Shinny

Purr-fect Betrayal

Packets of digital information carried themselves effortlessly through the void of space. When an entire craft used such transmissions for communication — and none of them were organic — it meant that a craft could run without a lot of systems. Life support, atmospherics, hydrodynamics. All of this meant that there was a crew boarding a craft which was for all intense and purposes dead.

“Captain,” the WiFi chattered.

“Aye?” Rusted and dilapidated joints flexed to drum fingers, a facsimile of a man sat upon a sun-bleached chair that swivelled to look at its target. A scrap-parrot cocked its head to look at their ‘guest’, one of the myriad crew of the ship known as the ‘Sailing’); DROP TABLE Ships’.

“There’s been some chattering on the waves,” the crewman spoke through digital transmissions. “I think we have our next target.”

“Where’s it to?”

“Take a listen—” The crewman brought forth a PDA from the pockets of his stereotypical pirate’s attire. Metal fingers passed it across to the captain, who picked it up and flicked through the records to take note. Bounty and booty, all in one convenient asteroid. The Captain would have smiled, were his eyes not red lenses and his mouth not a metallic grill.

The Captain finally rose from his chair, striding forth towards his crew of robot pirates who milled away at odds and ends while they floated in the depths of space. “Anchors aweigh and all hands hoy, me hearties!” The crew buzzed to life, radio chatter flaring active as The Captain strode down the ‘deck’, gazing through a hole into the inky blackness.

“Boot up the old hyperdive and set course for Asteria, lads.” The Captain turned away, picking out his favourite tricorn and gathering his laser pistol and cutlass. His crew worked in kind, several of them grabbing gauss muskets and their own technologically advanced melee weapons. The radiation levels spiked as the fusion reactor booted to full capacity, a death sentence for any organic, a perfect cover for this crew.

“We’ve got work to do.”

---

Some time later and the ramshackle corpse of a ship floated within a lagrange point, masking its presence via shutting off all systems and drifting as a lifeless derelict. Heat signatures were minimal, and radio chatter did not extend beyond the ship’s reaches.

The chunk that broke off from the main ship could have been misconstrued as just another piece of scrap, at least until it changed its yaw and started to gently accelerate towards the distant and well defended asteroid. A crew of five, hustled in this minute craft as it slowly drifted towards the home of the Amazons.

“Try and not cause a ruckus, least until things kick off.” The crew and their gracious leader, Captain Metallo, swivelled their ship and prepared a series of minor retrograde burns. They had to prepare for landing as quietly as possible. A straight up firefight would’ve been suicide, but pirates were not known for playing by the rules.

Celestial Duel — Shinny Vs Anshin

THE WORLD IS INSUFFICIENT

Homos. Homo Sapiens Sapiens to be exact — bipedal tetrapods with a curved spine and a bulbous head. Often they came with accoutrements: Large ears, tails, wings. Sometimes their faces were elongated, resembling those of other animals within their phylum. Sometimes they came in the form of great quadrupedal reptiles, a veritable rainbow of colours and accoutrements. They could act and pretend that they were not human, but ultimately they were; they all thought in the same way, died in the same way: With whatever passes for blood spluttering from their mouths, and with terror in their eyes.

The pycnofibers upon Krü’s body rose first, bristling in response to motions ahead. Plans within plans within plans were forged, prepared, poised to be unleashed the moment Beramode made a wrong move. It was only the casual raising of a tri-fingered hand that halted them, dismissing them with the minute motion of his wrist.

“Indeed,” Krü replied. He held good confidence that victory would be his — should they come to blows — but this branch would invariably be undone with such a conflict. His plans needed this branch intact to proceed, and though Krü was infamous for his wrath and his hatred, he stayed his hand.

Patience pays.

“We did.” Krü spoke, and his voice boomed with alien sounds, an alien language. “Games with cards, games with pieces carved from matter of earth and life. Games whose price earned them the nickname ‘plastic crack’.” Without so much as a gesture, Krü’s body rose into the air, swivelling to face Beramode while all six limbs hung beneath him. The Tapestry of Fate rose in kind, unfurling part of its unending length to bridge the gap between the two. A twitch of a finger later and the great cloth sunk, the scintillating fabric forming an arena within its depths.

Krü clutched his deck. His body lowered to rest upon the fabric formation, his head rising to look down at the metaphorical arena, the reflection of a moment where their pawns came together in coincidence, pieces already upon this board of war. His hands weaved the cards within themselves, shuffling his deck before he placed it face-down within the allotted grove.

Krü drew five cards.

“Your move.”

INSATIABLE

The figure — Agent 21745-2-Bravo-168, David — gave an impassive stare as the lights flashed forth and the firefight began. He was only there to attain the asset, and if they fell then another would take their place. But Hector did not fall, and Hector’s hand scribbled the name upon the paper.

David smiled.

“I am glad you agree,” he told Hector. Swift fingers unlocked the suitcase with a rapid series of clicks, opening up to present an item thrumming with power. He tosses it to the infamous Narco Lich, who can catch it and immediately feel its immense presence, an alien presence.

“Welcome to The Cultivators, Brother. We will sort out your initiation in earnest after dealing with—” David looks up to Rodrigo. “— this.”

