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11 days ago
Current Repping a brand new NRP that might seem familiar to the regulars: That's right folks, Gateways is back! roleplayerguild.com/topics/…
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7 mos ago
As someone who lost a parent before their time... It's never a bad time to give your folks a call and see how they're doing. One day you're going to say goodbye for the last time.
5 likes
8 mos ago
NRPs are also usually advanced level with tons of writing per post. I co-GM'd one that ended up being the length of one and a half LotR books. That not only takes time, but also makes them fragile.
2 likes
10 mos ago
Bought Helldivers 2 because of the online hype, didn't expect that much. Ended up putting 5 hours into it on my first session. For Super-Earth and Managed Democracy! Oorah!
5 likes
1 yr ago
*Inexplicable Weezer - Buddy Holly riff.*
4 likes

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@Tortoise Stellaris? Stellaris!







| A collab with @Tortoise |


Death stalked the protector’s away team. The sandstorm that had whipped up prior to their landing was bad, but not so bad that flesh was stripped from bone. Eta-Theta’s form did not strictly require the billowing cloth that was currently hung around it, but it certainly did add to the effect that the soldier was going for. Through the vision-obscuring cloud they watched, patiently, until at last the time came for them to stalk closer and begin their assault.

There were six protectors, a large one brandishing a club and clearly in command, and five smaller men and a woman around him with rifles. For possibly the first time, they were all wearing suits fit for the environment- helmets that filtered the sand, thick metal that was both insulated and tough. (And all golden, of course.)

Eta-Theta had considered using their new rail rifles, but something about that seemed… insufficient, to them. These protectors had done the Zetan a personal injury, and thus, they deserved a personalised end. The revenant’s eyes had already clocked onto the two primary targets, but they were surrounded by chaff- by fodder, and that fodder needed to be cleared out, so that the juiciest morsels could be savoured.

It was time to field-test some of their body’s new capabilities. The sand gave them wonderful concealment on approach, but the cushioned joints of the warform also greatly aided stealth. They were almost silent as they stalked across the sand, extending a hand and trying out another customised feature. The long, elongated fingers of Eta-Theta’s new body fused themselves together, and then as one, the structure shifted, from hand into a leaf-shaped blade.

Then, all that was left to do was to maximise the initial terror inflicted. Eta-Theta waited, patiently, following the group as they moved, and then, as one of their number was mid-sentence, pounced. Cleanly, they strode across the short gap between them and their target, reached their hand back and then thrust it forward. Armour, ribcage, spine… None of it provided enough protection to prevent Eta-Theta’s hand from ripping through to their heart and shredding it.

“Ling!” the protector beside him shouted, and that was all he had time to do. An instinct kicked in, spurred on by years of holo-indoctrination, and his next shout was only a furious, wordless scream. He jumped at the invader, half in vengeance and half without thought at all, throwing his entire body weight into the tackle.

His mistake was using all his weight. Eta-Theta drew back and loosened themselves, catching his limbs and tumbling backwards. The duo fell into a somersault, but halfway through, as the robot was on top, they pushed themselves up and spread themselves out, landing on their feet whilst dragging the protector through the dirt. Their foot came up, then crashed down hard, a rush of satisfaction running through the Zetan as they felt helmet and bone creak and crunch underneath their foot.

"Stay away from it, dumbasses!" The chief protector called out. "Just shoot!"

Pre-empting the fire that was to come, Eta-Theta dashed back into the dust storm. As they did so, a cavity in their chest peeled open and presented the android with a small yet powerful handgun. Racking the slide, Eta-Theta hurtled back into the fray at near-superhuman speeds. Their pistol coughed three times, almost-silent, and another protector fell, whilst the last of the chaff was dispatched with the same callous shooting.

Eta-Theta ejected the spent magazine with a flick, catching the empty with their other hand, then slotting a new one in. ”Remember me?”

Yun and Jo were the only two left. The former did not answer, caught trembling by the pure fear and shock of watching four men he knew fall like plastic toys. The latter, however, was not the kind to be shaken by death.

"No," Jo said casually, "I don't remember you at all." Even as she spoke, she took aim and sprayed hail at the robot.

