Tank O The Lake

Myriad Reality

<Snipped quote by Tank O The Lake>

Hmph. Just watch your shots. The last thing we need are more casualties.

@Source

What's wrong with casualties? Last I checked, that's what war's for.

*The android laughs coldly.*

Myriad Reality

<Snipped quote by Tank O The Lake>

*Holds my hand up, creating a repelling force*
Another combatant?

@Source

*An android turns to look at you.*

Not one, but many. I saw you were fighting, and I love to fight, so WHY NOT?

*The last two words are spoken in a glitchy, disturbing tone.*

Myriad Reality

<Snipped quote by Melodious>

*The waterfall of data continues to flood the area with new viruses even as the existing ones are deleted—my own recovery barely keeps up with the rate of deletion, introducing minor bugs every few seconds*

@Webmaster

Launch the insectoids, now.

*With a faint popping noise, a multitude of green blisters fire off of a nearby ship and descend into the atmosphere. They detonate in midair in showers of pus. A multitude of dark forms spiral out of them, only to swoop back up and form a rough V-formation that circles over the area. Seeing through their eyes, I notice a form standing in the reality storm. They seem to be in some distress, but, judging by the geysers of light behind them, they are powerful.*

Oh, well that isn't a place for you to be... we have the spare anchor, right?

Phantom: Yes, but it's weaker. Won't go as far.

I don't need it to be strong. Get some Vampyrs and launch.

*A drop pod fires off of another ship and flies over the reality storm, positioning itself with its rocket engines. It comes to a hover over the form and descends, seemingly cutting through the storm. As it lands, a perimeter of roughly twenty feet around the pod is cleared as one of the Vampyrs extends her hand, exerting a psychic tug force pulling at the form to bring them out of the storm and into the radius of the anchor.*

Myriad Reality

Aight, so Melodious greenlighted Lash. I shall be fighting alongside y'all against Nemid, then.

Myriad Reality

<Snipped quote by Tank O The Lake>

*Above the world we circle. Using the scanners of our hijacked ships, we scan the surface. This reveals scattered clusters of boxy structures surrounded by sandbags or walls. The night side of the planet is dotted with the occasional, isolated bunch of yellow lights. I laugh, thinking of how easy the population would be to subdue and the joy I would savor while playing my games with them.*

Get the cannon, Phantom.

Phantom: Yes, Lash.

*The ship with the node stuck to its gun turns around to face the opposite direction of its orbit. Then, it fires, launching the node at a retrograde trajectory, aimed to strike one of the largest population centers on the planet. In less than 10 minutes, it strikes directly onto their town square. A camera watches as dozens of curious humans dressed in 19th-century attire gather around the impact site. Then, like a blooming flower, the node opens, releasing six Withers. They speak, allowing their psychic ability to pacify the crowd. Then, they strike. They pounce onto their victims, sometimes biting them on the torso and injecting embryos to further the race, and sometimes simply swallowing them whole before regurgitating their acid-coated remains as projectiles. I am disappointed in the fact that the camera does not have an audio recorder and I cannot, therefore, hear their dying screams. I am still happy to see the crowd massacred, with some left comatose and implanted to birth new Withers. I tune off the screen once the square has been deserted and occupy the next few hours looking down at the city and watching as its lights slowly go out.*

@Tank O The Lake

*Six hours later, I sit in the captain's chair, watching as the surrounding suburbs are slowly consumed. The Wither population on the world has increased from six to a number a thousand times higher. The number of humans killed is twenty times that. Before I can continue watching, though, Phantom appears once more.*

Are you done playing your game?

Phantom: No, but there's something you need to see.

*The screen flickers on to show a map of the nearby cosmos. Overlaid onto it are the results from the high-power scanners of the ship. They show a very dense, but fluctuating source of energy in an adjacent star system.*

A pulsar?

Phantom: There are no pulsars in this sector. The energy should not be fluctuating this much, unless...

Unless?

Phantom: Unless it was artificial. I think the warp engines have taken us to a battle, and a large one at that.

*A curious look crosses my face.*

What kind of battle?

Phantom: We're not detecting any significant orbital constructs, so it's not a space battle. The source world has no known population or strategic importance, so it must be a battle between individuals. Powerful individuals.

*I nod.*

A war of titans, I see. Ready the fleet. We have a god to kill.

