MachineSoul

K-9 5-0 - [Kimi & MachineSoul]

Miles

Name: Miles Longtail
K-9 Codename: Buck
Age: 25 (human years)
Species: Purebred German Shepherd
Personality: Intuitive, jokester, tends to be stubborn

Appearance

K-9 5-0 - [Kimi & MachineSoul]

A little boy, no younger than eight, was playing together with his little sister on their bedroom floor, a mystic place laden with mythical creatures, awesome monsters, swashbuckling adventurers, fair maidens and glorious legends. So long they were on their knees and with their dolls, action figures, plastic castles and other figurines, no troubles could ever worry the two; the stories would become ever more astonishing should mom or poppa join their quest, they never seemed to be too tired to chime in and take part in the adventure. As the months passed, both of them were less and less involved, coming home more and more tired, sad, angry even. It was hard trying to play and keep focus when there was a fight somewhere in the kitchen or in the living room, mom's voice always instilled fear in his and her sister's hearts. Poppa, whom had funny smell in his mouth as of late, kept insisting the Miles had to grow up soon and become the protector of the family and how times would turn dark and dangerous, much like the beginning of every quest; the pup had no idea what ever he meant through those speeches, but mom always cried afterwards and, no matter how big the fight had been earlier, they always made up. Other days, the old man insisted that humans are evil by nature and he should think twice before trusting any of their kind and that all of their smiles and good manners were nothing but charade.

"But daaad, I like humies! I want to be like them! My tail gets in the way a lot and my ears are tickly all the time and-"

His father couldn't take it anymore of that and struck the child's muzzle with the back of his palm.

"Don't you ever say that as long as I live, you hear me? You'd better be proud of who you are or they will stomp and kick you like an ordinary dog. You are not an ordinary dog!" He yelled, keeping Miles' snout close to his own by grabbing him by his collar. Stinking spittle went everywhere in the fur of his face, merging with the pooling tears of pain.

He couldn't possibly understand any of it. Not until the night he and his sister were startled by the thundering, chopping sound of multiple rotor blades closing in to their district. Soon, searchlights pierced through the curtains and lit up the room with a blinding white light, his sister promptly started to tremble and cry. There was a large racket all around, his mother running all over the place, a strange, distorted voice booming from outside, the wails of his sister; the next thing he knew, his father crashed in the room with a rifle in his left hand and a black vest over his flannel. He knelt beside the two children and clumsily embraced them before he turned his attention to Miles.

"Today is the day you need to grow up and start taking care of the girls for me, Miles. I'm sorry your childhood has to end this early, but if I could, I'd take you all away from the trouble out there."

"-dents are to evacuate their households immediately, lethal force has been authorized if you do not comply. This is the CPD acting under order thirteen-seven, all anthro residents are to evacuate their households immediately,-"

"D-dad, what's going on?" Miles asked, his voice shaking, his sister echoed his question.

"Humans. They've learned to hate us and treat us like animals, because we tried to be like them. Do not forget this day, for today they've showed their true face. Remember their face."

And he was off, his sister clung to his leg as he tried to leave, which he shoved off effortlessly and was never to be seen again. Mother quickly gathered whatever she could find of value in their house and grabbed the children to get out and face the true human nature. Miles swallowed a knot as he was looked straight in the eyes by a large frame of a person clad in padded kevlar armor, clutching an automatic rifle.

"It's the Longtails." The man uttered, looking straight down at Miles. "Put'em in."

He and Mel got separated from mom, screams of pain and fear were the only things he could remember from that night. Miles screamed with frustration too, knowing that he already failed his father; that and, he hated the fact that he was right. Mister Burke was the one who separated him and Mel from mom and poppa. Mr Burke is Joel's father, Joel was his best friend and only Joel knew where they were living.

There was a rhythmic clacking noise coming from a cramped, but still comfortable cubicle next to the corner of the giant, mostly empty room, as Miles kept flipping the black carabiner in his right palm. He was staring down at the framed photo of himself graduating the K-9 academy, where his academic cap sat at a certain angle on his head to allow his left year to point upwards; he held the diploma with a subtle disgust, yet, he had a smile on his muzzle as he looked straight at the camera lens. There was a shorter, nicely dressed and fairly pretty German Shepherd looping her arm through his own, brandishing a wide, toothy grin. It was a strange sight, seeing the snotty pup that kept stepping on her own dolls and fart loudly turning into a young, desirable lady; he was proud of her, in some aspects, but he was constantly plagued with worry and anxiety over her well being.

