Jeep Wrangler

NEO-TOKYO: State of Disarray - Cyberpunk RP

Always a fan of Cyberpunk!! I'll toss my hat in!

@Ghost Shadow

Always great to have another on board!

Is this a vaporwave kind of cyberpunk, eurodance kind of cyberpunk, or glitch mob kind of cyberpunk

@Mercenary Lord

Why not all kinds? Even atmospheric cyberpunk can throw its hat into the ring.

I might join.

@Letter Bee

Your call!

NEO-TOKYO: State of Disarray - Cyberpunk RP

*shakes in a fit*

Must...not....go...for....another....cyberpunk RP.

@The Bork Lazer

Or should you?

Should you?

NEO-TOKYO: State of Disarray - Cyberpunk RP

Interested!

@Smike

I expect nothing less from you, father

NEO-TOKYO: State of Disarray - Cyberpunk RP

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Welcome to Neo-Tokyo. The year: 2031. Technology has been on the rise for the last decade and the upcoming fusion between man and machine has dawned upon humankind. Legacies of a once dreamt future have become the very reality many citizens of Japan, alongside the rest of the world, live within. Implants and enhancements to the human body have occasionally doubled the working power of each working citizen, allowing nations to further prosper off of their ever-growing industrial enterprise. And yet despite this fascination with the fusion of biology and artificiality, the world couldn't be any less of a horrific nightmare to live within. The passive reminder of a once bleak, shallow past constantly hangs over the citizens of Neo-Toyko in particular, to the point where it has directly brought the fragmentation of society to their doorsteps. A looming desire to take back the past that was stolen from them has thrived in the recent years, and it was all because of one push of a button.

2012, the year of fire. At the dying breath of a once powerful and ruthless Korean dictator, Tae Jeong-Mun, the order to send his legacy out in a blaze of glory came from the international breach of peace. Three nuclear arsenals were prepared for launch. International espionage operators noted these findings to their superiors and a coalition campaign set to disarm these warheads under covert conditions was approved. Spearheaded by Japanese officers and primarily tied to their government, teams of expert special operations forces were deployed into Korea to seek any means of disrupting and disabling the ability to launch. The clock was ticking and the hours were bleeding away. A growing anticipation for launch was flaring up. One team successfully disabled one of the nuclear warheads, however the other two were caught in complications that would cost several million lives. On the announcement to the public of Jeong-Mun's passing, Korean officials launched the two remaining warheads as a public show of might, aimed directly towards the Japanese home isles upon finding their involvement in the coalition against them. One missile landed in the Pacific Ocean, however one hit its target: Tokyo.

Half of the city was blasted and devastated by the blast. Whilst it was a minor bomb in comparison to many counterparts, it was still enough to rain havoc upon the populace for the coming decades. The clouds cleared and the shock and awe behind the devastating act of war shook the nation. Hundreds of thousands were announced dead, and many more were presumed lost to the flames of the agonising firestorm. And from there, everything fell quiet. Words were barely uttered of the inter-period of nothingness. Ultra-nationalism began to see its rise once more in Japan and Article 9 was abolished, allowing the military off of its leashes. Within its ranks, the infamous Jinrai was forged. An asymmetrical warfare group fuelled by the able bodies of many nationalistic forces. In their eyes, it was not only about the defence of Japan, but the revenge against its aggressor. Soon enough, its influence began to grow further. Corporations rising in the now reviving of Tokyo took advantage of their prominence by selling them weapons, developing cybernetic gear and increasing their arsenals tenfold. Tokyo relocated itself out of the exclusion zone and formed the now nightmarish Neo-Tokyo, the land of profit and death.

In late 2030, the Jinrai were at the peak of their power. Talks of a prepared surprise annexation of Korea were underway when the snap election kicked in. To the Jinrai's annoyance, a moderate Prime Minster was elected into power. Instead of feeling threatened at first, the military branch felt insulted, resulting in the Coup that would shake Tokyo for the next years. Failing to oust the minister they deemed defective to the revival of a powerful and strong Japan, the government retaliated by initiating its own special operations group. As the Jinrai were removed from the military ranks officially, branding them as a terrorist organisation and exiling them from social normalities, the Prime Minster gained power over the NSF - National Security Forces. Answering only to the current government in power, they began a shadow war of rooting out cells of Jinrai operatives, hoping to restore an ideal balance they once believed they could achieve. And yet despite this, not everything is all black and white between the two sides. In many areas, one might begin to reconsider who they stand with.