*An hour later, the fleet once again returns to realspace, orbiting the source planet. Looking down, I can see a reddish-purple, roiling storm cloud. The scanners identify it as a reality storm. I am disappointed, believing that the fluctuations were merely results of the storm, and am about to turn back when, with a flash of red and blue, something resonates across the planetary surface. Seeing this, I order a drone to be sent down to survey the surface. It enters the atmosphere in an orange flash and sees a multitude of tiny forms engaged in combat. Flashes of energy dance between them. However, when the drone ascends once more, it strikes an unseen barrier and spirals back down to the surface. Curious, I send another drone down and order it to go back up, with the same result. I approximate the height of this one-way barrier to be roughly one to two kilometers above the sea level.*

Phantom!

Phantom: Yes, Lash?

Get the Technomorph. Remember Tenebrus VIII?

*Phantom looks at me with realization in his eyes, then grins.*

Phantom: Oh, I'm gonna love this!

*The green-black slime coating the engines of the smaller ships begins to spread and coat much of their hulls. Then, it forms tendrils, which link with nearby spacecraft and pull them towards each other. When their work is done, a dozen-odd spacecraft have been conglomerated into a projectile of astronomic size. At its heart is a reality anchor, previously possessed by the exploratory fleet for braving the warp-storms of far-flung space. Hopefully, it will protect the projectile from the reality storm. I give the order to descend. The engines of the projectile all fire at once, bringing it down towards the surface. With meteoric force, it strikes in an unoccupied corner of the battlefield, sending up a mushroom cloud of dust and debris. When the dust settles, the structure is nigh-unfazed, an ode to the durability of the already-damaged spacecraft. It sticks out of the red sand like a pale blister surrounding an infected wound. Then, it slowly begins to sink into the ground.*

Myriad Reality

<Snipped quote by Tank O The Lake>

<Snipped quote by Tank O The Lake>

So much for the realistic façade...
*Takes off runnning, dashing past you and toward the vehicle at a breakneck superhuman pace*

@Armed Forces

*I continue running, before jumping up onto a roof and following it by leaping from rooftop to rooftop. The vehicle enters a convoy of similar trucks before its roof-mounted machine gun turns to fire at me.*

Myriad Reality

@Melodious, did you read the PM I sent you?

Myriad Reality

*A fleet of spacecraft emerges from warpspace in orbit of a remote world. They appear heavily damaged, with several not even possessing functioning life support. A window on a frigate blows out and releases a white-hot streak of flame into the void. These ships should not be spaceworthy, and yet here they are. Perhaps an explanation can be gained from the green-black slime that stretches around and coats the thrusters of each ship. The stuff forms tendrils that snake about and link different ships together, forming tunnels between each one. On the surface of one ship, the slime forms green pustules that cling to the hull and contain wriggling dark forms. On another, a similar node appears to have attached itself to the barrel of its spinal cannon. I stand at the bow of the flagship, ignoring the screams, gunfire, and more profane noises coming from the bowels of the ship. I pat my full belly, a bloody, empty hazmat suit laying in tatters behind me. Several humans wearing similar outfits dangle by their feet from the ceiling, their torsos cut open and leaking blood. Inside each gaping chest cavity, a small, white object slowly grows. I hear muffled cries for mercy coming from the crew quarters, now converted in personal chambers for my kin. What am I? I am a Wither, a superhuman, psychopathic creature incapable of feeling joy from any source but suffering.*

*Another Wither approaches behind me.*

Wither: We've captured the last of the crew, Lash. What should we do?

Divide them amongst yourselves, Phantom, but save some for me. And don't 'confiscate' any of their medical equipment, we need that.

*Phantom smiles cruelly.*

Phantom: Do you have any particular game planned for them? Me and Banshee are going to play the Cutting and Sewing Game.

You always play the Cutting and Sewing Game. How many arms stuck to one person is enough for you?

Phantom: It's just so fun!

But, to your previous question. I don't have any game planned for them now. I find it more fun to just do... whatever comes to mind. I have a feeling I'll come up with a really fun game, though. Once I do, I'll save some captives to play it in the mess hall, so you all can see.

Phantom: I can't wait!

Good.