"Cut the racket, Buck, the officer's 'bout to come." Said a bloodhound over the cubicle wall, his ears and droopy skin flopping as he talked.

"Gotcha, boss." Miles muttered under his breath as he placed the carabiner on his desk.

He made sure his uniform was in pristine condition, fitting the sleeves and collar around his wrists and neck. He peered into the black monitor to straighten the fur on his face and the hair on the top of his head. It didn't matter who was the next officer he had to work with, he had to make sure he looked as best as he could, else he could face even more ridicule than normal. His previous partner did pay mind to his attire, forcing Miles to make a habit out of tidying himself up before patrols and ops. A pain in the ass, but that pain could turn into electrocution if he disobeyed. He threw a glance over to the opposite wall of the room, where his face was nailed under the title "2^nd best K-9 hound"; he smirked every time when he looked at it, finding it funny there was such a thing as 2^nd and 3^rd place for the best employee of the month. The first place was occupied by "Scout", the bloodhound that just snarled at him. They made a pretty good photo of you he remembered talking to his colleague your ears are drooping through the frame and all the way on the ground, just like in reality! Since that day, Scout has been a tad more pissed than usual.

Miles stood up, sighing through his nostrils and rubbed his eyes, dread creeping up his throat as he waited for the new police officer to pick him up. He didn't know if he was ready to cope with another McNeil, but he sure hoped he was commissioned to a better officer.

K-9 5-0 - [Kimi & MachineSoul]

Here goes something

GEARS - Mecha Sci-fi with Anthro characters. RP in a detailed, story-driven world.

"Copy, two streets over." Aidan replied monotonously as he followed the hand of his superior's GEAR to catch the general position of the warehouse.

His first impulse was to outright walk out and march there and ignore everything around him as if there was no real combat taking place on the streets of Martenstown. He sighed and crouched, resting on his right knee as he waited for the coast to be cleared by his colleagues; he did not realize how time flowed past him while he patiently waited for the situation outside to change, but neither did he care to know anymore. Everything was past him: his GEAR's destruction, the constant worry of being at peril while out of his GEAR, the health condition of the 101st, Esailia's disease and the secrecy revolving around it. A promise was a promise, though, he wouldn't dare to not provide the woman with the needed drugs, lest he would be less than nothing and being nothing is a low place to be already. Once he was given the green light, Aidan stepped out and crossed the street in a hurry, running at a comfortable pace; he only looked left and right before and after he cleared the distance, pointing his small caliber PDW up and down the street. He didn't know for what he did that, since he was pretty sure there were no enemies on foot and it wouldn't take much thinking power to realize that 5.7mm ammo could not dream to put anything beyond a small dent in a GEAR's hull. With a guttural grunt of frustration, he picked himself up and continued his trek towards the warehouse, checking his corners out of habit. There was nothing going on anymore, the wind would lift and fly plastic bags like kites along the roads now populated with abandoned cars. Save for the ominous, distant rumbling of vehicles he could not recognize and a car alarm blaring somewhere to his right, silence took over the city.

Advancing towards the warehouse, his attention was caught by green, flashing cross across the street that was affixed to a white building. The canine instantly changed his direction and headed straight at it, his jog turning into a dash; he didn't care if there were cameras filming him stealing prescription-only drugs, he had an errand to tend to. He stepped inside and the moment he noticed the ceiling surveillance camera, he quickly aimed at it and squeezed the trigger once with the intermediary phalanx of his index finger, the holographic target reticle centered on the body of the camera. He placed the weapon on the counter of the drugstore and vaulted over it so he could slam his body into a door to open it and try to find a list, a manifesto that would tell him where he could find what he needed. He rummaged through the abandoned agendas, dossiers, folders and PADDs until he found what he needed; he took the list with him and ravaged the drawers and compartments until he had a number of pill boxes lined up on the counter: Rituxan, cortisone, Imuzan, Trimethox. Once he was finished hoarding the stuff he needed, he stuffed them in the pockets his jeans and shirt provided and headed out through the backdoor.

