Praeses Pater, pt3 "OP NOT DEAD"

>>505665
>Black Scribe Cell F-7
>>Asymmetrical combat specialists. Suited to fighting superior numbers, can move quickly and efficiently. Can quickly entrench and fight off hordes in a pinch, adaptable.

>Reactive, the fireteam will push with a dogged persistence, ensuring that whenever they found the center of the engagement they would have it ended.

>>505678
Eschewing wait times in favor of getting steam. Will be updating for a few hours, so let's build up!

Writan' as per usual.

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>>505678
>Black Scribe Cell F-7
>Reactive

“F-7, you’re with me. We’re clearing that building: we clear as we go. I don’t want to be stuck in a crossfire with whatever is inside, and accidentally get read as an enemy by the psionic going to town.”

Little known fact: Praeses had a penchant for getting into bar brawls. A more widely known fact: Black Scribes were the best bar-brawlers. Seconded only by certain groups of United News Network reality stars, when it came down to some good ol’ fashioned ass-kicking, a BELLATOR joining with a Black Scribe Cell was a party nothing else could easily handle.

Especially not the Plague.

Praeses charged up the ramp, the Cell behind him eager. Marilyn Avalon darted past, barely registering as she augmented her speed with psionics. She slammed into a desk, leaped over the desk, and tore a Plague form from its cover before slamming her weapon into its mouth. Several shots and the revving of a chainsaw bayonet, she had cleared one target of… Praeses counted forty two. There was a deafening pop, and the shaking of atmosphere. Sensors read forty-one targets after that. The building swayed from that blast.

“Bang, clear, move!” Praeses ordered. He shouldered through rubble, finding three Vipers. Swinging the rifle across, they dropped. Sniper fire bounced off walls and flew further down the halls, and there was a small cough on the comm-line.

“Two, three, four.”
“I’ll take five!” the heavy gunner exclaimed, blasting a Zealot apart with his cannon.
“C’mon, BELLATOR, don’t let the Scribes outpace you!”

Praeses dismissed his weapon in a flash of light, grabbing a chair. He launched it through a wall with a flick of his wrist, and it took out a single target.

“I’m at four!” He blew through the hole, finding a squad of Plague troops. About twelve, two Elite Vipers, three Zealots, and another of the Brawlers. The Zealots pointed to Praeses, and the Brawler immediately took several blows to the chestplate. Another deafening pop blasted through the air, more of the building shaking.

”-doctor?” echoed through the halls, almost as if from an AI. There was a rewinding noise. ”Do you need a doctor?” There was a loud BINK! this time, and a squeal. Rewind. ”-you need a doctor?”

>Show the Brawler what-for, BELLATOR style. Mano-y-mano! [Morale affecting]
>Use the rifle to dispatch the targets quickly, and show off gunplay. [Compete with Scribes for killcount]
>Change tactics, rush to potential survivor’s aid and fight back to entrance.

>>505859
>>Show the Brawler what-for, BELLATOR style. Mano-y-mano! [Morale affecting]

>>505984
>>>505859 (You)
>>>Show the Brawler what-for, BELLATOR style. Mano-y-mano! [Morale affecting]
Roll 1d100!

>>506029
that's me

I dropped trip to shitpost for a bit and forgot to click it back on. #gome

Rolled 4 (1d100)

>>506029

Rolled 69 (1d100)

>>506029

>>505984
>Show the Brawler what-for, BELLATOR style. Mano-y-mano! [Morale affecting]
>>506045
>Rolled 69 (1d100)

Writan'

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>>505984
>Show the Brawler what-for
>>506045
>Rolled 69 (1d100)
>I forgot the +20 to strength tests. Rusty Scribe is rusty

“This one! He’s worth, what, two?”
“Solo? Four!” Marilyn shouted, holding a barrier up and pushing into the other Plague forms. The Cell moved to create a cage match for Praeses.

Praeses locked fists with the monster, and in doing so he saw its face: the outline of a skull pressing out through taut skin. There was a mouth that was permanently forced open into a scream. With a thought, he decided that creature’s face would be a good one to wear on his visor.

VISOR IMAGE UPDATED.

He threw it to the floor, delivering a swift kick to its ribs as it skid. The creature rolled, bouncing off an overturned desk and scrambling to recover. The rest of the world seemed to stop, growing ever-silent. The Brawler leaped, slamming its meaty arms into the BELLATOR’s shoulders. There was a loud, violent scream and Praeses lost balance as it violently shifted its own weight to find his weakest stance. Twisting to land on his side, he freed an arm to plunge a metal fist into its chest. The flesh collapsed, bone shattering and blood expelling across the carapace of the BELLATOR suit.

The creature grasped his face, and tried to jerk his head off as he stood. It got some good progress, bringing their heads close. Praeses finished the motion, surging forward to bounce his metal into its skull. Blood was smeared on his visor, so he switched to thermal. The creature was running at a temperature about ten degrees warmer than the room, so the smeared blood was nothing.

The Brawler grabbed a chunk of rebar, and broke it across the waist of its foe. The Bellator stepped back and turned, clenching a large filing cabinet as the Plague form once more tried to jump on him. He spun, swinging the metal cabinet like a baseball bat. Metal creaked, and bone shattered. The monster screeched, and another BINK! echoed from further down the halls.

”-lemonade. Limonada.”

Praeses crushed the handle of the cabinet into a somewhat sharpened point, and thrust it into his foe like a sword. There was an ear-piercing scream, the creature struggling to get out of Praeses’ way as he finished it. He summoned his rifle in a now free right hand, and fired three rounds as he stepped over the Brawler.

A similar scream echoed down the hall. With a quick scan, Praeses detected… twenty six targets now? This survivor was working!

”Black Scribe,” the tape rewinded, ”-Bobby pins.” The tape continued to rewind and blurting words. The guttural barking of the Plague came through the walls, Praeses seeing a split in the building’s halls. There needed to be a split.

”Waypoint!” A pop went off, ”Distress!”

>Push to survivor, send Cell to cover backline
>Command Cell to push to survivor, take the backline yourself

>>506114
>>Command Cell to push to survivor, take the backline yourself

>>506129
Roll 1d100.

Rolled 80 (1d100)

>>506186

>>506215
Writan'!

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>>506129
>Command Cell to push to survivor, take the backline yourself
>>506215
>Rolled 80 (1d100)

“Get to the survivor!” Praeses ordered. He made sure to boom his voice down the halls.

”Thank you.” the tape played, ”Mahadsanid.” Assault rifle fire accentuated the Cell’s confirmation, them sending acknowledgement signals where speech wasn’t easy. Praeses charged, finding the rear of the Plague forces exceptionally unprepared. A rifle butt met an Overlord, with a burst spraying apart a few Footsoldiers. He heard the BINK! several more times, a series of windows blow out, and more tape rewinding. Weapons fire echoed, and the BELLATOR waded to his waist in Plague with a cold, calculated efficiency.

Brrrruuuuoooop. Ting!

Praeses faced a Zealot wielding a crudely fashioned, two-handed device. It fired, with Praeses bracing. His shielding flared, and a bolt of lightning impacted the defensive subsystems. Alarms went off, and the Zealot threw its arms back. The warty, blue skin of its face adorned in jewelry opened up for a defiant shout. Praeses lined the rifle up to its chest, and it dodged. He subdued several other troops, getting a bulbous exploder to land on him. He spun it off, watched it fly through a window, and laid down suppressing fire.

