Galactic Soldier Troperion Brainstorm

Don't tell me what to do. You're not my real dad.

Haha, nonsensical page topper FTW.

edited 7th May '14 1:43:19 PM by Parable

It's a response to Faux.

JOKE KILLED.

I am become Death, Destroyer of Miniputts.

Though he is mistaken about his paternity.

Mé féin ag daṁsa faoin ngealaċ seanrince gan ċeol leis ach ceol cuisle. DS FC: 4141-3472-4041, feel free to add me.

And Hydrall is his mother!

What matters in this life is much more than winning for ourselves. What really matters is helping others win, too. - F. Rogers.

And we are all Lockon's Loyal Children.

I am become Death, Destroyer of Miniputts.

So say we all.

Houston, We have lift off!

Our new life begins! A glorious day and a beautiful day! Good bye, Old Discussion thread! You were so good to us and now we leave you like children leaving their mother's home to start their own lives. Good bye, Old Game! Good bye, Old Sign-Up! We love you and we'll never forget you!

3:47 AM, Greenwich Standard Time.

Near Rimpoint Academy, Inner Asteroid Belt, Ark.

Space itself wasn’t cold, but the damned thing was empty. That meant certain precautions needed to be taken to keep from being visible from the other side of the system and to keep from wasting their precious Mythril supply. One of those precautions was the thermostat. Mike shivered. Whatever temperature that void was, it was damn cold inside the frame.

It was then that a crackling noise came, breaking the ordered radio silence.

"It's still ten minutes until we get launch orders, we ought to pass the time somehow, right rookie?"

“He doesn’t want to hear any of your bullshit, Alex.”

“Don’t be that way, I just want us to get to know each-other better.”

“Um,” The rookie they were addressing chimed in, “I’m actually a little curious if it’s not any trouble.”

“Don’t worry about Mike, he’s always tense before a mission. We go way back. He’ll warm up once we get some conversation going. For example, what got you to sign up.”

“How about you guys first,” The new guy said apprenhensively, “I’m still not really sure if I belong here.”

“How about it then,” Alex said, “you start, Mike.”

“Two years ago, I had a bit of financial trouble. Somehow word got out and I ended up here, not a bad job all said.”

“Don’t be so humble now, mate,” Alex retorted, “This one joined up when his business went under and his little brother Nicky’s university cancelled their scholarship half way through the year and his parents went bankrupt trying to bail them both out. Mike here joined up to bail them back out; should have heard this guy when we were first station together. Just talking about his little brother and his second chance; Nicky this and Nicky that. That brat had better be a surgeon by now, or poor Mike won't know what to do with him.”

Mike sighed, it had been a long time ago but he still had his regrets. He asked himself time and again if he could have done things differently but he remembered the deal. He’d made Ace quickly before being shown a briefcase of dollars and told that for a couple years of service, the slate could be wiped clean for him and his family, even with a little extra on the side. He hoped that his brother would find better than this. This job though, whatever its drawbacks, at least offered his brother a chance at something bigger. He mustered up at least a bit of an explanation for the rookie;

“A Federation ship accidently fired on the shipment. I didn’t have much say in the matter; no merchandise to sell and they'll shut down the branch," Mike said with a sigh, not keen to explain the business end of his trip to rockbottom, "I joined the army once it was clear that there was no way to salvage my money, but they wouldn’t do much except fend off the debt collectors until the end of my service. So, when a friend mentioned this group, I joined up. Maybe one day, I’ll get my shot at the bastards who blew up my shipment. Now you, Alex.”

“Ehn,” A grunt came over the intercom from Alex's frame, “Mine’s a bit more boring. I up and left when it looked like there was nothing left for me there.”

Mike laughed, “She ran, new guy. Reports say she literally said ‘I don’t get paid enough for this shit’ and turned tail. Recruiters found her a week later, hiding on some rock. She was lucky that her service record checked out.”

“I swear,” Alex chimed in again, “We had Buckley’s chance in hell of winning, Cents would have creamed us. I’m willing to fight, but I ain’t going to kick the bucket for the sake of a few inches of sand on some rock floating around the other side of space.”

“And you, rook?”