”Do you think this form isn’t reinforced against that?” Eta-Theta walked calmly forward, through the hail of lightweight fire. ”You questioned me. You threw me out of an airlock. You thought my promise was a joke.” They stalked closer and closer, watching as Jo reloaded, then reached out to squeeze their gun hard, the weapon’s barrel crumpling between their fingers.

Not used to the heavy weight of her armour, Jo almost slipped backwards in the sand. "Wait," she said, "wai-"

”The human brain can only last three minutes without oxygen before it suffers irreparable damage. They had to pull me back together from scraps.” A lie, but one that suited the Consciousness’ purpose well. ”But I made a promise. I intend to fulfil it.” Those same metallic fingers unfurled themselves and wrapped around Jo’s neck, slowly lifting the protector up. ”Any last words?”

Struggling under the ironclad grip, Jo barely found enough breath to bargain: "Wait, I was the good… one, I… tried to help you… " Her ice blue eyes darted around the sands, looking for help but seeing just corpses and Yun, his rifle trembling unsteadily between the killer and her. She only hesitates for a moment.

"It's- it's him you want!"

”Those are terrible last words.” The Zeta lingered for a long time, feeling the pulsing of blood through Jo’s neck. The air being heaved in along her throat. The frantic, gulping, like a fish stranded without water. ”Humanity… It’s such a fragile thing.” Then, they squeezed, metallic motors bending cartilage until it buckled, Eta-Theta watching Jo’s face intensely.

Yun would have agreed that those were awful last words, but his mind was not fit to agree to things right then. His nightmare was coming true. How had he known? Eta-Theta was back from the dead. It shouldn't be possible, but it is, and Jo is gone- and he's running.

Through the covering sand storm and the limited visibility, his rifle fell from his grip somewhere in the dust, and there was no time to retrieve it. The transport, he can only think, must be somewhere in this storm. He could pilot it by himself- where is it? Sand in the eyes. Hands are groping through the cloud for its smooth metal.

Dampeners off. Each footstep that Eta-Theta now took was magnified tenfold, a crunching, metallic harbinger of death. They followed Yun as he stumbled about, almost casual in their movement, watching as the sand clogged his eyes and his brain clouded with fear.

”Looking for something?”

The fight's over, his mind said. The wind whipped at the back of Yun's knees, and brought him down with it, kneeling in the sand. He didn't try to get up. It was over. The whole planet was against him.

For a moment, the storm seemed to clear, and Yun looked up into the skull-like face of his hunter. It's different. It's not the same body anymore, but- there's something in that tilt of the head. Just like in the airlock.

"Eta-Theta," Yun whispered. He took his helmet off. "It's you."

”You do remember.” Eta-Theta reached down, fingers coming around to cling to the back of the man’s head. Lifting him up, dangling him in the air, the android paused for a moment. ”I was going to kill you now, but…” Eta-Theta let the threat hang in the air, eyes searching through the sand for the transport that the protector arrived in. Carrying Yun over, the android slammed the man face-first against its smooth metal surface, then dragged his face along it, smearing blood as they went.

”Run along, back to your headquarters, up there in space. Tell them what happened here.” They paused for extra emphasis. ”And try living as best you can. Because one day, I will find you again, and I will make good on my promise.”

Yun didn’t argue. With only a wild glance into the eyes- cameras?- of the robot, he fled into that transport meant for five more people. His hair was matted red, his heart threatened to explode, but somehow, he was returning to the cruiser alive.

If only he knew what he was bringing with him.




"Of course." The warform nodded as the situation was explained. "Here's the essential situation. Our navy is eradicated, and their ground forces have invaded us and are attacking our cities indiscriminately. It's tunnel fighting down there- dark, dangerous, difficult, but it's also our home, and they have no respect for that. None at all. They've blown up hydroponics systems we need to prevent people from starving. They've damaged the power reactors that keep our lights on. They've attacked our civilian centres. We've been forced to use partisans just to keep the lights on and food in our bellies."

They were overstating the damage somewhat, but nothing the warform said was a lie. "Alas, this module is not fitted with a projector, or I would be able to show you some of this. Their casus belli is nonsense as well, Bodi-Alpha joined us of his own volition, and has integrated seamlessly into Zetan society. Their fearmongering of torture and kidnapping are bald lies to cover up their ideological nonsense."