"Alright." He told himself. "Maybe I didn't have to send that cryp-" he only managed to mutter so much before he felt his whole world crash violently, his eyes unable to follow the sudden motion of the world falling in front of him.

He realized he had been knocked down a second after he found himself on the ground, his PDW nowhere to be seen and a warm feeling emanating from his right temple. He didn't lose any precious fraction of a second as he rolled away and pushed himself back up, adopting a fighting stance; at first he did not realize what he was confronting, but to him it did not matter, he had an errand to carry out. He knew he had his knife stowed in the concealed pistol holster, but Aidan decided against going for it jut yet. As soon as he realized his attacker was a high-ranking officer, he regretted not drawing his knife earlier.

The scar-faced and burly Lynx had managed to exit his GEAR rapidly after evading the Roughriders - not that he knew their names or designation. He'd dumped an emergency upload of his machines core into the nearest Imperial datanode on a secure frequency, and then triggered the 'suicide' protocol for the machine, stopping any of its' information from falling into enemy hands, as well as destroying almost any forensic evidence that could be recovered too.
He'd rapidly evaded and escaped on foot following that, moving through the conveniently abandoned buildings and narrow sidestreets toward the warehouse. He might still be able to infiltrate on foot and at least verify the princess' location, if not recover her personally.

He'd moved through the streets, cutting through rear alleys and service roads to swiftly avoid the local militia and the ever-moving LDF unit. An explosion and weapons-fire from the near-distance told him that the real enemy had made their move, and the fighting had restarted after its' brief pause.
His momentary lack of attention was almost his undoing as a canine emerged from a door opening onto the service street. With a growl he quickly and smoothly ensnared him in a CQC hold, slamming him to the ground and smashing him in the temple with the butt of his pistol in the same instant. He stamped on the canines' hand and the fingers around the butt of a PDW, before kicking the weapon out of reach with a clatter across the rough asphalt and cement of the alley. Impressed as the man; a GEAR pilot by his garb and build, much like himself, rolled to his feet and quickly adopting a fighting stance. He did the same, and began to circle, his handgun held ready, and his other hand open as he waited for the canines' next move.

Aidan's heart sunk once he realized that the thing that connected to his temple and made it bleed was the pistol the lynx was holding in his hand; he gulped, but he kept his eye contact to the enemy. He could feel his knees begging to jerk and tremble, fearing that his life could end in any second now. There was no way for him to walk away from this situation and that inability woke Aidan properly from the lethargy that took over him. He circled in opposite direction from the lynx, keeping himself at a stable distance from the threat; he slowly raised his arms and opened his palms, showing them to the commander that they were empty. He blinked nervously and licked his lower lip, trying to think of a way to get himself out of the tight situation without ending in a body bag.

"Okay, champ, you got me." He started talking, unsure whether the lynx understood or not. He ignored any other sign of aggression from the feline pilot as he tried to somehow placate.

"Look, my GEAR got fucked up, you took away my weapon, that's it, you won. I'll just bugger off and return to my mom's womb, you can go and brag that you fucked a dog or something like that." He continued, his eyes affixed to the lynx's. Aidan's concentration was at a maximum, trying to follow the movement of the arm holding the handgun with the help of his peripherical vision; he tried to determine whether it was lowered or not, so he kept circling around, trying not to trip over the debris as his vision was locked forwards. He progressively bent his knees, preparing his leg muscles for whatever came next.

"Uh, don't get the wrong idea, it's not that I like it up the ass or anything, but I don't know how you guys refer to fucking someone up, as in, properly screw them over. Uh- as in, destroy, obliterate-" there was a flinch, it was the signal he needed.