“The name’s Imir. My story isn’t too different from Alex’s. I had a real jerk of a commander, hard to explain everything but he’d scream and shout until you were at your last nerve. Someone tried to report him, but word got out and well, he was found a week later hanging on a rope.”

“So you ran too,” Alex said with an almost reassured tone as if to imply that she was not the only one.

“After leaving him in a broom closet with a couple live Grenades,” Imir said, “Someone had to take the fall and I was not going to leave my Flight with that bastard.”

“Noble kid,” Mike replied, “So, that’s it?”

“Well, I’m curious what our mission is. I know the target but... do any of you know why he has been selected?”

“Could be any number of reasons, maybe he said the wrong thing at a conference or could be a rival to one of the higher ups, hell, it could be a recruiter told him too much and he still said no.”

“Could just be high command doesn’t like his choice of tie,” Alex shrugged, “We don’t get told much. I half suspect that no one is told anything and some middle manager points to a name on of the nearest directory for us to kill so that he can look busy.”

“Honestly,” Mike dwelt on the thought for a moment, “I’d believe it. I think I’ve met two people face to face who claimed to be a superior in my three years here. Everything else is radio. You won’t get half as far as the broom closet here.”

“Even if you could; it’d be just a click and boom,” Alex said, “’fore you even finished the idea of it. You’ve heard about what the chip can do by now, yeah? Noble spirits tend to cark it pretty quick here.”

Mike felt the now familiar scar on the back of his neck. There was no backing out now.

“ETA until launch,” Mike asked.

“30 seconds,” Alex replied.

“Good luck out there.”

“The rookie might need it, but this is routine.”

A red light went off and the Frames launched.

Two Stalkers and a Shark descended towards the target. The shuttle with the man they were after was moving slowly towards its at a steady pace. It couldn't have been an easier target, but it would have been odd to see security so far away from anywhere important.

“Target confirmed,” Alex said, “Just need a good shot. Don’t know why they even needed three of us for this.”

A second pause and his railgun fired. The smoking shuttle seemed to indicate a job well done.

"Let’s get out of her-“

A bang. Behind both of them, there was a distinct sound of a hit. A round pierced the Shark and the auxiliary cameras showed shell embedded into Shark.

“Shit. It’s a Genus,” Alex shouted, “Let’s pull back somewhere defensible.”

As if to answer Alex's suggestion, three frames rose up to pursue; Two Drakes and a Magellan.

Mike nodded, though it was inaudible over the intercom. Rather, he gestured his compliance by laying down a round of suppressive fire on the pursuing frames. It looked as though the Feds had been prepared.

“…Guys?” Imir said as he continued the retreat, “The Shark isn’t moving.”

“Well eject then you Bludger,” Alex said, “Do you want us to carry you or something?”

After the suppressive round, Mike kept pace with Alex’s frame was piloting. The suppressive round had managed to damage one of the Drakes, or at least force it to slow down. He wasn`t sure how he managed that but he was grateful. Alex fired off another round, but he winged it and opted to keep on the retreat. The Drakes and Megallen thankfully had been equipped with shotguns.

“You think the Genus fired early?” Mike asked Alex while still anxiously gripping the controls, “The rest of them look like they were hoping to cut us off and get up close.

“Probably,” Alex replied with a grunt, “Sniping is an art. But some yobbos will squeeze off on a good shot without waiting to know the situation.”

Mike coughed in response to Alex as he narrowly evaded another round from the Genus which had begun pursuit as well. Narrowly avoiding another the chance of capture as the pursuing frames were only beginning to gain a lead solid lead on.

“Really think now’s the time for coughing and sarcasm, you wanker? Shut your face and duck into the belt.”

Mike ducked in first, silently. He triggered the stealth mode then. It would eat up fuel, but if they could keep it for a minute or two, they’d have the better of their pursuers.

Indeed, their comfortable lead grew as they moved through the belt and soon it looked like they had managed to evade their pursuers with the Cent technology built into their frames. However, Mike saw his Mythril supply was low and his pursuers were still fairly close.

They lay their Frames by two Asteroids facing each other, close by a satellite. The satellite looked like a communications one for some Federation entertainment company, still active but likely not in use. This, they hoped, pass off as the source of the heat and any signals in the area. There were enough scattered, broken and half-operational satellites lying around Bastion from the Three Years War. The ones from the wars before that would be enough to cover keep the Feds searching for a long while. Finally, they set off their cloaking, satisfied that their heat signatures died down as low as possible, and hoping that the pings on their radio would pass away soon enough.

