DruSM157

NCQ — Polaris

If anyone needs anything from me, just @me in the discord and i'll be happy to help!

NCQ — Polaris

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_yYS0ZZdsnA

It's over.

You are all free now.

NCQ — Polaris

ALAN FOUREN

Corridors, New Anchorage
[[ Around 0200 Hours ]]
_{M O O D M U S I C}

Alan’s eyes locked with glowing red eyes as he leapt from cover. He accepted this: he would most likely die. But he could give Jingo and Josh a chance to fight back or escape. It would be his last act as a leader. A good sacrifice for his squadmates. “AAR-”

_{*CHUNK, CHUNK, CHUNK!*}

The sudden flash of light from behind the two soldiers aiming at him came as a godsend; and there on her wings of fury was one Tahlia Styles: a valkyrie of vengeance that came from the heavens to deliver the three men (and robot dog) to safety. For that moment, Alan fell madly in love with her for that split second; a mix of emotions from relief that someone was there saving their collective asses, and the fact that she looked amazing holding a laser rifle killing the men that wanted to kill them.

The first man she gunned down hit the floor hard; if he wasn’t dead he was hurt, but the second soldier seemed willing to return fire at the woman. It was enough to move his gaze towards Tahlia instead of Alan, and that split second was the chance the man had to take; he leapt over several downed bodies, bringing his metal pipe up and against the jaw of the second soldier, bringing the man down onto the ground. Alan didn’t stop there, however.

”DIE. YOU. FUCKING. BASTARD.” He brought the metal pole down on the man’s hand with every punctuated curse. Blood began to erupt from his targets skull, and soon Alan was stained with the splatter, covering his undershirt and pants.

Alan continued to pound until the sound of metal filled the corridor, with the rest of the pilots quiet at his sudden violent actions. In that moment, he wasn’t in the corridor; he was in a raider camp. He was getting revenge. For that moment the only way he could assert that he was alive was to take the life of someone else. The soldier sufficed for now.

“I think they’re dead. Huh.”

Josh’s words snapped Alan back to reality. “F-fuck…” he muttered, before falling to his knees. He felt light headed. “We’re alive.”

Jingo watched Alan as he beat in the assailant’s skull, his lips pursed thinly in reaction to the gorey sight. The man knelt down to pick up a plasma carbine that laid on the floor. He wracked the lever open slightly to check the condition of the energy cell. Looking satisfied with the weapon, Jingo appeared ready to carry on.

“Thanks to the Australian Sensation, yeah.” Josh’s comment seemed like an attempt to lighten the mood after Alan’s…display.

"Keep trying those flirt tactics and I’ll send you out to the front lines," Tahlia rose from out of the alcove, checking the rifle in her hand to see how much ammunition was left; not much apparently. She strided toward the group, keeping her ears open in order to ensure that they were in the clear. Her first point of interest was their Datatools on their wrists as it was an easy way to find out who they were and what their main objective was. She tapped the unit and waited for the display to appear.

As Tahlia went about her business Alan crouched down at his recent kill, rifling through the corpse’s pockets, checking if his armor still had enough integrity to be used, and of course; he armed himself. This wasn’t the first time he’d looted a corpse, and he doubted it would be the last. His greatest belief was of survival at all costs. A corpse wouldn’t miss their belongings, after all. And he’d looted enough corpses without a karmic backlash to keep him from this task. He wrested a clean datatool from the body, and peeled off the outer cover of the synth weave armor. He set the armor aside for now; it wouldn't make them tanks but it would keep them alive in the off chance a stray blast hit them in the torso. He was surgical in his work; producing a credit chit, a spare power cell, nothing that gave credence to who this man was before. Alan preferred that. It allowed him to rationalize his brutality as some aspect of protection, both for himself and for his comrades. It didn’t stop the pounding in his ears, however. When he was finished with his body, Alan stood up and shined his light over to the other corpses, walking to a fresh one and began his process again. Seeing the fresh body under the light, Alan let out a single word: ”Motherfucker.”

He was dressed as a New Anchorage guard— they all were.

"God damn it!" Tahlia cried out in disapointed frustration. She had cycled through the contained details and noticed that much of the key information was simply gone. Mission logs, radio frequencies, even the individual’s personal details. "It looks like the device has gone through a complete wipe."

Joshua sighed as he holstered his handgun before kneeling down to pick up one of the assault rifles lying on the floor, “Well at least they weren’t rigged up outside of a memory wipe protocol. We could be all human paintings right now.”

“Le’s go.” Jingo uttered.