Where’s the damn Zealot?

He saw it running toward a wiry man with a large hammer. The Zealot raised the device over its head, the X-002 Claymore lodged seven rounds into its arm. The device bounced off the tile, with the Zealot staggering. It stopped, hunching forward and getting ready to enter its trademark berserk state.

”Remain calm,” the man’s hammer took on a bright, whitish-purple glow as he pulled it back. He saw Marilyn pose her arms about, hurling a sphere into the Zealot’s ribs. The creature reached to grasp the hammer, to snatch it from its foe and attempt to kill everything around it before dying.

One, two, three detonations.

The first was the impact of the orb, making a strange humming resonate through the room. The second was the popping boom of the hammer’s own charge, and the third was a much more intense version of the second as the fields interacted violently. The force of the stacked explosions seemingly obliterated the Zealot. Praeses, however, was able to see in vivid detail as the creature was sent to a wall. The wall, somehow, was reinforced to withstand something as forceful as a freight train punching a six-foot-two hole, so the Zealot’s body became chalky-black paste.

”Reste calme.” The figure had a welding mask on, wearing a suit of armor with the Project MÉNTIOUM logo on the chest plate. Over it, was a Domus letterman jacket. The hammer’s top rested on the ground like a cane. The welding mask seemed inquisitive.

>Order Cell to begin salvage, address survivor
>Forgo formality, survivor’s a fighter
>Take survivor outside

>>506250
>Order Cell to begin salvage, address survivor

>>506250
>Order Cell to begin salvage, address survivor

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>>506303
>>506395
>Order Cell to begin salvage, address survivor

“Cell, see what’s worth bringing back to the others.” the supersoldier approached the stranger, who patiently stood with a searching gaze.

”-assistance.” The stranger leaned on his weapon, tilting his head. ”I am here to offer assistance. The rewinding between parts of speech… Praeses felt it getting old.

“Why can’t you talk?”

”Surgical procedure.” The stranger pointed his hammer at a bloody spool of wiring and a medical assistant droid, that lay scrapped in the corner. ”Translator software, Prototype. Model Number 008-” the tape cut.

“Did you… Wire your own jaw shut?”

”Yes. Si.”

“Why?”

”Blunt force trauma-” he nodded toward a pile of viscera, ”Chase scene- abrupt and sudden stopping of the tape, ”Fortune favors the bold. Tiānyòu dàdǎn.”

“So they chased you here?”

”Lost-” the man clenched his hammer to his chest, ”Found.”

Praeses’ knew the business end of the Psi-Assault was the trademark Devastator Assault Hammer, and that using one so well put this stranger in the realm of "useful." Psi-Assaults practiced a martial art of detonating psionic fields with charged swings of their hammers. Surprisingly durable, highly destructive, and most of all brutal, very little stood before the Psi-Assault for long.

“Field Commander, we found something good!” the field engineer shouted, “C’mere!”

”Requires access key-” the stranger stopped his tape as he moved, ”Hacker. Hēikè. Very good!”

Praeses spied a massive suit of power armor. This one bore all the markings of a pet project: scoring, exposed wiring, and “ASS-KICKER” painted on the visor. A notification appeared on Praeses’ HUD: “Salvage available.” Sure, the Republic techs were going to hate Praeses adding a second modification to his suit, but he needed every edge he could get.

As the rest of the Cell and took stock and found mostly peacetime experiments, the Heavy picked up the device the Zealot had in its arms. “This looks... uh...” Marilyn snatched it from his hands, shoved her arm into a socket, and pointed it to a wall. The weapon charged, and after a few seconds discharged lightning to the wall. The weapon overheated, venting steam for several seconds.

“I think ‘Delta’ could use this. Unless the esteemed Field Commander would like it himself? It certainly is big enough for your suit. You probably have the power source handled with your suit, too.”

Roll 1d5 for suit upgrades.
>Dedicate Lightning Gun to Delta, put him to full use
>Take the Lightning Gun, no sense risking the team

Then
>Give room one last look through
>Move on to other buildings

>>506623
>Dedicate Lightning Gun to Delta, put him to full use
>Give room one last look through

Rolled 2 (1d5)

>>506623
>Take the Lightning Gun, no sense risking the team
>Give room one last look through

Though I'm more of a mind of making a blueprint or something and make a powered down weapon for everyone else.

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>>507658
>>507693
There's something I can do instead of recuperate from the cockblock of a lifetime!

Roll off, senpai. 1d100, will get the requisite updates in the morning. Disregard twitter post, thought both were in agreeance there.

Posting note so I remember: Secret found

Rolled 26 (1d100)

>>509062

Rolled 94 (1d100)

>>509062

>>509166
Writan'

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>>507693
>Rolled 2 (1d5)
>Dedicate Lightning Gun to Delta
>Give room one last look

Praeses released the salvage drones, and scanned the rooms several times. He found a set of stairs that wasn’t entirely destroyed, and carefully went up it. The drones needed to search through the spare suit, scrounge. He had time. Truth be told, the massive suit of the BELLATOR armor system had a weakness, and that was stairs crafted for normal humans. Walking sidways with his hands clenching a railing, Praeses slowly and deliberately strafed up the stairs. In doing so, he found a shattered medical droid.

SCANNING. MEMORY CORE: ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE CAPABLE.
RAPID ACQUISITION OF DATABANKS: FAILURE.
DATA CLEARED.

The droid had nothing exceptional on it, and Praeses approached it. The thing had an assault rifle, and was clearly not operating as intended. Praeses saw blood on the rifle, it was human blood. Computers whirred, and analysis came out with double negatives.

PLAGUE TISSUE DETECTED.
UNIDENTIFIED HUMAN TISSUE DETECTED.
GENETIC MATCH. HOST NOT INFECTED. ANTIBODIES PRESENT.

Weird…

Praeses looked to the room’s contents, and found a dusty, but recently plundered weapon canister. This was the kind deployed on Ragnarok, sent to arm troops during extended engagements. It was engraved.

”The Hero of New Stockholm, SGT. MAJ. SMITH.”

Praeses recognized that name. Pronounced dead on Ragnarok, man was a black-tape hero. He made the rifle BELLATOR would later use. Why was it here?

“Martina,” Praeses coughed, returning to the drones to get an upgrade.
”Yea?”
“What do you know of Sergeant Major Smith?”
Audible silence.
“Test?”
”Clear. He was a hero.”
“Why is his rifle here?”
”What?”
“There’s something unpleasant here. Found a mechanical droid with an assault rifle, blood mixed with Plague antibodies. My biology expertise is bad, but isn’t that what happens when someone… Resists a disease?”
”Technically. Where are you seeing this?”
“Second floor of this building.”
”You climbed stairs?”
“No time for that.”

UPGRADES COMPLETE.
IMPROVED LEG SERVOMUSCULATURE.
SPRINT SPEED INCREASED: 75mph from 50mph
LIMITED JUMP CAPABILITIES POSSIBLE.