Alex chimed in on the radio, “That was one hell of a go. Signalling command now, we got what they sent us for; if the whole thing was a decoy, that’s not our problem anymore. What’s the damage on your Sheila there, Mikey?”

“I think one of the Drakes peppered my leg,” Mike sighed, “Otherwise, I’m golden. Still enough Mythril to see me on for a bit, even pull another escape. Yourself?”

“Don’t know how you still have so much left, my sting’s nearly run dry,” Alex said, “The cloaking did a number on it. That’s Cent tech for you; fancy but never lasts long enough to be practical.”

There was a pause for a minute. Mike couldn’t think of much to say. He just hoped to put the whole thing behind him. He wondered about Imir. If the Genus pursued, it meant there was either more support, or…

He paused and felt the back of his neck. They weren’t much use without a frame. A handful, they might try to break out. He doubted even him or Alex qualified for that. Alex seemed to be thinking the same as she came back on the radio;

“Think we’ll make it out of this one?”

“I… don’t know.”

Mike returned to his silent thought, it felt like a minute, but only seconds after a blast came from overhead, blasting the arm clean off Alex’s Stalker.

“Surrender now and submit to interrogation,” The gunner spoke, standing above a ledge on same rock, below Mike’s feet

“…Nicky?” Mike said, “That you?”

“Mike? I… I thought you were dead. What are you doing here?”

“Earning a way out of debt for you,” Mike replied, “What are you doing in the Army?”

A pause. The Pilot moved off the ledge, and looked over directly at Mike’s Stalker. He kept the gun levelled at the terrorist which might be his brother. Mike on the other hand, didn’t touch the controls. The hands of his frame remained on the ground as they had been.

“Well, whatever you did, you messed it up. It’s only gotten worce since you left. Now come with me… and I’ll make sure you don’t get murdered out here.”

Mike paused. He tried to read his little brother, but a lot had changed in three years. Little Nicky's voice was more confident now, though at the moment it was mixed with confusion and anger.

“I… I don’t know what you mean” Mike paused, “I saw the transactions myself. They squared every penny of the debts. You were free to keep going to College.”

“They froze our assets right after,” Nicky responded, “Every last penny. No one knew where the money came from. The Debt collectors didn’t care, but the cops did. They found nothing but we needed money again. You were MIA, probably dead. Mom was crying for weeks and she did again when I told them I was joining up.”

“Why? Why the hell would you join then?” Mike banged the controls loud enough that it resonated over the radio.

“Because we needed the money again,” Nick responded with a pause, “And because… I wanted to do you proud. Now I found out that you were the one who caused all this? Fuck you, Mike.”

There was a brief pause.

“Come with me now and I’m going to clean up your mess.”

Mike paused and he felt the chip again.

“I… can’t do that.”

“I will shoot,” Nick paused though Mike could tell he was furious, on the verge of tears, “Your recklessness didn’t do anything for us. Someone had to listen protocol and clean up the mess you’ve left. I let you go free now and we’re both dead.”

He levelled his shotgun at Mike's cockpit. A twitch of his finger and Mike would be soup. The two stood in silence for a minute, taking in everything that was happening.

Finally, Mike broke the silence.

“Then do it.”

A shot.

“I thought you were going to fucking talk all day,” Alex said with a smirk.

Mike looked out the front. Nick’s frame exploded, the eject pod fired clean out but the shot had winged it. Might as well have just shot him into the vacuum.

“You… fucking killed him.”

“He was going to shot. Tracker shots too. Would have killed both of us.”

“You,” Mike moved, he leapt off the asteroid and hurdled towards the other Stalker. With the push of a button he triggered the wrist lasers.

He was on top of Alex in seconds, tearing the frame to shreds, “You bastard.”

“Give it away,” Alex struggled to escape but Mike tore into her frame and kept a solid grip, “You’re going to get us carked.”

“No,” Mike said with a laser embedded in the shoulder of Alex’s Stalker as he pressed it against the Asteroid at full speed and held his other aloft, “Just you.”

