HB stood near the growing group (presumably their new comrades) but not in it, snippets of conversation noticed but not interacted with, distant squalls unrelated to the raging storm. They knew that this would have been a good time to start noting names and putting them to faces but did not do so, indulging in the frenetic rush of anxiety instead of the clinician approach Zealots were trained to approach missions with.
Lorei wasn't there. The Synth whose siren song in the form of a silent plea for space had dragged HB out of the criminal underworld and into the light was nowhere to be found. Why? Where was she? She was supposed to be in this unit, HB had only put their name on the transfer list after triple-checking it for hers. Had she backed out, or been reassigned? Had there been some accident, a collapsed engine or a bulkhead breach perhaps? It was possible that Lorei was no more, her already shattered mind erased from existence by laser fire or unfortunate disaster. It was unlikely, but it was possible. Oh so very possible.
Their mind seized upon their increased heart rate and morphed it, the drugs in their system instructing the body to take this negative feel and make something addictive out of it. The spike in adrenaline was as intoxicating as any hallucinogen, HB riding a wave of nervous energy that crested just as the VF's canopy opened.
HB saw her and stiffened, every muscle fiber tensing as if struck by lightning.
Her.
her-her-her-her-her-her-
It took everything they had to not sprint straight for the Beloved Synth, and it was a strain that could not have lasted. Each step Lorei took brought HB closer to giving in, to bound forth with a million questions and hoist her into a hug so tight it would dent her plating. Had the man in charge not shown up, they probably would've.
As it was they instead snapped towards the approaching Cerasian, but not before giving Lorei the briefest glance. Their eyes, a deep red and seemingly pupilless, crinkled as their lips curled into the ghost of a smile, HB trying to convey every emotion but only really showing one:
March 12th, 2014 Women's Barracks, Shattered Steel HQ Malta, The Mediterranean
Fuka had no idea what to think about Myk, the too-young and too-emotional little guy with the Russia-sized chip on his shoulder. The consideration of her spirit animal was interrupted by the sound of sobbing over the comms, the veteran unused to overt displays of emotion in the field and now very sure that she didn't like them.
So she shut her mouth for the moment and listened to the others jabber, watching Circus show off and pondering a question that seemed symbolic of her new career:
What kind of outfit is this?
She found normalcy in Malta for a moment, setting down her gear and grabbing a bunk like she had done so many times in so many bases. There had been a time in her life when she would get homesick, but that was long gone. Nowadays she felt weird if she stayed in one bed for too long! Always on the go, always on the move, flying her to do something for Shattered Steel and then flying back to the States to talk to the docs about her arm, back to Shattered Steel and then every once in a while onwards to Arizona or Japan to visit some relative or another.
The sense of not owning your living space became normal, and Fuka had grown accustomed to the sterile nature of barracks life.
Now that it was after hours she had changed from her work gear to sweatpants and an undershirt, lying in her bunk with her datapad charging nearby. She had just fallen into a catnap after skimming personnel files when emotion again invaded her sanctuary, the Valkyrie storming in like a typhoon crashing against the coast.
The crash of a fist against metal shattered Fuka's light doze, training and experience shaking her from Rest into Fight. She was reaching for her pistol before she was even really awake, and it was only once she registered Freyja as the intruder that she let it remain in her bag.
"Goddamn girl, are you okay?"
Fuka wasn't the only one disturbed; the other Steel women in the bunkhouse had heard and seen the commotion. Questions bubbled up in a variety of languages, and to top it off Wunderkind had to start spouting off at the door:
You're not allowed to get yourself bent out of shape till you save more lives than you've killed
So that was what this was about. Christ.
"Valk take a breath, please." She pleaded, padding for the door. "The rest of you mind your business."
And for the visitor at the door-
"Mykhailo, thanks for bringing food. Maybe don't announce people's business at the threshold like you're our town crier?"
Her voice was a low hiss so that only he could hear, her flesh and blood hand gesturing for the tray.
"And next time you need to get something over to this side, ask someone to take it. Do me a favor and don't show up to the women's barracks unannounced."
You met a lot of unrepentant horndogs in the military; it came with being surrounded by people barely in their twenties. Myk was very quickly exhausting her patience. Hitting on her in their first meeting was funny. Trying his luck with Freyja on the flight was immature. Taking it upon himself to bring Freyja her dinner while she just so happened to be in the women's quarters?
The Gehenna was sturdy, dependable, dangerous and, to the enemy, terrifying. What it was not was maneuverable. It had been built to travel at a slow and steady pace devoid of deviation; it was not a scout but a long-range sniper. It would deploy to a good position and sit there plinking away at anything unfortunate enough to be in range, dealing destruction from miles out so that its victims didn't get a chance to respond. This was its mantra, its ethos, its entire purpose, the thing it had been built from the ground up to do. When the UEC's death-designers had put their heads together and gave birth to what would be the Gehenna they had neglected to consider that in only a few years there would be mechs that were not just capable of being fast but could transform to achieve flight. Thus they had packed on as much extra armor and additional power sources as they could, and HB was resigned to having to hitch a ride every time deployment orders came through.
That was how it had always been, and they were content with it anyway. It wasn't like they had many places to go. HB followed the work, hopping from station to station and system to system under the orders of the Confederation. As far as the higher-ups were concerned, the Gehenna and its pilot were just more cargo to sling onto one of the many freighters typing their domain together.
They were aware of the approaching space station but did not remark on it, letting the automated docking instructions echoing through the ship fade into the background of their mind. The hallucinogens in their system, the Stepping Stones, as their fellow Zealots referred to them, turned the mechanical voice into a steady drone. In that meditative state, they could look inward, turning their gaze away from the infinite space outside their window to the one in their mind.
They could not reach the Ideal Conscious, not in this state. Instead of a flat plane their thoughts were a churning sea, roiling and crashing in a storm of uncertainties. HB knew that the Beloved Synth would be there, that was the whole reason behind their request for a transfer. This knowledge registered as satisfaction, excitement, even joy, but beneath the foamy surface of those positive emotions lay currents of disquiet. Nervousness was to be expected after such a long separation, but it was curdling into anxiety and fear.
With the detached air of a scientist inspecting a failed experiment, HB observed their arm, noting how it trembled. Adrenaline was running through them, fight-or-flight instincts from a long-gone primal era. Their self-control was broken for the time being; they could not quell themselves.