”That’s concerning, though. If someone’s immune to the Plague, more vested interests would be here than just you. Well, maybe there’d be another of you.”
“Any communications from the sky?”
”No. All comms are jammed from Plague white noise.
“Any developments out there?”
[ 1 / 2 ]

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>>510284

”Murders are approaching, their fight seemingly pulling nearby Plague forms. The mixed forces at the Cafe are falling back to the Machine shop. Any supplies?”
Scribes had, after Praeses minimized his screens, seen there was an assembly of munitions and various experimental weaponry. A few that would serve as viable attachments for the Drop Trooper weaponry, and even an augmented targeting system for the vehicles. Praeses nodded, and the Scribes packed and started carrying it out.

“Confirming supplies. Scattered munitions, attachments, and-”
Marilyn and the stranger… Jacket, both stood before Praeses. They produced a massive, ornate weapon. Jacket broke it open with both hands, used a fist to load two shells in individually, and handed it over.

”Dangerous firearm.”
“This one’s… I think it was part of a budding partnership between Duke Firearms and Emperor. A shotgun big enough for a BELLATOR, but has an old world charm,” she laughed, “Your kind of charm.”

“My kind of charm? Where’d you find it?”
“When you came back from the second floor, I spotted it in the stairwell. With how you have to handle stairs, I’m surprised you didn’t step on it. Also found something that might help your rifle. Jury-rigged, more Scribe gear than anything, it’s a harpoon launcher.” She produced a small underbarrel attachment, “Engy over there analyzed it, slips on and disables the Plague forms by firing mini harpoons into the limbs and collapsing the creature on itself. Good for Vipers.”

INVENTORY UPDATED.
1x “BELLATOR” SHOTGUN
1x “HARPOON” LAUNCHER
TACTICAL EVALUATION… COMPLETE.
ATTACHMENT INCLUDED TO OPTIONS FOR X-002 “CLAYMORE”

Praeses stepped out of the building with the rest of the crew, finding the Drop Troopers hunkered down and awaiting orders. Confirmation lights filled his HUD, their substitute for a salute, since their armor was not nearly as flexible as his.

Praeses presented the Lightning Gun to Delta, and he seemed to be horrified. “Marilyn tells me you can charge this? Use it instead of your powers, if that’s less stressful. Can’t have you going Psi-Terror, but we can’t have you using rocks while we try to get a solid, more permanent FOB.”

Martina approached and led Praeses away from the Scribes for a moment. a hologram of the area appearing over her hand, “We detected a signal a couple clicks off. It’s a distress signal, with a very peculiar code. Has Black Scribe finger prints all over it, but not F-7’s signatures.”
“When the Hell could you crack-”
“Don’t dig too far.”
“Fine. What should we do?”
“Was hoping you could tell me.”

>Disregard signal, progress to another objective
>Approach Marilyn about the signal, she probably doesn’t know what it is
>Confront F-7 openly. They’ve been cooperative, but that can change.

>>510337
>Approach Marilyn about the signal, she probably doesn’t know what it is

>>510337
>Approach Marilyn about the signal, she probably doesn’t know what it is

>>510368
>>510364
Let's make up for lost time. Writan'

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>>510368
>>510364
>Approach Marilyn about the signal, she probably doesn’t know what it is

Praeses was a diplomatic sort of ass-kicker. If they needed hurting, he hurt them. If they needed help, he’d help them. This reeked of “not your paygrade” kind of op, and while he didn’t like the idea he knew that Scribes operated with a cell-based structure for a good reason. They had guns and goons in every theater, but it was always with a good cause.

“Marilyn, one second.” The Cell Leader loaded a clip into her rifle, then slung it over her back.
“What’s up, Commander?”
“Mar-” the BELLATOR paused, “Ferrara detected a signal. Black Scribe signatures, figured you’d be able to help with it.”
“Wait, more Scribes?” a Drop Trooper shouted from his post and turning his own suit toward the trio, “If they’re doing some black op shit at the expense of these people,”
“At ease, Drop Trooper.”
There was an air of contention, but he stood down.
“Allow me,” Martina interjected, “I picked this signal while you were clearing the building. It loops, and has a similar structure like what your distress beacon had. However, it’s got a unique encryption key. Nothing I’m used to. Maybe you know?”
Marilyn held her hand out, and Martina clapped it. A hologram of the signal appeared before her, augmented reality showing Praeses that she was busy with it. Her expression was intense, and both of her arms started darting around the projection of a screen.

“Engy!” she shouted, and the field engineer scrambled over after a lazy turn. He rushed over, snatching the screen from her and becoming much more agile as time progressed. After a few moments, it was broadcasting.

“Can’t limit its broadcast range, it had some nasty countermeasures if I try impeding on it.”

”This is Cloak & Dagger Operative J. Active Distress. Our transport was damaged, and the Cloak & Dagger Unit has been scattered. There are four of us, plus one HVT. If we do not reestablish communication with orbital Black Scribe assets, the Vista Protocol will be engaged. Losing our assets to Plague is potential Civilization Kill event, OMEGA Class. All forces able to hear this, please respond. This message repeats.”

Praeses inhaled sharply, and so did the Scribes.

“Praeses?” Martina inquired, with the other troops turning from their posts to make similar inquiries.
“Engy,” the BELLATOR barked, “I need a lock on the coordinates of that signal!”
“Commander!” he shouted, “Clicking you into it now.”

The Vista Protocol was effectively a hard kill of the planet’s ecosystem, which was a failsafe protocol if infested assets on the planet gave them significant advantages against Humanity. Reserved as a "extreme last resort" to prevent potential Civilization Kill events.

>Send all units to Machine Shop, solo save the Unit.
>Bring all forces, pull these black-tapes from Hell with everything.

>>510479
>>Send all units to Machine Shop, solo save the Unit.

>>510479
>Send all units to Machine Shop, solo save the Unit.

>>510500
>>510498
Working.

Dis one gun b cool, or at least [color=red]I[/color] think it'll be cool.

>>510498
>>510500
>Send all units to Machine Shop, solo save the Unit.

“All units, rendezvous with the Machine Shop forces. Establish me a fallback point, for when I pull these black-tapes from Hell.”

There was a moment of protest, before the forces mobilized. Ferrara didn’t respond for a moment, but she loaded a rifle and jumped on the tank.

”You heard the man,” she pounded the hatch of the tank after it closed, ”We’re going to save the day at the Machine Shop! Commander’s got the black-tapes!”

Everyone had orders. Everyone had a day. Praeses was to make sure his day was the last, and that whatever farm he bought was hard-earned. Testing the servos, he entered full sprint. Clicked up to 75mph in the same rate he had previously hit up to 50mph, and maintained the speed with little fatigue on his joints. It felt… Good. The world blurred, and his adrenaline kicked in. He found a small horde of Plague, and leaped as far in as he could get. Effectively long-jumping, he drop-kicked a Footsoldier. Rolling, he jumped and summoned the shotgun.

