You are Tevyr Moongrove, and you’re having a pretty great day.
You’re sitting cross-legged on the bank of a wide, slow river with a makeshift fishing rod in your hands, line cast out. Your tail waves lazily in the air behind you and your eyes are half-closed, enjoying the cool morning air and the calming sound of flowing water, not minding that you haven’t caught anything for the past half hour.
It’s been four years since the discovery of Nexus, and only one year since you arrived along with other hopeful Exile settlers on an aging colony ship. The planet isn’t quite the fabled paradise the stories tell about, but the lush green forest in which you’ve made your home, even if said home is a shack built from spare wood and scraps, is far better than the grey corridors and claustrophobic spaces you’ve had to deal with before.
The other races might have been fine with spacefaring life, but it hasn’t been long since the Aurin were introduced to the space age and forcibly displaced from their home planet. Considering that, you think it’s understandable that so many of you jumped on the opportunity to leave life on the Exile fleet behind.
Not to say members of your race haven’t adapted to the sudden influx of science, you think to yourself as a sound plays out from within your pocket. You reach in and fetch the ringing comms device, a flat palm-sized tablet-like thing that you managed to scrounge together enough coin to buy last week, and tap the screen.
“Moongrove,” you say absently, the fishing rod swaying in your hand.
“Hi Trails!” Replies a distorted voice, familiar cheeriness shining straight the digital warping effect.
In one smooth motion, you get to your feet, pull the device in your right hand away from you, and wind your arm back. Without pause, you flick your arm forward in a hasty throw and the device sails diagonally upward through the air, tracing a wide arc and landing with a faint ‘plop’ in the slow-flowing surface towards the other end of the river.
Just as it disappears under the water, you hear a soft pinging sound in your ear which you recognise far too well as a connection being made to your comms implant. The one you were pretty damn certain you had disabled a month ago.
“A-gent Tra-ils,” says the same voice in a singsong tone.
[ ] Don’t answer.
[ ] Pretend to be someone else.
[ ] Give in. There is no escape.
Trails? Who the hell is Trails? Not a name you’ve ever heard, nope. And agent? You’re just a regular guy, and the grandest title you’ve ever been given is ‘mister’.
Yeah, no response is the best response in a case like this. In fact, you should probably just hang up, you think to yourself as you push the mental [End Call] button.
[End Call] [End Call] [End Call]
“I can see you Trails,” the voice speaks again, dragging out the syllables of your name. You look around, and when you crane your neck to the right you notice a large metallic sphere hovering in the distance, probably a metre or so in diameter, partially hidden by branches and leaves. A horizontal crease bisects the sphere into two halves, and in the very center is a small glowing blue light, giving the impression of a robotic eye.
A scanbot. God-damnit.
“... The hell do you want, Snow?”
Your former handler’s voice perks up when you respond. “Hiya Trails! It’s been ages!”
“Please don’t say it’s another job.”
“It’s another job!”
There’s a rustling sound at your feet, and you look down to glare ruefully at your fishing rod as it’s pulled towards the water by an unseen creature. It skips once on the surface before joining your comms device at the bottom of the river with a similar unceremonious splash.
It was a good morning.
[ ] Reason. You’re retired, damnit.
[ ] Fine. Fine. Just one more. You can’t escape, can you.
[ ] Escape.
“It’s not like you guys have memory problems, right?”
The voice’s tone contains no trace of surprise or confusion. “Nope!”
“And I’m not imagining the fact that I retired last year, right?”
You sigh, shut your eyes and pinch the bridge of your nose. “Then it should be totally fine for me to refuse another job, right?”
Your former handler is still unfazed when they speak again. “Come on Trails, you know we need you! I’ve already sent someone to pick you up! And it’s just one more job.”
You’re pretty sure you were told that the last time as well. The time before that, too.
Being called again is not unexpected, as it would be naive to think you could simply cut ties with an organisation like that. The demand for people like you would have only increased recently as well; the discovery of Nexus is just another thing for the Exiles and Dominion to fight over. Even so, you’d like to just relax today, and if the [End Call] button could just work maybe you can salvage your morn-
Wait; someone to pick you up?