What an odd state of being! They could identify the responses their body was going through, but their mind, the arbiter of their reality, was unable to rein them in. This was a failure on HB's part. They had been trained to rise past their emotions, but the lapse was understandable. Seeing a loved one for the first time in twenty years would have an effect on anyone.
Even someone as jaded as they.
The transport made contact with the hangar, the gentle bump as it activated its landing struts reaching through the storm clouds to shake HB to action. A door opened somewhere in the distance, a ramp descended, and HB went to leave. She could feel the spray of nonexistent saltwater as she walked, hear the rush of a wind that blew only for her. There were figures in the distance, indistinct even as though HB could see the most minute of their features.
HB could not make out their faces but even if they could it wouldn't have mattered. None of them were Lorei.
The waves kept crashing, threatening to capsize the Zealot and drown them inside their own head.
Name: HB-202RC ('Horned Bastard, 202nd Zealot of the Ravenous Cohort') Age: 322 Sex: Biologically female Species: Mon'nnari Appearance: HB stands taller than the average human male at six feet, not counting their horns, and carries themselves with a warrior's grace. They tend to dress simply and practically, leaning towards cheap and replaceable clothes when at rest and sturdy combat gear when in the field. However, HB does indulge in jewelry. They've decorated their face and horns with several bangles and studs, the flashy adornments a holdover from their criminal career.
If one happened upon HB in a state of undress they'd noticed a number of old surgical scars and sealed ports, relics from their days as a soldier for the Hegemony. Their original cybernetic augments were bulky and obtrusive but as the years went on they've been replaced with more advanced and discrete ones. That said, they are very clearly augmented. While not a full-conversion borg HB is cybered to a very high degree, with seams on their limbs and torso denoting implanted weapons and subdermal armor.
As a side note, instead of the usual red HB bleeds a pale, milky blue. Their blood was replaced with an artificial variant that better regulates temperature and insulates their various augmentations from electromagnetism.
Personality: HB is, at first glance, spacey and out of touch. They never quite learned how to interface normally with society, often coming across as distant or perhaps not entirely there. They have a tendency to look through people rather than at them during a conversation, sizing up someone with all the cold clinicality of a machine crunching numbers. This ruthless calculation is at odds with their sleepy-eyed and dazed expression, a side effect of the drugs running through their system.
Part of HB's faith involves the use of psychoactive substances to achieve the Ideal Conscious, a state of loose calm characterized by meditative introspection and mild hallucination. Words are distorted and images are altered, giving them the sensation of being in a permanent dream. This makes holding a conversation with them an amusing or annoying experience, depending on one's preference. But by using a neural implant hooked into their serotonin receptors they can flush their system of the narcotics, forcing themselves sober. This is an unpleasant experience and makes HB rather taciturn, but they only use it when combat is imminent.
History: The child that would eventually be known as HB-202 was born generations after the Mon'nnari were annexed by the Hegemony, and there was no question about its fate. They were born a Zealot, a religious order of elite warriors and assassins who saw warfare and sabotage as devotional actions. The Zealots believed that they were not free spirits but pieces in a puzzle or cogs in a machine, individual parts that had to work for the good of the whole. As such, it would be inaccurate to say that the child had a family. They knew who their relatives were, but their parents had been assigned to each other by their superiors for the sake of producing future fighters, and their siblings were kept faceless, the same as all the other children in their sept. They ate in the same dining hall and slept in the same barracks but were taught to bond with each other as comrades and nothing more.
The child trained dutifully and was made a full Zealot upon reaching adulthood, replacing a fallen soldier. They were not given a numerical designation but inherited one, becoming the new 202nd of the Ravenous Cohort and then swiftly deployed against the Hegemony's enemies. Zealots were prized for their use as raiders and ambushers, slinking into enemy territory to disrupt supply lines and force troops away from the front lines. At first 202 took action against pirates and dissidents on the fringes of Hegemony territory but with the arrival of the Confederation they were given a proper war to fight.
They served admirably, working with a small ship-based team to harry the intruding forces. Despite the facelessness of the Zealots they were given notable autonomy in the field, often directed towards a region of space and told to make trouble however they saw fit. 202 destroyed ammo depots, contaminated medical supplies, assassinated political and military leaders, and sabotaged refueling stations so that they would explode when docked with anything to hurt the Confederation and force them to stretch themselves thin. They took pride in their work, as by the tenets of their faith every legitimate target destroyed was a positive step on their journey to martial enlightenment. This had been the way of the Zealots before they had served the Hegemony, and their beliefs were tolerated as they produced skilled and devoted agents who did a tremendous amount of damage for their small numbers. But the Hegemony did not allow for deviation from their vision, and the new realities of war brought mandated change.
The Zealots were retrained as mech pilots and the parameters of their missions altered. Now they were less scalpels and more knives, leaving long slashing wounds in the enemy's territory. During the Second Confederation War the Zealots were directed towards vulnerable civilian targets as well as military ones, displacing populations and destroying food supplies to force the Confederation to deal with defenseless people. 202 did as instructed, taking the initiative and earning a reputation for damaging power plants and water storage units, but they were disquieted by this new method of warfare.
By the third war the mandate had changed yet again, and the Ravenous Cohort lived up to its name. 202 and their comrades now served a purely destructive role, practicing a sort of proactive scorched earth where they simply rampaged across a region to do as much damage as possible and stymie attempts to rebuild. 202 shelled cities and herded civilians out of their homes and into the wilderness as commanded, but they did it without enthusiasm. The Hegemony had morphed the Zealots into something far removed from their original purpose, and 202, feeling abandoned, abandoned it in turn. The end of the war saw them stuck far behind Confederate lines and they didn't bother escaping back to friendly territory.
Now in the boundary between the Halo and the Frontier of Confederation space 202 found themselves in the Antarus System, a cluster of small moons and planets known for two things: mining operations, and vice of all sorts. While their medical training and knowledge on augmentation could have gotten them steady work as a doctor 202 still craved the comradery and sense of unity that came with fighting for a larger group, and their military-grade cybernetics and martial skill made them valuable for anyone looking for a fight. They fell in with the Rock Rats, a collection of toughs dealing in black market ore and stolen goods. 202 quickly earned a reputation for brawling, taking part in turf wars with their gangster brethren. Being one of the few, if not only Mon'nnari in the system they were dubbed the Horned Bastard, a moniker they adopted to replace their now abandoned Hegemony name.