He flinched his own right hand, hoping that the lynx would be distracted by it. But he didn't wait to see any reaction, instead, his leaped from his place, bull rushing the lynx, his vision clouded by blurry motion and dark edges; he only felt the impact of hitting the ground and maybe a gunshot, he wasn't sure about that one though. He felt cold, warm, angry and scared at the same time, he could hear himself hyperventilate and his own heart screaming and running in fear as it tried to escape his thorax. He threw his left and right fist where he could, he didn't feel much happening to him, no could he realize whether he was socked in the face with something or not; all that he knew was that he managed to gain control over the armed hand and pin it down, but at the same time, he knew he was struggling for dominance. He tried to reach for his knife, but he fumbled a lot as he tried to pull the shirt up and grab the thing by the handle; he lost his balance at some point and grunted hard as he crashed on his side, but at least he managed to get a tight icepick grip on the black bladed knife. He suddenly went deaf, so this time, he was sure there was gunfire right in his ears, but again, he felt nothing but fear and rage. With an explosive set of motions, pushed, pulled his knife, trying to cut lacerations into his foe. He didn't know how effective that was, but he knew he managed to stab him in the right arm, burying in the whole thing; just as he was about to pull the blade and attempt to finish off, his world got rocked again and this time, he was flat on his back, trying to determine which side was up and which one was down. He couldn't tell if he was able to stand up and walk away, but if this was his final moment, at least he knew he wasn't tied to a cozy chair behind a thick layer of metal and instead, he was covered in the blood of his enemy and fought to the last breath. Valiant or not, he did his job as best as he could, his lack of skills rendered his fit body useless.

I am not so important.

The lynx frowned as he followed the canines' rapid conversation. He quickly grew irritated with his waffling, and his insults. All of this was delaying him from moving onward. Getting bored quickly, he readied himself to make a move - before the opposing GEAR pilot moved first. The lynx counter-moved pouncing forward himself, but slipping on the ground as he sprang forward. The collision with the smaller, but still fit and sturdy, man was hard and jarred him enough to lose his breath and fumble the handgun. A gunshot blasted out, well wide of the target but the concussive sound loud enough to jar his senses. The LDF pilot skidded to the ground, still wheeling his arms and swinging blind; a hit caught the Northener on the upper thigh, hitting a pressure point and another whammed into his stomach, doubling him over enough and stunning him well enough for the canine to make a grab for the handgun. He struggled to free himself, clashing with the other pilot and shoving him away long enough to pull the trigger and send another concussive wave of sound over them both, although his foe caught the worst of it.

Seeing him reel back, the lynx pulled his aching hand back up and was caught unawares as he was assaulted by a flurry of knife strikes. The jabs and slashes were imperfect, but fast and in earnest. One trimmed a whisker from his muzzle and another bit into his side, only enough to break the skin. As he clumsily turned away, the canine got home a resounding blow that sank the black-bladed tactical knife up to the crossguard in his bicep. Staggering with the explosive pain of the wound, the Lynxes' arm went slack, the pistol clattering from his hand and onto the paving of the street. Bent nearly double, he yowled in pain as the sensation blasted up his arm and into his brain. The enemy GEAR pilot reached for the blade, and he snarled angrily in response, lashing out with a powerful kick to the canines' mid-section that sent him flying and crumpled to the ground. The lynx hissed and staggered as he felt blood pump out of his arm and his side, spots dancing before his eyes. Slumping half-standing to the wall, he wrapped his fingers around the handle of the blade. Pulling it out would make it worse. With a guttural snarl he spat at the prostrate GEAR pilot, and looked to the roof of the warehouse rising above the nearby buildings.

He couldn't make it there now. Not like this and with the militia and LDF looking for him. His only chance was to escape and evade... if he made it. But he could track and trace the princess, and this unit of GEARs. They would lead him right to her. And then he'd have another chance.
He looked down at the blood-soaked canine one last time, before he shoved himself away from the wall and staggered onward, dragging one foot after the other as he headed for the outskirts of the town.

Waiting proved to solve nothing, so the only thing left for Aidan to do was to check himself. Raising his head to try to look down at himself was enough to make him sick, the world seemed to lag behind compared to his head motion; he nearly lost the power in his arms when he saw himself all bloody and torn. With the sickness came an even more sickening, deaf pain radiating through his abdomen followed by a sharp, burning sensation. He tried to sit up, but he fell on his side and with the whole racket, he started to feel pain in his left bicep too, where the old gunshot wound was. He had to put a lot of effort to pull himself on to his feet, using whatever he could grab to make himself stand up; the world spun and shook, black spots and stars filled his vision as he steadied his knees to support his own weight, his stomach turned and squeezed. To top it all off, he identified a bullet hole on his shirt.