That was all they had the time to talk about. No sooner had they finished then the diplomats walked in, and it was time for the warform to meet with their opposing diplomat. This was a chance for them to get a nation on their side, and that was the first step on the road to pushing the invaders out of their system and maybe even winning this war for good.




"Our statement has been clear on this. Bodi-Alpha believed himself to be the victim of anti-cyborg discrimination, and felt that he was not being respected properly despite his expertise. He was not kidnapped- he boarded our vessel of our own volition when we were forcibly exorcised from the ECU's home system shortly before war was declared." Sigma-Devi jabbed her finger down at the table between the pair. "And now, as they go to war over false accusations of torture, they hurl prisoners of war out of space airlocks and blow up our farms! It's a hypocritical disgrace, and the worst of it is that they have the damn Undefeated on their side. We could have defended ourselves if it was just the Hollywoodites, but..." She trailed off, clearly listening to something.

"Blast it to Omega, we've got two new nations at the Meeting Place and the ECU has already got their hooks into one of them." Sigma-Devi seemed like she was about to despair. "I can only hope the second have a better sense of judgement than to listen to those..." She glanced at Christensen, before rattling off several ancient Greek phrases that could only be reasonably put together as an elaborate curse.

"Apologies. Things are tense. Too tense for a pleasant diplomatic chat... And it wasn't as if I was a diplomat before the gateway opened either."






Alfonso had to say, he was... Confused. Was this meeting place not for humans? Why then, was a thin, rocky, bipedal alien approaching him? Straightening his collar a little, Alfonso examined Ghask skeptically. "You'll have to forgive the jumpiness of my men. Aliens are rarely a good sign on Matuvista." Almost awkwardly, the man extended his hand, glad for the fact that there would at least be a glove between skin-to-skin contact. "I suppose the 'Earth Cultural Union' has to wait then, mr..." He trailed off, frowning to himself. "How should I refer to you then?" He gestured with his hand. "And, by all means, allow us to walk and talk."

| @Sigma |

Isabella adjusted the loose-fitted cuffs of her shirt, gave her rapier a final once-over, then stepped forward. In front of her stood Raphael Lorenzo de Antigua, patrician of thirty-four years and a loudmouthed, ignorant, backwards-thinking bastard. "Aren't you glad I chose blades, rather than bullets? Just think, I could have shot you dead already, but instead you get a chance to reconsider!" She swished the blade lazily through the air a few times, trying to convince herself to be cockier than she really was. Raphael was not going to go easy on her, so she would not be able to go easy on him.

This whole duel was not even remotely what she desired. A way for her to pointlessly die before her twenty-fifth birthday? Yes, that was precisely what she loved to do, yet the blaggard had ended up so incensed by her that he had thrown down the glove, and she would have looked terrible to refuse such a challenge. For the umpteenth time she sized him up, their eyes meeting for a brief moment, all three suns staring down upon them.

"On this day, the eighteenth rotation of the third quarter, Anno 300, Patrician Isabella Maria Rodriguez de Lobasla, defending herself against Patrician Raphael Lorenzo de Antigua. The fight will end when one fighter is incapable of defending themselves. May the saints grace you, and may the fight begin." The mediator bowed and took a step back, leaving the two with only air between them.

A bead of sweat slipped down Isabella's face as the pair rotated around each other, cautiously. She had the longer reach with her rapier, but Raphael's sabre was not to be underestimated. She kept him at arm’s length, the pair stepping back and forth slowly, neither one willing to commit... Until Raphael darted forward, sabre held high. Isabella raised her blade up and lunged forward, steel clashing against steel as the point of her blade was deflected away. Before she could strike again, the sabre came across, the woman throwing herself back to avoid its razor edge.

Then forward again. She took the initiative this time, darting forward and thrusting out low, towards his stomach. Raphael side-stepped, then returned with an overhead. She brought the blade up, the sabre skidding off the flat of her rapier, then riposted. Raphael moved to the side and twisted his hand, the guard of their sabre failing to purchase on the thinner rapier blade. So as to not lose tempo, he followed through despite the failed grab, his sabre sweeping against her sleeve and snicking the fabric in two. Unperturbed, Isabella pushed forward, her blade finding a significantly juicier target in his forearm, where it slid cleanly in and out.

