Cath

The Cradle

Athena sprinted off the mark, well aware that taking out key targets now would allow them more time to take ground. There were a few piles of rubble that were higher than everything else, but they weren’t immediately accessible. Instead, she ran to an upturned flier and rested her railgun on its undercarriage.

Looking down the sights, she saw flickers of people moving in between the obstacles at the far end. She focused as laser fire began crackling around them. Even though the sim had changed all their armour colours, she still caught a glimpse of Carthage’s distinctive profile running across the road. She was covered by other running bodies, and there was only a split second window in between cover, but Athena didn’t waste that chance.

She took the shot, and a loud *crack* filled the arena. Athena was accustomed to seeing bodies explode into lumps of flesh at this point, but instead two of the opposite team floated into the air, their shield bright red to indicate they were dead. They drifted back toward the Red Team’s spawn area. Carthage wasn’t one of them.

“I missed her, Carthage is in the building. Changing position.” Athena reported, just as a grenade exploded near their position. She dived to the floor as a curtain of dust rained down on them. “Move!!” Knossos called, jogging through the dust cloud between Vreta and Athena with the bulk of the troops behind him. “Follow me, stay low!”

The Cradle

Knossos nodded and stepped back as the final couple of seconds ticked away. “Yes, team leader.” He turned to the rest of the soldiers clustered around them. “You heard the man! Get tactical, we’re taking the centre. I want to hear comms all the time, especially from inside those apartments.” Knossos and Athena went to the edge of the forcefield keeping them in the spawn area and got ready to run.

Kjartan laughed maniacally, bashing his shield again. “No retreat! No surrender!” The drop troops who had elected to support the berserker were assembled in tight formation behind him, and for good reason.

The clock reached zero, and a loud klaxon sounded. The forcefield vanished, and their shields flared up to show they were active. “Let’s go!” Knossos shouted, and they all surged forward as one.

Sum up your week in roleplaying in just 3 words

Planning the simulation

The Cradle

Athena nodded and hefted her rail gun. With an effective range of ten miles, she’d have no problem projecting power along this hundred metre stretch of road. She was essentially holding a miniature version of the main gun on some classes of warship.

Knossos stepped toward Vreta. He felt the Rothian was slightly out of his depth, but made sure not to come across as pushy. After all, this was just a PR exercise for the Sacred Band, and Thebes had given the leadership role to Vreta as a mark of respect. “We should prepare for the possibility that they’ll hold us in the open-air lane to push hard through the apartments. Thebes will be playing to his strengths, just as we are.”

Knossos spoke quickly, with one eye on the clock as it ticked past fifteen seconds. “I could go with Kjartan, or you could commit more troops there. Eight people may not be enough. Alternatively, we can stick to the plan and I will try to lock down the front entrance to the building. What do you think?” The veteran soldier wasn’t clear if the Rothian had received formal military training before, but something told him the alien was a quick processor of information, which was crucial for leadership.

“Decide quickly, Lizard Man! We won’t wait.” Kjartan hollered from the edge of the zone. He held out his left arm, and armour plates slithered away from well-protected parts of his body to form a hefty rectangular shield attached to it. Kjartan slammed his hammer against the outside of his new shield, creating an intimidating rattle.

The Cradle

“Ah, I LIKE IT!” Kjartan pointed a massive digit at Vreta. “Get the nuclear warheads and STRAP ONE TO MY HEAD! I’ll headbutt Carthage to atoms!” Foam sprayed everywhere as the berserker shouted and paced about, waving his hammer. His eyes had become bloodshot over the course of a few minutes.

“As much as I'd love to do that, I don't think we have sufficient ordinance.” Knossos cut in. “Taking inventory, we only have anti-infantry grenades. We might be able to collapse a few areas, but there’s no guarantee it’ll all come down. “It’s settled then! We go with my plan.” Kjartan boomed, turning to survey the area as the map finished generating and the countdown to begin the round appeared. Thirty seconds to go.

They were in the loading area of a tall apartment building. The fire escape doors had been blocked with metal clamps and were scorched with burn marks. In front of them was the war torn remains of a two-laned avenue and another apartment block across the street, with another loading area. Crashed fliers, military blockades and fallen masonry presented a maze of barriers through the middle of the arena.

The Cradle

“Good plan, Lizard Man!” Kjartan boomed, whacking Vreta on the back. “It’s best plan yet, but I have better idea. I take ten CQB into tower block here, rush first floor. When we see the enemy, WE RIP THEM APART, HUH?” Kjartan used his hammer to mime slitting his own throat, staring around at the assembled troops with wild eyes and spittle bubbling at the corners of his mouth.

“You stupid oaf! Carthage will be in there; she’ll tear you apart if you run in, just like she did aboard the Songnam, remember?” Knossos sighed. “SHE CHEATED!” Kjartan roared, surging through Vreta’s projection to confront the rifleman. Athena loaded her railgun at waist-level, stepped in front of Knossos and jabbed the barrel against the norseman’s breastplate, keeping him on the end of her gun. “Keep calm, you fleck of human waste.” She snarled.

Just then the shield emitters on the ceiling of the sim room activated. Soft bubbles appeared around everyone, and turned everyone’s armour the colour of their team. The bubbles tightened and eventually disappeared, giving everyone the same level of in-game protection. The sim environment began building up around them. “Unless you’re happy with just two lives? Please say yes.”

Kjartan slapped the barrel of the gun away from him, stepping back. “We’ll run CQB with you, Specialist.” A drop troop squad leader offered, perhaps impatient to get things back on track. Kjartan looked at the man, standing in front of a team of six drop troopers. They were part of a specialised fighting force that was trained to insert into combat zones from space and also for ship-to-ship boarding. They were plausibly the best of the regular troops on the Blue Team Kjartan beamed. “Good! You choose glory too! Anyone else?”