@Tank O The Lake

*Above the world we circle. Using the scanners of our hijacked ships, we scan the surface. This reveals scattered clusters of boxy structures surrounded by sandbags or walls. The night side of the planet is dotted with the occasional, isolated bunch of yellow lights. I laugh, thinking of how easy the population would be to subdue and the joy I would savor while playing my games with them.*

Get the cannon, Phantom.

Phantom: Yes, Lash.

*The ship with the node stuck to its gun turns around to face the opposite direction of its orbit. Then, it fires, launching the node at a retrograde trajectory, aimed to strike one of the largest population centers on the planet. In less than 10 minutes, it strikes directly onto their town square. A camera watches as dozens of curious humans dressed in 19th-century attire gather around the impact site. Then, like a blooming flower, the node opens, releasing six Withers. They speak, allowing their psychic ability to pacify the crowd. Then, they strike. They pounce onto their victims, sometimes biting them on the torso and injecting embryos to further the race, and sometimes simply swallowing them whole before regurgitating their acid-coated remains as projectiles. I am disappointed in the fact that the camera does not have an audio recorder and I cannot, therefore, hear their dying screams. I am still happy to see the crowd massacred, with some left comatose and implanted to birth new Withers. I tune off the screen once the square has been deserted and occupy the next few hours looking down at the city and watching as its lights slowly go out.*

Myriad Reality

*A fleet of spacecraft emerges from warpspace in orbit of a remote world. They appear heavily damaged, with several not even possessing functioning life support. A window on a frigate blows out and releases a white-hot streak of flame into the void. These ships should not be spaceworthy, and yet here they are. Perhaps an explanation can be gained from the green-black slime that stretches around and coats the thrusters of each ship. The stuff forms tendrils that snake about and link different ships together, forming tunnels between each one. On the surface of one ship, the slime forms green pustules that cling to the hull and contain wriggling dark forms. On another, a similar node appears to have attached itself to the barrel of its spinal cannon. I stand at the bow of the flagship, ignoring the screams, gunfire, and more profane noises coming from the bowels of the ship. I pat my full belly, a bloody, empty hazmat suit laying in tatters behind me. Several humans wearing similar outfits dangle by their feet from the ceiling, their torsos cut open and leaking blood. Inside each gaping chest cavity, a small, white object slowly grows. I hear muffled cries for mercy coming from the crew quarters, now converted in personal chambers for my kin. What am I? I am a Wither, a superhuman, psychopathic creature incapable of feeling joy from any source but suffering.*

*Another Wither approaches behind me.*

Wither: We've captured the last of the crew, Lash. What should we do?

Divide them amongst yourselves, Phantom, but save some for me. And don't 'confiscate' any of their medical equipment, we need that.

*Phantom smiles cruelly.*

Phantom: Do you have any particular game planned for them? Me and Banshee are going to play the Cutting and Sewing Game.

You always play the Cutting and Sewing Game. How many arms stuck to one person is enough for you?

Phantom: It's just so fun!

But, to your previous question. I don't have any game planned for them now. I find it more fun to just do... whatever comes to mind. I have a feeling I'll come up with a really fun game, though. Once I do, I'll save some captives to play it in the mess hall, so you all can see.

Phantom: I can't wait!

Good.

Myriad Reality

<Snipped quote by Armed Forces>

My daughter! Where is my daughter!?

*Looks to see an unconscious teenage girl being carried away on a stretcher by two androids. My posture goes ramrod straight, before I become a grey blur streaking across the battlefield after her.*

*Looks back to you*

HELP ME!

@Tank O The Lake

*I keep running, ignoring the bullets shattering on the toughened graphene of my cloak. I am about to reach Alexandria, when, with a faint ptick, a dart embeds itself within my neck. I fall over and struggle to rise, struggle to fight off the sedative. Alexandria's eyes flutter, and she looks at me with a helpless gaze.*

Hold on... I'm coming...

*Before I finish my sentence, whatever they have Alexandria on drags her back down. I stand, but become unbalanced and fall to my knees. Seeing this, Dmitri pulls a dart gun of his own and loads a dart rimmed with blue, firing it into me. The heavy-handed dose of stimulants is enough to keep me going, but they need time to kick in. In the meantime, as I lapse into and out of consciousness, I am granted brief glimpses of the androids as they load Alexandria onto a waiting vehicle and drive her off. I am unable to stop them, with the stimulants only kicking in once she is far out of my reach, almost as if by a cruel hand.*