To his credit, Raphael didn’t make a sound despite the blood staining his shirt. The two fighters moved backwards, Isabella flicking her rapier to get rid of any large droplets of crimson, then tightened her footwork up again and prepared herself, just in time for Raphael’s next assault. This time, the man attempted to get in close, past her guard, bringing the sabre down and towards her shoulder blade. A flick of her wrist deflected, but then before she could counter-attack, he had stepped in, her rapier finding itself uselessly shoved to his side.

She lashed out with her foot; Raphael moved out of the way. He attempted to grab her hand, she smacked it back. He put more pressure on his sabre, she reached up and grabbed a hold of it, wrestling with the man for control of his blade. Just as it seemed she might win control, he rapidly retreated, taking his sabre with him. By now, the superficial puncture had thoroughly soaked his shirt, a few drops penetrating the fabric and falling down to water the grass below the pair.

Again, they matched against each other. Again, metal clashed, ripostes and counter-ripostes failing to make any dent in the other’s attack. Were they both equally good, or were they just both horrendous fighters? Who could tell anymore, the heat and intensity having brought beads of sweat to the skins of both duellists.

For the fourth time the duo circled each other. A quick thrust by Isabella was sidestepped, a wild swing from Raphael left unpunished. Then, quite unexpectedly, Isabella darted forward, driving her rapier towards him hard. He just barely avoided it- earning himself a tear in his shirt to match hers, but her aim was not to hit him with the thrust, but instead to get in close enough to grab his forearm. Distracted by her blade, he failed to react in time, and she managed to twist his arm about and pull his sword out of position, bringing her rapier across for a finishing cut.

Astonishingly, he caught it with the blade of his sabre, the rapier a hair’s breadth from slicing his neck open. Frowning, she hammered her head forward hard, the brow of her head impacting hard with his nose. Reeling backwards, the sweep her rapier made was practically lazy compared to the tight swordsmanship displayed before, but it didn’t need to be sophisticated. Her rapier sliced through his skin and thin layer of fat, lodging itself between his ribs and somewhere deep within his lungs. As quickly as she had lunged in she retreated, drawing her sword out and slicing through quite a bit more of the man. A laboured breath of his caught and turned into a gurgle, the man’s hand coming down quite automatically to clutch at his side. As medics rushed forth to aid him, Isabella planted the tip of her rapier in the ground and delivered a final line. “Let this… be a lesson… to the remaining De Antiguas that would think your behaviour appropriate.”

One of the assistants by the duel handed her a bottle of coffee-flavoured re-hydrating solution and she sucked it down eagerly, finally handing her blade off and walking towards the changing room she had emerged from not ten minutes ago. She had been asked to model for charcoal artists at the Academia el Arte Lupata, and she didn’t intend on being late just because of a little thing like a duel.




You got your warform needlessly damaged. The technician looked at the machine, frustrated.

I ‘got’ satisfaction from it. It wasn’t needless. Eta-Theta joined them, looking down at their new form. After the gunfire it had taken it was in bad shape, metal twisted and servomotors misaligned in unusual and strange ways. And it’s given me ideas. Their left arm reached down and picked up their damaged right, before rotating their forearm around 360 degrees like a bizarre fan blade. We’re already pioneering new warforms. Let me design one myself.

A brief vote was held in the Collective. A custom-made warform was not an unusual request, and truth be told there were some in the Consciousness that had recognised Eta-Theta’s slightly concerning behaviour and actively encouraged it. They were in a war for survival- an unhinged terror weapon was now a benefit, not a disadvantage. So it was that Eta-Theta got their desire, and a new form was manufactured for them, in the foundries of Elysium-Alpha.

It was… Morbidly beautiful. The warform had been designed for stealth, manoeuvrability and speed over strength or durability and tapped into the uncanny valley wonderfully well. Their limbs were just slightly out of proportion to the human average, silhouette just a tad too thin and gangly. Their face split the difference between emaciated and a skull, a sunken, hollow, matte-black thing that stared out with haunting red eyes. It was entirely naked, choosing to internalise weaponry and carrying systems, and when Eta-Theta took control of its motors, it felt like slipping into a well-worn set of shoes.

We’re positive it’s the same ones that terminated my original body.

Absolutely. Perfect match.

Well then. I’ll give them a warm Zetan welcome.