After a few years of tangling with street thugs and pirates HB attracted the attention of bigger players. The Rock Rats were subordinate to the Spacers Syndicate, a truly intergalactic network spanning the Confederation and the ISA. Always on the hunt for talent, HB-202's loyalty and ruthlessness was smiled upon, and they were granted a spot in the Spacers' ranks. They were again enjoying themselves as the people they fought were rivals or debtors, folks who should have known better than to have involved themselves. But as they moved up the ranks, they became responsible for more rackets, and the wider their reach, the less they could narrow their sights. Once again HB found themselves picking on civilians, bullying dockyard workers and bureaucrats into silence. Their conscious picked at them, and HB began wondering if they should make another career change.
Roughly three decades into their tenure with the Syndicate HB met a young Synth on shore leave from the Confederation ship she was stationed on. Lorei was intriguing in many ways to the assassin-turned-mobster; her existence as an artificial being with free will was a fascinating prospect to someone who had spent their whole life seconding their autonomy to a greater whole. In fact, Lorei in general intrigued HB. As they spent time together 202 grew to appreciate her openness, her willingness to indulge in order to learn, her ability to be cocky without being offputting. For the first time in HB's life, they felt not a vague loyalty to fellow cogs in some larger machine but mutual affection on an individual level.
A romance blossomed and promised to grow into something wonderful, but reality had a way of intruding. The Shodane War saw HB's Beloved Synth pulled away to fight and then subjected to torture that could only be suffered by an artificial mind. When the pair reunited it was a one-sided affair. Lorei could bring up snippets of conversations they had or remember HB's favorite drink, but their entire relationship was twisted and warped so as to be almost completely nonexistent. HB was no stranger to altering their consciousness and emptying their mind, but such a brutal scrubbing of their Beloved Synth horrified them. They desperately tried to patch things up in any way they could, but Lorei, ashamed by her inability to connect her fragmented memories to emotions she knew she was supposed to feel, ran away.
HB had been planning on leaving their criminal life but now had no reason to do so, languidly going through the motions of underworld politics for another twenty years. Without Lorei around they saw no purpose in change, but chance would eventually give them a reason to better themselves. Sticking with the Spacers also let them call upon a vast network of tipsters and informants, people they could rely on to get information. Eventually, their search paid off, locating Lorei in the Rangers.
Now all HB needed was a way in, and they found it when they were caught up in a raid. The local government knew of their activities but could only pin minor offenses on them. Some basic possession raps would not keep them behind bars for very long, but speaking with the authorities allowed HB to forge yet another path. They offered to make amends by serving the Confederation, and it was determined their skillset would make them an asset to the Rangers.
Key facts:
HB-202RC is a combination of their old gang nickname and their Crusader designation. In its long form it means 'Horned Bastard, 202nd Zealot of the Ravenous Cohort' (although this is not a perfect translation). Their birth name is currently unknown to Confederate authorities.
HB refers to themselves with gender-neutral language, as a central tenet of their faith is being interchangeable with their peers.
While they're not a mechanic and can't do extensive vehicle repairs, HB's medical expertise extends to a wide range of cybernetics.
They view their faith as a tool as much as a belief system. The philosophy they follow gives them goals to strive for while staying grounded. They're interested in other religious and spiritual beliefs and often adopt facets that resonate with them.
Similialy, the martial art Mon'rletv, taught to all Zealots, is a tenet of their faith that's practiced syncretically, adapted to use different techniques from different systems.
Personal Gear:
Rigut Arms Battle Rifle: A high-caliber chemical based firearm, originally designed for use with powered armor. HB's augmented strength allows them to make use of it.
Mineba 155 Submachine Gun: The Humans have only been in contact with the wider world a short time, but they've managed to make an impact on the arms market. The 155 in particular is popular with criminals who been a large amount of firepower in a concealable package. HB uses it the Battle Rifle risks overpenetrating.
Zealot's High-Frequency Shock Blade with matching swordbreaker dagger: The traditional weapons of the Zealots, useful for boarding actions and stealth operations.
Light Battle Armor: A polymer padded vest with inserted plates, connected to a flexible armored undersuit with arm and leg guards. The result is less durable in an extended fight than standard battle armor but is much lighter and more flexible, allowing her to take advantage of her quick movement and sharp reflexes while still using her arm-based cybernetic weapons due to the emitters built into the sleeves.
Life support systems for use in space or toxic enviroments.
Medical Equipment: A range of diagnostic and procedural tools and a wide range of medications and nanoinjections covering all manner of injuries and maladies. HB can do everything from set broken bones to full-on surgery, provided they have the space to work in.
Seraphim Jump Pack: The signature tool of the Zealots. HB uses it to augment their high degree of mobility.
HB is heavily augmented, to the point that they're more machine than animal by percentage. These are some of their more notable cybernetics.
CombiComms: Inbuilt translator, communicator and personal computer that directly displays information in HB's field of vision. Automatically shuts down when exposed to electronic warfare.
Sense Enhancement Suite: The pinnacle of Hegemonic medical technology at the time HB went under the knife, careful surgery and the pinpoint implantation of minute augments gave them increased sensitivity to sound, touch, smell, and vision. The strength is variable; HB can dial it up when they're trying to sense something or down when exposed to extremes.
Physical Enhancement Suite: An extensive collection of procedures to harden HB's body. Increases their strength and agility through vat-grown tissues, as well as insulates their body against G-forces and high pressure. Their respiratory and circulatory systems are similarly improved, giving them an inbuilt rebreathing system that lessens their need for oxygen. Finally, they are unnaturally flexible due to bendable fibers inserted in their joints.
Arm-Implanted Weapons: For use in conjunction with conventional firearms. The left arm has an in-built sonic emitter for injuring and debilitating targets for capture while the right is a thermobaric projector that engulfs targets in a short-lived but fiercely hot chemical inferno.
Specialty: Medical Officer/Fire Support
Anything Else:Training and exercise are forms of meditation for HB. An easy way to achieve the Ideal Conscious is to work out until exhaustion and then bask in the sensation of screaming muscles and burning lungs.
