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[Mackindale]

I stretch in my Reaper's cockpit, the mech in cruise mode. I travel across the desert, having heard news of an abandoned Crion outpost where I can find plenty of older mech models and generators. I squint into the monitor, the main camera lens having finally filled up with too much of the tan, brownish sand to ignore. I pull the jump lever and the sand instantly clears out, revealing the bot next to me, another Sentium pilot, assigned to salvage the scrap with me. I press the comm. button and say "Hey, you seeing that building in front of us_ It's bigger than I thought it'd be. I think this is our lucky day." I thumb the boosters and race there. "They say some crazy, diabolical things happened in these old Crion factories. Looks like we'll see it first hand. Let's go!"

Edited by Mackindale, February 22 2013 - 03:22 PM.

[Kruthal_Dexlar]

Intercepted radio communication on a routine patrol. Relaying information to Prosk HQ and awaiting further orders.

/Kruthal standing by. Located potential salvage mission from Sentium pilots. Over.

[Major_Victory]

Stopping at itchy Pete's best hot dogs in the wasteland...

[Beefsweat]

Everything is quiet inside the grated Hiefram cockpit. Only the low, staccato thumps of its boxy feet grinding against sand and rock manage to reverberate their way into my climate-regulated domain. The Reaper in front of me buzzes something over the comms that I can't quite make out - I jam my finger under my helmet to work the strap loose and get a better fit over my ear. "What was that, Mack_" I reply hastily. The Reaper's voice crackles to life. "I said I heard that some real stuff used to go down out here. Tight-lipped 'special operations projects' and whatnot, stuff people like you and me never heard about." Naturally I was a bit skeptical about the whole thing - we were sure that most of those old Crion factories were totally closed up - and yet... something about Mack's tone in those last few words makes my stomach curl into a knot. I shake the errant thoughts from my head and plunge the control sticks forward, my mighty, rust-eaten Hiefram struggling to keep up with the sleeker and more refined Spree as it cuts through the windy sandstorm like a snake.

Edited by Beefsweat, February 22 2013 - 03:45 PM.

[nokari]

Dear diary,

I met a pretty mech pilot today.

[Kruthal_Dexlar]

The sand and dust being kicked up in this arid wasteland must be causing interference with my comms link back to Prosk HQ. I try hailing again, with ever increasing immediacy in my voice: "This is patrol unit Bravo 7, do you copy_... Bravo 7 to base do - you - copy_!" As I flip the switch on my dashboard to end my transmission I wait for a reply, my heart in my mouth. Every second wasted is another second those Sentium rust buckets have to make off with what ever is inside that outpost. Must be big, I can see more mechs making their way in across the horizon.

Seconds pass and turn to minutes - still nothing but static in my headset. I have no idea if my message reached back to HQ or not, and there's no way I can take that many mechs on my own in this Berserker. I make a decision, turn and burn for the nearest Prosk outpost. With any luck I can relay the intel in time for some action to be taken.

[Mackindale]

From over the Sentium intercom, a message blares out, another prerecorded message engineered to give us pilots hope on the battlefield. "zzchhh- -is simple. Stick together, you live zzchh- out you die."
I turn my mech to face Beefsweat to check if he's still with me. I see him, and feeling more confident, I enter the large, half open entry way of the worn down Crion factory. I feel my grip on my joystick tighten as I use the left-dodge maneuver to dodge the large, imposing enemy mech. I feel faint as I realize it's only an older, out of service model. I hold down the comm button again, "No sign of any Prosk drones here. Let's salvage this junk and get out of here. ...Gives me the creeps." My service drone boosts from its pocket on my mech and begins cutting off sheet metal, electronics and old parts that can be reconfigured into guns and ammunition, sorting it into stacks.
"This is a good haul, eh_ Lucky there's no one else here or there'd be some real trouble..."

[Beefsweat]

Mack slips into the factory before I can even make out the door through the sand. Luckily my heads-up display highlights his position and draws a route for me to follow. Something lurks in the back of my head, an itch that cannot be scratched - something jerk the control sticks, throttle the clutch and wheel around as fast as my Hiefram will turn to see - nothing. Just endless miles of sand shimmering with unbearable heat.