“Your mission, whether you accept it or not, is to infiltrate a forward heavy armour facility and incapacitate a Dominion warbot.
The facility has housed the objective as of approximately 0700 today. It is expected to be mobilised at 0900, 50 minutes from present. The task is to prevent this through direct sabotage of the target or by disabling the facility’s shield generator, upon which the area will be saturated with orbital bombardment. Method by handler and operative discretion.
Appended: There is an important individual located in the facility, likely under arrest, who is to be extracted before completion of the task.
“Shoot,” Snow replies, lively as ever.
“Why the hell was I knocked out and stuffed into a box?”
Some time ago, a tin can with a pair of boxing gloves dropped down from the sky like a meteor and challenged you to a gentleman’s duel. Being unarmed, it went about as well as you could have hoped.
Presently, surrounding metal walls press down and scrunch your posture into something terribly uncomfortable, the smooth and swaying feeling characteristic of travel by hover-transport doing little to reduce your indignation. It doesn’t help that your head is pounding from being placed upside-down.
“Well,” Snow starts, sounding almost, almost guilty, “when I told Lander to pick you up I said you might resist. I guess he overreacted?”
Overreacted. “I’m going to dismantle that freebot and use his head in a game of gravball.”
The distorted voice responds to your declaration of murderous intent like it were a witty joke, leaving you to sigh and lament your misfortune in seething silence.
Eventually you feel the transport slow to a stop. One wall of your box pops off to allow you to climb out, and you find yourself in the cargo space of a hover truck, surrounded by metal crates similar to the one you were in, not much larger than a metre in each dimension.
You’re stretching and working out a kink in your neck when Snow speaks up again.
“Standard stuff, Trails, including six knives and a concussion grenade. Same claws, too.”
You examine the rectangular housings attached to the back of your gloves. Holding out your right arm, the weapon responds to a thought and unsheathes outward to reveal a pair of sleek, straight edge blades about the length of your forearm.
‘Twins’ model. Same claws, indeed. You sheathe the blades and begin poking at your belt.
“Other than that, you’ve got a Grey Box, so first stop is the terminal of someone important for at least a floor plan. I’ll see if we can locate our first objective from there.”
You frown. “The ‘important individual’ that’s under arrest? Who am I supposed to be meeting?”
Your handler’s response is a little more cheery than usual. “A friendly. You’ll see!”
Great, she’s playing games again. You hate surprises.
You push a small gadget attached to your waist and a field of blue energy flares up, surrounding your form a tiny distance away and disappearing when you release your finger. Personal shield is fine, evidently.
One more check, though you know it’d still work perfectly; it can’t exactly rust. You push a mental button and your nano skin shakes off months of dormancy in a heartbeat, cloaking your body and clothes in a coat of shimmering transparency.
All green, then. Time to get this over with.
You close the truck’s smaller side door behind you and look around.
You’re in what looks like a small warehouse with a roof only one or two metres taller than the transport you were in, and barely wide enough to comfortably fit the three vehicles that evidentally just arrived. You’re underground, as evidenced by the sloping tunnel entrance from where your transport evidently entered.
You stick to your truck, using it as cover while you move to observe the activity in the warehouse.
There’s maybe half a dozen people coming in and out of the room. A short, round, rodent-like Chua runs off with a tablet datacron, and a labour-bot with cylindrical head and torso carries a stack of crates in tube-like arms, but for the most part the workers here are humans (or ‘Cassians’, if you give a damn,) with hovering flatbed trolleys.
You watch the workers offload metal crates from the trucks and hurry off to the other end of the room where large double-doors are left open to reveal a garage area, which would likely be where the ‘heavy armor’ part of the facility is located.
You also spy a few of them climbing a short staircase that leads to a drab-looking corridor.
> How do you proceed?
[ ] Straight to the corridor. Focus on looking for an office.
[ ] Go through the garage. Get an idea of what’s going on.
[ ] Ask about the facility.
[ ] Ask about the mission.
[ ] (Something else?)
[ ] Stay silent.
>[ ] Straight to the corridor. Focus on looking for an office.
>[ ] Ask about the facility.