Mecha Name: G/OFS-2, "Gehenna" Type: Fire Support Platform Crew: One pilot and 3 passengers. Appearance:Gehenna Overview: The Gehenna is big and slow and imposing, abnormally large for a mech and much heavier to boot. It naturally draws the eye, towering over the opposition and much of the battlefield itself. It can be considered an 'assasin' of sorts, quickly demolishing high-value targets before they can make problems. To accomplish this task it has been given both extremely powerful weapons and overly thick armor, making it capable of dealing out and taking high amounts of punishment. In an one on one shooting or slugging match there are few that can match it, but it's huge size and sluggish movement make it relatively easy to overwhelm if not adequately supported. Dimensions: Height: 20.2 meters Mass: 40 tons when carrying standard load Performance: Top speed of 110 kmh
Weapons:
"Seventh Seal" 300mm Cannon: A howitzer capable of both direct and indirect fire support, on a traveling mount that moves it from the Gehenna's back to its shoulder. It fires various shells ranging from standard high-explosive payloads to shock, incendiary/thermobaric, plasma, and various gases. It's slow to reload, but very long-range and supremely powerful, the largest gun that can be mounted on a mech and still feasibly move.
x4 Nebula-class CIWS: Rotating-barrel laser weapons, two built into the head and the others built into the palms. The Nebulas are multiple purposes, able to automatically track and destroy incoming missiles or being aimed manually for use against infantry and thin-skinned vehicles.
Arash Rail Rifle: A long range railgun used for medium targets. If it's too tough for the Nebulas but doesn't warrant the Seventh Seal, it's shot by this.
Moloch-class Melee Upgrades: While the Gehenna travels slowly it's limbs are specifically designed to move quickly, allowing it to brawl with the speed of a much smaller mech. In addition, it can generate a high-strength plasma field around its first to clamber the enemy into submission.
Equipment: The Gehenna is a tempting target due to its size, relatively slow traversal, and sheer firepower. While it's well-armored and of solid construction it's not a brawler and will not last if pitted against coordinated enemies. It survives by staying behind friendly forces, serving as fire support before moving to rip apart any isolated foes. Most of its defenses are active, misleading, or destroying enemy missiles while deploying shields and smokescreens to deter projectile or energy weapons.
Phalanx Integrated Shielding: The Gehenna's thick armor is fortified by an energy field, strengthening it against attack and preventing hull breaches. It can also generate a distinct energy field projected from the Gehenna's arm, but doing this drains the mech's energy.
Decoy Dones: Simple drones that produce a disproportionately large amount of sensory information, leading enemy attacks away from the MECH when used in conjunction with other systems.
Repair Drones: Drones equipped with manipulator arms and rudimentary AI, capable of doing basic field repairs.
Avoidance Systems: Flares, brilliant sand, and hot smoke canisters allow the Gehenna to throw up a defensive screen when under attack. Additionally, it can use its Stealth System to lower its profile on enemy sensors.
Radar, LiDAR, and Visual Detection Package: A standard sensor set, capable but not outstanding.
Name: HB-202RC ('Horned Bastard, 202nd Zealot of the Ravenous Cohort') Age: 322 Sex: Biologically female Species: Mon'nnari Appearance: HB stands taller than the average human male at six feet, not counting their horns, and carries themselves with a warrior's grace. They tend to dress simply and practically, leaning towards cheap and replaceable clothes when at rest and sturdy combat gear when in the field. However, HB does indulge in jewelry. They've decorated their face and horns with several bangles and studs, the flashy adornments a holdover from their criminal career.
If one happened upon HB in a state of undress they'd noticed a number of old surgical scars and sealed ports, relics from their days as a soldier for the Hegemony. Their original cybernetic augments were bulky and obtrusive but as the years went on they've been replaced with more advanced and discrete ones. That said, they are very clearly augmented. While not a full-conversion borg HB is cybered to a very high degree, with seams on their limbs and torso denoting implanted weapons and subdermal armor.
As a side note, instead of the usual red HB bleeds a pale, milky blue. Their blood was replaced with an artificial variant that better regulates temperature and insulates their various augmentations from electromagnetism.
Personality: HB is, at first glance, spacey and out of touch. They never quite learned how to interface normally with society, often coming across as distant or perhaps not entirely there. They have a tendency to look through people rather than at them during a conversation, sizing up someone with all the cold clinicality of a machine crunching numbers. This ruthless calculation is at odds with their sleepy-eyed and dazed expression, a side effect of the drugs running through their system.
Part of HB's faith involves the use of psychoactive substances to achieve the Ideal Conscious, a state of loose calm characterized by meditative introspection and mild hallucination. Words are distorted and images are altered, giving them the sensation of being in a permanent dream. This makes holding a conversation with them an amusing or annoying experience, depending on one's preference. But by using a neural implant hooked into their serotonin receptors they can flush their system of the narcotics, forcing themselves sober. This is an unpleasant experience and makes HB rather taciturn, but they only use it when combat is imminent.
History: The child that would eventually be known as HB-202 was born generations after the Mon'nnari were annexed by the Hegemony, and there was no question about its fate. They were born a Zealot, a religious order of elite warriors and assassins who saw warfare and sabotage as devotional actions. The Zealots believed that they were not free spirits but pieces in a puzzle or cogs in a machine, individual parts that had to work for the good of the whole. As such, it would be inaccurate to say that the child had a family. They knew who their relatives were, but their parents had been assigned to each other by their superiors for the sake of producing future fighters, and their siblings were kept faceless, the same as all the other children in their sept. They ate in the same dining hall and slept in the same barracks but were taught to bond with each other as comrades and nothing more.
The child trained dutifully and was made a full Zealot upon reaching adulthood, replacing a fallen soldier. They were not given a numerical designation but inherited one, becoming the new 202nd of the Ravenous Cohort and then swiftly deployed against the Hegemony's enemies. Zealots were prized for their use as raiders and ambushers, slinking into enemy territory to disrupt supply lines and force troops away from the front lines. At first 202 took action against pirates and dissidents on the fringes of Hegemony territory but with the arrival of the Confederation they were given a proper war to fight.
They served admirably, working with a small ship-based team to harry the intruding forces. Despite the facelessness of the Zealots they were given notable autonomy in the field, often directed towards a region of space and told to make trouble however they saw fit. 202 destroyed ammo depots, contaminated medical supplies, assassinated political and military leaders, and sabotaged refueling stations so that they would explode when docked with anything to hurt the Confederation and force them to stretch themselves thin. They took pride in their work, as by the tenets of their faith every legitimate target destroyed was a positive step on their journey to martial enlightenment. This had been the way of the Zealots before they had served the Hegemony, and their beliefs were tolerated as they produced skilled and devoted agents who did a tremendous amount of damage for their small numbers. But the Hegemony did not allow for deviation from their vision, and the new realities of war brought mandated change.
The Zealots were retrained as mech pilots and the parameters of their missions altered. Now they were less scalpels and more knives, leaving long slashing wounds in the enemy's territory. During the Second Confederation War the Zealots were directed towards vulnerable civilian targets as well as military ones, displacing populations and destroying food supplies to force the Confederation to deal with defenseless people. 202 did as instructed, taking the initiative and earning a reputation for damaging power plants and water storage units, but they were disquieted by this new method of warfare.