It's nothing, Beef. Nothing. Pull yourself together.

Inside the hulking Crion factory/bunker/warehouse amalgamation, I am immediately greeted with the high-pitched squeals of a direct-current plasma torch cutting through God knows what, the occasional synthetic whirring of Mack's service drone, and the deafening, grating CLONKS of my wedged feet against concrete and steel. I pull the sticks back a bit, slow down to a leisurely walk, and take a look around. Without any central lighting or windows it's very dark, but my HUD adjusts the image definition for me.

Jesus, there's so much raw material here! That old garage has got to be half a kilometer long, and there's a mech in every station...

I reach down to click my red COMMO button. "A good haul_ Buddy, this is a big fuzzy goldmine!"

Edited by Beefsweat, February 22 2013 - 04:54 PM.

[Frouste]

Meanwhile...

A Brommens pilot, paired with a coupled with a pair of Pistons leave a Prosk outpost in brisk fashion.
"Just another day on patrol, right sir," spoke on of the Piston pilots.  "Yeah...  just another day," the now conscripted miner replied with disillusioned breath, "hey Williams, you got that coffee pot ready_"  "You know it!  I got that thing hooked in my mech's arms," barked the 'Pistoneer.' "On the bright side, even if we do get into a skirmish, we've got creamer," Chimed the previous Piston pilot.  Perfect, thought the Brommens operator, now let's just hope this radio signal isn't calling for action...

Edited by Frouste, April 04 2013 - 12:18 AM.

[Kruthal_Dexlar]

In between each burn of my thrusters I reach out and flick the small rocker switch on my dashboard, as I wait for my for my fuel to recharge I call out again. "This is patrol unit Bravo 7, requesting support...Any Prosk units please respond this is patrol unit Bravo 7 in need of assistance, over."  I'm pushing my mech to its limits. Scorching the ground beneath me and leaving a huge dust cloud in my wake as I tear across this baron land. I know I'm not far from an outpost now... I call out again ....

[The_Eldritch_Abomination]

Callsign The_Eldritch_Abomination, better known as 'Eldritch' stared out of the open doors of the outpost's number 7 launch bay, watching a Brommens Assault class and 2 Pistons leave in a cloud of dust over the sandy plains. The Royal Guard lieutenant wondered if he had ever met the mech's pilots. This FOB was fairly large, and he was relatively new here, so the chances were slim. He shifted in his tanker boots in contemplation for a moment, before resuming his observation of the desert before him.

He was ordered to be on standby today, in case of any incidents- skirmishes with Sentium forces were frequent in this contested area.

A few nervous looking Recruits talked to each other, perched on top of their boxy CR-T Mechs. Eldritch felt a sense of nostalgia, reminding him of the time when he was merely another Prosk Merc, fresh out of training, only for the Brass to have taken notice of him and placed him in the ranks of the Royal Guard.

To his left, his Vanguard Cupcake stood implacable and high, like some iron god of war. It's surface, painted with his eponymous Lieutenant rank, once shining and radiant- now tarnished and pitted with countless battle scars.

What he once thought as a symbol of courage and audacity, now only stood as a monument to a life he had left behind.

He had only been fairly recently transferred to this dusty little outpost, on the Border of  the Prosk 'Outlands'. If this had happened a few years ago, when he had first enlisted perhaps Eldritch would have been furious- reduced protecting Prosk High Command to being a mere sentinel on a washed up, little outpost in the middle of pretty much, nowhere. Now, Eldritch didn't care. Prosk City or this little outpost meant only one thing- incessant fighting and eventual termination.

This brief flashback brought back memories of the first days of the nano-virus pandemic. Many of the targets were merely civilians who were trying to escape the draconian grasp of the Hawken Virus. Pouring into Prosk City and inevitably causing riots and pandemonium, he had been ordered to 'quell the violence' - An order that he had been questioning ever since.

Climbing into the cockpit, he prepped his mech. As he sat there, he turned to open the storage compartment, and took out his violin, the only item he had carried along with him from Prosk City- apart from his mech.