Isabella’s jetbike thrummed as its magnetic fields were pushed to their limit. She flicked her boots back, the heels coming down on the thruster controls and toes curling to tap the boosters into activation. Her speedometer crept up despite the inclination, until at last she was level with the island, easing the boosters off and gliding down. As her bike’s magnetic fields were pulled in by the lodestone’s attraction, she choked the electromagnets, finally touching down onto its surface cleanly. In front of her, on the hazy horizon of the Lupatan sea settled the second sun, the first having already completed its descent over this part of the planet.

She reached into a pocket, settling side-saddle on her bike, and retrieved a fat, heavy, pungent-smelling stick. El Verde Verdugo, pricy, skunk-like, strong. She fixed one end in her mouth, wrapping her lips around it as she brought her lighter up. There was a quiet whompf, then a soft crackle as she breathed in.

The smoke filled up her lungs with a rich warmth, slowly spilling out into the rest of her upper body. Isabella let her eyes unfocus, affixed on some distant point on the horizon far beyond even the remaining two suns. It was easy to do- the heat coming off the water sent up a screen of hazy mist that practically invited one to rest one’s eyeballs on it.

So much to consider. So much had happened. Even without the duel and her new orders, there was the matter of their fourth sun: the gateway that had opened. Soon, Matuvista would establish formal relations with the other colonies, assuming they had survived, and then nothing would be the same again. It was quite the exciting prospect to consider… Or, she could let herself be washed away on waves of curling smoke.

That second one seemed like a much better prospect right now.




Alfonso listened to the messages slowly, then repeated then again, just for good measure. ‘The Meeting Place,’ a diplomatic space station. That made sense with the readings they were getting- so many different ships, and what little they’d seen of the station itself made it seem like a hodgepodge of different systems all stapled together. It was a miracle life support functioned at all. The ‘Earth Cultural Union’ was a peculiar name for a nation, yet… He was here to explore, learn as much as he could, and report back. He had to admit though, ‘United Columbian Republic?’ Now, that sounded quite like quite the right-thinking group of individuals.

“Fetch me my full-dress uniform. My sword and my cap as well.” He turned to follow the plebians as they scurried to do his bidding, situating himself in his quarters as the various elements that made up his uniform were delivered to him. Some might have thought him slightly ridiculous like this, but in the eyes of the Grand Republic, only now was he really properly dressed.

Gold epaulettes, a rich blue jacket, blindingly bright white trousers, white gloves, black boots, a golden belt, his sword, his bicorne, and, of course, a complement of medals and honours adorned his chest. To the trained eye, it spoke of a wound taken in combat against the Yyasum, an award for valour, the ownership of his second vote in the Lower Senate and the participation in an interplanetary campaign. To the untrained eye, it was somewhat over the top.

La Introducción sailed into the Meeting Place calmly, airlock affixing itself and adjusting to scale. Straight back. Eyes forward. An honour guard of plebians stood on either side of Alfonso, boots and caps polished until they gleamed and rifles held at parade-perfect angles. “Excellente.” The patrician nodded. “Remember what Condel Julianus said- we are representatives of the Grand Republic! Act accordingly.” A curt nod to his men, and then the airlock door hissed open, and a Matuvistan boot touched the Meeting Place for the first time.

“Hail!” Alfonso said dramatically, a small microphone in his collar serving double-duty to broadcast the sound back to the frequencies that had signalled to La Introducción as it had entered the system, and also boost the volume of his words now, in the confines of the ship. “I am Alfonso Leoncio Alvarez De Caravajal, patrician, officer and formal representative of the Grand Republic of Matuvista, reporting by the benediction of the saints and on the order of Chancellor Julianus de Aquilius and the senate. Never before has your sight been graced by our presence, and never onwards shall a brighter beacon shine!” Was it boastful? Yes. Was it dramatic? Yes. Was it perfect? Yes.

"Patricians." The Speaker of the Senate declared imperiously. The hubbub of noise continued unabated despite this.

"Patricians." The speaker insisted again. A hundred and twenty years old, but looking like someone in their sixties at most, the steel-haired woman slammed her fist down onto her podium, sending a screech of feedback through the entire auditorium. "PATRICIANS." She finally barked out, at last bringing the cacophony to silence. "Quite right." The Speaker finally declared. "I expect this sort of racket from our younger members, but it is quite unseemly for the Upper Senate to act so raucously. Now then, to business." She smoothed her clothes down, and indicated across to another podium. "Speaking now, the Venerable Chancellor of Matuvista, Condel Julianus de Aqualius."