He moved his arm towards the cockpit. No more words, just an explosion and a pained scream which was silenced the second it began.

Mike sat back. He put on what passed for gear and opened the hatch on his cockpit. He looked out over space. A great empty void, filled with the wreckage of humanity.

Here lay his brother and his last friend.

He saw the ship he launched from returning.

He sat and took a minute to think;

He felt the chip on his neck with his palm and looked towards the piece of sky where his brother would be sleeping forever more.

Mike looked out at it all and shivered.

Nothing to go back to, nothing to fight for.

Just the empty void and the coming ship.

"Well... I guess there's just one place left for me now."

edited 26th May '14 11:06:04 AM by Fauxlosophe

Mé féin ag daṁsa faoin ngealaċ seanrince gan ċeol leis ach ceol cuisle. DS FC: 4141-3472-4041, feel free to add me.

It's good to see you're as cheerful as ever, Faux. ;_;

And then the RP ended due to mass suicide.

I am become Death, Destroyer of Miniputts.

Sometime before the Original Game, during the last major Federation offensive prior to the Mythril Conference

Him and Her

Fifth time’s the charm. Come on, be unlocked dammit!

With an automatic swoosh the door slid open. Hell yeah! Thank you, God! Earth Federation Private Phillip Sheridan stumbled into the only house that had been unlocked on this street. Training kicked in, Phil immediately raised his rifle and swung it about, looking for anyone ready to end his life. A simple task made so much more difficult by the fact that it was pitch black inside. Not that it had been any different outside. Phil had fallen face-first right into the snow more than once as he attempted to navigate through the city’s near lightless, rubble-filled streets.

Nobody said Thames would be covered in snow! All the videos always displayed a planet covered by a giant city. A giant snowless city. Phil mentally added this frustration to the long list of illusions shattered since leaving his home world, ranking it just below Hamal. The planet was over 90% water yet somehow they had spent the entire damn campaign in the only damn desert on the whole damn planet.

A sweep of his eyes told him there was nothing immediately threatening his life in the living room up until the sofa. A gasp and sudden movement followed by an equally sudden stillness. Phil’s rifle stopped dead in front on the figure reclining on the couch.

Uniformed. Gray. Enemy.

“Don’t move!”

“Don’t shoot!”

The two shouted mingled in the air so that neither person really understood what the other just said. A moment of prudence prevailed however, and Phil held his fire while the enemy soldier was unmoving. At least, unmoving as far as Phil could tell with only a single streetlamp giving light from outside the window. The rifle remained leveled at the house’s other guest as Phil made his way into the room.

“Don’t move.” He said again.

For her part, the enemy soldier seemed very much inclined to obey Phil’s command. She lay motionless, with eyes wide and a hand extended in front of her as like a small, feeble shield.

“Hands up! Both of them!” Phil snapped.

There was a long pause as the soldier stared at Phil with wide, petrified eyes. Slowly, ever so slowly, she began moving her other arm upwards. A grimace crossing her features followed by a hiss of pain and she abruptly dropped it back down again. The action was unexpected and a startled Phil almost squeezed the trigger. Something stayed his hand: the slow recognition of the state of this enemy soldier in front of him. He had seen it far too many times in on every planet he had been on since leaving home. Wounded, seriously so. She was no threat to anyone in this condition.

Phil lowered his weapon, uncertain of what to do next. The heat of battle was gone in every sense of the phrase, and with it the kill-or-be-killed reflex he had developed over the years. He just could not bring himself to shoot an unarmed and injured foe. Then she let out a muffled yelp and any notion of killing her was thrown out into the cold. Placing his weapon on the coffee table before him, he rushed over to her side.

“Don’t –” She started to cry.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

Up close Phil could make out a little more of her appearance. Short, about his age, with long hair and a muddy, torn uniform. Her face was contorted in pain though she managed to keep her eyes on Phil. The hand that never went up was hugging her side. Even in this light he could see the blood stain spreading across her abdomen under some hastily wrapped bandages.

“Just don’t move, alright?”

