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Hawken Fic


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#1 Inrideo

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Posted February 10 2012 - 12:58 PM

Throw down some words in here :)

I'll get it started.



Every day is the same. You blink away the grit that stings your eyes, choke down another lungful of dust and ash, and try to get by however you can. What little food you can afford tastes like stale cigarettes and refridgeration coolant. There's no point in complaining. The smugglers never lack for customers, and they understand the economics of scarcity.

Can't even buy your way off-world with a kidney these days. They just grow them in a lab, same as that meat you've never tasted. Real steak. Just like they grew in the tanks back on Earth.

This guy's been making the rounds, hitting up all the down and outers who can drive metal. Smile that looks like it cost a year's work to pay for, and practiced too often in a mirror. And eyes that don't smile at all.

It's a simple proposition. You want off this rock, he makes it happen. Food, money, and a clean place to sleep. Adrenaline modulators. Hydrostatic shock inhibitors. Vascular blowback dampeners. All the enhancements a mech driver needs to keep fighting beyond the veil of death.

And when you see that poor dumb bastard that signed up for the same thing coming at you, you don't hesitate. You go in hot and you put that fucker down. Because that's how it's done.

Or tomorrow you wake up, blink away the grit that stings your eyes, choke down another lungful of dust and ash, and try to get by however you can.
Not signed up yet? Use my referral tag so I can reserve my callsign :D

#2 Rabbiddog

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Posted September 18 2012 - 07:28 AM

It was gonna be another scorcher today, in more ways than one. 7AM local time and already the temprature has topped 115 degrees. The heats hard on a mech, harder on weapons. I look over my mech, that damn servo in the left knee was acting a bit twitchy during the last run, so I pop the maintanence cover and give it a wack with a hammer and a shot of grease. Todays not the day for it to give out. But being so far from the rear, proper supprt function was days away. Sides, the fleet commander gave orders, if you can move you fight. Only when your mech is a smoking hulk will it be pulled to the rear for repairs.

I scan the immediate horizon with binos, the desert wind has picked up today, kicking up flurries of dust clouds that make visibility downright ugly. Oh well, levels the playing field more. I do a personal equipment check, everythings there, sidearm, emergency rations, water. I chuckle at the the latter, a canteen of water. If I have to eject from my mech, I wouldn't last 3 hours in the desert, I'd be a baked potato inside of two. Water would be the least of my worries. Then there's the second canteen, filled with something better'n water, good bourbon. If I'm gonna die, gonna die enjoying a good stiff drink.

Everything checks so I climb into my mech and seal the cockpit. Power on, and a systems check. Frak! That damn servo is throwing me stabilization warnings. I finish my system check and decide for good measure to do a few in place RA jumps. The warnings keep coming but the servo holds up and the knee doesn't blow out, so it's gonna hafta do. I check intel, lotsa activity today, with the clans being paryicularly active in the southwest quadrant. My grandfather would've called it a turkey shoot. Problem is, I'm just as much the turkey as the rest out there. Helmet on and a radio check later the command to form up is given. And with a lurch my mech springs to life and moves forward, forming up with the rest of my squad.

Let's go get us some turkeys.

Edited by Rabbiddog, September 18 2012 - 08:59 AM.

Conquering the world...One beer at a time!




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