Movements were made as dance steps, shotgun blasts delivered as the notes of a percussion instrument, and the squeals of Plague forms were the strings. The black-tapes of the Cloak & Dagger Unit, something the Republic only knew of as a “rival” supersoldier program, they were in deep shit. This was rehearsal. Whatever was there, the BELLATOR needed everything. The crowds got thicker, and Praeses found himself staring down an extended engagement. A staccato of gunfire echoed from inside the building, and it appeared that the Plague were forming to send groups into the building to deal with whatever was inside. An explosion went off, and a humanoid was launched to the center of the swarm. His armor massive on a scale similar to Praeses’ and despite the smoke lifting from his body he stood up. He drew a heavily customized Avanguardia assault rifle, sleek and polished but with a ferocity in its griffon-shaped sights, and stood alone in the crowd of monsters. One came close, and he sent a fist into its chest. The creature simply collapsed, a pile of gore where something living once was.

>Rush in, get back-to-back with this guy
>Raise him on comm lines, see if he responds
>Observe a few more seconds, he might have this handled

>>510654
>Raise him on comm lines, see if he responds

>>510654
>>Raise him on comm lines, see if he responds

>>510725
>>510672
>Raise him on comm lines, see if he responds

The figure was spraying the Plague down, taking shots from all angles, and just… Not caring.

“Cloak & Dagger, this is Praeses Pater, acting Commander of this engagement. Please respond, over!” There was the crackling of a communication line, and with a grunt the figure responded.

“Bellator!? This is Operative A, of th- gah!” a Viper had leaped onto him, “Screw protocols! Just get down here!”

Praeses backed up several steps, staring at an effective cliff. The fight was off the side of this ramp, so Praeses could get across with a running start. He revved his servos, and charged. With a long-jump, Praeses realized the distance was a lot further down than he anticipated.

ENGAGING INERTIA STABILIZERS!

Praeses had cleared a significant distance with the upgrade, launching himself ten meters short of the Operative. He slammed down into a three-point-stance, drawing the X-002 Claymore and clicking the Harpoon attachment. He spun it to an Overlord and launched one spike at its chest. The creature’s hands were aflame, but the fire died as it jutted its torso back. Smaller harpoons launched from the central one, stabbing each limb and another through the creature’s jaw. With several beeps, the creature explosively collapsed onto the harpoon before exploding.

“Oh,” the BELLATOR huffed, “That’s cool,”
“Y’know what’d be cooler!” the Viper from before was punted through the air, narrowly missing Praeses’ face, “Is if you helped me push these things back!”

Praeses took pot shots, leveling several lines of footsoldiers. The horde charged, discarding traditional cover-based attacks for simply overwhelming the two titans before them. While Praeses was articulated mass and fully flexible, this fellow machine was slower. There was an equal amount of power, though. Punches were torso-rending, and A’s steps carried a weight that rattled the monsters.
“That’s a nice suit!” Praeses shouted.
“Yea, customized it myself!”
“No shit?”
“Yours is kickass too!”
“Not nearly as customized!”
“Not yet!” there was audible laughter, and the black-and-red painted suit grabbed a Copperhead by its ammo belts, slammed it to the ground, and crushed it a clean stomp. The back-to-back fighting continued for minutes, until a massive Plague form swung its arms to clear a path straight to the pair.

Three human heads, mangy fur covering an emaciated torso, and a mound of organs carved by bladed ribs. Its legs looked like a cross-section of a human’s legs, no skin provided to cover taut muscles. The three faces screamed, and the creature lowered massive shoulder plates to give it an exaggerated appearance. Praeses recognized one of the faces, as it morphed.

“BELLATOR!” A shouted, “FOCUS! It’s a psionic!”

>”But how does it know Rinoa!?”
>Dig your heels, stand defiant.
>”YOU ARE HUGE! HUGE GUTS!”

>>510914
>Dig your heels, stand defiant.

>>510914
>>”YOU ARE HUGE! HUGE GUTS!”

>>510974
>>510971
Roll off senpai. The usual 1d100.

Rolled 50 (1d100)

>>511030

>>511045
Defaulting to this one.
>Dig your heels, stand defiant.

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>>510971
>Dig your heels, stand defiant.

Praeses, encased in steel and connected to the world through a series of artifical nerve endings and the layers of starship alloys, moved his feet. They kicked sand and rubble back. A shouted something, but Praeses could not hear it.

This Operative may have been a supersoldier, but he was not war.

Praeses was War.

The monster was scanned, a network of machinery so advanced that the human mind could not even comprehend filling out information of the creature. It interfaced with a tactical network smart-linked with the Operative’s, and augmented reality displayed the creature’s name as time slowed. Praeses’ redundant adrenal glands kicked on, and pure hate filled him. It dared wear his daughter’s face? He’d show it just how dangerous that was.

The creature’s left head, previously looking lupine, started to morph into the face of Praeses’ wife. The woman he kept a picture of in his locker, who kept him sane before he knew he had a daughter. The woman whose picture was saved in his armor’s database, as a fond memory of time when war was not Praeses’ identity.

CANIS TRAUMATICA
Colloquial: “Hydra”
PSI-NODE DETECTED!
THREAT LEVEL: EXTREME.

Each face bore human features, overlaid with the trademarks of Plague infestation. Crystalline covering on the eyes, thick blue warts, pasty white skin, and hatred.

The creature lifted a massive, muscular arm. Boneplate covering the shoulder joint, and five digits of knife-sharp bone jutting from a meaty palm. The BELLATOR threw his hands up, catching the blades and becoming the bone that the Plague’s throat would seize on. The faces showed a bit of shock, and Praeses shifted his weight some so that the creature’s arm would twist. It howled, and the sound of a machine gun went off out of Praeses’ direct focus. Bullets lanced into the creature’s exposed musculature, carving up and into the shoulder. The active arm was completely severed, smoke rising from the wound. Praeses threw it aside like a discarded piece of paper. The heads sank into the upper torso, and screams echoed.

“BELLATOR!” the Operative shouted, “The arms!”

>Shotgun
>”Bertha” Minigun
>X-002 Claymore

>>511423
>X-002 Claymore

>>511446
Writin' up

>>511446
>X-002 Claymore

The X-002 “Claymore” Recoilless Assault Rifle. If a god existed, he spoke through the magnetically accelerated bullets of this weapon. The rounds would exit the barrel cleanly, with the only flash being of the weapon charging the accelerator coils. The bullets moved cleanly across space, connecting to the target and leaving death in their endpoint. Praeses began to walk sideways, the creature twisting the bony plate of its shoulder to conceal the joint. The creature knew it was being targeted, and used its face to snatch the other arm off the ground.

“It’s gonna recover!” A barked.

Praeses peppered its legs, trying to slow it long enough to get a better shot at its joints. It sprung off the ground, kicking up dust. After it landed forty clicks away, it spun and threw the severed arm on the ground like a spent chewtoy. It lowered the stub of flesh to the arm, and it connected with spindly threads reaching from the torso to the severed limb.

“Fuck!”

Praeses fired again, the creature folding its arms in front of its face and pressing against the ground. It raked the ground behind it, propelling itself forward to make a bulldozing charge. Rubble curled off the ground, making a layer of cover that the Claymore’s bullets couldn’t penetrate. A sickly bellow emanated from behind the rubble, and Praeses readied a leap.

>Roll 1d100. +10 from Leg Enhancements.

Rolled 100 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>511552

File: chris pratt excited.gif (1MB, 500x400px) Image search: [Google]

1MB, 500x400px

>>511554
>dat 100

How badass are we gonna get here, I need a minute to think on that

File: MY GOD THE CARNAGE.jpg (11KB, 310x163px) Image search: [Google]

11KB, 310x163px

>>511554
>Rolled 100 + 10
>holy fucking shit

“Oi! Oi! OI!”