Phil tried to remember the basic first aid training he had undergone upon joining the military. Haphazardly he tried looking for the source of the bleeding but the darkness made it difficult to pinpoint anything and the bloody wraps made it flat out impossible. Best guess? Probably somewhere on her lower right abdomen. Thinking it would be easier if he could actually see the wound he tried to lift the bandage. That proved to be a bad idea when the girl let out the most horrifying shriek and began flailing her arms, coming within inches of smacking Phil in the face.

“It hurts! It hurts!” she kept shouted and crying.

“Hey! Okay, stop! Stop! You’ll reopen your wound!”

She finally relented after being reduced to sniffles and sobs. Once Phil was safe from any stray blows to his face he tried to continue his examination. Examining under the wraps was out of the question unless he wanted a black eye, but it they clearly were not doing an adequate job.

“Do you have any more bandage?” he asked the girl.

She shook her head weakly, and not for the first time Phil cursed the fates that had robbed him of his pack and the valuable med kit and glow stick inside it. He rose to his feet, his movements slow and deliberate as not to alarm the girl again. Looking about, he scanned the room for anything that could be a suitable replacement for the bandages. He spotted a staircase leading to the second floor at the other end of the room. Maybe there was a bathroom up there with a first aid kit? That was where his mom always kept theirs. Before he could reach the first step however, the girl made a sound.

“You can’t go up there.” She groaned. “The upper hall is caved in.”

Defeated, Phil wondered if it had been his own allies that shelled this area earlier as he moved back to the center of the room. If so, then irony hated him. There was another door, a small one off to the side near a corner. It turned out to be a closet. The girl spoke up again.

“There should be some towels in there.”

It was pitch black. Phil groped about like a blind man trying to find anything in the dark closet. After grabbing a vacuum, a bouncy ball, and much empty air he was finally rewarded with all of one towel. Moving back to the girl’s side Phil proceeded to rip the towel into strips.

“This might hurt but can you lift yourself up a bit?” Phil asked as he readied the first wrap. Her wide eyes managed to mix dubiousness in with fear and pain, but the girl complied, lifting her upper body. A stifled cry escaped from her when Phil’s arm briefly grazed her back.

“Okay, lay down again.” Phil instructed. “This is probably going to hurt but I need you to bear with it.”

Feeling her tense up again, Phil looked to her face for acknowledgement. The girl only nodded, biting her lip as she did so. That did not stop her from crying out when Phil tightened the makeshift bandage around her torso. The shrieking continued all the while Phil’s fingers worked clumsily to tie the towel strip, devolving into gasps and whimpers after he ceased his labors, only to resume when he began the process all over again.

Four wraps later it was done. To the vast relief of Phil’s nerves the girl’s screams subsided. Her body relaxed gradually and her breathing slowed. Phil’s breathing, the pace of which he had not realized had been increasing, also returned to normal.

“Why are you helping me?” Her question came out in a hoarse whisper.

That was a good question, one Phil had been wondering himself. He was under no obligation to help an enemy soldier. Hell, he would be happy if there was one less person shooting at him out there. For the first time he took a good look at her uniform. Even in this light he could see that it was not the same dark gray he was used to seeing on Centauri soldiers, instead being a much lighter shade. Phil couldn’t make out what the insignia on her shoulder patch was but it was definitely not the Twin Suns Banner.

“You’re not with the Royal Army.”

A slight shake of the head. “Thames Peace Guard; I joined after Leon.”

Phil grimaced, both at the sight of the blood soaked wrap and the girl’s words. The Battle of Leon had only been a week ago. Still, it offered him an excuse.

“Our fight is with the Centauri government, not the people of Thames. We’re not here to hurt you.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than did he feel stupid for saying them. “And besides,” he added hastily, “You can’t hurt nobody. You’re practically a prisoner. And that means I’m responsible for you now.”

Whether the girl accepted that line of reasoning or not was impossible to determine by her expression, which had not changed since she had posed the question in the first place. Phil decided to change the subject around.

“What about you? Why are you fighting us?”

“I have to fight for my planet. It’s my responsibility. I had to do my part to end this war.”

The words reeked of practiced propaganda lines. Phil did not respond, instead finishing the adjusting of the bandages and slipped without another word over to his side of the table again. From somewhere far off he thought he could hear the rumble of incoming artillery.