I'm hit was all that he wanted to say through the comms and wait for someone to pick him up, but he knew that the town was too hot for exfil just yet and Ken was busy with strafing. Instead, he closed his eyes and tried to pull through and just keep going, but the more he tried the more stiff his body became, he also became more and more aware of the pain growing in intensity. I'm not walking away from this one he thought grimly. I need help his brain insisted, but another part of him outright refused.

I am not so important.

I'm bleeding out. I can't feel my legs-

I am not so important.

I want to go home-

I am not so important

Mama

Along with the image of his own mother looking up to him before his departure five months ago, he saw the black feline's ears and black hair as she embraced him; both of them always made sure to smell nice, no matter what the occasion. Both of their individual scents filled his nostrils, which was enough fuel to make Aidan stagger forwards, leaving a long blood stain along the wall he used to keep balance. He could feel hot goop pour between the fingers of his other hand holding the wound and it seemed that with every other clumsy step, more would come out. When there was no more wall to help him keep his balance, he had to slow down his pace so he wouldn't fall flat on his face, fearing that it would be his last fall. He glanced over the PDW and against any logical thought process, he picked it up and continued to stagger on, counting on its weight to balance his movement as he advanced towards the warehouse. Once there, he wasn't sure what he wished to accomplish, but nonetheless, he was determined to get there in a timely fashion. His vision was mostly locked to the ground, but he managed to avoid bumping straight against the ATV parked near the warehouse. He recognized the vehicle, judging that it was the fireteam lead by Esailia.

Es. Her meds. I need help.

I am not so important.

Instead of walking out to make contact, he leaned against the wall there and tried to be as inconspicuous as possible, putting a lot of effort in controlling his desperate need for air and the nearly overwhelming urge to groan and grunt with every fiery pulsation radiating through his abdomen and left arm; his skull, spine, humerus and inferior ribs vibrated with every pulse and amplified the pain, keeping the canine as sober as possible. He had that one morphine shot he managed to save, but he knew that it would make him sleepier and becoming too cozy in his current state would be fatal.

I am not so important.

GEARS - Mecha Sci-fi with Anthro characters. RP in a detailed, story-driven world.

There, done.

GEARS - Mecha Sci-fi with Anthro characters. RP in a detailed, story-driven world.

There was no way out, no door to be opened to exit the prison his own mind trapped itself in. All that he could do was to attempt to open the morgue drawers and seek a way out; his efforts were in vain, as it seemed that no matter how hard he pulled or gripped the handles, his body refused to respond to his will. Nothing seemed to work: pulling the handle up, down, right, left, outwards only seemed to seal the doors tighter, frustration and panic taking over his senses; he occasionally checked the time on his watch, which seemed to switch between 31:32 and BB:2a, but his mind accepted the display malfunction as a correct time, driving his mind to believe that he was about to run late for the briefing. Seeing that his efforts were futile, he gave up on trying to search for a way out and instead decided to wait for something to happen, anything that would change his surroundings and allow him to escape. Looking around him, he confirmed to himself that there were still only morgue drawers occupying all four walls enclosing his presence in a small area; above the neon light was obviously turned off, yet, it emanated light, alight so unnatural that Aidan felt that the more he stared at it, the darker the room would become. The knowledge of the strange property of that light planted the seed of fear, which quickly amplified as he realized that a door had creaked open right behind him with a rusty, painful screech, the cold metal tray pushing against his back only managed to paralyze the canine with fear.

He knew there was no other way out, so after an eternity of hesitation and attempts at trying to win confidence, he turned mostly against his will and dropped his eyes right over the tray, but the sight didn't terrify him more: there was, indeed, a body bag neatly fitted on the tray, but he couldn't help but notice that water seemed to drip from the otherwise impermeable material the bag was made out of. Touching the water, he felt no temperature change, no wetness, no sensation at all, but his body still registered him touching something with the tips of his fingers. Determined to confront the horror inside the bag, Aidan pulled the zipper with confidence, yet, the bag did not open; it only opened when he felt that it wanted to reveal its contents. Gazing upon the desiccated piece of leather and bone, he still recognized the facial expression of the body, its features unaffected by rot and time.

"Robert John McNail. Drowned."

The next tray opened and a dirty, silvery goop ran out between his fingers.