---

Welcome to NEO-TOKYO: State of Disarray, a cyberpunk roleplay scenario based off of the Half-Life 2 mod of the same capitalised name. Neo-Tokyo (the game) acts as a multiplayer competitive shooter relying on cybernetic enhancements to boost the gameplay and its complexity, however the lack of development within its story is expected from such a genre. Recent returns to the genre of cyberpunk has inspired me to try and place us, the players, in the seats of operatives, citizens and all things in-between of this potentially expansive universe. Playing on themes of deceit, conspiracy, the swift change in expectations and the brutality of shadow warfare, I hope to deliver an experience that feels more alive than the game's wikipedia description. It's worth mentioning now that you don't need any experience in the game at all to participate as it legitimately is as straight-forward as it comes towards its lore. With the addition of an easy-to-learn and easy-to-pick-up backdrop, we can highlight what might happen within this roleplay.

So, I am not entirely concrete on which side this story will begin on. Note, I say "begin" because there are likely many opportunities to switch sides, form your own faction and more onward. This we can discuss together as we prepare the roleplay itself. I'm hoping to delve into the depths of this nightmarish society, fractured by inner conflict and a growing desire to invade a former enemy. The criminal underbellies and illegalities of many corporate indulgences will appear throughout the story, and our characters will either be working for or against these practices, all with their own opinions on the matter and stakes on their side. Trafficking, narcotics, political espionage and corporate warfare will be encountered in the alleyways of the promising Neo-Toyko, giving us a large plethora of scenarios to interact with. I may incorporate a sandboxy element to the roleplay scenario, where you can strive to bring your own stories to life as a group or individuals before colliding once more as a collective. Going rogue or convincing other characters to leave their allegiance are many ways in which the diversity of our narratives can be expanded upon. Another note, I do take huge interest in the actual interactions and developments of the characters, so a focus on that may become more apparent than just the expected combat the title might give off of.

Overall, I haven't got too much to say right now as it is still in a near-end to its infancy. I have a discord up and going to act as our place of discussion once/if interest directs itself this way. In the case that you are interested, drop a hint below and I'll be happy to answer any questions you may have!

~ Valkyria Chronicles - Changing of the Guard ~

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_{The Siege of Amone, September 28th - Guardian}

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And as always, the rain started to fall again. If Jean had garnered a Ducat for every time rain had shed itself upon Amone those passing weeks he'd have garnered enough of a fortune to end world poverty. Ever since they'd arrived on the very first frontline, all that had bestowed itself upon them was the plight of heavy downpour. Lakes of mud housing tens of fallen bodies scattered across the fields where artillery shells had once landed. Wooden bridges were constructed so the alive didn't have to wade through the pools with the dead. Here in Amone, things were different. No one could be hidden by the degrade of rainfall. No thing could be censored. If the bodies of the deceased weren't buried in kilograms upon kilograms of brick, foundation, glass and whatever else made up the buildings then everything was simply laid out in the open, ready for the crowd to pick at and the men to walk by. Decaying flesh kept its harsh stench lingering for the months to come. Nothing was safe. Nothing was every safe. Those who came only to avoid the horrors of being a coward were left to wallow in their own suffering as they spied their fallen enemies and comrades, collapsed in pools of blood together. It hurt Jean's stomach to think about it. Some of those within his squad were only 16 or 17 years of age, still classified as minors or children by many laws. They could not go out into the public as a citizen and drink, nor learn to get an automobile test or some sort of high-class job. Instead, they were subjected to the torturous expectations that the Great War was bringing. A scourge of rainfall continued to moisten Jean's steel helmet, forcing it to drench itself once more in the basked glory of the morning peace. Tranquillity didn't come around often, so to make the most out of these next ten minutes was the best Jean could do. He rummaged around his webbing and picked apart a few magazine strips, before sliding a few more into his spare pockets. If he was going to get through this Assault, he'd need all the ammo he could get. Luckily, a lot was on offer. If the large artillery shell had hit a few streets to the right, it could've compromised a large amount of ammunition and limited the fighting capabilities of the Federation liberation advancement. There was no luck though to that. The trade off was the costs of a few hundred lives, many of which were waiting evacuation through the medical system.

All around the Darcsen was a never-ending hustle and bustle of life. Soldiers were grouped together and making their ways towards the assorted briefing areas. Some introduced themselves to colleagues who were joining them in recognisable locations all across Amone. The Tunnel raiding party would've already dashed past the boundaries of the Federation operating base, beginning their task a little ahead of schedule in order to quickly dive in whenever the main fighting force set their peace aside and charged into the fray. Jean was going to be amongst them. So was everyone. Every able body was called for the job. Whether they were Darcsen or not, male or female, young or old, Private or Sergeant...the total was immeasurable in comparison to what Jean had seen before. At Hill 58, the majority of the forces sent up with him were spread thin or in varied directions, giving off a strange and almost unrecognisable variation of clustering troops. Amone's assault force was roughly three times greater than that of the singular regiment sent up the Hill. A combined arms of mortars, riflemen, machine gunners, shocktroopers, marksmen, sappers, fusiliers, non-commissioned and commissioned officers made their mark together. Some bigged up the advance as something glorious, though Jean was far against such claims. It had the potential to be a bloodbath, and regardless of its victor there would be far more than just spilt innards plastering the pavements and walls. These Imperials were brittle to no one.