By the third war the mandate had changed yet again, and the Ravenous Cohort lived up to its name. 202 and their comrades now served a purely destructive role, practicing a sort of proactive scorched earth where they simply rampaged across a region to do as much damage as possible and stymie attempts to rebuild. 202 shelled cities and herded civilians out of their homes and into the wilderness as commanded, but they did it without enthusiasm. The Hegemony had morphed the Zealots into something far removed from their original purpose, and 202, feeling abandoned, abandoned it in turn. The end of the war saw them stuck far behind Confederate lines and they didn't bother escaping back to friendly territory.
Now in the boundary between the Halo and the Frontier of Confederation space 202 found themselves in the Antarus System, a cluster of small moons and planets known for two things: mining operations, and vice of all sorts. While their medical training and knowledge on augmentation could have gotten them steady work as a doctor 202 still craved the comradery and sense of unity that came with fighting for a larger group, and their military-grade cybernetics and martial skill made them valuable for anyone looking for a fight. They fell in with the Rock Rats, a collection of toughs dealing in black market ore and stolen goods. 202 quickly earned a reputation for brawling, taking part in turf wars with their gangster brethren. Being one of the few, if not only Mon'nnari in the system they were dubbed the Horned Bastard, a moniker they adopted to replace their now abandoned Hegemony name.
After a few years of tangling with street thugs and pirates HB attracted the attention of bigger players. The Rock Rats were subordinate to the Spacers Syndicate, a truly intergalactic network spanning the Confederation and the ISA. Always on the hunt for talent, HB-202's loyalty and ruthlessness was smiled upon, and they were granted a spot in the Spacers' ranks. They were again enjoying themselves as the people they fought were rivals or debtors, folks who should have known better than to have involved themselves. But as they moved up the ranks, they became responsible for more rackets, and the wider their reach, the less they could narrow their sights. Once again HB found themselves picking on civilians, bullying dockyard workers and bureaucrats into silence. Their conscious picked at them, and HB began wondering if they should make another career change.
Roughly three decades into their tenure with the Syndicate HB met a young Synth on shore leave from the Confederation ship she was stationed on. Lorei was intriguing in many ways to the assassin-turned-mobster; her existence as an artificial being with free will was a fascinating prospect to someone who had spent their whole life seconding their autonomy to a greater whole. In fact, Lorei in general intrigued HB. As they spent time together 202 grew to appreciate her openness, her willingness to indulge in order to learn, her ability to be cocky without being offputting. For the first time in HB's life, they felt not a vague loyalty to fellow cogs in some larger machine but mutual affection on an individual level.
A romance blossomed and promised to grow into something wonderful, but reality had a way of intruding. The Shodane War saw HB's Beloved Synth pulled away to fight and then subjected to torture that could only be suffered by an artificial mind. When the pair reunited it was a one-sided affair. Lorei could bring up snippets of conversations they had or remember HB's favorite drink, but their entire relationship was twisted and warped so as to be almost completely nonexistent. HB was no stranger to altering their consciousness and emptying their mind, but such a brutal scrubbing of their Beloved Synth horrified them. They desperately tried to patch things up in any way they could, but Lorei, ashamed by her inability to connect her fragmented memories to emotions she knew she was supposed to feel, ran away.
HB had been planning on leaving their criminal life but now had no reason to do so, languidly going through the motions of underworld politics for another twenty years. Without Lorei around they saw no purpose in change, but chance would eventually give them a reason to better themselves. Sticking with the Spacers also let them call upon a vast network of tipsters and informants, people they could rely on to get information. Eventually, their search paid off, locating Lorei in the Rangers.
Now all HB needed was a way in, and they found it when they were caught up in a raid. The local government knew of their activities but could only pin minor offenses on them. Some basic possession raps would not keep them behind bars for very long, but speaking with the authorities allowed HB to forge yet another path. They offered to make amends by serving the Confederation, and it was determined their skillset would make them an asset to the Rangers.
Key facts:
HB-202RC is a combination of their old gang nickname and their Crusader designation. In its long form it means 'Horned Bastard, 202nd Zealot of the Ravenous Cohort' (although this is not a perfect translation). Their birth name is currently unknown to Confederate authorities.
HB refers to themselves with gender-neutral language, as a central tenet of their faith is being interchangeable with their peers.
While they're not a mechanic and can't do extensive vehicle repairs, HB's medical expertise extends to a wide range of cybernetics.
They view their faith as a tool as much as a belief system. The philosophy they follow gives them goals to strive for while staying grounded. They're interested in other religious and spiritual beliefs and often adopt facets that resonate with them.
Similialy, the martial art Mon'rletv, taught to all Zealots, is a tenet of their faith that's practiced syncretically, adapted to use different techniques from different systems.
Personal Gear:
Rigut Arms Battle Rifle: A high-caliber chemical based firearm, originally designed for use with powered armor. HB's augmented strength allows them to make use of it.
Mineba 155 Submachine Gun: The Humans have only been in contact with the wider world a short time, but they've managed to make an impact on the arms market. The 155 in particular is popular with criminals who been a large amount of firepower in a concealable package. HB uses it the Battle Rifle risks overpenetrating.
Zealot's High-Frequency Shock Blade with matching swordbreaker dagger: The traditional weapons of the Zealots, useful for boarding actions and stealth operations.
Light Battle Armor: A polymer padded vest with inserted plates, connected to a flexible armored undersuit with arm and leg guards. The result is less durable in an extended fight than standard battle armor but is much lighter and more flexible, allowing her to take advantage of her quick movement and sharp reflexes while still using her arm-based cybernetic weapons due to the emitters built into the sleeves.
Life support systems for use in space or toxic enviroments.
Medical Equipment: A range of diagnostic and procedural tools and a wide range of medications and nanoinjections covering all manner of injuries and maladies. HB can do everything from set broken bones to full-on surgery, provided they have the space to work in.
Seraphim Jump Pack: The signature tool of the Zealots. HB uses it to augment their high degree of mobility.
HB is heavily augmented, to the point that they're more machine than animal by percentage. These are some of their more notable cybernetics.
CombiComms: Inbuilt translator, communicator and personal computer that directly displays information in HB's field of vision. Automatically shuts down when exposed to electronic warfare.