The Cradle

“You don’t have to do that-” Thebes advised, too late. “Lizard man! Well met.” Kjartan boomed. He was in front of Vreta in a flash, grabbing his hand to give it a vigorous shake. “Kjartan - valued member of Sacred Band.” The man flashed a smile full of filed metal teeth down at the Rothian; a tattoo of Mjolnir rippled on his neck when he moved. “Such sharp claws! We’ll be fearsome team.”

“Alright, you two are Blue Team co-leaders.” Thebes smirking under his visor. “Knossos, Athena, you’re with them.” Athena opened her visor and spat on the floor. “Carthage and Saddam, you’ll lead the Red Team with me.” Thebes quickly counted the number of regular warriors that had now assembled around them. Thirty nine. “The rest of you - we need twenty people on the Red Team and nineteen on the Blue Team.”

“Room for one more?” Someone called from the staging area while the marines sorted themselves into two groups. Thebes spotted Agent 595 clacking toward them across the empty space, holding an assault rifle. “Yes ma’am that works perfectly. You’ll be with me on the Red Team.” Thebes confirmed, before beginning to explain the game.

“Ok listen up! Capture the flag - one for each team. Grab your opponent’s flag and return it to your base for a point. Shields will be uniform at 1.1 standard. You have three respawns, use them wisely. Any questions? No? Alright - good luck everyone.”

“LETS GO!” Kjartan bellowed, lofting his hammer and jogging toward the Blue Team’s end.

The Cradle

Thebes regarded Vreta closely, scanning his biometrics. It turned out he’s seen this Rothian hanging around the laboratory before they’d entered a much more deadly simulation than this. “I don’t see any reason why not. These sims can get rough, do you think you can handle it? You’ll need to scan in a weapon over there.”

“Ah! Looks like a fight! I’m in!” someone bellowed throatily from the giant room’s staging area. Thebes looked past Vreta and saw a heavily armoured, very tall man with a bushy yellow beard barging through the crowds of marines. “Hail, Sacred Band!” He waved at them before pushing past a line of soldiers waiting to grab their weapons. The giant placed a five foot hammer with a long handle and a menacing pellet shaped weight into the machine to get his sim-equivalent before coming toward Thebes.

“Kjartan, we have an agreement. Stay clear of us and we’ll stay clear of you.” Knossos growled, stepping in his way. “The agreement stands, old man. I’ve transferred from the Varangian Guard to the Sacred Band as of today. Captain’s orders. I’m one of you now! Seems Memnon bit off more than he could chew-” Saddam appeared behind the giant, and between them, they brutally kicked Kjartan’s feet out and forced him to his knees. He was still nearly face to face with them.

The Norseman spread his palms to either side of his body, still clutching his hammer. He chuckled jovially. “Hey. Relax. We’re on same side now, remember?” Thebes came over and leaned over the man. “Prove it.” Kjartan quickly produced documentation that hovered in the air between them. “Transfer papers. Temporary - until you find new gunner.”

“Thebes, this isn’t a good-” Thebes cut Knossos off with a raised finger, reading the mandate. Finally, he leaned out. “Welcome to the team. You don’t get a cut.” Kjartan laughed heartily. “That’s the spirit! I am on retainer with Captain anyway. Let’s fight!” The Sacred Band let him get to his feet.

The Cradle

The Sacred Band had rested for a few hours before heading to the Barbarossa’s biggest MilSim room. Thebes had them drill room clearing first, before transitioning to area defence and VIP protection. Each member of the team had a slightly different idea of how to absorb Memnon’s role into their own, which often left the team leader resetting the sim like a nitpicking dance teacher.

The Barb’s AI was strictly programmed not to use the full breadth of it’s creativity when controlling enemies in the simulations. So Thebes had invested in an aftermarket chip with especially brutal combat programs to pit the Sacred Band against. Ideally, FleetComm would synthesise the monsters they’d faced within the mysterious object and they could practice against them. But he’d been informed that wouldn’t be possible right now, so he pushed the team to crush Yakuza snatch squads and other merc aug teams instead.

Thebes checked the spectator numbers after an hour or so. Forty five people were watching them perform. After they’d finished that sequence, he disabled the sim. He could see people dotted the observation gantries above and crowded into the control pod. “Would anyone like to join us?” He amplified via loudspeaker while the rest of his team returned to starting positions. Carthage audibly groaned. “We haven’t even figured out how to cover Memnon yet, do we really need to involve the casuals?”

“We’re guests on this ship, and this room is for everyone. Besides, I see some drop troops.” Knossos replied, watching some of the assembled personnel making their way down to the room.

The Cradle

The Speaker left Freyr alone in the conference room with a mildly surprised expression. She sat down in one of the chairs to catch her breath and regain composure. While thinking back through what they’d discussed, she idly nibbled on the nail of her little finger. After a dozen controlled breaths, Freyr got up and exited the room as well.

Agent 595 was waiting down the hall. She called out “There you are! I was wondering if you’d been absorbed into the hive mind.” Freyr didn’t return her jovial grin. “Oh no, someone’s grumpy. Come on, a shuttle to the Barb is waiting. We’ll have a good old debrief and get some rest. You must be exhausted.” Just mentioning the word made Freyr yawn, so she nodded pliantly.

595 patted her back encouragingly and led her quickly toward one of the docking pans, where an empty Human military shuttle purred on the deck, raring to go. Freyr stopped and looked back one last time to see if anyone was overtly watching. There was no one. 595 clanked up the ramp beside her. “Wakey wakey, let's not keep the DG waiting.” Freyr gulped and trudged to her seat.

595 strapped in next to her, the ramp close up and the transport shot back toward orbit.