According to unforeseen changes, a new rough plan was made for those entering the area. Information had gotten out towards high-command, Jean unknowingly unaware of Victoria being the provider, about how concentrated the defences were. Whereas the original expectations thought that the Empire would spread themselves along a traditional line, instead they were reliant on smaller concentrations of fortified buildings, key strategic zones, choke-points and bunkers. They were very prepared. Alongside this, speculation as to what fired that grand shell were still up in arms. No one could truly pinpoint what it was, but its rough trajectory was pinpointed last night. Perhaps the army could find its source and for the hell of all things considered shut it down for good. Jean dreaded it being turned against their users, sparking a new age of cataclysmic warfare unlike anything seen before. As if the Great War itself wasn't that already...

"S-Standing ready, Sir!" An unprecedented, familiar tone suddenly caught Jean's lonesome ears. His attention quickly turned, seeing an ever-unforgettable, pale and meek face stare up at an equally recognisable man. Jean's interest wasn't just piqued out of its familiarity, but rather its distance. Stood a few metres from his own position, hardly sheltered from the precipitation that doused the wastelands around her, Lucia was overshadowed by the great Captain Middleton. Shivering from the cold nights that had ensued beforehand, separated from the group entirely, Jean felt rather relieved to see her in one piece. A smile brought itself upon his face, as he watched the two discuss something together before turning to Jean. Lucia didn't say anything, only looking away with a slightly stern face, as if the gaze was forced.

Jean looked up at the familiar Captain, watching his grimace turn into a blend of tiredness, frustration and hopelessness. Of course, he had something to say to Jean and none of them looked forward to it for different reasons. Personally, Jean never liked interacting with the Captain, even as far back as to when he was just a Lieutenant taking the piss out of his Darcsen heritage.

"Charpentier..." With a nudge, he motioned Lucia forward, as if to hand ownership off to Jean. The two shared a glare, one more powerful than the other both physically and systematically. Irregardless of the hierarchy, Jean wasn't too keen on showing him much respect, but had to submit to at least a semi-formal manner in order to maintain the peace before the great assault came forth. "Private Farris will be accompanying you under your guidance...Corporal. Hopefully she will receive relative combat experience but I want to make myself very clear, Corporal. Anything that happens to her, you will receive ten times worse. Understand?"

Jean's throat locked up slightly. For once, this was a new tone for Middleton to express upon the Darcsen. It wasn't that of a booming subjugation, one that would exile all silence and draw the attention of their fellow soldiers. No...he kept his tone low, brandished and sharp like that of his bayonet. In his hands was a revolver of his own, standard issue and ready to be used against the enemy at will. His participation in the battle would be limited to mid-line engagement, never on the frontlines until the main job was cleared by the first few waves. Slowly, Jean cleared his throat and stood firm, allowing himself to retort the answer Middleton wanted to hear, despite both of them knowing there was no guarantee that either would be unscathed.

"I understand, Sir!" Back straight, chin up: Jean kept his face stern and his voice as confident and neutral as humanly possible. Truly, he quivered at the threat inside but he knew that leaving himself too vulnerable was just a catalyst for a disastrous and volcanic eruption from his dear Captain. "She'll do what she has to, Sir."

"I don't need fucking reminding, Darkie. It's bad enough that I'm putting my trust in someone who's kind is about as cultured and superior as my grandfather's shrivelled, decaying testicles, so don't get all snarky with me." Showing the common agenda against Darcsens again, he leaned closer towards the Corporal and placed a gloved hand against his shoulder, keeping a firm grip against the bones of his blade. "It was either you or that pompous fucker from Edinburgh, so I didn't exactly have much of a choice. Anyway...keep her alive or I will kill you. I'm not going to sugar coat it, Corporal. I will fucking murder you. Now get yourself ready, because that Cathedral isn't gonna take itself."

Though mostly unwillingly, Jean saluted to the Captain and watched him leave, abandoning Lucia with the Darcsen once more. A few seconds passed, Jean watching the Captain return to several buildings to set up his own final preparations. Perhaps he was far more busy to really threaten Jean anymore than he already had. Thank god, if so. More seconds passed. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Trickle by, those seconds sure did. Eventually, Jean turned to Lucia, who refused to look up at him before she thrusted forward, wrapping her arms around Jean without uttering a word at first. It took him by surprise, his arms being left hanging in the air above her smaller, frail stature. Her grip was soft yet tightly constricting all at the same time. A million tears were vanquished by herself as she buried her face into his webbing, trying to restrain the sadness of her own self.