Sense Enhancement Suite: The pinnacle of Hegemonic medical technology at the time HB went under the knife, careful surgery and the pinpoint implantation of minute augments gave them increased sensitivity to sound, touch, smell, and vision. The strength is variable; HB can dial it up when they're trying to sense something or down when exposed to extremes.
Physical Enhancement Suite: An extensive collection of procedures to harden HB's body. Increases their strength and agility through vat-grown tissues, as well as insulates their body against G-forces and high pressure. Their respiratory and circulatory systems are similarly improved, giving them an inbuilt rebreathing system that lessens their need for oxygen. Finally, they are unnaturally flexible due to bendable fibers inserted in their joints.
Arm-Implanted Weapons: For use in conjunction with conventional firearms. The left arm has an in-built sonic emitter for injuring and debilitating targets for capture while the right is a thermobaric projector that engulfs targets in a short-lived but fiercely hot chemical inferno.
Specialty: Medical Officer/Fire Support
Anything Else:Training and exercise are forms of meditation for HB. An easy way to achieve the Ideal Conscious is to work out until exhaustion and then bask in the sensation of screaming muscles and burning lungs.
Mecha Name: G/OFS-2, "Gehenna" Type: Fire Support Platform Crew: One pilot and 3 passengers. Appearance:Gehenna Overview: The Gehenna is big and slow and imposing, abnormally large for a mech and much heavier to boot. It naturally draws the eye, towering over the opposition and much of the battlefield itself. It can be considered an 'assasin' of sorts, quickly demolishing high-value targets before they can make problems. To accomplish this task it has been given both extremely powerful weapons and overly thick armor, making it capable of dealing out and taking high amounts of punishment. In an one on one shooting or slugging match there are few that can match it, but it's huge size and sluggish movement make it relatively easy to overwhelm if not adequately supported. Dimensions: Height: 20.2 meters Mass: 40 tons when carrying standard load Performance: Top speed of 110 kmh
Weapons:
"Seventh Seal" 300mm Cannon: A howitzer capable of both direct and indirect fire support, on a traveling mount that moves it from the Gehenna's back to its shoulder. It fires various shells ranging from standard high-explosive payloads to shock, incendiary/thermobaric, plasma, and various gases. It's slow to reload, but very long-range and supremely powerful, the largest gun that can be mounted on a mech and still feasibly move.
x4 Nebula-class CIWS: Rotating-barrel laser weapons, two built into the head and the others built into the palms. The Nebulas are multiple purposes, able to automatically track and destroy incoming missiles or being aimed manually for use against infantry and thin-skinned vehicles.
Arash Rail Rifle: A long range railgun used for medium targets. If it's too tough for the Nebulas but doesn't warrant the Seventh Seal, it's shot by this.
Moloch-class Melee Upgrades: While the Gehenna travels slowly it's limbs are specifically designed to move quickly, allowing it to brawl with the speed of a much smaller mech. In addition, it can generate a high-strength plasma field around its first to clamber the enemy into submission.
Equipment: The Gehenna is a tempting target due to its size, relatively slow traversal, and sheer firepower. While it's well-armored and of solid construction it's not a brawler and will not last if pitted against coordinated enemies. It survives by staying behind friendly forces, serving as fire support before moving to rip apart any isolated foes. Most of its defenses are active, misleading, or destroying enemy missiles while deploying shields and smokescreens to deter projectile or energy weapons.
Phalanx Integrated Shielding: The Gehenna's thick armor is fortified by an energy field, strengthening it against attack and preventing hull breaches. It can also generate a distinct energy field projected from the Gehenna's arm, but doing this drains the mech's energy.
Decoy Dones: Simple drones that produce a disproportionately large amount of sensory information, leading enemy attacks away from the MECH when used in conjunction with other systems.
Repair Drones: Drones equipped with manipulator arms and rudimentary AI, capable of doing basic field repairs.
Avoidance Systems: Flares, brilliant sand, and hot smoke canisters allow the Gehenna to throw up a defensive screen when under attack. Additionally, it can use its Stealth System to lower its profile on enemy sensors.
Radar, LiDAR, and Visual Detection Package: A standard sensor set, capable but not outstanding.
Name: HB-202RC ('Horned Bastard, 202nd Zealot of the Ravenous Cohort') Age: 322 Sex: Biologically female Species: Mon'nnari Appearance: HB stands taller than the average human male at six feet, not counting their horns, and carries themselves with a warrior's grace. They tend to dress simply and practically, leaning towards cheap and replaceable clothes when at rest and sturdy combat gear when in the field. However, HB does indulge in jewelry. They've decorated their face and horns with several bangles and studs, the flashy adornments a holdover from their criminal career.
If one happened upon HB in a state of undress they'd noticed a number of old surgical scars and sealed ports, relics from their days as a soldier for the Hegemony. Their original cybernetic augments were bulky and obtrusive but as the years went on they've been replaced with more advanced and discrete ones. That said, they are very clearly augmented. While not a full-conversion borg HB is cybered to a very high degree, with seams on their limbs and torso denoting implanted weapons and subdermal armor.
As a side note, instead of the usual red blood HB bleeds a pale, milky blue. Their blood was replaced with an artificial variant that better regulates temperature and insulates the various augmentations from electromagnetism.
Personality: HB is, at first glance, spacey and out of touch. They were never quite learned how to interface normally with society, often coming across as distant or perhaps not entirely there. They have a tendency to look through people rather than at them during a conversation, sizing up someone with all the cold clinicality of a machine crunching numbers. This ruthless calculation is at odds with their sleepy-eyed and dazed expression, a side effect of the drugs running through their system.
Part of HB's faith involves the use of psychoactive substances to achieve the Ideal Conscious, a state of loose calm characterized by meditative introspection and mild hallucination. Words are distorted and images are altered, giving them the sensation of being in a permanent dream. This makes holding a conversation with them an amusing or annoying experience, depending on one's preference. But by using a neural implant hooked into their serotonin receptors they can flush their system of the narcotics, forcing themselves sober. This is an unpleasant experience and makes HB rather taciturn, but they only use it when combat is imminent.
History: The child that would eventually be known as HB-202 was born generations after Mon'nnari were annexed by the Hegemony, and there was no question as to its fate. They were born a Zealot, a religious order of elite warriors and assassins who saw warfare and sabotage as devotional actions. The Zealots believed that they were not free spirits but pieces in a puzzle or cogs in a machine, individual parts that had to work for the good of the whole. As such, it would be inaccurate to say that the child had a family. They knew who their relatives were but their parents had been assigned to each other by their superiors for the sake of producing future fighters and their siblings were kept faceless same as all the other children. They ate in the same dining hall and slept in the same barracks but were taught to bond with each other as comrades and nothing more.