Praeses saw an opportunity, and dismissed his weapon to jump directly at the creature. He slammed into the rubble and began a sprint. It was roughly ten feet of concrete fragments and rebar, with Praeses launching off his left arm and flipping through the air. He landed on the monster’s back, thrusting his arms into its flesh instead of searching for anything to grab sensibly.

”BELLATOR! You are two metric tons of machine, nerve, and human. If we hadn’t taken steps to reign in your less… Combative urges, you would sport two-ton balls. The Admiralty Board don’t like that, because you would do stupid shit! You are not Black Scribes, your actions are to be rehearsed and effective through practice. Killing should be as breathing, and if you must think of the action you are not to do it!”

Those were the words of the Warrant Officer that originally commanded the first wave of BELLATOR. Praeses could only think of those words, because otherwise he’d have to think of his following actions. And he wasn’t allowed to do that.

He drew the shotgun, and planted it to the monster’s center head. With a pull of the trigger, its face blew out. There was a scream akin to a woman’s, but Praeses didn’t care. The creature bucked, Hydra clearly not wanting to play “horsey.” He dropped to his back, grabbing a shoulder plate and clutching with his might. The bone warped under the strain of his clutch, and his armor set off alarms. Were it not for the arm upgrades, he probably would have needed to let go.

Well, he thought as the shoulder plate moved, Let go before it came off!

He bounced along the concrete, and there was a now permanently exposed right joint. The right-most head glared at it with pure malice, and flesh attempted to regrow and seal the exposed tissue.

“Operative! Shoot the thing’s fucking shoulder!”

It charged again, and Praeses punched its face, holding his fist on its teeth as it shoved him through the dirt. His heels carved lines into the ground, and the revving of a machine gun went off.

BRRRRRRRRRT!

A line of searing orange ripped into the monster’s side, and it spun. The line dragged to its arm, and the limb was severed again. Praeses grabbed the limb and spun, launching it like an Olympian hammer directly into the Hydra’s faces. The blades carved, and it reeled back. It was injured, but reacted as if it was just inconvenienced instead of mortally wounded. No limps, no squealing, just… Anger, as it lowered its chest to the ground.

>Combat scanner! [May provide an opportunity for Hydra]
>Shoot it until it dies! [May have no effect]
>RIP AND TEAR! [Rushes its mouths, could go very wrong]

>>511698
>Shoot it until it dies! [May have no effect]

>>511714
Roll 1d100, senpai. If you get another 100 I'll take two shots of liquor.

Rolled 42 (1d100)

>>511719

>>511731
My liver thanks you, profusely.

>>511714
>Shoot it until it dies! [May have no effect]
>>511731
>Rolled 42 (1d100)

Praeses drew the “Bertha” machine gun, and just poured ammunition into the creature. He steadily strafed to the side, orbiting the creature as it took molten rounds to its face. The dual ”BRRRRT!” of machine gun fire clearly having an effect as it reeled back. The lump of organic tissue on its chest exposed, Praeses tried to pour bullets into that. For what it was worth, that was the closest thing to center-mass when it stood up completely straight. The spray was harder to control than he would’ve liked, and he got some bullets put into the mound of organs. The creature writhed at the pain, slamming on its ass before sprawling its legs out.

“Holy shit!” Operative A cheered, “That was awesome! Are those custom leg servos? The Republic let you do that?”
“No, they didn’t but the Admiralty Board are a little tied up. Figured I’d have fun with salvage here.”
“Hell yea! Gimme five!” There was a loud clang of metal, and A put a hand to his stomach, “Oh yea, your hands are those kickass extensions. Nice!”

“So, what’s the sitrep?” Praeses got to business, not needing to extend the bro-fist session any longer than was necessary.
“I got thrown out of our transport first, and I’ve been unable to raise the others beyond picking up J’s signal.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Extracting the HVT. A kid, and a particularly smart one. Apparently, we’ve him to thank for our suits.”
“Really? He’s that good?”
“He submitted a thesis about neural loads or somethin’ like ‘at. Super wicked smart,” there was slight drawl to A’s speech as he relaxed, “An’ I reckon the brass want him conscripted. Or at the very least not eaten by Plague.”
“He’s not the Civilization Kill, though, is he?”
“Oh? Oh! That’s C.”
Praeses was stopped by the casual tone. A Civilization Kill event being an Operative was outlandish, but A not being even remotely phased by it?
“Yea, if she goes down to Plague that’s a civilization kill fer sure. I mean, I trust she’s good on her own.”

There was a loud report of sniper fire, and a building collapsed.

“That’s her!” A ran over, lugged his machine gun over his shoulder, and ran forward a few steps before stopping. “Ya comin’ or what?”

>”Hold the phone,” [opportunity to ask more questions; can write in]
>”I hope she can put those things down easier than I can.” [Progresses]

>>511825
>>”I hope she can put those things down easier than I can.” [Progresses]
I have questions but they can wait at least until most of the civs can get evacuated, some can be answered en route.
Like how many of you fucks are here, and why such a huge number of elite troups are around this backwater of a planet.
>even if it's not a backwater. I don't remember how important this rock was.

>>511928
Writan, that question will be worked in.

>>511928
>”I hope she can put those things down easier than I can.” [Progresses]
>even if it's not a backwater. I don't remember how important this rock was.

“Let’s just hope her and her sniper are much more… Anti-Hydra than I am. I’m not really keen to try a rodeo more than once,” Praeses laughed as the two began the sprint. Praeses was notably faster than A’s, and so he adjusted his own speed.

“Nah, you get there. You’ll need to see it before I do,” A laughed, “I’m usually piloting something to go as fast as you are, so keep going. COMMS will hold.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course. The brass makes sure we know what each teammate we have available is capable of, and plan accordingly.”
“Alright. How many teammates do you have?”
“Just me, you, and the other three.”
“Reserves?”
“None.”
“So the entire Unit was deployed?”
“Yea.”
“Why?”
“The HV… The kid.”
“Kid?”
“Yea. We’re sent to pull out a highly valuable economic asset. That’s the brass’ way of saying that they really like him.”
“Why is that?”
“You heard of the ‘Forgemaster,’ yea? The HVT is his kid.”

Praeses thought for a moment, information filling his HUD about an old hero by the name of “Forgemaster.” He was an infantryman who provided meritorious service throughout the Plague War. Died on Ragnarok, exact causes unlisted. The Republic probably gave the family a hefty stipend, and are probably the only reason his kid ended up on this weird social experiment of a colony.

The guy made Praeses’ Claymore.