Jean slowly lowered his arms, placing them around her back as she did to him. It was a very familial embrace, one that felt more like...she was him, and that...Jean was Olivia? It felt weird to imagine, but was this the burden of the elder sibling? Well, it wasn't a burden, more of a tribulation. Lucia was in a crisis of her own, one that no one understood. In all honesty, Jean doubted that even Lucia knew what her crisis was or how to solve it. She was weakened in the mind, shattered by unknown months on the frontline without a family to call hers. Much of Lucia's background was unknown still, even to Michael under a certain degree. Her episode away from Jean's squad in the recent week had distraught a lot of minds, removing that innocent comfort that she provided simply by being present.

"H-hey, Lucia. What's up? Are you okay?" He stammered, trying to see if the hug was beyond a reunion at best. Deep down he wished nothing more than the unifying relief it brought, though whether or not she spilled the word it was obvious that there was more to her disappearance than truly met either of their eyes. "Hey, come on. Look at me-"

Jean moved her out of the hugging position to see her smiling, almost delightfully. She seemed to beam brighter than the missed Summer's contagious glow. Everything she held in that emotion-filled gaze was more than enough to bring a smile to Jean's own too. It was quite remarkable and contagious how one individual had the power to change the heart of a man just like so. Without hesitation, Jean sat himself down on the table he'd been plucking spare ammunition clips from and let her stand close by, the two sharing the moment to grin at one another kindly. Before long, she opened her small and mouse-like jaws to speak outside of her formal disciplinary voice previously heard.

"I'm so happy to be here to see you, Jean! It's been so lonely without you all around. H-how...is everyone doing?" A slight tremble of fear came about her voice when trying to force out her question. It was quite the hard thing to ask. Despite the expectations being low of any bad news, considering the group had gone so far recently without more than scratches, bruises and bullet wounds. Yet, even with those odds...the same really couldn't be said about anyone.

"I'm really happy to see you too Lucia...but, uhm. About everyone being okay..." As soon as the tonal shift came about, Lucia's smile began to fade almost immediately. A preemptive change in expectations, right before she found out the actual news to be revealed. "Well...most of us are...average. Lot of pressure going around, and...well...we unfortunately lost Thomas along the way..."

Lucia and Jean stared at one another in silence, before Lucia felt a small tear come trickling down her face. Instantly, she went in for another hug, tighter than before, and let the tears flow from her soft, emerald eyes. Fear had began to settle in again. Whilst Jean imagined it was the genuine shock from hearing of a lost friend, even finding the urge to suppress his own tears that he wanted to cry out, in reality it was a very different reason for Lucia's tears. She didn't want it to happen again. Not again. She couldn't lose everyone. Not out there in the fields of the war. Not leaving her alone and breaking the mental spirits of those who watched over her. Never again. Please...

"We shouldn't be...sad...though. He wants us to keep smiling, remember? Think about what makes you smile and hold onto that right now." Another minute passed with Lucia struggling to get a firm grip on her emotions. The dire zero hour drew far closer with every second, giving them less time to really take in the moment. It was indeed a horrible thing to dump onto her in the moment but it had to be said at some point. Jean would've killed to have the ignorance to not know of his fate. Either way, it was rather strange how she hadn't found out. The news of the 'Marathon's death spread like wildfire already. Sure enough, the next few days would be flooded in Oceanic newspapers calling out for a memorial in their heroes' namesake.

Lucia quietly nodded and composed herself, taking in the fresh air that was around her. It was a great idea to do so, as the next few hours would highly likely be filled with gunsmoke, blood and agony. It wasn't going to be long at all. Minutes were counting down. People were beginning to line up and prepare to oust themselves into the unknown depths of a worldly sorrow. Woe was that of the soldier, not of the survivor.

"You'll be coming with me to the Cathedral then?" Lucia quietly nodded, trying her hardest to smile again whilst struggling to do the chinstrap up on her helmet once more. Eventually Jean gave in to the pressure of watching her adorably struggle and helped her out, just like any old big brother would. It crossed his mind that she, for some reason, called him a big brother despite there being no relation outside of their friendship forged in battle. It was quite astonishing to think about. And honestly, it warmed Jean's heart to dare believe. "It'll be tough and scary, even for me. We'll get through it together, then you can go give Michael a big hug. Besides, Michael will be happy for you to defend the Cathedral, it's the birthplace of his religious motives after all." And with that said, she smirked again and chirped like a small fluttering bird, before the duo joined the now formed queue to rush into the underworld beyond Amone's safe boundaries.