The child trained dutifully and is made a full Zealot upon reaching adulthood, replacing a fallen soldier. They were not given a numerical designation but inherited one, becoming the new 202nd of the Ravenous Cohort and then swiftly deployed against the Hegemony's enemies. Zealots were prized for their use as raiders and ambushers, slinking into enemy territory to disrupt supply lines and force troops away from the front lines. At first they took action against pirates and dissidents on the fringes of Hegemony territory but with the arrival of the Confederation they were given a proper war to fight.
They served admirably, working with a small ship-based team to harry the intruding forces. Despite the facelessness of the Zealots they were given notable autonomy in the field, often directed towards a region of space and told to make trouble however they saw fit. 202 destroyed ammo depots, contaminated medical supplies, assassinated political and military leaders, sabotaged refueling stations so that they would explode when docked with, anything to hurt the Confederation and force them to stretch themselves thin. They took pride in their work, as by the tenets of their faith every legitimate target destroyed was a positive step on their journey to martial enlightenment. This had been the way of the Zealots before they had served the Hegemony, and their beliefs were tolerated as they produced skilled and devoted agents who did a tremendous amount of damage for their small numbers. But the Hegemony did not allow for deviation from their vision, and the new realities of war brought mandated change.
The Zealots were retrained as mech pilots and the parameters of their missions changed. Now they were less scaples and more knives, leaving long slashing wounds in the enemy's territory. During the Second Confederation War the Zealots were directed towards vulnerable civilian targets as well as military ones, displacing populations and destroying food supplies to force the Confederation to deal with defenseless people. 202 did as instructed, taking the initiative and earning a reputation for damaging power plants and water storage units, but they were disquieted by this new method of warfare.
By the third war the mandate had changed yet again, and the Ravenous Cohort lived up to its name. 202 and their comrades now served a purely destructive role, practicing a sort of proactive scorched earth where they simply rampaged across a region do as much damage as possible and stymie attempts to rebuild. 202 shelled cities and harder civilians into killzones as commanded, but they did it without enthusiasm. The Hegemony had morphed the Zealots into something far removed from their original purpose, and 202, feeling abandoned, abandoned it in turn. The end of the war saw them stuck far behind Confederate lines and they didn't bother escaping back to friendly territory.
Now in the boundary between the Halo and the Frontier of Confederation space 202 found themselves in the Antarus System, a cluster of small moons and planets known for two things: mining operations, and vice of all sorts. While their medical training and knowledge on augmentation could have gotten them steady work as a doctor 202 still craved the comradery and sense of unity that came with fighting for a larger group, and their military-grade cybernetics and martial skill made them valuable for anyone looking for a fight. They fell in with the Rock Rats, a collection of toughs dealing in black market ores and stolen goods. 202 quickly earned a reputation for brawling, taking part in turf wars with their gangster brethren. Being one of the few, if not only Mon'nnari in the system they were dubbed the Horned Bastard, a moniker they adopted to replace their now abandoned Hegemony name.
After a few years of tangling with street toughs and pirates HB attracted the attention of bigger players. The Rock Rats were subordinate to the Spacers Syndicate, a truly intergalatic network spanning the Confederation and the ISA. Always on the hunt for talent, HB-202's loyalty and ruthlessness was smiled upon, and they were granted a spot in the Spacers' ranks. They were again enjoying themselves as the people they fought were rivals or debtors, folks who should have known better than to have involved themselves. But as they moved up the ranks, they became responsible for more rackets, and the wider their reach, the less they could narrow their sights. Once again HB found themselves picking on civilians, bullying dockyard workers and bureaucrats into silence. Their conscious picked at them, and HB began wondering if they should make another career change.
Roughly three decades into their tenure with the Syndicate HB met a young Synth on shore leave from the Confederation ship she was stationed on. Lorei was intriguing in many ways to the assassin-turned-mobster; her existence as an artificial being with free will was a fascinating prospect to someone who had spent their whole life seconding their autonomy to a greater whole. In fact, Lorei in general intrigued HB. As they spent time together 202 grew to appreciate her openness, her willingness to indulge in order to learn, her ability to be cocky without being offputting. For the first time in HB's life, they felt not a vague loyalty to fellow cogs in some larger machine but mutual affection on an individual level.
A romance blossomed and promised to grow into something wonderful, but reality had a way of intruding. The Shodane War saw HB's Beloved Synth pulled away to fight and then subjected to torture that could only be suffered by an artificial mind. When the pair reunited it was a one-sided affair. Lorei could bring up snippets of conversations they had or remember HB's favorite drink, but their entire relationship was twisted and warped so as to be almost completely nonexistent. HB was no stranger to altering their consciousness and emptying their mind, but such a brutal scrubbing of their Beloved Synth horrified them. They desperately tried to patch things up in anyway they could, but Lorei, ashamed by her inability to connect her fragmented memories to emotions she knew she was supposed to feel, ran away.
HB had been planning on leaving their criminal life but now had no reason to do so, languidly going through the motions of underworld politics for another twenty years. Without Lorei around they saw no purpose in change, but chance would eventually give them a reason to better themselves. Sticking with the Spacers also let them call upon a vast network of tipsters and informants, people they could rely on to get information. Eventually their searching paid off, locating Lorei in the Rangers.
Now all HB needed was a way in, and they found it when they were caught up in raid. The local government was aware of their activities but could only pin minor offenses on them. Some basic possession raps would not keep them behind bars for very long, but speaking with the authorities allowed HB to forge yet another path. They offered to make amends by serving the Confederation, and it was determined their skillset would make them an asset to the Rangers.
Key facts: HB-202RC is a combination of their old gang nickname and their Crusader designation. In its long form it means 'Horned Bastard, 202nd Zealot of the Ravenous Cohort' (although this is not a perfect translation). Their birth name is currently unknown to Confederate authorities.
Light Battle Armor: A polymer padded vest with inserted plates, connected to a flexible armored undersuit with arm and leg guards. The result is less durable in an extended fight than standard battle armor but is much lighter and more flexible, allowing her to take advantage of her quick movement and sharp reflexes while still using her arm-based cybernetic weapons due to the emitters built into the sleeves.
Life support systems for use in space or toxic enviroments.