"Andrew Pepper. Workplace accident involving molten lead."

He was pretty sure that their faces were accurate, exactly the way he remembered them when they flat-lined. Another opened and, instead of a metal creak, there was sobbing and gurgling.

"Nadina Coman. Suicide attempt, overdose."

The dripping metal and water started to rise, even though he was wearing a pair of boots, he could still feel the cold touch of the combined liquids soaking his fur. Another door opened, brown flakes and chunks spilled out from the body bag, the man inside had black spots all over his fur, along with brown, sticky patches of dried out blood and flesh.

"Arcade Ruthless. Thrombotic storm."

He whimpered and whined when he heard another door open and this time, he was too afraid to look at it. The tray rolled out with a rattly, raspy rubber groan, the sound itself pulled most of the air Aidan had in his lungs as he attempted to burn his fear with a scream. He realized with terror that he couldn't scream and, instead, he could hear himself exhaling a long whine. Curiosity got the better of him, so he threw a fleeting glance over his shoulder, only to see a cat with hollowed out eyes, nose and mouth, its thorax bloated and rotting ribs poking and punching through the flesh.

"Esailia Sprinsteam. No-"

He turned his head away, knowing that there was nothing else that he could do about her. Guilt and shame were his companions now. They were soon replaced by shock and pain when he threw another glance as an attempt to bring closure for his failure, but this time, it wasn't her anymore.

"Aidan Sykes. Bled out."

"Good call, doc. Too bad it's too late." The desiccated body replied, its mouth remaining still and black, empty eyes affixed to the canine. "I believe that if you'd think faster -actually, think at all- you would've had only half as many dead under your name."

"Shut up."

"You can't shut your own mouth by giving it a verbal order, doc. See? I told you, if you'd think, life would be so much prettier."

"What do you want from me? You've been plaguing me for over a month." Aidan finally found the power in his guts to turn around and face the thing, which, looked more like his own mother.

"I've been 'plaguing' you ever since you've developed your first conscious thoughts, dummy. It's not healthy to dislike your own thought patterns, you know, it could lead to psychosis, some would argue you could end up with schizophrenia. I am content with your presence, mind you; it amuses me to see you fail and get so worked up on it, blaming everything on yourself, then, trying to work out that you're actually not to blame. Sure, it is pathetic if someone would look at you from the outside, but what do they know, right? All they see is this one man who they can trust their lives with, a safety net, the guardian angel that keeps them safe in their sleep. You love your title, don't you doctor?"

"Quit it and get to the point." His voice trembled.

"That's what makes you so special, the only thing that makes you 'better' than most: your title. Beyond that, you're kind of average, don't you think? I mean, it's obvious why they signed you up for the special GEAR training and become the armored corpsman you are now; you were the average one in the company, that one guy people avoid when they have health issues. They had to get rid of you somehow, so they made this program as an excuse; I can't believe you were blind enough not to see their intentions, bud. You were the first candidate so that they would draft you first, it wasn't because you were the most capable of the bunch; what, you really think the rest of the guys actually got any GEAR training? Have you ever considered the logistics of training a battalion of field medics and give them expensive war machines, which they have to leave behind anyway when an emergency needs their attention? Why do you think they gave you this piece of junk to pilot around? It was most likely destined to be used for extra parts and what ever, but instead, gave it to you so you could properly ruin the rubbish GEAR and turn it into scrap metal, so they wouldn't have to tear it down piece by piece. Save some money after they gave you the DATMK."

"Why I'm here, you ask? You daft mutt, I'm here to wake you up. You've ran away from me, from reason, from reality for too long. I had to insist long and hard to break you down and make you listen to me, so, listen already. You hold responsibility for no one, no one's your child. You try so hard to prove yourself you're such a good man, but you know you're a man incapable of doing his job; then, you feel all disappointed about yourself because you had big expectations from yourself. Wind the fuck down before it's too late and accept it. Accept that you're nothing. Nothing but a tool in greater hands, a courier, a meat shield. That's why you're in khakis instead of an expensive suit. A somewhat useful dork, if you will. You're not so important."

"I am not so important." Aidan uttered through the link, the only thing still functioning. "You people go wreck the imperials, I can tend to myself. I would say it's an order if I were higher in rank. I mean it. Please."