~ Valkyria Chronicles - Changing of the Guard ~

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_{The Siege of Amone, September 27th - What it means to be a Corporal...}

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Kalisa began something rather...useful? Was this the first time the approach was more direct yet friendly in and of itself? When Jean looked up from his hands he saw Kalisa speaking down to him, and not metaphorically. She was actually making sure that she gave him advice, as if it were support to the ever-growing falter that was Jean's cascading lifeline. Beseeched by the smooth transition into said wisdom, Jean was pleasantly surprised by how little sporadic aggravation was introduced into the conversation. It was genuine help and not the kind that was crammed down their throat. Jean knew that it was his place to improve his ability as a leading figure, especially from within the ranks of the 15th Atlantic Rifles. He had the compassion to try and help others but he needed to also remove a dependency that anchored him forever against the seabed of human excrement and blood. Death would not wait for the weak, though it would also not wait for the strong. Whilst bravery felt pointless sometimes, he wanted to muster all the courage he could and show his squadmates all that he could offer. He had a legacy behind him, one of famous and honourable fellows who'd marched through obstacles and come out swirling, or at least died trying. From the days of exploration to the revival of the Robin-Charpentier connection, all the way down to the death of one Olivia Robin-Charpentier, taking charge and the prowess of undeniably scarce odds and using them to do the impossible. For those who didn't quite make it, they set a standard and example. His sister, Olivia, was told to have thwarted enough waves of Imperial aggressors to constitute for a medal of certification and outstanding achievement. Jean...Jean had his moments. For back on Hill 58 where he successfully gathered the Shocktroopers to their assaulting positions and the ambush from the armoured car, he'd taken the lead in places others hadn't. Perhaps there was that potential...perhaps.

Until then, Jean was still scrounging around for answers. Who was he really? What could he do to improve himself? Kalisa was presenting the answers before him, and as she did so he felt his eyes drift into hers with admiration for her stern yet peaceful demeanour. She said it how the truth laid itself out for them. Taking ones false lies and deprecations of oneself and then forging them into something useful, non-aggressive and genuinely pointed in the right direction. Truly, Jean hadn't been too mindful of their separation at first but her absence had become more apparent now that she was here with him. Compared to the likes of Reyna and Diana, who were both equally as kind-hearted when they wished to be, Kalisa felt almost...like Jean had met her before. There were ways in which she spoke that reminded him of a certain girl he once stood by, who once stood by him and who once loved him just as he might love her. Suppressing those emotions wasn't healthy, but it at least kept his focus on what she was saying. Some of it was definitely correct, without a doubt. Yet, even with that wisdom being showered onto him he felt some conflict in what she suggested.

"Luke has been tamable in the past, or so...so someone like Isaac might say. Sporadic and ruthless, but he sometimes listens when he can. Obviously we don't see eye to eye and I think regardless of my command he'd always do what he thinks is best. Sometimes for the better. Sometimes...well...well I doubt he's outside regretting his actions like we are, Kalisa. If you heard, he's parading his kill like he deserves a medal. Dunno if he's...braindead but y'know, that's a common consensus around our Squad in our viewpoints on him." Fumbling his fingers, he stood up and stumbled towards the other end of the tent, picking up his helmet and looking at the mud and blood that was still drying on its steel potted circumference. Beside the helmet, on the frail wooden desk, sat his rifle. The tool that had killed and would continue to kill was now his best weapon. The Longfield's design was sleek and angelic to some, though Jean only sought it to protect himself. Unfortunately, pacifism would never get him anywhere except at the bottom of the graves. Perhaps there were times where fighting would be avoided mutually, but in any given battle he would have to either kill or wound those who seek to reap his own soul before they could.

His eyes stared intensely into the pale, drab tent walls, which pattered with the sound of water gently trickling against its fibre-surface. A sigh escaped his jaws and exhaled quickly through his nostrils, letting him rid of the held tension clasped within his lungs. A motionless expression gazed upon the weapon before him, knowing full well that this was his new life. Regardless of where the war went, or if it ever lost its momentum and concluded in an untimely fashion, Jean had no life outside. Without a family and only the formal education to carry onto mainstream jobs, he felt like there was nothing left outside of the war. He'd been born and bred in the fire of unyielding bloodshed like never before. Or perhaps...a writer? Why yes, a writer of these experiences! Jean's writing had taken a backseat to his troubled mind as the trauma had been building up, and yet he was prepared, now of all times, to scribble the horrors down onto the paper. Perhaps someone could learn from the experience. Perhaps those who hadn't yet seen the vicious fighting would finally realise the bombastic devastation that had rippled through all of Europa, and potentially even the whole world to a certain degree.