Simple and straightforward right?
I'm gonna start feeling guilty if I'm the only one voting. Please join me people!
Your nano skin’s stealth is far from perfect, particularly if you’re moving, but the warehouse has enough darker areas for you to move quickly towards the staircase. Pressing yourself to a wall of the room, you watch and wait for someone to open the door. Sure enough, it slides open and a Cassian in pale blue worker’s overalls comes through into the warehouse, and you climb the stairs from the side and step past the threshold before the door closes.
The corridor is windowless, and you figure you’re probably underground. It’s wide enough for two or three people to move through and quite unfortunately well-lit, and you find yourself ducking into an open storage room to wait for a pair of chattering Chua to walk past.
Snow started humming a minute ago. Why your handler even has the microphone on right now, you cannot begin to guess.
You turn a corner, and to your right is a door with a nameplate spelling out ‘Parrec Victos’, which you’re barely finished reading before it opens to reveal an aging Cassian man with a chevron moustache. Looking severe, he walks with purpose down the corridor away from you, and you slip into the room easily before the door closes.
The room can adequately be described as ‘dull’. ‘Metal’ is rather suitable, too; from the desk, the chair, the cabinet, to the floors and roof, the scene before you is as consistent as the corridor you just left.
At this rate, the biggest risk to your mission might be falling asleep from boredom.
A terminal projector, a clear rectangular sheet of plastic held up by an adjustable frame, sits on the desk, switched on but idle judging from a dim yellow light at its base. From your belt, you detach the Grey Box, a tiny cube about two centimetres in dimensions.
“Snow?” You prompt after pushing the device into a spot marked with two concentric squares, which depresses halfway into the base of the terminal.
Your former handler takes a moment before responding. “He handles logistics and administration stuff, apparently, so there isn’t much access. Got the floor plan, though.”
A half-transparent green overview of the underground level of the facility appears in the lower left quadrant of your vision, with the path you took from the warehouse traced out in yellow.
A red ‘X’ appears in a room down along the corridor you left a minute ago, located past stairs marked as heading to the ground level of the facility and perhaps fifty metres from your position.
“That’s marked as a holding cell,” Snow explains, “small, maximum capacity two prisoners. One cell in use.”
“Our ‘important individual’, then,” you respond.
[ ] It’ll take a bit for Snow to disable the sensors, but there’s a ventilation grate near the ceiling.
[ ] Walk and use doors like a normal person.
>[ ] It’ll take a bit for Snow to disable the sensors, but there’s a ventilation grate near the ceiling.
Sneaky sneaky, I like.
Also, thanks the gods you other people showed up. It's not so lonely in here now.
A Wildstar Quest, in my /tg/?
It's more likely than I think.
I'm surprised, but not displeased. Continue on, gents.
Aurin make for great pets, but don't tell the ICI or they'll raid my skyplot.
You look at the ventilation grate set into a wall of the office, close to the ceiling. It’ll be cramped, but you can manage it.
“Snow, is there a path in the vents from here to the holding cells?”
“Yep,” is Snow’s response, of course. From experience, ventilation grates are magical portals to everywhere. “Just help me get the box to the security office.”
You eye the grey box as it wriggles itself out of the terminal’s base and flops onto its side. Four metal rods suddenly jut out from different faces of the cube and bend into the form of three-jointed legs, lifting it up from the desk. You grab the device between finger and thumb and reach up to the grate, and it squeezes itself through a gap before scuttling off in near silence.
Your former handler alerts you a little while later, and the grate makes a quiet click as it unlocks. You jump, climb into the space, and begin advancing using your arms to crawl forward.
The route is thankfully fairly straightforward and you reach your destination in minutes. The grate is below you this time, allowing you to look down on the two figures in the room. One is a Cassian male, and the other is a Mechari, a tall mechanical humanoid of smooth silver platings and connecting structure that mimics musculature, with a large purple crystal pulsing softly in the head of the figure. This one has a masculine form, which means little (you never understood why Mechari even had forms that suggested gender).
It’s quiet in there. The Mechari stands stock still while the human fidgets a little nervously. Awkward.