“You know,” The girl spoke up suddenly. “We were at the winter ball when they broke the news that you guys had broken through to the Leon System. I remember the night. We were just about to start the final dance but a lot of people had already gotten messages with the news and people were getting nervous. Then the headmaster came up to the stage and told our fleet had lost and that the Federation fleet was on its way.”

Phil remembered that night as well. The dingy little space hauler that carried him, the claustrophobic and foul smelling cargo hold he and hundreds of other ground troops had been crowded into, and the nerve-wracking helplessness during the fleet battle where a single well placed laser or missile could have obliterated his transport without him even knowing.

“Must have been a rough night.” he said.

“Yeah, but you know what’s funny? We finished that last dance! When the announcement was done, we all just stood around for a while, not knowing what to do. Then someone started the music up and we all partnered up and waltzed the night away.”

The two drifted into silence after that. Phil shifted his position on the couch, shifted it again, finally got up and moved to the other side. The cold and the fear of discovery by the enemy killed any ease he might have felt. His eyes flickered from the girl to his rifle on the table before dismissing the idea that the she would suddenly make a lunge for the weapon. After another ten minutes of squirming Phil finally felt restful enough to stay in one spot when the girl spoke up again.

“I didn’t really want to fight.”

Phil raised his head but said nothing.

“I didn’t want to fight.” She repeated. “I lied earlier, about why I enlisted. I didn’t care about the war – it was lightyears away! And when your people finally showed up I just wanted to get as far away as possible. I guess that makes me a coward.” The girl fell into silence, her eyes unfocused. No looking at anything in particular but staring at the past, envisioning a memory before her eyes.

“But Daya volunteered! As soon as the Guard started mobilizing she said she was going to join. ‘Protect our planet and our people’ she said. Veronica didn’t seem so sure about it but she said she was going to join too! And then Onlee showed up the next day already in uniform. He told me I shouldn’t worry, that we’d be just fine and that we… we… They totally expected me to sign up with them! I couldn’t just leave my friends! How could I be the only one to say no? I - ”

She spasmed again. A cry of agony escaped through clenched teeth. Phil flew off the sofa and was at her side in an instant.

“Hey! Calm down! Stop stressing yourself out or you’re just gonna make it worse!” Phil shouted over her groans. His words seemed to reach her. That or she just used up the last of her energy. Like a puppet with its strings cut the jerky movements ceased, the girl turned into a lifeless doll. The shouting stopped, replaced by sniffles.

“Am I going to die?”

“You’re not going to die.” Phil said firmly. “You’re going to be fine.”

“I don’t want to die.” She sniffled “Why is this happening to me? I haven’t even graduated yet! I was going to go to Eden. I was going to be a fashion designer! That’s all I – I’m cold.” She ended with a whisper.

Phil yanked off his own overcoat. Laying it on the girl, he pushed the edges under her body, wrapping her as best he could. His hand brushed against hers and he winced. It really was cold but it was also clammy. The girl was perspiring greatly.

“Am I –”

“You’re going to be fine.” He said with less conviction.

The girl gave no indication of picking up on his change in tone. She did not respond at all. She lay still again, the only movement coming from her chest as her lungs took in short, shallow breaths. How long it was like that Phil could not tell. A few minutes? An hour? Phil felt as though time was passing them by, an eon outside his and the girl’s timeless space.

“Ch-Chelsie.” She whispered suddenly, breaking him out of reverie.

“What?”

“My name is Chelsie… Monticello.” She said more firmly. “I don’t want to die… with the last person I… I see… not knowing who I was.”

Phil opened his mouth to repeat the automatic response but nothing came out. Was there any point in disputing the implications of her words? Their eyes met and Phil knew the answer. Rather, his eyes met hers. She was not looking at him, just in his direction. There was no light left in those eyes.

Instead he reached under the coat and grasped her hand. The hand that was still deathly cold. Weakly her fingers returned the gesture. The faintest of smiles emerged on her features even as each time her eyes closed it was slower and longer. Finally her eyes stopped opening. Her breathing steadied. The hand kept its feeble grip on his own.

Phil shivered as gooseflesh ran down his body. It did not take long for his legs to cramp up in the kneeling position he found himself in. Yet Phil stayed where he was, not wanting to let go. It was a pointless gesture accomplishing nothing, changing nothing. He doubted if she was even aware of his presence anymore. But still he hung on to her hand. Letting her know in this small way that even in the darkness there was a friend watching over her.