“Well, the kid’s a prodigy. Made our suits, or at least laid the groundwork with that thesis o’ his.”
“Surely he’s not so important to-”
“If the Plague get their hands on his mind, they’ll know what little weaknesses our power armors have, in explicit detail. Hell, they’d probably figure out how to make use of salvaged suits. We can’t afford that.”
“Then why send you guys in, and not F-7?”
“Planet’s screwed.”
“What?!”
“Look, I ain’t supposed to tell you this without a kinda briefin’ that takes an hour,” another report of sniper fire washed over the area, filling the world with the force of its expulsion, “But a BELLATOR is as black tape as it gets for all I care. The four of us were deployed to guarantee the extraction of our HVT, and make it quick.”
“How quick was the intended op?”
“A day. Things got… Complicated.”
[ 1 / 2 ]

File: TIME FOR SHAZBOT.jpg (65KB, 700x894px) Image search: [Google]

65KB, 700x894px

>>513585
[ 2 / 2 ]

“How so?”
“People the HVT knew, he got us to try pulling them out. He’s sharp, got Operative J effectively by the throat when he realized it was either get him out or be on the planet when it blows.”
“Hold the fuckin’ phone.”
“Planet’s ecosystem is consumed and the Plague are creating new forms. It won’t be long before we start seeing these new forms across the Confederacy.”
“Are they on other planets?”
“Not yet. But we can’t track their current origin point like we used to.”
“You know a lot,”
“Operative J’s a good leader. Knows I’m not keen on shooting what I don’t know the reasoning of.”
“You’re a good soldier, looking to join the Republic’s forces?”
“I’m sort of conscripted, much like you are. Cloak & Dagger Unit Operatives are uh, kind of for life.”
“Ah, smart of the Scribes.”
“Yea, and truth be told I don’t think I’d be able to keep up with any other family.”
“Family?”
“Cells are like families. You aren’t born to them, but you live with them.”
“I see,”
“And I think you’re closing on the strange, quiet sister of mine.”

Praeses skid to a stop, and watched a Banshee gore a building. As it collapsed, a wiry frame scrambled to run up into a hobbled shack. Her arms flailed about in ordered, distinct patterns. Pieces of building created a stairwell of sorts. The sniper rifle appeared, and the woman flipped forward. Legs toward the sky, her rifle fired.

And holy shit did it leave a mark.

The Banshee’s carapace imploded under the stress, smearing its innards on the ground below. The building landed on it, and the woman floated for several seconds firing a weapon that seemed to counter the planet’s spin. He blinked, and she was gone.

“I lost her!” Praeses shouted.
“Just, uh, shoot things? And whatever you do, don’t let her get touched!”

Praeses saw an entrenched position, clearly this was a base of sorts. Buildings, hatcheries, but there was… A strange strain. It floated around with some kind of fleshy sac, carrying weapons in two, spindly arms. It looked at the BELLATOR and screeched. The entire base instantly snapped to focus on him, no longer interested in the flying sniper.

>Bang and clear, by the numbers. [Aggressive rush, firing explosives whenever possible]
>Punch, rip, tear, maybe they’ll learn to run. [Melee primarily, hoping to terrorize and break morale]
>Stick to cover, advance safely [Hugs cover, moving only when a target location is clear]

>>513610
>Stick to cover, advance safely [Hugs cover, moving only when a target location is clear]

>>513610
>>Stick to cover, advance safely [Hugs cover, moving only when a target location is clear]

>>513610
>>Stick to cover, advance safely [Hugs cover, moving only when a target location is clear]

File: 1457843510_He_already_had_the_sunglasses__-_Imgur.gif (6MB, 600x344px) Image search: [Google]

6MB, 600x344px

>>513622
>>513611
>Stick to cover, advance safely [Hugs cover, moving only when a target location is clear]

Training. Training. Training.

One. Two. Three.

Praeses raised his rifle, firing short bursts. He slammed into the closest thing to cover he could find: an impromptu fortification created from… Well, Praeses just knew it was a fortification that could take bullets. He didn’t want to ponder on just how much organic material made this bunker’s composition, just that it could probably take a hail of gunfire. The bullets sprayed after the BELLATOR, and a screech sounded from the building itself. Praeses poked his rifle around, firing with the smart-linked scope serving as a target-caller. There was the tearing of flesh, and another screech from the building. Swinging around, Praeses saw freshly born Viper. Its skin was slick, black, and speckled red. As it coughed a dare in whatever the ugly things considered a language, Praeses stepped out of cover to gun it down. Assault rifle fire peppered his suit, and he saw the Plague rearranging themselves outside of the bunker. He charged, slamming his back to another pillar within the structure and repeating.

This went on for several minutes, and as Praeses left one structure and entered an impromptu trench fashioned from a former office building, a sniper round deleted an Overlord. The creatures rushed in response, losing the all-around-vision the Overlord was beaming to them. This caused each individual to feel that terrible sense of loneliness, Praeses figured. So, he helped them rejoin their kin: by putting bullets into their faces.

The Forgemaster’s kid? Praeses’ mind wandered, If I were a faithful man, I’d say I’m supposed to be some kind of father figure. Well, okay, I did name myself Praeses Pater.

Another sniper round, and Praeses moved forward. Where the Hell was this woman? Praeses was given a vision of his suit from a rooftop. When he looked to where he felt the vision was originated from, he only saw a closing rift in space.

And then another sniper round.

He felt the image of a Viper blasting from the ground, turning to face it. As he did so, the creature leaped directly into his rifle. He instinctively fired, and it was torn asunder.

That’s, helpful? there was an image of laughter in his mind, and another sniper round.

She seems to be in Praeses’ head, reacting to his thoughts just as his suit did.

>Make mental notes of prime targets, test her reactions [Observe her talents]
>Get a little inquisitive, think up some questions [Story inquiry]
>Change up tactics [Write in]

>>513838
>Make mental notes of prime targets, test her reactions [Observe her talents]

>>513838
>>Make mental notes of prime targets, test her reactions [Observe her talents]

>>514037
>Make mental notes of prime targets, test her reactions [Observe her talents]

Okay, let’s play, the BELLATOR huffed. He pushed a little further than he intended, spraying bullets into a room to get suppressing fire. As he did so, he made a mental note of the Overlord. It pounded its chest, and he just leveled his rifle on it. Just as Praeses thought to discard the notion, the round went off and the Overlord was no more. There was a moment of silence, before several more reports of sniper fire.

Is she okay?

There was an image of a Brawler, charging with several large chunks of it missing. It blew threw the wall, falling to his feet. He dismissed the rifle to snap its neck himself before looking for his current companion.

“Alright!” A chimed into the comm-lines, “What the Hell! I thought…” there was audible panting, “Okay look… Cut me some slack, I’m a big guy.” There was an image of laughter from C, before that image corrupted. “Oh, shit.”

Praeses jumped to the top of the rough trenches, staring up at a nearby rooftop. A Zealot had charged her, and with some zooms Praeses was able to discern a helmet had been discarded. Hair occluded any form of face, and Praeses saw small pieces of machinery jettison from her spine.

”Hit the fucking deck, Praeses!”

Praeses dropped down to a knee, aiming his rifle. The building collapsed, and in the scattered glimpses of the world beyond his visor he was able to determine that the Zealot exploded.

Silence.

It took a moment, but he realized that time appeared to have stopped. Praeses lifted from his kneel, sweeping his vision. He stepped out from the trenches, finding a frail woman walking among a gathering of Plague, aiming at the rooftop she was previously on. The sniper rifle on her back was clearly the kind that would require a team of operators, and explained the sheer noise of its discharge. She calmly approached the Plague forces, placing her hands gently to their temples. Energy began to arc from each form she touched, creating a chain. The woman’s appearance was probably the most unsettling part of it: she was a cloak of stars, pitch black with motes of white within. She looked to the BELLATOR, and shook her head. He walked gently among them, feeling nothing from the electricity.