His visions of a greater future for himself, Illal and Prosk had been shattered. From that day forwards, he learned his job was not the glamorous gig that he believed it would be. It was merely a vicious cycle of death and Corporate lies...

His thoughts were interrupted by a request for assistance on his radio. Scrambling for the radio, he responded:

"Bravo 7, this is Callsign Eldritch, state your intent"

Activating the Cupcake, he listened to the radio for a response.

PS: Yeah, I'm not the best writer and all, so please forgive any gorilla style errors, mistakes and any inconsistencies that may have occured.

Edited by The_Eldritch_Abomination, March 25 2013 - 02:49 AM.

[Mackindale]

I smile as a small, red blip appears on my radar. It's racing away from the factory, likely to get help.
I wonder for a second about whether or not I should go after it, and decide I'll just play with him a bit. "Hey, watch my service drone, Beef, I'm going to the roof to check out that blip." I leave my repair bot behind and find a broken elevator. I blast open the door and activate my jets to ascend up the column before bursting through another door, this one on the roof. Look down over the flat desert, I see a tiny dot racing away from the factory, moving towards Prosk area. Scoping it, I line up my guns and fire a KE-SABOT round, striking it square on the back. I grin, hiding behind some cover to hide from any return fire. I message Beef. "I think I got him, but he's still live. Watch yourself in case he attacks, zzzch- -looks to be running away."

Edited by Mackindale, February 22 2013 - 05:21 PM.

[Beefsweat]

Mack's drone hovers around a twisted pile of wreckage, cutting, welding, assembling. I find myself entranced by its precise, methodical movements, its guttural whirring and honking as its repulsion jets keep it bobbing feet above the ground. I remember when they started jamming these things into mechs, I think to myself. They used to use these little guys for just about everything they could think of. I find myself looking towards a monitor on my right and noticing the blinking amber light. My own floating technician awaits, forever vigilant and ready to serve. Something about its presence comforts me, even makes me crack a hint of a grin. My thoughts are interrupted my a muffled, echoing KRA-KOW - I flinch out of reflex and look up to my radar - only a single white blip, my sole teammate on this suicidal dine-and-dash, as it were. Mack's voice crackles through my headphones with a tinny and warbled, "I think I got him, but--kzzzksz--self in case he attacks--ssskkkskhhhkz--to be running away." My pace quickens, my grips on the control sticks tighten. I turn a quick 180 from my survey of skeletonized and half-cannibalized mechs and head back to the main entrance.

Easy, Beef. This isn't gonna be like last time. You're in a bruiser, now, and you've got a teammate.

Come on, relax. That had to have been the only contact out here.

Edited by Beefsweat, February 22 2013 - 05:39 PM.

[Kruthal_Dexlar]

zzzch " Bravo 7 this is Callsign T_E_A, state your intent " Finally! I think to myself as I smile and begin to transmit back  "T_E_A this is Bravo 7, I've intercepted - " *KUNG!*  I flinch, my head ducks as I take a big hit from something at the rear of my mech,  I guess the dust cloud and burning thrusters gave me away a bit. I continue my transmission " I've intercepted a Sentium salvo mission at an abandoned Crion factory. Multiple Tango's, potentially valuable loot. I've been spotted during my evac but they aren't chasing. Requesting assistance to intervene, over."  I guess I wasn't too late, looks like there will be a party after all...

[Frouste]

The radio suddenly blares with life, "This is patrol unit seven requesting support-" Oh great, another skirmish to contend with, Dan's face suddenly drooped into a wearily pessimistic and irritated state.  "Patrol unit seven, this is reconnaissance patrol unit two-four-seven, we read you, over."
Attempts to make distanced radio contact were ineffectual in the desert as Dan continued to acknowledge the plea for support.
Ten minutes passed like this until the two teams met almost face-to-face.  The targeting system read the friendly mecha as 'PatrUn-7-1,' same as the friendly sending the radio signal.  After syncing up radio signals, 'PatrUn-7' gives the gist of his request for support.
"Well, I'm not certain we'll have much luck getting a signal to the outpost," Dan said, "but we've got to stop those fuzzy scavvie's from stealing  our materials..."  The miner's gut flared with a hot, but cold surge of instant regret.  Under normal circumstances, he'd never have given such a bold and cruel request.  "But hey, when its all over, we've got coffee!"