Somehow, Phil managed to fall asleep. When he awoke the first thing he noticed was the light. Groggily, he lifted his head and looked about to see the pale yellow beams of the morning sun streaming through the window. The storm had broken overnight. Day had come once more to this side of Thames. It was still cold though. For a second Phil wondered where his coat was. Then the night came back to him. He whipped his head back to his front and looked down.

She looked younger that he had originally thought now that there was light. A small nose and pointed chin. Evidently she had taken the time to put on lip gloss before the battle had started. Sandy blonde hair framed her dirty, tear-stricken face. Phil suspected she had been rather pale even when she was alive. She looked almost content with her eyes closed and lips partly open, as if this was a Saturday morning and she was enjoying her chance to sleep in.

Phil’s stiff knees protested as he rose. The dead hand fell away when he removed his own from its icy embrace. An internal debate sprung inside him over whether to leave her body covered or take his coat back to fight the chills outside. Pragmatism won out. Respect for the dead was one thing but his own well-being came first.

That decision changed abruptly after he lifted his coat from her body and those clumsily applied bandages came undone. Phil felt his stomach turn upon seeing the wound in her abdomen fully for the first time. It was no gunshot wound. Muscle and tissue lay mangled and disintegrated. Phil forced back the lump in his throat after seeing what had been some organ fall from her body in a shredded heap. What he had tried to convince himself was bleeding from a deep wound was blood just spilling out from where a swathe of flesh was no longer present. How she stayed alive as long as she did, much less conscious for as long as she did was mystery.

Pragmatism be damned. She did not deserve to be left in such a state. Phil threw the coat back over her body, if only to hide the horror from view. Then, as an afterthought, pulled it off again. He crossed the girl’s stiffening arms over her chest, adjusted her head so it was straight, and then gently placed the coat over her body once more.

There was a rumble from afar, an explosion. Scattered rifle fire from several areas across the city followed by the screaming of rockets and plasma weapons. The war outside resumed.

Slinging his rifle over his shoulder, Phil turned away from the girl’s body. Wet, dirty boots left prints on the wooden floor as Phil made his way to the front door. Then he stopped. There were motion photos, brief videos capturing a precious moment in time, on the wall. Some were just simple recordings put into frames. Others were professionally taken with special lighting and backdrops. The kind of family photos most people back home on Luna could never afford.

It was one of these that caught his eye. One of the professional motion photos of a girl depicted from her waist up against a green backdrop. She wore a gentle smile, a smile that turned into a grin and then to soundless laughter on the mute frame. Her face was clean without even a trace of the typical teenage blemishes. Despite that, the big brown eyes, the stylized blonde curls, the small nose all were a perfect match.

Phil resumed his walk to the front entrance. As the front door slid open Phil looked back at the room, at the girl. She had known the access code. Her prints were recognizable. Of course in her time of need she had returned to the one place that could offer comfort in this miserable battlefield. It finally made sense why this had been the only house unlocked.

This had been Chelsie Monticello’s house.

._.

See? I'm not the most pessimistic one after all!

Say what you will about my fics, but my stories so far have not reached the point of having a disemboweled stranger die in the protagonists arms!

On the other hand, it is a very good story and Parable pointed out that the epilogue is ultimately optimistic as;

Philip Sheridan dug deeper into the mystery behind the laptop, it belonged to a Centauri soldier, one whom had died on a campaign he had previously participated in. This stirred some internal sense of brotherhood which only became more acute with joint operations and interacting with prisonners. Phil still felt awkward in smaller interactions and had no small amount of guilt, but as he finished his tour he found himself sympathizing with White Cross' ideas. He would step into a religious and diplomatic role, hoping that a renewed sense of spirituality in both nations could heal the wounds of war and mark an era of universal fraternity.

Mé féin ag daṁsa faoin ngealaċ seanrince gan ċeol leis ach ceol cuisle. DS FC: 4141-3472-4041, feel free to add me.

9 years, 316 days, 11 hours and 52 minutes before (Re)Union

Federation Space, Aether Squadron

Michael Arath swore yet again. "Fucking assholes, stop sending me the wrong coordinates!"