Alan nodded, pocketing items he could carry for now. An extra Datatool and another power cell.”Shouldn't be a difficult walk to the armory now.” He checked the rifle in his arms, happy to have something of use— at least with more range than a pipe. “I hope the others didn’t run into these guys.”

“Well, not these guys.” Joshua kicked one of the bodies to check them for signs of life. “They’re kind of dead.”

‖ ‖ ‖ ‖ ‖

”Holy shit, they’re dead.”Elicott’s reaction to the aftermath of their first battle resonated in Alan’s head. He still could not get used to the comm channel. ”Do you think we could have solved this...peacefully?” Elicott and Alan had deployed together, but this had been Elicott's first real battle. The first few times fighting bleeder worms in the Alabama wastes, Elicott had remained at their flank, protecting the cargo transport. This time he'd been up close to the action. He'd seen death. And now the boy was looking at shredded metal, charred earth and the remains of a corpse that had failed in an attempt to eject his NC.

”With raiders? No.” Dicer’s voice took command over the group at least. The older boy always seemed to exude confidence and wisdom; even if he was only 19 years old. Dicer was a true commander, a man who should have been born in the megacity. There he really could have made a name for himself as a great pilot or commander. Instead, he was born into one of the poorest families at The Mound. His mother was a maid at a brothel, and his father had died of sickness years ago. For Dicer, it was fight for the towns or die destitute. He chose to fight. He was the kind of guy that anyone would be glad to follow into the mouth of hell, without a second thought. He got them into more trouble than it was worth, but it always worked itself out in the end. Hell, Dicer’s stupid ideas had gotten them some of the town’s most lucrative contracts. The four of them together? They could beat anything. Mutant beasts, raiders, storms. They were going to be great.

”I gotta say though, Al. You went hog wild on them, didn’t ya? Tore the bastards to shred in that Wolf of yours. Hell, we need a new name for it. The Wild Wolf! Sound good Al?”

Al?

‖ ‖ ‖ ‖ ‖

"Al!" Alan felt Josh push against his shoulder. ”Come on man, let’s get to the armory before more of these guys show up.”

”Right. Let’s move.”Alan felt lost in that moment. Lost in his own memories, and lost in the darkness of the corridors. In that very moment, as they began to move deeper into the darkness, Alan felt a pang of loneliness and pain that he’d buried years ago. He felt homesick.

NCQ — Polaris

Alan Fouren

Corridors, New Anchorage CC
[[ Around 0200 Hours]]
_{M O O D M U S I C}

The darkness was thick and empty, but the worst feeling of all was the dread it exuded. Silence, no lights, no sound, just the ominous cloak of black in front of the men as they slowly filed out of the barracks and into the hall. The entire thing put Alan at unease; he wasn’t too keen on standing in such an open area, especially with men armed with rifles approaching. He knew they had to move fast.Alan had spent a half-decade on his own and in dangerous situations. But he’d never been in a situation like this. Suddenly the safety of the military compound felt more like a coffin, and the wide walls felt as if they would close in on him. This wasn’t safety. It was a death trap.

Jingo looked up and sent a quick prayer to the lord, hoping that he still took requests and requesting to not die.

“Hard te be stealfy wen yer probably op against guys wit nigh' vision.” He mumbled, “Ski'ers, take pooint.”

“We’re going left here.” Alan said, as the robotic dog moved on ahead, his metal claws clicking against the metal and concrete floor. “Well, we’re not gonna win with silence. Jingo, will Skitters alert us if he sees someone down the hall?”

“He dun’ee need ta, odds are tha gunfire will be alert enuf.” Jingo couldn't help himself; the heavy atmosphere and dark mood was insufferable. JJingo hissed, all he could see was the faint speck of light emanating from his ammunition indicator. “Aye ‘we will, you’ll ‘ear the ski’ering stop.”

“Don’t forget, night vision doesn’t mean they can see for miles. Skitters’ sensors are probably better than a set of goggles or cybernetics. Let’s trust him to give a warning on when to find cover or a new route.” Alan closed his eyes and prayed he was right. He’d been in plenty of foxholes before, but he was alone back then; he wasn’t responsible for the lives of others and he didn’t have to rely on others. However, it was here that he needed Skitters’ eyes, Jingo’s aim, and Joshua’s trust.

Jingo nodded despite not being able to be seen. He knew very well of Skitters abilities. The dog was part of a line of robotic canines used for various combat purposes, and Skitters just so happened to be a prison dog versed in indoor spaces and outdoor chases.