Aidan was curled up in the wrecked cockpit, holding the surviving half of his helmet that contained the microphone. A minute ago, he woke up gasping for air, confused by the pitch black darkness that surrounded him; he felt something sting his forehead and when he felt for the object, he realized that whatever that thing was, it managed to punch through the GEAR's front hull, through the electronics, through the screen and crack the helmet in half, stopping three millimeters into the skin of his forehead. Nothing worked since there was no power, most probably due to the hard crashing into the street, which might have screwed the power cells, thought the pilot. He carefully undid the straps that held him to the seat and extricated himself with some difficulty, his right leg nearly being trapped under the pedal. The only source of light was his PADD, which he checked for any sort of damage. The PDW was still intact, but, the large medkit was properly ruined. When the light of the device touched the cockpit, he realized with stupor how bad was the damage the vehicle had suffered, bending the hull inwards almost to the point of resembling a spacious coffin. Once he freed himself from the seat, a mild headache and a slight dizziness got to him, but they passed away quite quickly. To somehow fit inside the destroyed vehicle, Aidan curled to the side and laid the weapon next to him and the PADD over it, illuminating the left side of the cockpit, where the arm of the GEAR would be. With whatever was left of the emergency tool belt, he tried his best to open up the escape hatch, which he hoped that wasn't sealed off either by the rubble, or the compression of bent metal. Bolt with bolt, he unscrewed and unlatched and decouple away, concentrated on his escape more than on anything. He didn't know what was driving him to try and escape the confinement of the wreck, but he didn't care anymore either. He wanted out, pronto. He heard some rumbling from outside, steel clangs, shots being fired, but nothing stopped his efforts. Once he was sure that the arm was loose and the only force left that kept it in place was mere friction, he turned his body so that his feet were aimed towards the left side panel; he started to mule kick the panel, outputting any force left in him, grunting with every kick.

*THUD* *THUD* *THUD*

It seemed to him that the arm did not mobilize at all, yet, he did not give up.

*THUD* *THUD* *THUD*

Nothing. He grabbed hold of something solid and pushed himself away and against the panel, groaning loudly as he felt something move under his heels. Once his muscles started to ache, he turned around again to check if he managed to do anything and, to his satisfaction, he panel did seem to move only so slightly outwards. He then pushed harder, kicked harder until his bones and skull hurt from the shock, but in the end, he managed to steer way the arm enough to squeeze his body through and try to swim through the cloud of debris, bricks, wood splinters, home appliances. By the time he cleared away, he found himself on his belly in the alleyway he aimed to retreat into when his GEAR was still on its legs. He crawled a little more until he found a door he could open, hiding inside. He took the PDW and PADD with him and the only auto-shot of morphine that survived the crash, the rest of the equipment was virtually ruined.

"I'm out and I'm on my feet. I'm fine." He uttered again, taking a quick look around the room he was in. "The GEAR's dead, don't bother with it. I'll try to find my way to the warehouse."

With that, he took a look at his PADD and tried to determine his rough position on the map; he peeked outside, trying to determine how to get where he needed, but seeing the arm of his GEAR sticking out from the mount of debris made him sigh, he even felt a knot tying up in his throat.

"You had a good run, Stumpy. 'Bout time you get wrecked; I honestly don't know how you managed through everything I put your stinking, rusted ass. See you on the other side, brother."

He wiped some blood from his forehead, switched the safety off no his firearm and off he went in the open world.

GEARS - Mecha Sci-fi with Anthro characters. RP in a detailed, story-driven world.

I'll have to extend for tomorrow, it'll be done by noon.

Go team Stumpy!

GEARS - Mecha Sci-fi with Anthro characters. RP in a detailed, story-driven world.

My post is queued for tomorrow. I was really hoping that more people would post, though I understand that most of the gang here is under exam pressure (so am I).

GEARS - Mecha Sci-fi with Anthro characters. RP in a detailed, story-driven world.

Dat enthusiasm tho

GEARS - Mecha Sci-fi with Anthro characters. RP in a detailed, story-driven world.

So, yes, two days late, you may cast your metaphysical and virtual stones at me. Had some really rough weeks, so, apologies for running so late with my reply.

Also, funny stuff, Cart. I could never take Shia serious no matter what he does