part. His confusion only grew when he read the data. "Yrrkradian in origin" "investigate a Yrrkradian control center embedded deep within the structure." Why would a Yrrkradian group refer to their own as outsiders? Shouldn't we know for sure if this was one of ours?

It's a cover story. Rho-Hux told himself. Some of these agents are likely mercenaries. The Yttkradian likely has some secrets here they don't want everyone on this mission to know.

The rest of the team was more professional. Rho-Hux nodded as they asked their questions before he began thinking of the last mission he had in a space station. The Longimanus-CA-35. It was a massive supply ship that carried ground equipment and resources to the UCL during the Veiled War. Rho-Hux was part of a team that was sent to board and capture the ship. His rings still rang as he remembered someone firing a projectile weapon in the close hallways, the blast echoing and rupturing eardrums, and the bullet ricocheted off walls and skulls. Of course, that was as bad as when an explosion tore a hole in the hull, which sent the enemy, Rho-Hux, and his team into space. Those who took in a deep breath were the first to die as their lungs and blood vessels popped from the inside due to being exposed to negative pressure so rapidly. Rho-Hux let out a deep breath without even thinking about it as he kept thinking about that day.

Are there any weapons we should avoid using? Space structures tend to have numerous live support systems, and we should do our best to avoid any that are still operational. Also, has any structural damage been observed on the Sargasso so far?

Upon Salvator's question the skeletal entity's eyes seemed to rearrange; the sockets themselves splintering and shifting like shield-backed insects. Its "eyes" splintered, rearranging themselves into clusters of lightly luminscent tips pointing beams of light at various wound-like sores across the holomap. The anomalies froze as linear branches of purple light emerged and blossomed into rapid-access data arrays, capable of being instantaneously downloaded to appropriate systems.

"Two distinct forms. The first is interspace burrowing between the chasm and the material plane by various void-organisms and the second is internal malfunctions, electro-ethereal."

The lengthy tendrils and withered towers were lit up with irregular highlighting in a bright orange in semi-rectangular frames. Areas of space were highlighted in a bless blinding, slightly yellow tint. Shapes of creatures lengthy and trailing fin-like protrusions like hair moved in repeating animations, blipping in and out of the purple sores.

"We believe there to be central data storage centers on these vessels. We will provice extraction devices with anti-viral and anti-ECM capabilities. If it proves excessive, you willl mark coordinates for extraction and later access. In the worst case scenario, you may be asked to destroy the vessels."

The sphere of sapient rot turned its pointing needle-eye towards the gestalt being as its outer core of swarming flies and skittering fragments blurred with every word.

"Estimated 14 vessels, retrofitted corvettes, pre-Reckoning with variety of void-shielding and counterscanning technology. Potentially Conglomerate; outer fleets working as the eye of Nexial Core leader-units."

The air filled with the sound of something like rain but there was metallic micro-clatter where there should be soothing water. The rigid tubular eyes of the invictoid spread as their entire cranial portion dedicate to sight morphed into an array of differing lenths and pointed protrusions.

"Presumed strength over a battallion size on vessels but roughly four platoons-worth have been recorded over the last week entering. Intercepted coms suggest 50% of squads have been lost. Automated defences are confirmed to be active within along with unknown entities; simply deemed 'anomalous' on remotely accessed reports."

Grainy video-capture images manifested before the squadron. Humanoid shapes trapped in a digital blur as definition tightened and specificity of details emerged.



"Regional militia in origin, adapted for ground and exospace combat. Soldiers turned scavengers and convoy hunters - pirates to some, hired guns to others. Experience and equipment likely varies but they are presumably lead by elite veteran infantry amongst petty criminals and irregulars."

Another set of screens manifested. Two dimensional morphed into three. Grotesque shapes, malformed as children's clay, faded into being.



"The Sargasso is infested. Preliminary scans detect primarily pseudo-stationary, simpler ethereorganisms primarily, most of which are not overtly hostile. Predatory creatures are suspected based on report, presumably agitated due to presence of armed forces. Pirate infantry have not penetrated the station's depths and we suspect territorial vehicular-sized organisms may be preventing some of them."

The Invictoid paused before turning his head to scan every member of the crew as their eyes reassembled, metal and augmented bone rearranging as they returned to their skinless, iron self. As if it had been but an optical illusion.

"At your discretion. Dead zone area. Things go missing in the station. None admit. None deny. Nothing is ever actually there." Its head swivelled to face Kleo. "Your cranial matter is mostly intact. Perhaps employing it to consider the outcomes would be useful for plotting ideal courses of action. Hostages can be useful alive moreso than dead... but perhaps consider that your expertise in ethereal matters will be vital for dealing with supernatural threats. It may be time to take point."

The skull-head swiveled over to Ilshar now.

"Observation over a month-long period by hyper sensory organism schools attached to chasm-skimmer fleets suggests a period of relative stability. Realspace has been distorted around its field of ether-radiation but compared to fluctuations of prior years, this is unusually immobile. There is the potential that gestalt ether-massses akin to coral colonies have managed to engage some sort of gravitational stabilization protocol."

It paused as it turned over to the other voidhanger in the room.