As they moved down the long path, Alan’s heart stopped when the scraping of Skitters’ paws came to a halt. Alan immediately knew what was happening. They were in the shit, and bad. They were only a few feet from the next t-junction. But it seemed their luck had already run out; they were cornered. They could go back to the barracks, or try and push ahead. Either way was probably equally as dangerous now.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

In the distance, the sound of dozens of feet in the distance echoed throughout the hall, filling Alan’s ears like the roar of an engine. They were coming. He motioned in the low light for the others to kneel down, and quickly pulled up his datatool’s map; looking for some other route. There was none.

Jingo released a long, silent sigh and flipped the safety off of his pistol, approaching Alan he placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. “De ye truust me?” Jingo hissed into his ear.

“I mean, we’re all going to die anyway, so why not?”

Alan had gotten used to Joshua’s quips after a month of training alongside him, and had grown to like the other man.Though there was something very much more real and cynical about Josh now, though given the situation and his grogginess it was likely his filter wasn’t exactly present. But there seemed to be something different in the darkness as desperation seemed to engulf them and outside of how Joshua spoke; Alan had caught it for a moment as he noticed Joshua’s stance with his handgun and knife— it was military. So that’s how it was. Alan constantly felt out of place among so many of the pilots; his skills had been largely self-taught. Even though he’d gotten better, enough to purposefully fix his scores during training, but he’d seen how Stein carried herself. How some of the actual soldiers acted. This was like them.

Alan slowly nodded. “Yeah. I trust both of you. What’s the plan?”

“Ligh’ them uup.”

No going back now it seemed. Alan cranked up the strength on his datatool’s light to max and aimed it down the hallway, suddenly erupting the hall into bright white light, enough to get an outline of the five armed figures suddenly stunned by the light show. A perceptive eye would also have been able to see the sprinkler fixture hanging from above the would-be assassins. There it was: this was their chance.

Despite only having one eye, Jingo spotted the metal glint in the combined lights of Skitters and Alan. Taking aim and closing an eye out of habit, Jingo fired, a flash of red light bursting from its muzzle and striking one of the sprinklers.

For a moment Skitters stood still as the assailants writhed in the blinding light, then he pounced. Charging at the closest man, electricity arched between the two electrodes on Skitters muzzle; the taser snapped and sizzled as it pressed into the man’s exposed throat, in the gap between his chin and the collar of his uniform.

The screams of the soldiers were evident as the sound of gunfire and metal echoed in the corridor, as two of the soldiers swung backward— the neon green of their eyes shifting to a crimson red as one of them switched out his weapon.

“SUPPRESSING FIRE!”

A blitz of blue and red flew through the corridors as the two soldiers took aim at the approaching enemies— with three of their own allies in front of them.

“MOVE! FUCKING MOVE, NOW!”

Alan kept his light shining forward, acting as both a target and as a distraction as he serpentined forward, holding his pipe in his free hand. He felt his feet give way with the slick floors, and fell to his ass, sliding forward. It was sheer luck, as red beams of energy tore into the wall he was standing at. Alan felt the heat radiate near his head as he spun in the water, lights flashing from his datatool as he attempted to retain his footing.

Shit, shitshitshitshit-

“Al!”

There was a shout as Alan collided with the side of a metallic bench and considering if he was placed only a few feet to the right it would’ve been straight into the crossing corridors he was lucky and he knew it. His mind raced as he struggled to get to the next step: because right now he was still going to die very, very soon. His eyes caught Joshua’s own who had slung himself in the frame of a locked door; they didn’t have much for cover but both of them were trying to not sprawl themselves in the open. The dark-haired man looked to Alan with an expression that reflected Alan’s own thoughts— we are going to die, aren’t we?

That fearful gaze struck Alan in the stomach. This was it, wasn’t it? He’d led his squad to their death, just like he feared. Deep within his stomach, he felt something burning. A pit of fire. Dicer, split in two. His neck still connected to the charred remains of his NC. Elicott— no corpse to even bury. His geny had exploded, taking him and one of the raiders with him. Janus never even reached his NC. He’d been crushed in the hand of one. These soldiers came into their home and murdered the people they ate beside every afternoon. These bastards were taking everything away. They were going to kill him.

He wouldn’t let them kill his squad.

Alan pushed the bench forward, clenching the metal pole in both hands. He began to scream.

NCQ — Polaris

IT HAS BEGUN! Now the battle for life and death and robots begins!

NCQ — Polaris

Alan Fouren

NC Pilot Barracks, New Anchorage CC
[[ Around 0200 Hours]]
_{M O O D M U S I C}

It’s ugly.