There’s two doors in the room, and memory of the floor plan serves to tell you that one heads back into the corridor outside, and the other opens into the actual pair of holding cells.
You focus briefly to let your nano skin augment your senses and hear a feminine voice speaking past the second door, and a slight, separate rustling of rough clothing indicating another individual. Three adversaries in total, then, not counting the prisoner.
> Choose your approach (Trails’ specialty)
[ ] Stealth. You’re like a ghost.
[ ] Lethality. You can take them all down very, very quickly.
[ ] Nano Weaving. You have some tricks up your sleeve.
A certain Cassian woman in a certain Dominion facility was having a rather frustrating start to her day.
She was woken up six hours ago somewhere between 2 and 3 AM, and her past few hours were spent orienting a dozen hyperactive Chua engineers newly brought into the facility, including a narrowly avoided catastrophe involving a blowtorch and a damaged but loaded ammo rack.
She was thankful for being yanked from that duty to interrogate a human mechanic who was making claims about evidence of Exile presence, but the mechanic was being incredibly uncooperative and circular in conversation.
The Cassian woman stepped away from the holding cell and through the doorway to consult with her colleague and superior, rubbing her palm across her eyes. When she looked into the room properly, a completely unexpected scene greeted her.
The room was dark; one of the lights on the ceiling had turned off. The other was flickering, emitting a soft electric hum as it switched on and off.
The silver form of her Mechari superior was prone on the ground, facing downwards with a hand stretched out. The head that housed his soul-core was empty with occasional sparks dancing within, and the purple crystal lay next to him on the floor was glowing weakly, far dimmer than usual.
Her colleague, a quiet but charming fellow by the name of Edwerd Bellows, was slumped in his chair with closed eyes, clearly unconscious. On closer examination, a small, clear dart had pierced his neck.
The Cassian woman stepped back with widened eyes, shock and confusion freezing her thoughts. She reached down with her hand at her comms device, when suddenly she heard a quiet tap from behind her.
The woman lost her footing, and something shimmering and half-invisible wrapped around her neck. She struggled, tried to breathe, fear clawing through her mind, and she heard a sound by her ear, like a parent calming a frightened child.
Ssshh, it said. Just go to sleep.
You open the metal gate with the stolen keycard, leaving three unconscious forms behind you. It’s a very small cell, without furniture of any kind, and sitting against the back wall is a young human girl wearing the kind of worker’s overalls that practically screams ‘blue collar’. She’s wearing a suppression helmet, a device used to dampen senses and interfere with any implants, and seems pretty calm considering the situation.
“You’ll be alright,” you say as you kneel down before the prisoner, “just give me a sec’.”
A quick examination shows you that the helmet is a model you’ve dealt with before, though something about the situation gives you a feeling of trepidation. You place both your hands on the sides before focusing your nano skin into the air between them, and there’s a nearly imperceptible hum of static before the lights on the device switch off.
You feel something like an itch in your head when you gently clutch and lift the device off, like you should recognise the person seated in front of you. Youthful figure, probably late adolescence, brown skin, short auburn hair, an ear-to-ear smile-
> [Nano Skin: Evasive]
> [Tactical Retreat]
-too slowly, and drop to the ground on your behind from the force your assailant’s pounce. She squeals as she falls on top of you, her slender arms wrapping around your shoulders in a tight hug.
You hear two voices, one distorted in your ear and both filled with very familiar energy.
You struggle helplessly. “Powder! Get off me!”
Warnings sound in your head and appear at the corners of your vision, nano skin failing to engage stealth and making flickering patches of semi-transparency appear on your form as Agent Powder rubs her cheek against your hair and right ear.
“I said off! Down, Powder, down!”
“But ya so fluffy!”
In futile resistance, you keep trying to shrink away when her hands start reaching behind you.
“Leave my tail alone! Snow, say something!”
“Don’t worry!” Snow replies, “I disabled the room’s cameras!”
“THAT’S NOT HELPING!”
You eventually manage to detach yourself from your (former) fellow Agent, dusting yourself off while she sits on the floor with her feet pressed together in front of her, beaming and looking oddly satisfied. Though they’re still attached, the wrist cuffs she had restricting her movement stopped emitting their tethering beam a while ago, and you figure that she tampered with them long before you got here.