Praeses was now standing before the woman, and he aimed his rifle at the sudden appearance of her. She vanished, and time resumed. And by ‘resumed,’ it would be far more accurate to say it all detonated.

The BELLATOR covered his face as all of the Plague forms this… Entity touched chained lightning and exploded into a cloud of various particulates. There wasn’t even viscera. The woman was back on the tower, and with a few zooms he saw the pieces assembling back into her spine.

>”EXCUSE ME” [Aggressive questioning]
>”Alright, A,” [Diplomatic questioning]
>Fuck it, next. [Good soldiers don’t ask.]

>>514282
>”EXCUSE ME” [Aggressive questioning]

File: EXCUSE_ME.jpg (64KB, 700x508px) Image search: [Google]

64KB, 700x508px

>>514282
>”EXCUSE ME” [Aggressive questioning]

>>514293
>>514328
Writing fantastic meltdown

>>514282
>>”EXCUSE ME” [Aggressive questioning]
fucking kill stealing

File: excuse me.jpg (21KB, 552x518px) Image search: [Google]

21KB, 552x518px

>>514293
>>514328
>”EXCUSE ME” [Aggressive questioning]

“OKAY.” Praeses leveled his rifle at the nearest Plague form, firing into its corpse, “What the actual fuck is going on here!”
“Well,” A spoke, his IFF tag reading him as twenty meters away, “That’s Operative C.”
”I think I could gather that!” Praeses dismissed the rifle, holding his hands to his sides, “What in the Hell is your Unit, anyway?”
“Uh, well, there’s a motto…” A tapped the portion of his flat-faced helmet that would normally be his mouth, “Something about darkness when you want the lights out?”
”So you guys include kill-stealing demigods in your retinue?!”
“Uh,” the drawl came back, “Y’see there’s… Well. Yea.”
“Okay, I’d be fine with super snipers. I’d be cool with super heavies,”
“I take offense to that,”
“Hush. I’d also be cool with a psionic that blew stuff up. But you guys are basically all of the above!”
The woman blinked to the same level as A, patting him on the shoulder, before vanishing off into the distance.
“Okay,” A said, “Short version: that there is the Mother.”
“Mother?”
“The one psionics see in their visions n’ such. Long story. But basically, where the Republic sees BELLATOR as upgrades to the best of the best, the Scribes see us as… Okay, imagine you were born to do something.”
“What are you telling me?”
“Remember when I said we were conscripted? We’re a band of misfits, picked up from anywhere the Scribes found us.”
“And…?”
“Some of us have much more interesting histories.”
“So how does that explain her?”
“She’s very interestin’ an’ that’s all I can really tell ya. Psionics revere her as some kinda god, some call her Prometheus, I jus’ call ‘er scarier than Hell.”
“You and me both!"
“Yea.”
“Was this HVT that worth it to the Scribes?”
“With a certain development, yea.”
“What development?”
“Way-illll,” A adjusted a strap on his armor, “We lost contact, then he picks up and is jus’ screamin’ at the Conglomerate.”
“Conglomerate?”
“The Plague’s new management. Part of the reason the planet’s fucked, is the Plague havin' a hive mind. We only picked it up on a'count'a C. It’s minor right now, but they’re generating new forms. That’s symptom A.”
“What are the other symptoms?”
“Well,” A nodded to the dead Brawler, “Things that attempt to keep up with us. Have you noticed they been much meaner than usual?”
“They’ve been much more aggressive, yea,”
“That’s the big thing. Generally they don’t infest and build infrastructure.”
“I see.”

Praeses had to think on it, but A was correct. He looked to the bunker he was in, and noticed it was a slab of concrete held up with fleshy pillars.

>”Do you have stable contact with an orbital asset right now?”
>”Can we push it back?”
>”Where’s the rest of you?”

>>514526
>>”Where’s the rest of you?”
It is a fucked up situation when a BELLATOR asks
>”Can we push it back?”

File: 20 MILLION BEES.png (37KB, 332x317px) Image search: [Google]

37KB, 332x317px

>>514532
>”Where’s the rest of you?”

“Okay, so two of four, not counting the HVT. Where’s the other two? HVT we can find as a team.”
“They’re… I think C has an L-O-S. Let’s roll, er, well, you roll and I’ll meet ya there!”
“We gotta find you a vehicle or something,”
“That’s what I’m sayin’ and nobody’s helpin’ me here!”

A’s personality was somewhat disarming. There was a refreshing level of civilian air to it, almost like he was, well, human. Considering the status of Praeses, and Operative C, it gave this planet a little too many superhumans and not nearly enough “normal” humans fighting along. There was more going on here than anyone knew, Praeses could feel it. As he revved his leg servos, that unimaginable stink of “overly prepared black operation” was all that he could sense. Even though he was a living [REDACTED], and also deployed a weapon called “Black Tape,” he wasn’t happy about this op.

What was the kid screaming about the Plague’s Hive Mind for? Was there something going on beyond that? Did it have something to do with the…

The assault rifle canister.

The blood was mixed with Plague viral tissue and human blood. Did that kid break the Plague infestation? Praeses’ protocols were pretty clear: burn anything if the operation provided time. He didn’t have time, but there was something going on here. If this HVT was an infested that they were trying to recover, Praeses was going to immediately burn it. However… If this kid was a cure? That raised a lot more questions.

He came along and found a path of wreckage. Buildings collapsed (more than they should have been), scattered gore, and occasional… Paint? There was a giant bee painted on the wall, with a lit fuse from its stinger.

“Of all the stupid,” Praeses began.
“Praeses! Watch for blast waves!”

Buildings collapsed, and the hypersonic flyby of a fighter-bomber cleanly illustrated an air strike. Praeses braced, before charging. That’s what he was made to do: run directly into the fire. He charged, blasting through a wall and seeing… A wiry woman flip from the rubble he burst out of and begin skating through the rubble. He braced once more, barely detecting the explosives he had dislodged, and as the smoke cleared he saw a large, mole-rat looking creature scrambling its forelegs toward its separated haunches.

“Suckers!” crackled over the airwaves, ”Can’t catch the bee!”

>Attempt to keep up with “the bee!” with your Claymore.
>Take cover, attempt communication.
>Attach grenade launcher, raise Hell.

>>514629
>Attempt to keep up with “the bee!” with your Claymore.

>>514629
>>Attach grenade launcher, raise Hell.
This is my personal brand of bee smoker.

>>514664
>>514661
Roll off, 1d10.

Rolled 10 (1d10)

>>514695

>>514706
Wew, writan.

File: drbees.jpg (90KB, 1280x720px) Image search: [Google]

90KB, 1280x720px

>>514664
>Attach grenade launcher, raise Hell.

Praeses loaded the grenade launcher, and got to work. He entered the fray, firing a grenade directly into the fray. There was laughter on the comm-lines, and the skating woman slid back, dropping to her left hand and spinning a break-down grenade launcher together.

”The illustrious BELLATOR! I heard that you’re really good at blowing shit up!”