"Victoria...fucking...I don't get her." He slipped a small graphite pencil between his fingers and began to start fluently sliding its tip across the pages, beginning the stance of a writer once more as he spoke to the angel behind him. "She arrived after you left, said to have lost her squad or something. She...she's an enigma. A drunkard, a fucking idiot sometimes. It seems almost perfect for her to have gotten through this war alone. Besides, she influences Luke perhaps more so than I hoped."

He walked back to Kalisa and stood her up without warning, scooting her suddenly across the room with a gentle grip upon both of her shoulders. As he did so, his fingers sank into the beauty of the scarf he'd gifted to her. Its fantastic silky touch mesmerised his temptation into fluent admiration, a fluidity of camaraderie sweeping him off of his feet and almost into her arms. Obviously, that was metaphorically, he didn't literally fall into her arms. But as he did so, he threw some papers onto the place she was sat in and quietly apologised, his face growing slightly more serious. She was right about her pep-talk, more or less. And he needed to begin work on himself as soon as he got the chance. A leader was waiting to be made, and that could only begin in its journey the day tomorrow, where he and his fellow brothers and sisters in arms would begin their ultimate march and descent upon the radicalised Imperial garrison who remained. Besides, they all needed to enact some form of closure here in Amone; whether it be the completion and liberation of the city, or the simple sweet release of death on their own behalf.

"Uhm...Kalisa..." Another stutter. For the lords above, would he ever stop? Instead, he turned back to Kalisa and drew her in to a gentle, yet firm, embrace once more. He stood there, with her in his arms quietly, for a solid fourteen seconds, letting the time slip by effortlessly as it did so. "Thank you so much for stopping by. I...really appreciate your being. Please...after tomorrow's assault...I'll find a way to return the favour of your kindness. And I know you will make it through. So far you've been cheating death time and time again, you amazing Darcsen!"

And with a chuckle, he began to shuffle her outside, waving her off with a kind and courteous smile. It wasn't over-exaggerated, but it was one of genuine gratitude. For he had a burst of inspiration. And whilst she sauntered away into the afternoon rain, he returned to his tent and zipped its entrances up. Yes...this was it! The time to put a confident paper down upon a page was now. At the top of the manuscript, he once again traced over his chosen title: Eyes of the Rifle. A magnum opus that even he didn't know was awaiting to burst.

---

The morning bell struck. No matter what the medical teams were doing, still catering to the far few wounded left within the remains of the Ragnite Shell's impact zone, Jean pushed the tent open and began to tie the helmet around his chin. Securing a steady protection over his scalp and hair, he walked with an estranged intent to get things done. Sure enough, Jean was frightened of the outcome of this war. For what he knew was that the upcoming offensive would claim many lives, both Imperial and Federation alike. He hadn't direct control over his squadmates as they were likely to be split in an unanimous fashion. Here, soldiers were directed to whatever site they were deemed most useful at. A small briefing could be given if the squadmates so wished to approach Jean minutes before they were due to set off. A bustling whisper unlike any other filled the streets as those who were kitted out waited in lines and in clustered their friendship groups saying their usual graces of good luck. Here, Jean looked at the watch he held closely to his chest. Rusty, barely functional, but at least helpful by whatever means necessary. September 28th. 1914EC. 0550 hours. A six o'clock start to the end of the lines. Assignments were more or less potentially done but those who wanted to run by their information could go to their squad CO to figure out their objective once and for all. The sappers had their chance to shine in the Tunnel offensive that was yet to be completed. For those around them, the variations of the assault on the cathedral, the push on the suspected headquarters, investigating the source of the giant shell and clearing out the streets. Here...Amone's fate would be tested with one fell swoop.

_{@SMS@Conscripts@Jacky@Smike@FalloutJack@Yam I Am@CFProxy@Landaus Five-One@MK2@Bushman501}

~ Andromeda - Know no bounds ~

Glad to see you guys keeping this living on. Smike is working hard to continue this whilst I am absent : c

~ Andromeda - Know no bounds ~

Need a Co-GM for this?

@DeadDrop

The GMs are changing now, so it's up to @Smike to decide whether or not he wants the additional help.

~ Valkyria Chronicles - Changing of the Guard ~

Unusual OOC post but...

HAPPY 1 YEAR ANNIVERSARY OF VALKYRIA CHRONICLES: CHANGING OF THE GUARD!