Medical Equipment: A range of diagnostic and procedural tools and a wide range of medications and nanoinjections covering all manner of injuries and maladies. HB can do everything from set broken bones to full-on surgery, provided they have the space to work in.
Seraphim Jump Pack: The signature tool of the Zealots. HB uses it to augment their high degree of mobility.
HB is heavily augmented, to the point that they're more machine than animal by percentage. These are some of their more notable cybernetics.
CombiComms: Inbuilt translator, communicator and personal computer that directly displays information in HB's field of vision. Automatically shuts down when exposed to electronic warfare.
Sense Enhancement Suite: The pinnacle of Hegemonic medical technology at the time HB went under the knife, careful surgery and the pinpoint implantation of minute augments gave them increased sensitivity to sound, touch, smell, and vision. The strength is variable; HB can dial it up when they're trying to sense something or down when exposed to extremes.
Physical Enhancement Suite: An extensive collection of procedures to harden HB's body. Increases their strength and agility through vat-grown tissues, as well as insulates their body against G-forces and high pressure. Their respiratory and circulatory systems are similarly improved, giving them an inbuilt rebreathing system that lessens their need for oxygen. Finally, they are unnaturally flexible due to bendable fibers inserted in their joints.
Arm-Implanted Weapons: For use in conjunction with conventional firearms. The left arm has an in-built sonic emitter for injuring and debilitating targets for capture while the right is a thermobaric projector that engulfs targets in a short-lived but fiercely hot chemical inferno.
Specialty: Medical Officer/Fire Support
Anything Else:
HB refers to themselves with gender-neutral language, as a central tenet of their faith is being interchangeable with their peers.
While they're not a mechanic and can't do extensive repairs on vehicles, HB's medical expertise extends to a wide range of cybernetics.
They view their faith as a tool as much as a belief system. The philosophy they follow gives them goals to strive for while staying grounded. They're interested in other religious and spiritual beliefs and often adopt facets that resonate with them.
Similialy, the martial art Mon'rletv, taught to all Zealots, is a tenet of their faith that's practiced syncretically, adapted to use different techniques from different systems.
Mecha Name: G/OFS-2, "Gehenna" Type: Fire Support Platform Crew: One pilot and 3 passengers. Appearance:Gehenna Stats: Dimensions: Height: 18.3 meters Mass: 25 tons when carrying standard load Performance: Top speed of 110 kmh
Weapons:
"Seventh Seal" 300mm Cannon: A howitzer capable of both direct and indirect fire support, on a traveling mount that moves it from the Gehenna's back to its shoulder. It fires various shells ranging from standard high-explosive payloads to shock, incendiary/thermobaric, plasma, and various gases. It's slow to reload, but very long-range and supremely powerful, the largest gun that can be mounted on a mech and still feasibly move.
x4 Nebula-class CIWS: Rotating-barrel laser weapons, two built into the head and the others built into the palms. The Nebulas are multiple purposes, able to automatically track and destroy incoming missiles or being aimed manually for use against infantry and thin-skinned vehicles.
Arash Rail Rifle: A long range railgun used for medium targets. If it's too tough for the Nebulas but doesn't warrant the Seventh Seal, it's shot by this.
Melee???
Equipment: The Gehenna is a tempting target due to its size, relatively slow traversal, and sheer firepower. While it's well-armored and of solid construction it's not a brawler and will not last if pitted against coordinated enemies. It survives by staying behind friendly forces, serving as fire support before moving to rip apart any isolated foes. Most of its defenses are active, misleading, or destroying enemy missiles while deploying shields and smokescreens to deter projectile or energy weapons.
Phalanx Integrated Shielding: The Gehenna's thick armor is fortified by an energy field, strengthening it against attack and preventing hull breaches.
Decoy Dones: Simple drones that produce a disproportionately large amount of sensory information, leading enemy attacks away from the MECH when used in conjunction with other systems.
Avoidance Systems: Flares, brilliant sand, and hot smoke canisters allow the Gehenna to throw up a defensive screen when under attack. Additionally, it can use its Stealth System to lower its profile on enemy sensors.
Sensor Package: A standard audio/visual sensor set, capable but not outstanding.
March 12th, 2014 F/A-18E Super Hornet Somewhere over the Atlantic
Amazon huh? She had undoubtedly been given worse nicknames.
Fuka listened as Scott indulged the kid's questions, noting that he seemed more fond of him than she was currently. She didn't know if he had handpicked his team and thus chose the doesn't shave, barely postpubescent, desperate-for-attention-but-trying-to-play-it-off-as-a-joke novice or if he was just willing to make the best of a bad situation, but she couldn't help but wonder if he didn't find the situation odd. It was something to ask him about later, after they touched down.
Suiting up and taking off presented zero issues, Fuka falling in line behind the Tomcat as instructed. The Jolly Roger getup was an excellent pick to be sure but she'd take the sheer sleekness of her own paintjob. Was a glossy black coat with a Playboy bunny on the tail good for camouflage? No. Did it stand out and thus feed her admittedly powerful ego? Oh yes, absolutely and a thousand times yes.
They weren't long into the trip when Myk opened his mouth again, Fuka rolling her eyes in response to his second attempt at romance. The Navy jock snickered to herself as she flicked on her own comms, clearing her throat as she did.
"Ladies of Cobalt Haze, this is Cobalt 5. We have an enemy agent in our midst trying to honeypot us; I repeat, we have a confirmed swallow. He's tried to trap two of your comrades in one day, do not let your guard down."
March 12th, 2014 Shattered Steel Headquarters, 'The Forge' Unnamed island in the Bahamas
Whatever she expected him to ask, that wasn't it. The audacity was almost respectable even while baffling, and Fuka raised an eyebrow at the 'joke'. Of all the times for the boss to appear, now would not have been Fuka's first pick. Peacenik turned to face Scott and gave him a wry smirk, not believing the claim that it had all been a joke but nevertheless amused.
"Casanova here would like that, I'm sure, but going on a date with someone half my age at most, who lacks life experience and has, until this point, only ever hooked up with tittering high-schoolers? Somehow I'm not hearing wedding bells."
March 12th, 2014 Shattered Steel Headquarters, 'The Forge' Unnamed island in the Bahamas
She had been hoping he would take the bait, but unfortunately for her Myk regained his calm. She answered his musings with a shrug, the lollipop stick still twirling between her fingers as she waved off any concern of moral decay.
“It’s easier if you just treat it as a job. Don’t invest yourself in it more than you need to, you watch your back and your buddies, everything else comes after.”
Rhona W
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