That was the first thought Alan Fouren had when he saw the Wild Wolf being carried in via a rusted loader. The armor was discolored and looked heavier on the right side. He’d later learn that they’d scavenged some of the armor off of old tanks left behind in the prewar. The town had wasted nearly all its funds to get the Wild Wolf running and battle ready; and even then they couldn’t afford to completely outfit it with surplus armor. The fact that it ran at all was miraculous.

Dead Springs was a part of a group of towns in the north border of Neo-Atlanta. Built in a sweet spot between two very hazardous dead zones—to the west and to the north. It also helped that the area had been home to several military installations; allowing for many junkers to leave the safety of the citadel for a chance to carve out a new life.

Dead Springs. Dry River. The Mound. These little junker towns made up a very helpful route between the megacity and the dead zones—which kept the southeast separated from some of the nicer cities in the north. A buffer zone between the danger that came with the radiation and the mutants. Dry River had been the major trading area; The Mound had carved itself a little niche in housing caravan companies between the big cities. Dead Springs was the odd man out, and it suffered. It was too small of a community to provide a helpful service, and many of the residents just eked out a living collecting scrap to sell at the Dry River market.

That’s when Alan had met the testers—in Dry River. He was one of three men tested from the Springs, and the only one that passed. But that was his chance—he could risk it all and provide for his family and his home. Something better than selling old scrap for the rest of their lives, anyways.

His first crew he met up with were boys from Dry River and The Mound. Dicer, Elicott and Janus. He’d known Elicott from Dry River; his parents ran a little bakery in the town and they got on well enough. Dicer was the oldest of the boys at 19, and he’d been running in his NC for close to a year. He was the closest thing to a commander the four had, even if they were untrained, unskilled and basically acting as extra muscle or guards for most caravan trips. Those days were the best in Alan’s mind, helping protect armorer transports with gear from Maneater Salamanders or from Acid Flies. Heavy armaments tore through thick hides and carapace like a hot knife through butter; and it made them all feel powerful. The money they brought home was what made it worthwhile, and Alan wanted to pay his home back for what they’d done for him.

Beasts he could face any day of the week. But other humans…

They were—

‖ ‖ ‖ ‖ ‖

BANG

Alan sat up in his bunk, his face covered in sweat. He assumed that something had broken or fallen in the barracks; it was nicer than some of the bunks he’d slept on in the wastes; by far it was so much better--but he knew that things broke all the time. This was a military operation after all. Gunfire changed that groggy half awake attitude into fear.

It’s an attack.

He’d seen night raids in the past; hell, he’d fought off countless ones when guarding caravans. Raiders were the kind of guys who snuck into camp at late night armed with knives and machetes. Cutting down anyone asleep and foolish enough not to hold a night watch; and then the phosphorous or the flares came and the NC attack hit. Sleeping Man’s Noose. The lights were out. He felt the stale air permeate through the room. The ventilation systems were off. No emergency lights were on either.

This isn’t like a normal raider attack.

He heard the voices from the other side of the barracks. Stein. Ryn. Ray. He counted them as at least alive in this situation, which meant that the barracks room hadn’t been breached yet. It meant that they still had time to arm themselves and get ready for a fight.

“Alright, everyone get the fuck up!” Alan jumped from his top bunk and slammed onto the floor. “If you’ve got a gun or a knife stashed away, fill your hands now. He moved deeper into the darkness, groping around the corner of the room, feeling for something. Where was it? He’d seen the staff in the barracks the day earlier, dismantling one of the beds…

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Nervous glances followed Alan to the corner of the room. He approached the gathering group, groping metal posts in his arm. Alloy bedposts. Not easily bent but lightweight and with enough heft to shatter a skull. Alan was used to weapons like that in the wastes; you didn’t get to prepare or arm yourself out in the shit. No, you had to make do with what you had or what you found out in the junk. He’d split enough skulls with shovels, water pipes and the sort in the past. Bedposts were new, but he figured he could do some damage.

“We won’t win a straight up fight with the heat they’re packing outside,” he said. “Automatic fire, and it sounds high caliber. I’d rather not open that door and become a bloody hunk of swiss.” He placed the extra metal rods on a free mattress, for anyone without a gun to arm themselves. “We pry off the vents. Move where they don’t expect us. Don’t attack unless we know we can win a fight with ‘em. And get to that fuckin’ armory.”