"My thanks, Speaker." The Chancellor nodded respectfully. Younger than the speaker by several decades, the de-facto President of the Grand Republic adjusted their medals a little, then begun to speak. "Friends. Patricians. Countrymen. The time that we have long since considered would never come has finally arrived. Above us, where once three stars burned, a fourth has sprung to life. We know not why or how, but a probe sent through has returned unharmed." He paused for emphasis.

"For the first time in three centuries, we now are reconnected once again with the rest of the galaxy." Polite applause broke out throughout the auditorium. "We are now able to return to Earth. To find out what happened to our fellow colonists, strung through the stars like glistening pearls of hope for our race. To understand our place in this wonderous universe. It is a privilege, and a pleasure, to be the Chancellor who, by the grace of the saints, has been given this opportunity, and I hope each and every patrician will feel the same way."

"To those who are not here today, the patricians and plebians both, understand that this is a most momentous occasion. Each and every one of us is now no mere citizen of the Republic: We are representatives of it. Of our people. Our fine culture. Our honourable legacy. This is a great burden, yes, but also an honour no past generation has had. With God as my witness, let this day begin a renaissance for our people, our planets, and our Republic!"




Alfonso Leoncio Alvarez De Caravajal had been assigned to his most difficult mission yet. Harder than handling insurgencies. Harder than interstellar combat. Harder even than not making a fool of himself at the debut gala. No, his mission was to head through the Gateway, and see what was left of Earth. His new flagship- an extensively modified patrol corvette re-christened La Introducción, sailed through the empty space that connected solar systems, plotting a course for the home of humanity- Sol System.

When he emerged, he wasn't entirely certain what he was going to find, but it certainly wasn't this. A swarm of vessels, of many and varied designs shuffled to and fro through the gateway, all heading towards a lump of steel that hung above a...

"Dios Mio." Alfonso paused there for a moment, staring at the remnants of a home he had never owned. The planet... It was grey. Ashen. No blue. No green... Not even the white of clouds. "Head for that station," he declared. "And try to figure out who all these people are!"

He had a messanger drone to send back to Matuvista.
Ten soldiers, proceeding through Zetan tunnels. These were Unionist soldiers- protectors, more suited to bullying civilians than they were fighting a guerrilla war, and yet here they were. Eta-Theta examined them through the lenses of their new warform, analysing them. Studying them. It had been determined that the standard 'light warform,' was good enough in combat to be iterated upon, changed, and adjusted. With the glut of disembodied Zetans, there had been high demand for forms to take revenge on those that had taken so much from them. If they were honest though... Eta-Theta wasn't here for vengeance. The people they wanted dead for hurting them were in orbit, to be handled at a later date. No, this? This was simply for their own pleasure.

The squad swept through a set of tunnels and passed by a heavy-duty breach-proof door that had been set open. This was their last mistake. No sooner had the last man entered then both sides slammed shut.

"Fuck!" One of them cried out, looking around. "What the hell?"

"They had eyes on us?" Another said, confused and... Concerned. Eta-Theta had no tongue and no lips, but they would have been using the former to lick the latter had they been in their original body. The warform they were in untangled itself from the ceiling and deactivated its magnetic clamps, clattering against the ground loudly. Immediately, all eyes whirled towards it, guns shouldered, but... Eta-Theta was unarmed.

They were not the threat here.

"So glad you could join me today for an experiment." The Zetan felt as one of the men rattled off half a magazine from their gun, sending the warform backwards and against the ground. Thankfully, they didn't feel the pain of the bullets any more- the hardened carapace of the warform weathering the storm well enough to continue talking.

"In approximately fifteen seconds..."

"Wait! Stop shooting." One of the men said, as a magazine hit the floor. "Let it finish, then shoot it. Fucking toaster."

"I have halted the countdown timer. The room you are in now is built directly adjacent to Asphodel-Epsilon's main nuclear reactor. You are being kept safe by our radiation shielding. However... You are trespassers here. Trespassers must be removed." They could see the unease that the men had already.