_{Small print, this includes the planning time, Interest Check time and more, not just the OOC time. It's 11 months since this thread was born lmao.}

~ Andromeda - Know no bounds ~

---

_{"To be the first to enter the cosmos, to engage, single-handed, in an unprecedented duel with nature—could one dream of anything more?"}

---

Fresh...fresh air? Rahul wandered down the corridor as instructed by the medical staff. Atlas itself felt cold, colder than ever before. Blackened by the starstruck awe of the awakening, he was left to his own devices to recover his physical strength in his legs once more. The slumber of seven centuries had taken its toll, forcing the technician to stumble down the simulation corridor. Everyone had to take this walk when they woke up out of cryogenics. A dark, screen-lit walkway that was surrounded by holographic screens three-hundred and sixty degrees around them. Circumnavigating their catwalk, everyone had to take the walk as it acted like a symbolic pasture of Andromeda's new inhabitants. These tunnels were more or less a masterpiece of information, providing information to the regular eye on the happenings of the Atlas' journey into the Andromeda Galaxy, informing the public on what needed to be said. Still dazed in the eye, Rahul looked upwards to the screen surrounding the tunnel, watching the lights and pixels flicker on in a tremendous gaze of nightly illumination. Shielding his eyes for a second only dampened the intense luminosity for a moment before he went back to the general gawping of the recently awoken man. Intoxication of the unknown, it was what drew every man, woman and other creature onto the frontier of this uncharted alignment of stars, systems and anomalies yet untold. Rahul coughed, staring at the now holographic image of the starlit sky around him.

"Where were you before you knew you existed?" The ever familiar tone of the guiding voice that led millions to Andromeda spoke out over the speaker. Dr. Arthur Henderson, PhD in Astronomical Exploration; founder and beacon of the Andromeda Project as everyone knew it. The name had garnered too much fame and notoriety over the course of the years preceding lift-off, and yet it always felt so familiar, familial and father-like to some. Even without the face known to many, if anyone, around him he held the hands of humanity in the now proceeding alignment of Coalition History. "Before any of us were aware, we were swabbled into the Milky Way, perhaps insignificant or unaware of the real purpose we all hold. Our duty, today, is to awaken and set the stage for what is to come. Welcome to Andromeda. This is where you exist. Not back in the Milky Way, out here. We are 700 years into the present. Let's keep things as they are...hopeful!"

The holographic material surrounding the catwalk vanished and dimmed, before whitening into a luminous floodlight that brightened the room. The hallway was now clearly visible, as was Rahul himself. He looked down at his hands, feeling a surge of strength in his legs as he continued to take his first steps in another galaxy. The floor felt cold and rough, yet comforting and almost welcoming. Rahul's eyes picked up the fact that he was of course still naked, straight out of the cryogenics sleeping cells. As he trudged along, letting his natural body waltz gently through the brightened tunnel, he emerged at the exist in a singular dressing room, showing basic fatigues personalised and retrofitted around his prior choice before the initial departure. He smiled, letting his hand encase itself within the sleeves of the underlining jacket. Seven hundred years it'd been since he felt that enticing comfort. Mustering the courage to calm his nerves, Rahul dressed himself slowly, covering up his naked awakening body as the first journey was afoot. He had no idea what was going on, but Rahul was only a Class 3 Participant of the Andromeda Project, so his priority was limited to when things were settled. Surely things were pretty good, and established into a loving and warming environment for him to be awoken as such. It must've been.

And yet, Rahul was very wrong.

"Mr Barrette, hello!" A far less recognisable voice suddenly filled the dressing room he'd wandered into. If it weren't for the majority of the clothing already plastered over his body, he'd have hidden behind any form of curtain to hide the vulnerability of his exposed self. Defensively, Rahul scanned the area, before a second door began to open slightly at the other end of the room. Stood lax, leaning against the frame of the sliding door, a Rateian woman smirked and stared at him with the upmost intrigue. No...wait...it wasn't intrigue, it was more a yearning to introduce and tell him something.

"Uhm...hello?" An awkward silence flooded the room whilst he put on the final parts of his dutiful clothing, clearing his throat and waiting eagerly for the Rateian to say something. She wasn't particularly tall, but she was rather elegantly dressed, even for her duty-attire. Her paler skin was a testament to her brightening eagerness to inform Rahul of...something? What was she doing there? Rahul took a slow step forward, clearing his throat yet again before standing even more awkwardly before her. "Can...I help you?"

"Oh, uhh...sorry. I blanked out. Do that a lot." Her witty smirk was met only with a thrust of the hand, gesturing a straightforward handshake right form the get-go. As charming as it was, Rahul was very confused. Procedures mentioned that a potential AI or something more orderly would open them up with a brief introduction before they were set to their induction duties, settling into the new galaxy as they saw fit. Well...apparently this wasn't the case. "Oh, uhh. Right, so would you like to come with me for a while, we're heading away to go work together. Well, I think. Someone hasn't exactly kept me in the loop too much but-"

"Woah, slow down please! I woke up like...fifty minutes ago, I'm not used to hearing this rambling. Can you please explain to me what you're on about?"