You shut your eyes and pinch the bridge of your nose. “Why the hell did you even get caught?”
Agent Powder replies with a matching tone and smile of pure innocence: “I wanted ta see ya again!”
“We’re having fun!” The distorted voice of Snow says immediately after.
You wait a few seconds for their mood of sunshine and rainbows to die down (it doesn’t) before speaking again.
“I should have expected something like this.”
“Yep!” Is Snow’s chipper reply.
“So, I guess you’ll be helping out?”
“Nope!” Is Powder’s chipper reply.
“Powder was here since yesterday, and the whole warbot thing was a little rushed on their side,” explains Snow.
“I got these things, though!” Powder says before reaching behind her back, and you raise your eyebrow at the small, hard leather pouch and keycard that she pulls out.
You’ll take what you can get.
> Primary objective?
[ ] Shield generator. Room near the underground garage.
[ ] Warbot. Ground floor, standing next to the facility.
>[ ] Shield generator. Room near the underground garage.
mostly just saying this so we can grab a vehicle of some kind and get the fuck out of here because fuck this shit, we were meant to be fishing, not playing baby sitter to two children who can't even grow up.
You take a step back as Powder hops to her feet and looks at you, still smiling brightly.
“I gotta go then! Got my own job ta do. See ya Trails!”
With that, your (former) fellow agent skips over the unconscious body in the doorway and leaves, humming cheerfully to herself.
A job of her own, huh.
“Snow, do you think you can get Powder to not blow anything up until I exfil?”
A pregnant pause.
“Nevermind.” You sigh, feeling like a mild headache is coming on. Time to move.
You press yourself against the door, listening and trying to get an idea of movements outside. When the ever-present tapping of hurried footsteps grows distant, you head outside with nano skin stealth re-engaged and head across into the underground garage.
You stand on a metal railed catwalk that traces most of the perimeter of the room, a couple of metres off the floor. All sorts of individuals move to and fro in the wide, tall space, an upscaled version of the scene you saw when you first entered the facility from within a metal crate.
Instead of a few transport hover trucks, though, instead you spot a handful of tanks, two heavy one light, and a few armoured vehicles. One end of the garage has a ramp upward, with the roof evidently capable of opening to the ground level. The focus would clearly be on the warbot, however, and you see equipment and more crates being brought into a freight elevator across the garage from you.
“Trails, the other elevator.”
You look immediately to the right of the freight elevator to see one sized for personnel, just as a dark-haired Cassian man walks out.
Snow’s voice is subdued. “ICI, local name ‘Fencer’. Field medic, combat and active counter-intelligence. Skill rank unconfirmed, likely eight-equivalent.”
Imperial Intelligence. And he’s pretty good. “Then let’s get this done before anything happens,” you mutter.
The floor plan shows up again with your objective marked, and you hop over the railing to drop down as silently as you can before anyone walks by. The vehicles and the equipment lying around provide plenty of cover and shadowed areas for you to traverse, and a tap from Powder’s keycard gets you past a secured door.
The space is filled with the hum of machinery and lit only by the green status lights and white and light blue digital panels of the generator, which takes up most of the room. The machine before you maintains the field covering the facility from artillery and orbital fire; it can’t be perfect, but it’d be enough to protect the warbot.
Now then. You open Powder’s leather pouch and take out an unmarked packet, just slightly soft to the touch, and a rectangular device that only consists of a large red button with a smiley face drawn on it.
She couldn’t have just given you the detonation code to broadcast with your comms implant, could she. Had to be this stupid thing.
After a quick confirmation with Snow, you simply drop the packet in the space between the generator and the wall. You walk off, and are immediately greeted by the distinct sound of something exploding in the distance.
“It’s a bit obvious now, but was Powder’s job to get rid of the rest of the facility?”
“Yep. We were running out of time.”
You open the generator room’s door and take in the sight. The busy steps of the engineers and workers are now suitably panicked with accompaniment by yells and shouts, and the scene only grows more chaotic when another distant explosion sounds out. You look around, eyeing the vehicles, when Snow speaks again with urgency.