"The countdown has been resumed. By the time I finish this sentence, you will have been exposed to lethal levels of ionizing radiation. You will have approximately five minutes of lucidity. I recommend you do with it what you can." Eta-Theta felt something stirring within their chest at the reaction that got from the men. Panic. Fear. Anger. It didn't matter though. Already, the warform's internal Geiger sensors were crackling off the chart. At first, the men would feel nothing. Then, heat. Burns would form. The skin blistered. The radiation exposure was cut off, but the dosage had been given.

Of course, the men extracted vengeance on the form that Eta-Theta was in, but they could only pump so many shots into it, and they had larger things to worry about. Soon nausea set in. The contents of their stomachs splashed out against the floor of the room. Hair began to wither, then teeth fell out. They begged, pleaded, and at last collapsed down. When they fell, Eta-Theta rose, damaged micromotors and misaligned servos screeching to pull the warform up and into shape. As the men closed their eyes and were finally excused from their living hell, Eta-Theta picked one of the still living ones up by the throat.

"Just remember. You made us this way." Eta-Theta squeezed down, hard. They had made a promise, and they needed practise. The warform's thumb, even in its damaged state, sunk into the man's throat and tightened his windpipe shut. The man's eyes fluttered in panic, but there simply wasn't much more his body could do. When his eyes closed, the irradiated warform tossed his corpse down.

"You turned me into a killing machine... Who am I to argue with programming?"
| In Collaboration with @Tortoise |


There’s a single, bright line shining overhead. The chairs are steel, and the Zetan’s hands are tied behind it. Across from him are two ECU protectors, one sitting at the metal table and shuffling through files, and the other glaring menacingly from beside the door.

And it’s all clearly a scene taken from an Old Earth, 1950's detective show.

“Look,” the sitting protector said. “I want to help you here, okay? We don’t want this fight. You guys took Bodi from us. We just need some information, and then we’ll let you go home, alright?”

“Forget it, Jo,” her partner cut in. “This tin can probably can’t even talk.”

Eta-Theta was having a bad day. It could have been a lot worse of a day if there had been a problem with their transcendence protocols, but as it was, it was just a bad day. The resistance fighter had been carrying out a subterranean operation when their group had run straight into an ECU patrol nobody else had picked up on- the resulting firefight had left the resistance group wiped almost to a man, and the patrol only barely faring better. Unfortunately, ‘better’ was still good enough to take them captive.

“Alpha-Bodi is a willing refugee. You just wanted an excuse.” They spat onto the floor.

“Where is Alpha-Bodi today, then?”

“Alpha-Elysium, probably.” They frowned.

The protector by the door, whose name is Yun, seems to take a note on his infopad. “I like that you’re willing to cooperate,” he says. “Where is Alpha-Elysium? And how does one enter?”

“It’s the Alpha subsector of the Elysium sector,” Eta-Theta deadpanned. “You get down there by going down the big shuttle, we’ll welcome you the right way.”

Yun rolls his eyes, while Jo slides her infopad across the table. It’s displaying an active map of the Zeta-5, compiled together from orbital data and whatever satellites the ECU has managed to hijack since the blockade started. “Show us on this map where Elysium-Alpha is. If we can get Bodi now, you know, maybe the Oligarchs will be satisfied- and then we can all go home, and your people can be free again. Isn’t that what we all want?”

“You’re destroying our cities, killing our people, ruining our stations and lying about the whole thing, and you think you’ll get me to just give you the location of our first settlement? Burn in Tartarus like your scout teams.”

This time, Jo rolled her eyes while Yun did something. He smiled. The beautiful, big New Hollywood smile that was all teeth and shining.

"Listen, kid," he addressed the Zetan, not because he thought it was a kid, but because that's how protectors talk when they're about to do something intimidating, "we've got some theories about your kind. About how some of you know too much. And the big boys at top are starting to come up with ideas on how to prove it. You wanna be our first test subject? That can be arranged."

There was a long moment of silence. Eta-Theta sat there, eyes staring ahead of them for a few seconds, and then a twitch ran through the side of their face. They slumped down into the chair slightly, then they smirked. “Alright. Test away.”

At that moment, Eta-Theta's head hit the steel floor. Protector Yun had kicked their chair over backwards, and soon was dragging the Zetan out into the hallway by the legs of it. "Alright, you glorified freak, come on then."