"We will be investigating the Sargasso as determined by internal analylsis and vote. As such, we will require specific preparations. Vacuum operations and ethereal irradiation countermeasures kit are mandatory particularly for non-void hardened squad members, of which we are receiving another addition. To add to that, the second team is meant to assist you with such.

A tendril of light, no a segmented limb that was sanding itself down into shape and form in real time, emerged from the ixaxxar's body and it nearly swung. It hooked end pointed at the towers that a 3D model of a manta-leaf beetle shaped dropship neared. The cutting edge slid down, drawing lines and illuminating various portions of the tower-structures and surrounding areas.

"We have plotted a pathway with HUD trackers and directional markers."

The Invictoid pointed with a spindly index finger to a line that ran perpindicular to the blade-towers their associated squad was set to deal with. It was not a perfect line, curving and twisting, dipping and rising. It did however lead to something around the centre of the dustball mess of a station. The glowing spherical tip at the end of the navigation line splintered off into an array of differing locations, radiating off it pulsing red shape.

"The second team has the task of clarifying information. The towers are capable of receiving and transmitting; how they stayed intact is anyone's guess. They will be 'filling' out details and modifying your presumed travel path as they secure the towers and make use of its scanning systems. A number of neurolink drones, ethereally reinforced tranmission channels, and electronic warfare measures will be used on their en."

The rot-orb retracted its orb but all could feel its various eyes sweeping over them as if it was merely viewing toys and the accessories they were to carry.

"Platform 2884 will not be bringing Warform onto Sargasso for this reason, Yrrkradian Agent Rho-Hux. Exercise additional caution within outer regions of vessel. Denser materials comprise internal surfaces but be wary of realspace breaches containing Chasm-gaps. Potential atmospheric and realspace-ether pressure differentials may prove explosive if containment is sufficiently damaged. Certain areas are noted to be hard vacuum and deprived of life support; a minor issue with the exospace modifications you will all be receiving for your equipment."

The 3D model enlargened as the digital perspective zoomed in on their travel path. Areas were highlighted in a flashing pinkish-red like uncooked market meat. Along their path there were roughly four different areas heavily scourged by debris impact or bioethereal growth. Yet green lines were traced over them - suggesting they could potentially travel not through but across the station's surface as well due to these damaged regions.

"If there are additional questions, recommended to be voiced. Second team awaits in armory. Familiarize yourself moderately."

Space is the time continuum that keeps a motor-mouthed alien killing merc alive. She wasn't spaced, but she was in space - aboard a ship full of bugs, squids, and robots controlled by aliens who also hated her. She hated them too, but she didn't hate them as hard. It's hard to understand if you aren't she, just an outsider looking in. A pale face worked being sprayed down with non-pottable water by 8-foot-tall bugs that don't speak English but can still talk shit like that asshole kid you grew up with but didn't punch because you were a bitch. The wet black black-haired, cavalier human made her way to the briefing - so fashionably late maybe she could make steam blow out of the ears of her haters?

"MIRRORS - PORTALS TO THE ETHERSIDE" Kleo walked in an occultic book in hand as she received an immediate browbeating from the putrid robot that harassed her for moments when she was under the gun - her last mission folley. "How am I gonna take a dewd hostage in space, hoppin' from space stations 'n frying bodies cracking brains huh?" She looked up from her mysterious ether-knowledge studying as the robot hogged the voice time, not letting her get a word in but it didn't matter she didn't care. The all-seeing, third-eyed, cult-slaying, ghostly-paled warrior of the pack would have to pick up the slack. Suspenders in red held her pants up high around her waist, her boots spit-shined to repel spirits with holy water and ethereal black boot polish.

Her gear packed away, blood removed, enchanted, blessed, cursed and now equipped with a weapon mod that blows heads into 100,000 little chunks. "Gonna need space protecting suits, the good kind. The one you save for aliens but fit humans just the same, think you can do that or you jackasses going to dee-criminate me some more?" She said with a curious, alien-rebelling eyebrow raised to the talking head - she wanted her revenge, or justice it didn't matter to her anymore. She wanted to leave with answers but most likely, she'd leave with pain.

All of the questions only raised further concerns in Salvator's mind, but he knew better than to voice those at this point. After all, it wasn't as if the commander unit was going to actually listen to a grunt. That data was probably worth more than their entire squad, he'd admit. Still didn't make the situation any more palatable.

At least they were being properly outfitted, and-

A loud interruption. And the kid was alive. And talking. Christ in Void, he was too old and too underpaid for this shit. At least it didn't seem like there would be any negotiations for her to fuck up this time. Really, Kleo and diplomacy should be kept as far away from each other as possible. Fine. He'd try and sort this out as best he could before they deployed. Was the least he could do, for the sake of the squad.

"None further from me." Salvator replied to the commander unit. At some point as the briefing ended, he would turn to Kleo, tilting his head in the direction of a corner of the room.