“Trails, ICI guy.”
You look across the garage, and perhaps twenty metres from you is the ICI operative you saw coming out of the elevator earlier. Your nano skin’s stealth is definitely active, but the dark haired Cassian man known as ‘Fencer’ is running directly for you, his mouth shaping words that you cannot hear over the commotion.
This might be slightly difficult.
[ ] Engage, eliminate as quickly as possible.
[ ] Evade, look for a chance to escape.
[ ] Just run.
You really want to be back at that riverbank right now, away from all this chaos.
Fencer reaches behind his back and draws a pair of resonators, which to you always looked like oversized shock paddles, and you dive to the side as a blast of rippling space surges forth and crashes into the wall behind you with a loud metallic crunch.
The transparency around you flickers but holds, and judging from the point of impact of the attack you’re certain he can’t see you perfectly, so you get to your feet and bolt across the garage. The people in the garage are for the most part running up the catwalk stairs and towards the doors, and you twist and swerve to dodge the panicked bodies in your path.
You jump onto a vehicle reminiscent of a heavily armoured jeep, glancing around, and immediately jump off as another wave of energy thunders forward. The wave slams into the vehicle, threatening to topple it over, and you continue your dash towards the ramp at the other end of the garage with Fencer in pursuit, looking for something you can hijack for the purpose of getting the hell out.
You barely hear a shout over the cacophony of panicking voices and rushing steps. “There!”
You force yourself to a stop immediately and dive to the side once more just bullets rake the ground just in front of where you were. You angle yourself midair and land crouched, facing the side of a heavy tank. A Cassian has her head and torso out from the commander’s cupola, holding an assault rifle.
Time slows and your vision tinges red. The angle at which she’s aiming wouldn’t hit you; your stealth is still working near perfectly, but even inaccurate fire will be a significant hindrance. You reach behind your waist and swing your left arm forward, letting loose a pair of throwing knives that embed themselves into your target’s chest with a rapid /thud-thud/. You take barely a moment to aim as they land; your right hand flashes across to loose a third knife that stabs straight into the tank commander’s skull, and she slumps backwards with blood trailing down.
It only took two moments, but unfortunately that was enough for the ICI operative.
Your personal shield activates as you twist your body to the side just as another blast pulses towards you, grazing you just enough to knock you off-balance. The medic closes distance and swings forward with his left resonator, and your clawblades unsheathe to block his attack. The other resonator points directly at your chest, glowing with menacing green light and humming a piercing tone, and you pour your nano skin battery into physical augmentation to slam it down. The ground below you shakes and crumbles, and you jump and roll to your adversary’s side and swipe across with your left claw.
The humming of Fencer’s twin resonators instantly reach fever pitch. Suddenly, with the echoing sound of rushing wind, your adversary is simply not where you aimed, instead appearing a metre behind you with weapons drawn back for a powerful coup de grace.
Screwing with space like that means overcharging the resonators to a foolish level, and manipulating the field to actually displace yourself without losing an arm or leg needs a hell of a lot of skill and practice. And to do so in combat with that level of precision needs a lot of courage, and a lot more luck.
It’s a good thing you’ve faced this trick before.
[Nano Skin: Lethal]
You left your right leg and allow the momentum of your swipe to carry you, and you’ve spun on your heel to face your enemy’s new position before the resonators even completed the teleport. Your foot settles on the ground and you bend your knees, drawing your right arm back and clenching the fist while commanding your nano skin’s enhancement capabilities; numbers flash at the sides of your vision, nano skin strain rises and battery falls, and a translucent orange circle marks your opponent’s unguarded abdomen.
Fencer’s eyes grow wide when he notices what you’re doing, and he switches immediately to defense. A device on his belt beeps and blinks, though you cannot see it, and a personal shield surrounds him up with intense power.
You lift your right foot to start a step, twisting with your hip, and strike.
Your clawblade surges forward with incredible force, piercing straight through the blue wall of energy with an electrifying screech, tearing through body armour and opening a hole in the Cassian medic’s torso, the sound of blade through flesh audible over the chaos around you. The medic slumps forward over your weapon with the tip of the blade extending out from the other side; your closed fist stopped at his stomach and your head under his chin.