Praeses placed cover between himself and this stranger, and a series of explosions followed the path she had skated along. As they did, he heard her laughter. What kind of nutjob was laughing at a time like this?! If he weren’t in this suit, the shrapnel would probably have sliced him apart.

“Name and business!” Praeses shouted, firing into a garrison of Footsoldiers.
”Operative B!”
What are these guys’ standards even? He switched to the shotgun, blasting a rushing Brawler apart.
”Here!” she skated through the cover, and Praeses immediately began to vacate. He’d seen enough to know that cover was about to explode. Not before snatching a weapon off the ground. ”It’s not one of my toys, but that’s okay! You can keep it~!”

It wasn’t a toy, that’s for damn sure. Praeses lifted the weapon to eye it over, finding it was a rocket launcher. Stock for heavy soldiers such as the Drop Troopers, but not nearly as cool as the “Hullbreacher” that Cell F-7 had. Praeses had about eight rockets with it, or he’d picked them up somewhere? Whatever. Too much thought, time to do what BELLATOR do in the funny papers.

Another one of those mole-rats blasted from the ground, screeching. Massive, yellow teeth covered its mouth. As the monster roared, it was painfully obvious that its face was behind the teeth, which would be more like a helmet for the giant creature. Its back arched up above the forearms, clearly having extra organs or something in the top. At roughly four meters tall, two wide, and six long, this thing was a brute.

”Do you gotta name for theses uglies?” she laughed, “Something that isn’t ‘foreskin,’ because can’t write that on official documents!”

Praeses fired a round into the creature’s ‘helmet,’ and she had a point with that nickname. There was sniper fire, and A’s waypoint blinked a good ways off. The team was getting back together, and that was all Praeses really needed: getting these… Misfits out of Hell. He had a moment to imagine what the troops would think, five suits of black-tape’d power armor walking from the rubble.

The courtyard was full of violent Plague strains, two large buildings effectively making a sort of culdesac. Reinforcements came in, and Praeses had a minor thought as B flipped over some bushes to spew flames from a combat shotgun.

This might be fun!

PERSPECTIVE HOPPING:
>Focus on Praeses, shed some of the protocol for a bit.
>Focus on B, level a building or three.
>Focus on C, serenity and grace.

>>514839
>>Focus on C, serenity and grace.

>>514848
Workin'

File: fuck you crazy.jpg (37KB, 638x588px) Image search: [Google]

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>>514848
>Focus on C, serenity and grace.

PERSPECTIVE CHANGE.
>OPERATIVE C
>THE PSCION
>BEGIN

There was chaos. Below, with B there always was. However, the Mother sang a gentle tune. One of finality, of closure, and most of all slumber. She lined the rifle up with a target, firing. Time resumed milliseconds, and C cycled the round before thinking of another place. Another time, as well, but that was truly the irrelevant part.

Something humanity had uncovered with their mastery over psionics was that time was a river. C was simply able to move along its flow, finding an anchor and holding to it as she positioned around spacetime. If people were like pieces on a great chessboard, she was the Queen: free to do as she pleased. Plucking the strings of reality, tweaking the cosmic equations just so, she found herself on another building. She lined the shot, inhaling, and exhaling. This process repeated several times: Operative C never left an opportunity to fail. As she walked about the rooftop, she lazily pointed the rifle into the square below and fired.

A great scream echoed, and she felt the pain of a Psi Terror. It was that Delta, again. The boy, far but at the same time very close, tapping farther and farther into the storm than he ever should have. Considering the circumstances, perhaps it was time she put the cold breeze to his feet? His psi node was ready, yes, but he wasn’t.

Of all things, why is this my burden?
Because no others can shoulder it.

She thought of a flagpole, and from there she saw it. The machine shop. Life was happening so slowly, but she saw the moment of true bravery that would define the boy nicknamed Delta. C stepped to him, and in the interiority of the moment allowed him freedom to react as if time was not stopped. She conjured the hurricanes of a gas giant, and pressed it to his nervous system.

Awaken, child. Know that the Mother acknowledges your plight, and gives you this.

A storm would awaken, and the souls hobbling the machine shop together would see it rise. Maybe they would feel Her. It didn’t matter. She had more pressing matters, such as the-

HOW DARE YOU!

She had left the vessel alone for too long. A Brawler had come to her, and it gave her a cold clock. Screaming in her face, reality snapped into motion. Time was at full swing, and C only felt rage. The connection to everything was, for a brief moment, severed, by something so insolent as to call itself a “brawler.” Or was it a human that named it that? No matter.

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>>514884
Inhibitors blew from her spine, a force augmented by her anger. Emotions clouded her existence, and something far more primal erupted. There was an interiority of form, of purpose, and of existence, roiling. She grasped the creature’s head, and it used every inch of its swollen musculature to express pain as she overloaded every nerve ending it had. She spun her body around, darting to B’s side. She created a ramp for her compatriot to skate down, and the explosions funneled around. There was a distortion, a noisemaker. Now that the inhibitors were blown, there wasn’t much else to do than enjoy silencing it.

An Overlord created a small flame in its hand, and hurled it to Praeses. The Protecting Father had many things to accomplish during these few days of clashing fates and cruel ends. None of them would be particularly pleasant. One of those things, the Entity mused, Is witness. He is to witness, to see, to understand, and most of all protect.

Time was stopped once more. The BELLATOR was bracing, but leaving the stance to launch a rocket. She moved forward a bit, finding the moment the rocket launched. She created a funnel of momentum, effectively accelerating the missile. She gently tugged at the Overlord, trying to make it face its own demise. But it resisted! It broke free of her tugging, and tried to engage her on HER terms.

It summoned great flames, then assaulted with greater forces of momentum and gravity. The Overlord knocked her off her feet, flung her into a building, and seemingly ignited her in flames. A test. It failed, but it still took the test. She resumed her position before it, and as the creature summoned more power she simply negated it with thoughts, snaps, and elaborate gestures. A dance of flame, energy, and the forces of gravity surrounded her. She dropped a vacuum blade of her own, and the Overlord barely managed to dissipate it. The nerve!

The inhibitors were coming back. The Mother would return, much less hostile and much more forgiving. She would treat these transgressions as mistakes, and terminate the Plague form without pain. Oh well.

C filled the Overlord with storms much like what she gave Delta. Unlike Delta, this creature was not ready for it. Its psi node was crude, poorly formed, and malnourished. It was a transplant, a bootstrap. Abomination.

And, as the inhibitors slowly came back to the spine, the Mother lined up another shot, not missing a step. The mistakes would be righted, and the song of Man would resume without much further fuss. The Conglomerate knew it was abomination, and it would learn.

The Mother watched, the Entity punished. The Mother would ease the suffering, and the Entity would cleanse.

A was joining the fray! C quite enjoyed his presence. He was scared of her, but he had the sense to give her tea. A good sort.

PERSPECTIVE:
>Enough, we’re going back to Praeses.
>Good ol’ boy A!
>Float like a butterfly, sting like… Operative B.

>>514885
>>Good ol’ boy A!
leave the wacko for last.

>>514904
Starting the writeup now, so that I can definitively post when I'm awake; it's 4:26am here.

Thanks for the votes, by the way!

>>514905
night, thanks for stay up

>>514885
>>Float like a butterfly, sting like… Operative B.