His squadmates laughed over the comm channel. "Hey, Misha, ain't our fault you keep falling for it. It's what, the fiftieth time or something?"

A female voice chimed in. "Hey, no need to rub it in. It's not Michael's fault that he doesn't get jokes." Though the woman behind the voice acted as if she were defending Michael, her own amused giggling was clearly audible in-between sentences.

Michael couldn't help but chuckle too, though made sure to mute himself while doing so. "Hey, Charles, this happens again and I'll be pouring fucking baby powder on your head when you're on the toilet again. You sure seemed to enjoy it last time." The comm channel exploded with laughter. While technically, idle talk was prohibited during missions, no one quite cared about protocol at this point. It was a practice mission after all.

One of the Quicksilvers beside Michael's own frame charged a mock-up Invoke. With a deft double bladed strike, the dummy ended up with a triangular chunk cut out from its back. The rest of it was soon engulfed by fire from a Magellan. On his starboard, another Quicksilver and a Shark made short work of a plastic Centauri Stalker. "Hey Alexei, stop stealing my kills!" "Not my fault you can't aim!" "It's because your giant ass keeps getting in my way!"

A flash.

Alexei cut his banter for a moment. "Hey, what was that? Misha, did you see that?"

"Yeah, I did. That was from Julia's location. Julia, do you copy?"

No response.

"Hey Jules, do you copy?"

Silence.

No one spoke. After around ten seconds of waiting, Commander Robert decided something was wrong and that it was time to take action. "Everyone, get in formation, group up and get a visual on Julia's location. Alexei, watch our 6 starwards. Misha, 6 spacewards. Find out what's happened to-"

Static.

"Commander Robert?"

Static, then silence.

Michael checked his radar. There was no longer a signal coming from where Julia had been a moment ago. He checked on Commander Robert's location. Ditto. They had both vanished from his Frame's sensors.

"Guys, what's going on? Someone have a visual on this?"

"Something's taking us down, I don't know- Shit! Shit shit shit!"

Michael saw it this time too. On his screen, he saw a flash of red and white. A moment later, empty space. He looked around, but couldn't find anything in his vicinity, nor was there a signal in his vicinity on scanners. Jong-Hyun came in on the comms. "Something's hitting us and fast. Get the fuck out of here. Get back to the ship!"

"The fuck I am! Give us coordinates! Where are they!" Michael desperately scanned the radar screen and checked his visuals. At what should have been Rebecca's coordinates, he spotted what was left of her quicksilver sliced into three. Alexei and Jon's frames were gone from his scanners as well. At Commander Robert's former location, all that was left was a spherical globe of fire, quickly being extinguished by the vacuum. Next to it, he finally spotted what could possibly be their enemy. A single frame painted blood red and white.

"YOU SON OF A BITCH!" Michael wasn't sure if it was indeed the enemy, but there was no other unfamiliar frame or ship in sight and he sure as hell wasn't going to think too hard on it. He opened fire with his rifle. Then, what seemed like the very moment that he pulled the trigger, the light frame disappeared from his visuals. His frame rang out alerts, and Michael realized the lower half of his own frame was gone.

"Misha!"

Michael wasn't sure what was going on but he was suddenly pinned against his restraints. He continued to hold his trigger down without realizing tht his gun had been sliced in half as well. Alerts blared in his cockpit but he was barely even aware of them. As the practiceground in front of him on the screen expanded in scale, he realized he was being carried away from the battle. His field of view grew, and all he saw were more and more destroyed Federation frames. And just a single unfamiliar one. The light frame painted crimson and white.

Arath's vision began to fade, but he heard a stranger's voice break the radio silence.

"Kekeke, the vaunted Aether Squadron isn't all it's hyped up to be, is it? Is that all you fucking trashes got?"

edited 30th Jun '14 2:07:56 AM by neobowman

Finally, something happy and uplifting!

I could just write a Rohiko story where she would be serving at her new job as a pencil pusher and living quite happily.

Happy and uplifting? This verse is Gundam-inspired! "Happy and uplifting" means "not EVERYONE dies at the end!"

What matters in this life is much more than winning for ourselves. What really matters is helping others win, too. - F. Rogers.