[The_Eldritch_Abomination]

After hearing the response, Eldritch responded. "Bravo 7, request for assistance granted. ETA 10 minutes".

He carefully placed his violin back into the storage compartment, next to his standard issue Assualt Rifle and some ammunition, and a very important digital storage device.

Eldritch shifted the control levers forwards and his Cupcake then began to move. Clearing out of the launch bay, he was glad to leave it behind. Out in the wild open, he could free his mind and not have to think to much about what was once, and could focus on what was happening right now.

In the distance, he saw a group of mechs in the distance. He moved towards them, the rhythmic pounding of his Cupcake's feet slamming the sand underneath it into submission.

10 MINUTES LATER

The mechs, Bravo 7 a Bezerker and Recon unit 247, whom had just left the base not so long ago, were standing in a circle, as if they were talking to each other like Prosk Commanders at conferences. They were interrupted by a deafening THUD, as Eldritch's Cupcake jumped down from a rocky outcrop above them. Shifting to face the Cupcake, Eldritch felt every pair of eyes focused on him.

Edited by The_Eldritch_Abomination, March 25 2013 - 02:51 AM.

[Beefsweat]

Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump - - - thump. Thump-thump.

My heart races inside my tightening chest. I can feel the old pacemaker in my chest struggling to keep up. Some fuzzy medical benefit package that was. Yeah, come work for Sentium! We'll fix your cardiac arrhythmia AND forgive you of any war atrocities with a bigger salary! No matter how hard I try, I can't stop thinking about my last escort mission. The klaxon of a Prosk cruiser overhead. The fire. The blood. The screaming, always the screaming. Before and after. It seems that no matter where we go, no matter what sides we choose, the outcome is always the same: chaos and death. Why am I surprised at that_ These things were built to kill. I grip the control sticks tighter and mouth the words to myself as I think them. I am built to kill. I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain. A few nervous breaths later and I find myself reaching for the COMMO toggle, my eyes darting across my heads-up display for any signs of life. "Hey Mack, don't get trigger happy up there! Get back down and help me figure out what circuitry might be salvageable here."

Edited by Beefsweat, February 22 2013 - 06:25 PM.

[Frouste]

"And who in the dickens is this," Piston blurted over the comms traffic.
"Apparently this guy's got a cupcake," his counter-part observantly replied.
"I ain't see no cupcakes nowhere," Piston yipped back, "stop fuzzing with me!"
"His mech IS also called a cupcake.  Now stow it, both of you," Dan barked, as he knew that Vangard models generally don't take stock in the usual run-of-the-mill patrols.  This was an officer, and if you didn't shape up in the presence of an officer, things tended to go south for your career...

Dan's voice cracked as he mustered the strength to iterate the most obvious question, "what's an officer such as yourself doing way out here, sir_"

[Kruthal_Dexlar]

Hearing the banter between these guys helps put me at ease. I know if things go belly up we'll get out ok, but wait what was that_... an officer_ I get the feeling this Crion salvage deal could be way bigger than I had imagined. The anticipation and excitement begins to grow as I wait to see what the officer has to say.

[Beefsweat]

Frouste, on February 22 2013 - 06:28 PM, said:

"And who in the dickens is this," Piston blurted over the comms traffic.
"Apparently this guy's got a cupcake," his counter-part observantly replied.
"I ain't see no cupcakes nowhere," Piston yipped back, "stop fuzzing with me!"
"His mech IS also called a cupcake.  Now stow it, both of you," Dan barked, as he knew that Vangard models generally don't take stock in the usual run-of-the-mill patrols.  This was an officer, and if you didn't shape up in the presence of an officer, things tended to go south for your career...

Dan's voice cracked as he mustered the strength to iterate the most obvious question, "what's an officer such as yourself doing way out here, sir_"

Off topic for a second, is it weird that I read the voices of the two Pistoneers in the voices of the trolls from The Hobbit_