A gurgling cough informs you that laundry will be a pain, and when you extract your weapon he drops to her knees, falling face-down and making a star-splatter of blood on the ground a moment later.
He might still survive, but you don’t care. It’s time to get the hell out of dodge.
[ ] Stealth up and run like hell.
[ ] There’s an armoured fighting vehicle (jeep-thing) fairly close.
[ ] One of the light tanks you saw earlier should still be intact. And hopefully fueled.
“That was cool, Trails!”
Snow’s voice is still cheerful, but feels somewhat sedated to you compared to your recent excitement. You take a moment to readjust, slowing your hastened breathing.
It’s difficult to tell with the digital warping effect, but you hear a chewing sound in your ear. Is Snow eating popcorn?
Another distant explosion, and you shake your thoughts off. Looking around, you see soldiers entering the garage wielding firearms, and you have no intention of sticking around to entertain them.
You run off and find one of the armoured vehicles near the freight elevator already started, engine rumbling softly. You stab into the driver’s seat door with your claw, rip it off and jump in, hands on the steering wheel.
“Snow, tell me you can open the ramp ceiling thing.”
“I can open the ramp ceiling thing!”
The section of the ceiling rumbles and starts withdrawing. You slam down the accelerator, having some difficulty with the seat’s position not being adjusted to your short height, while the staccato sound of gunfire fills the garage, pinging off your ride’s armour. You keep your head down and keep driving straight forward without waiting for the exit to open fully, and there’s a painful screeching sound as it scrapes the roof of your vehicle.
You look up to see the odd, white bulb-like trees of Galaras against a cloudy blue sky. You hear shouts, the sound of a fire extinguisher, another, closer explosion, and just zoom past everything away from the facility, crashing straight through the metal gate entrance and shouting at Snow to disable the laser one behind it.
“Ready, Trails?” The distorted voice of Snow says in your ear.
You brake a good distance away from the burning facility after confirming that you have no pursuers, the people there no doubt busy containing the damage wrought by Powder’s work.
Looking back, for the first time in the past hour you see the point of your mission.
The warbot stands right next to the facility, makeshift scaffolding and hovering flat platforms surrounding it haphazardly. It’s a humanoid colossus of engineering comprised of black, red, and white metal, the facility in flames around it only making it more imposing. A massive symbol of power and dominance.
You chuckle to yourself. “Go for it,” you respond.
You reach into your pocket to withdraw Powder’s detonator and push the big red button. Another explosion rumbles through the ground, disabling the near-invisible shielding surrounding the facility, and you turn away to continue driving your stolen jeep-thing just as fire begins to rain from the sky.
“Hope you guys brought an umbrella,” you say to no-one in particular.
Thanks for reading, fellas! Had a lot of fun, and the comments were amusing for being so fitting, haha. It ended up a little long though, huh?
You can find this archived under http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive.html?tags=mithril
Also I'll try to announce if I do anything in future @boxofmithril if I remember, so that's a thing.
Oh, I also want to say,
There was a topic in last week's /wqtg/ about reviews, and I reckon quests and QMs can always use more discussion. Someone else recently put it better than I can:
> Writers need feedback to live, anon. It sustains us in place of food, water, and love.
Reading your comments was fun, and any critique on this thread would be very welcome. Trying to improve and progress is where a lot of my enjoyment comes from. I assume other QMs aren't too terribly different as well, so for the next quest you join, tell them what you think!
It was plenty good considering you didn't have a lot of leeway to explain what the MC and the enemies can do.
I would say to be careful that comedy skits may become stale, but tg gobbles this shit up like drugs.
It was interesting. The one thing that I personally disliked is just the whole thing with Snow and Powder being the unfunny Spongebob and patrick to our squidward.
A good first run though, and I await your next thing. also got in interested enough to try out the game.
twas fun but the only thing I can really relate to with the MC is his hate for snow and powder and not a whole lot else... doesn't help I know jack shit about wildstar so when you were throwing around faction names they were just words to me. Still for a one shot it was a quick and fun little adventure.