‖ ‖ ‖ ‖ ‖

7 Days Ago // Graham’s Office, New Anchorage CC
[[ Around 1400 Hours]]

He’d been called into the Commander’s office. Why the fuck Graham wanted to see him was completely unknown to him. Maybe it’d been about the tests. Alan wondered if Graham had caught on to his actions during the test; purposefully holding back, missing shots, running slower and doing things wrong to keep his score in the low rung. He kept himself from failing; he knew he could easily get by without. But keeping expectations low was the purpose. He realized how low the stakes Graham had with pilots like Moore and Callaway being seriously considered. An Ace was more likely to get put on the front lines, special missions--missions where you could easily be torn the fuck apart. Those weren’t the missions Alan wanted. He’d seen enough of that.

"You wanted to see me, commander?" Alan noticed that the Commander was busy studying a datapad, barely acknowledging the other man’s entrance in the room.

"Yes. Congratulations, Fouren— I'm assigning you as Beta Squadron Commander."

Alan's heart dropped. "Are...you joking, commander? Why me?" He looked at his listing. "Come on, Sedgwick's military. Why not him?" What the fuck made a waster capable of leading a squad of soldiers. Graham was DV military. Sedgwick was a DV military brat. Hell, even Agatha flew for DV, even if she wasn’t a decorated officer. Any of them should have had the experience to outrank him all day long.

“Sedgwick never took down a whole raider contingent by himself with a compromised sniper as back-up.” Graham's face kept to his monitor screen. “Nor did he plan out an elaborate ambush of five raider settlements in the greater northern Georgia territory in the course of only a month.”

Alan sighed. "I was hoping my test scores and my trial time would make all that look fabricated."

“You have a habit of proving to be a good tactician and leader. Tell me something, Fouren. How is it that you have made a career out of outsmarting and outgunning more equipped enemies when they outnumber you? Why do you think that is?”

"I mean..." Alan looked down. "I just do what I have to in order to survive commander. I'm no military man. I just kick and bite and cheat until I win."

“That’s how people like us survive— corporate, waster, raider… we’re all the same at the end of the day, and those who can’t don’t.” He flicked the holoboard in front of his monitor. “The information on your squad has been sent on over to your datatool. Take a look.”

Alan scanned the list. "Ryn. She's a good sniper. I've worked with her on a few jobs. I trust her." He flicked down. "The soldier boy is a good man. His loadout is useful in a close firefight." And finally, "Commander. Are you kidding?" He looked at Madison's file. "She's already been through the grinder!"

“She’ll need you when she is operational again and she will be.”

"I feel like you want me to work miracles here."

“No. I want you to get the job done and lead by example. I sincerely doubt Stein Kalfox is thrilled with ‘guiding’ Percy Moore, but she’s expected to.”

"Percy and Ordent aren't that cracked, if you pardon my bluntness commander."

“You haven’t even read her dossier yet and are making judgements. Heh. I thought you cared about people, Fouren.”

"I care to an extent. I'm not interested in making friends. You hired me for my work as a pilot, not a social butterfly. I'll keep them in line and keep them alive, but I'm not gonna start throwing them birthday parties."

“Indeed. However, if I wanted you to throw them such occasions you will, but of course you know such things as you signed the digital contract. Unless you wish to lose your insurance and benefits from the position the contract allows.” Graham replied, though the words seemed unnecessary it was times like this he felt he had to assert control. “I’d familiarize yourself with your team now.”

“You’re dismissed.”

Alan left the office more pissed off than he’d been in a while. That fire burnt deep in his stomach. He wasn’t a leader. He’d never led a squad; just picked up the slack when others died. He didn’t have what it took to suddenly lead an entire team when shit hit the fan. He knew he’d freeze up and lose it when things got bad.

‖ ‖ ‖ ‖ ‖

Alan was busy prying the cover off the vent. “Ryn, Stein-” he called to the women. “You two can crawl through here.” It was funny. Here he was, doing everything to try and protect these people. Was it simply his own survival instincts kicking in? Was Graham right?

NCQ — Polaris

EMERGENCY ALERT! EMERGENCY ALERT! RP HAS ARRIVED! ALL RPIOLTS DEPLOY NOW! NOW! NOW!

*klaxons*

NCQ — Polaris

WARNING WARNING WARNING

RP IS APPROACHING

ALL PILOTS TO THEIR STATIONS

NCQ — Polaris

Yay! Old and new faces, blood and iron, danger and doom! All this and more in NCQ Season 2!

NCQ — Polaris

Relationships don't have to be completely filled out straight away. A few players have been filling them out in their free times after being accepted.

@NuttsnBolts

I'm just so hungry for this RP it's all I got left man! IT'S ALL I GOT LEFT