And just like that, his ears were showered with the knowledge of a cursed fate. The Rateian communications officer wandered before him, holding out a tac-pad she'd been given not too long after she was awaken supposedly. On it read some rather crude details, none of which made sense. Reports and saved data logs recognising and highlighting system failures in certain cryogenic bays made him feel queasy as he wandered the now open expanses of the Atlas decks. Where they were was packed with bustling and outrageously busy individuals, throwing orders to one another either over radio or via the shouting of their own booming voices. Rahul was just confused, entirely. What was happening? Why was he wandering around with this Rateian girl who seemed to have only the slightest clue as to where they were heading at that moment. Hal returned his gaze back down to the pad, looking through the logs.

For a while, he fumbled with the data presented before him. One caught his eye: The Traveller Dismissal. Lists of detailed ships already sent out two months ago, supposedly, were highlighted in the news outliers. Rahul was showered in the grace of their imagery, showing the URV ships in their entirety. Masking themselves in glory, the ships were a guiding beacon of the sorts. Whilst the officers and leaders of the Project administered the Atlas and kept the project in its checks, the Travellers were apparently the forefront of the entire exploration nature at hand. The last ship had departed two months prior. The URV-Howitzer. Out it went, into the nightly skies with the intent to find something for everyone. Its vague writing in the data-pad made Rahul's throat tighten. Why was there no real progress written down upon the pad? For a while, he began to feel an innate weakness in his legs, as if he were about to pass out from worry. Stumbling against the floor, the Rateian quickly turned around and picked him up quickly, as if to scold him.

"Hey! None of that, Barrette...We gotta get you up, ship and ready!" Rahul met her eyes with a confused and almost dumbstruck glare. What was she on about? Ship and ready? "Uhm...oh right, uh. Yeah I hope you like flying, apparently we're being called for an emergency, can't tell specifics because no one has told me, but they want us to arrive at the docking yard of the URV-Monolith, I think. It's not far from here apparently, just a few miles of walking and a lift or two. You okay with that?"

"I'm sorry, what the fuck are you on about?" Rahul said, rubbing his forehead with a strange distaste for what she was vaguely hinting towards. This was happening all too fast. He'd woken up, dressed himself and now was being taken to a place he wasn't aware of whilst some random Rateian girl ranted about gibberish he didn't understand.

"Oi, watch that tone with me!"

"Uhh...wait, sorry. I'm...confused a lot, could you please clarify on what you're talking about?" And just like that, she simply shook her head and shrugged her shoulders silently, walking on without waiting for him to recover from his slight collapse. Rahul cursed beneath his breath as he gasped for more air, taking the returning steps onto his feet and following suit. She was fast for her pacing, even early on. Perhaps she was awoken far earlier than he was. More or less, who exactly was she? She was not part of his department of course, as they'd never met. Wandering forward, Rahul was left on a journey.

A small group of people were beginning to form around the dockyard when Rahul eventually arrived. There was silence, a lot of it. No one really uttered any words at first, but instead stood facing the Monolith. The ship was there, right up close before them. Rahul hadn't expected to be shown it this early on, but he let his gawping mouth gape open as it did, watching its graceful stationary docking as if it were more than just a high-tech ship. On the inside, Rahul hoped to be able to go inside and check all of the things to find, little did he know that he was due to be boarding it anyway.

"Edalyt, you're here." Breaking the silence, a man dressed in familiar, basic navigation fatigues wandered out of the group towards the Rateian guiding Rahul forward, stopping the two in a neatly fashion with a formal handshake and a firm grip. As Hal took a few seconds to eye him up, the young and well-kept individual seemed just that more happy to be introducing himself to new people. It was almost as if they were going to be working together for life...or something. "Introduced yourself to this young man? Chief Technician, I presume?"

"Uh, no I'm just a Class-3 Technical Officer. Sorry, but hello. Rahul Barrette, here to...do whatever, I guess?" He froze, seeing the Rateian and Navigator stare at him with the kind of look that you'd get when telling a joke. A few seconds passed, and they soon realised Rahul wasn't joking. Entirely misled by the lack of a briefing, he turned to them with a confusing look. "Uhh...what is it?"

"You did brief the guy, didn't you, Leora?"

"What...oh...fuck."

And as soon as one of them opened their mouths a second time, finally opening up an explanation unlike any other, Rahul found himself stumbling back onto the ground with a light head. Fuck. That was the only word that came to mind, thinking this was some sort of strange joke that had gone over his head. It wasn't. And the next hour was spent talking to Rahul, convincing him that something here was not like what he expected. Welcome to Andromeda then...in some way.