They brought them to the only airlock onboard this mid-sized ship. Through the window, you could see Zeta-5 far below.

“Never seen space in person.” The Zetan said, looking out at their planet down below. “She’s… Well, I wouldn’t call her beautiful, but she’s killed more of you than we have, so I suppose she’s due a few compliments.” The cyborg laughed a little.

"Hey, you're about to see her real up-close and personal," Yun growled. This close to killing someone, his act was starting to slip a little. It always did.

The airlock doors wheezed open with a slow hiss. Eta-Theta was briskly tossed in, the chair clanging unceremoniously against the floors.

"Wait!" Jo, who had been following a few steps behind, interrupted. "Are you sure about this?" She paused dramatically. "Those chairs are expensive."

Yun laughed while the doors wheezed back closed.

Eta-Theta was, curiously, equipped quite well for spacing. Not for surviving spacing, no, but with the neural nanobots having fried any and all sensation to their left leg and their arm replacement having taken critical damage, they were never going to simply walk out. Therefore, the best method for going through with this was to transcend as rapidly as possible.

Deep breaths. Eta-Theta had to force out all of the old air as quickly as possible, then fill their lungs. The change in pressure when the airlock doors opened would blow their lungs out rapidly enough. The shock’d knock them unconscious- the lack of oxygen in their blood would begin the transcendence process afterwards. All in all, it would be quick.

They hoped.

Yun's face peered in through the airlock interior door's window, visible from where Eta had landed. "Here's how it's going to go down…"

The ECU had long been theorizing that Zetan individuals were speaking to each other in some covert way. They just too often seemed to know what they shouldn't, or fought in perfect unison without needing to talk at all. Just yesterday, an ECU patrol was spotted by one lone Zetan, and then ambushed by a separate team of warforms only a few minutes later. It was starting to make them suspicious.

"In one-hundred-and-twenty seconds," Yun continued, "this airlock is gonna open up to empty space, and you're gonna be in it or you're not. If you don't wanna be, tell your buddies on the surface to send us a message right now. We know you freaks are talking to each other somehow."

“Open the fucking airlock quicker.” Eta-Theta had never raised their middle finger at someone in Zetan society, but apparently, according to the consciousness, Hollywoodites viewed it as offensive. So, that’s what they did. One middle finger raised directly to the two protectors. “When we rebuild, I’m going to personally crush one of your tracheas.”

Yun only mimed tapping on a watch. Ten seconds passed, thirty, a minute...

The airlock door hissed open, and Eta-Theta had a full lungful of air. There was a muffled popping noise, and from within their chest came the most excruciating pain imaginable. They didn’t believe that this sort of pain was even imaginable let alone something real that your body could experience.

Luckily, their calculations hadn’t been wrong. Their body shut down less than three seconds after the airlock had opened up again. Thirty seconds later, Eta-Theta had re-entered a warform down on the surface of Zeta-5, looking up at where their original form had perished. The two protectors- Yun and Jo, burned into their mind.

As they examined their individually articulated fingers, strong enough to crush cartilage, they wished they still had the ability to smile.




The Zetan response came not from the surface of the planet, but from an old satellite, still hanging in orbit. Summoned to life through old codes and signals, it sent a weak response towards where the Xandalian Republic had made their broadcast.

The message held the coordinates to an unassuming patch of desert, where a single warform had been left. The message assured them it would be activated by the time that talks were meant to begin.




Sigma-Devi was roused from her observation of the war by the recognition that someone aboard the station above Earth was attempting to contact her. Christensen, an envoy from the Xandalian Republic. She set herself down in front of her main desks, signalled for the automated door to open, then watched as the man entered. Their displeasure was obvious from their body language, but her smile and neutral eyes made it clear that her frustration was not with the man currently entering the room.

"Firstly, I must say it's very refreshing to see the Xandalians attempt to uncover the truth of what is happening. The ECU are rabid, they're spacing prisoners, attacking civilian centres, blatantly lying about the entire situation..." She hissed, frustrated. "But enough about my ramblings. I'm sure you have a reason to be here, and we should act properly, regardless." There was a long pause. "What can I do for you?"





@Kuro To be fair, any zombie apocalypse needs to skim over the details of how the military doesn't instantly wipe out zombies. All it would take to kill a horde in most zombie fiction is a single Warthog on a strafing run.
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