A gesture from David’s hands, and the men who had fallen began to rise once again. Energy coursed through their lifeless bodies, puppets re-animated to bring their guns to bear and open fire upon Rodrigo and his goons. It was their turn to feel the heat, as the reanimated fired suppressive round after suppressive round.

It gave the time the two needed.

“We work best in shadow,” Hector enunciated with his electronic monotone. David gazed up, looking to the source of the light. His right hand formed a two-finger gun, aiming towards the lights themselves — unleashing a bolt of magenta to shatter the glass and plunge the entire area into darkness once again.

A SLAVE TO CRAVING

Celestial Duel — Shinny Vs Anshin

This is a 1v1 agreed between myself and @divorarel which features two 'theatres' for the conflict: One celestial, one mortal. We have pretty much agreed everything in private.

Celestial Duel — Shinny Vs Anshin

AS ABOVE

It is rare for the elder of elders to leave his abode, for his reach is such that he can carve the heavens from the safety of his celestial nexus. It is rarer for the master of the Cultivators to move within other universes without portents of calamity; yet it was possible, for nothing was impossible under Krü.

A celestial lighthouse pulses in the black sky, a pulsar whose rhythm was a flat second. Tick, tick, tick. Each rotation was a blast of radiation that could fry electronics and rip skin from bone. Yet this star was not lifeless, for it was host to a planet whose life was neither electronic nor biological. The grey dusty surface was host to great spires, coiled towers of twisting metal that undulated within the galactic breeze. The extreme gravity and electromagnetic interference from the host star slowly pulled the planet apart, great chunks of the world floating as islands whose fate was to slowly drift into oblivion. Creatures of geometric shape and unorthodox material drifted in the airless void, performing their dance of life antithetical to the flow of time in this universe.

A perfect staging ground.

Krü sat upon a smaller floating island, his body laying against the grey dust. There was no way to describe this being as human, for his anatomy was as alien as it comes: His torso was held like that of an ostrich, his striding legs capped with hooves akin to a deer. His neck was long and flexible, and his head was rectangular with the jaws of a spider. Four dull grey eyes peered forward, intricate purple runes carved into his irises that rotated with unending patterns. Krü was blind, yet he saw all.

His four arms held a great cloth, fingers driving a needle into the intricate pattern as new threads were forged — strands of time woven into the tapestry of fate. Each stitch furthered his conquest, forging plots and games whose subjects did not know they were playing.

---

SO BELOW

The more the world changed, the more it stayed the same. The presence of extraterrestrial life and divine intervention did not stop the need for drugs and violence: In many ways it only grew the demand. The destruction of the far east, the forging of Neo Babylon, all of this might have shaken up the criminal underworld — but it could never destroy it. Power had merely changed hands, and it was high time for the lords of the old world to take on the new.

”You are sure?” Bone-thin fingers laced together, the clacking of jewellery barely audible underneath the thrum of Drill. A ghastly face gazed up, eyes little more than illuminated spheres puppeteering a corpse. The Lich of Rio. His undead face was impossible to read, but the cocking of his head showed… Caution. Unsurprising, really.

”We are.” The face of someone ill-suited to the favelas gazed back, someone too white. But still, this fellow held onto a suitcase filled with power The Lich could have only dreamed of: The power to take Neo Babylon.

”All you need to do is say ‘yes’.”

Neo Babylon

Name: 017
Alias(es): Seventeen, Zero One Seven
Gender: F
Height: 3'3" (100CM)
Distinctive Features: While 017 could be compared to the variety of other robots, cyborgs, etc that inhabit New Babylon; the eldritch, near-organic resemblance of her machinery underneath her white carapace is wholly different.

Appearance:
017 is an ornate feminine robot decorated in white armour. She lacks a human face as such, instead her smooth face only holding two large blue lenses for 'eyes'. Each hand holds six digits, four fingers and two thumbs. There are small grooves that her stiff carapace does not protect, revealing the hidden alien technology at the core of her joints and her overall movement. As far as robots go, her movements are too smooth, beyond that of even a human.

Personality:
At first, 017 seems to act in the same cold and calculating manner that is stereotypical for any robot, but the longer you talk to her the more apparent that this is is not the whole truth. 017 is curious being, sometimes over-commiting to an idea just because she wants to see the conclusion. 017 can also feel great frustration just like any other, and she has been known to have a great sense of sarcasm.

Powers, Skills, and Abilities:
017's metal body has basic augmented reflexes, strength, endurance, etc. While the body itself does not have any true weaponry, her frame is that of an engineer. Her greatest strength is not what she has, but what she can create — or MacGyver — to resolve a situation.

Equipment:
017's engineering frame carries inbuilt tools for construction and alteration. Lasers for cutting, a plasma flame for wielding, and all sorts of small-scale tools for on-the-fly moments. She also has a limited supply of nanite-paste, containing nanomachines that can perform micro-scale engineering feats as well as repair her body in a pinch.

Your Last Memory:
An army facing against the black tower. A fight for survival against the unending darkness. A single command: Live.

Additional Plot Hooks:
017 seems more familiar with the situation than a being in her position should be.