"Kid. Kleo. A word?" He spoke quietly. "I don't have your file, but I can make some educated guesses. You get press-ganged into this? My condolences." Salvator said sincerely before his voice hardened. "I get it. You'd rather not be here, and you don't trust all the shitty, spooky aliens, myself included. Doesn't change facts, though. Like it or not, you're stuck here for the moment. Now, bitch out the commander unit all you want, I don't care. Hell, I probably agree with you most of the time. But if you piss off our support, who're probably all or mostly non-humans, given our track record, the same way you did with the rebels on the last drop? You're pissing off people we're entrusting our lives to. So if only to cover your own ass, just don't be a prick to them this time, would you? Not saying to hold hands and make nice, just don't piss them off. Appreciated."

@DeadDrop

Something within the Echo platform hissed with what could vaguely be analogous to displeasure, the idea of leaving any part of the colony behind for an extended period of time was not ideal, but the situation deemed it so. Either way, the warform was left with the slightest of skeleton crews, more or less rendering it a semi-autonomous weapons platform to be used by the Intransigence. That way, the vast majority of the smart coral could remain embedded within the main unit, with just enough smart and dumb coral inside of the Warform to keep it as 'Echo'. If the main unit was lost, Echo would remain- albeit at a vastly, almost cripplingly reduced efficacy, and if the Warform was to be lost, the Main unit would retain the vast majority of its intelligence.

As always, any audio and visual data regarding their mission and possible foes were quickly stored to purge-ready infobanks, ready for Echo to access should the need arise. It had little need for a visit to the armory, save for restocking on ammunition for its various weapons, perhaps for the rest of its squad as well. A remote command was sent to the armory master, to prepare vrexul sized, and dog sized carry packs, filled with the necessities: Ammo, grenades, sustenance, tools, and the like. Lacking the ability to grow 'tired' from carrying weight, the Endo and Microforms could huck the team's supplies as needed.

Echo's musings were disrupted by what was a small argument happening in the corner. Not that it was trying to eavesdrop, but when one had eyes and ears commanded to follow and support its squad members, it was hard not to. The Microforms at Salvator and Kleo's heels picked up both sides of the conversation, and one of them opened its maw to chime in, even as the Endoform itself began to stomp towards the armory.

"Analysis. Aggression response suggests Operative Alves may still be concussed from prior injuries." Echo reported, perhaps unhelpfully. "Alternative. Operative Alves may be suffering from Earth based-disease: Napoleon Complex."

The Microforms stood still for a moment, as Echo's collective ran through possible ways to mitigate conflict between and within the Envenomed teams. "Suggestion. Limit interactions with others. Elaboration. Control of communication networks allows this platform to remotely turn off communication as necessary." Seemingly the only one satisfied with its response, the Microforms pointed themselves towards the armory, but didn't leave without their respective squad members. "Conclusion. Conflict resolved. Proceed to staging area."

He let his eyes roll into the back of his head behind his mask. Like talking to a brick fucking wall. Except with utterly insane rambling in response.

"Didn't 'spank' you back then because I was backing you. Not throwing you to the wolves while we're out in the field, so a bit of courtesy would be appreciated in return-" Salvator cut his head sharply in the speaking microform's direction, already feeling the beginnings of a headache.

"Echo, not helping. Stow it. He grunted irritably before washing his hands of the conversation. "Either way, I've said my piece. Think on it, or don't." Salvator gave Alice a brief nod before starting to stalk off.

"Going to go open comms with the other squad, get a handle on them. All of you regroup when you're ready, hit the armory if you need to."

As he walked away, the veteran voidwalker opened his personal AR display on his HUD, shooting Echo a quick private message.

if we have comms open mute Kleo if you have to, DO NOT announce that you're going to or let anyone else know

@DeadDrop @vietmyke

Rho-Hux

"Understood, Commander. Permission for one last question?" Rho-Hux said while giving the Yrrkradian salute. "As I am a late addition to the unit, I find it necessary to ask, who is in command of this unit?"

The question made sense in Rho-Hux's mind. He didn't know Salvator Rasch's story, but he had an air of command and experience to him that Rho-Hux respected. Many would-be schoolyard bullies felt that wearing a uniform, having a loud voice, working a cozy position from their family, and carrying a flashy suit and gun would be enough to command warriors. But Salvator had seen war. Rho-Hux didn't have to talk with him to know that. The way he spoke to the group disciplined Echo in a firm but efficient manner; it reminded Rho-Hux of his drill master, rest his soul.

Then there was Alice Bellerose. True, compassion could be a weakness, but to many, it was an often-overlooked strength. The team is only as strong as its weakest member, and in order to avoid compromising the mission, the weak link either had to be removed or strengthened. The way they watched over Kleo's concerns was admirable.

The thing that kept weighing on Rho-Hux's mind was that he didn't recognize anyone there. Granted, most of the war heroes he knew were retired, dead, or working high-profile jobs, so they couldn't join a secret military operation without drawing attention. Still, for such an important task, he expected to see or hear at least someone from his time. Some Yrrkradian nobles or admirals had to tell these people about Rho-Hux so they could recruit him. They couldn't just forget him and all his work...could they? NO! NOT AFTER EVERYTHING HE GAVE TO THE YRRKRADIAN CAUSE! He wanted to ask what the conditions were for becoming part of this organization, but that was well above his station.