Rage of the Polygems (IC)

[Zender_Solarheart]

Mission Briefing

Spoiler (click to show/hide):

Back in the Kusanagi's briefing room, Lt. Colonel Jonathan Edge paced back and forth in front of a holographic data screen. "I'm sure you all have read the documents on this, but per protocol, I have to go over it either way. In a nutshell, the Platinum Stiletto astro-base Valhalla has gone dark on communications. No one's heard from them in 3 weeks, RTGS or otherwise." With a quick tap on the data screen, Jon calls up a picture of the Valhalla battle station, taken at around the time of its christening. "Since the Republic's assuming the worst, and we're pretty much the next best option to the Stilettos themselves, they've commissioned our services in figuring out what happened there. Our objectives are simple: assess the status of Valhalla, assist any and all survivors onboard, and secure the station until the Republic gets our report beacon."

Jon gives the data-screen another tap, and it shows diagrams for the latest astro-fighter to be outfitted for service on the Kusanagi: the OD-91 "Percival" multi-role fighter-craft.


"I'll be leading our team personally in a set of Percivals on the approach to Valhalla. If any small craft are lying in wait for us, we'll be able to take 'em out a lot easier with those. Assuming no such problems arise, our first stop after docking will be the living quarters. You have 2 hours before wings-up, so don't be late. With any luck, we'll be back here celebrating before you know it."

<Location: Kusanagi Hangar Bay Delta>

Lt. Col. Jonathan Edge has his most trusted engineer, Lt. Zandile "Zan" Freivolt, doing some routine check-ups on the Percival fighters that will soon be used as transport to Valhalla. The Kusanagi itself is holding position just outside the station's detection grid as a precaution, in case there are any hostile forces lying in wait. The Percivals themselves have some decent cloaking as well, making them all but impossible to detect until they're right on top of the station, so chances are that they'd spot any foes lying in wait before being spotted themselves.

"Everything seems prepped to go, sir." Zan reports, wiping some sweat from his brow after removing his work glove. "Good to know, Zan. Now we just have to wait for the others."

You heard Lt. Col. Edge, folks. Don't keep 'em waiting. (In other words, you get to write your own means of entering the hangar, as well as stuff about what you were doing before heading there, if you so desire.)

Data file: Percival Astro-Fighter.

Spoiler (click to show/hide):

The OD-91 "Percival" astronautic fighter-craft is designed primarily for orbital defense, but performs remarkably in recon, assault, and torpedo-bombing roles as well. Its twin "Photo-Vulcan" cannons use 200-kilojoule photonic bolts to deliver energetic punishment, its missile bays allow for up to 20 "Nova" plasma missiles to be loaded without impeding overall performance, and its bomb bay is compatible with most forms of air-to-ground smart bombs, as well as the widely-renowned and feared "Rhaknam" division of anti-ship neutron torpedoes. It also comes with its own built-in energy shielding, which allows it to hold up better against opponents that use energy weapons.

The Percival's trademark feature, however, is its "full-range" engine system. By rotating its central engine, and angling the side engines downward, the craft can enter a VTOL-like state of motion, and make use of deep space's G-lacking vacuum to perform maneuvers that'd be impossible within a planet's atmosphere. In this sense, it can operate almost as efficiently as a gunship as it can as a fighter, elevating it to new levels of the term "multi-role fighter-craft."

Combat Ranks
Firepower: B.
Defense: C.
Mobility: A.

[daxtinator396]

Amber came in first loaded with her gear. She was anxious to get going. Not only because of the mission but the thought that she might actually save her step brother's butt. He would hate her for it alittle because she was sure to tease him about it the whole way back but Sallie probably would be grateful to her. Her poor Daxy was always getting into trouble! She snapped out of her short derail of thought and focused back on the task at hand walking toward the Lt. Col. with ease. She had no qualms about being loose around him,"Reporting sir now which one of these beautiful machines of death is mine? I need to stash my stuff." She said happily. Mission time always made her happy.

[napsii]

The communicator buzzed inside Scarlet's ear.

"Security phrase: Red Sun. Reporting operational update A-006 of Operation Darkmoon." the white-haired soldier spoke, but no words were heard. The cutting edge communicator interpreted the motions of her neck muscles and the stimulation of her vocal cords rather than spoken words, proofing her against nearby eavesdroppers. Again, the communicator buzzed, this time pitched higher. The NHD operators at the other end of this encrypted communications lane were checking for the authenticity of her security phrase by now, Scarlet knew. Before her, a long window running the length of the corridor lent a panorama into the emptiness of space, a black canvas of dark matter punctuated by the twinkling white stars and colorful nebulas. The soldier crossed her arms, the AURA Suit's joints blending smoothly with her movements. On her back, the twin blades Askra and Embla were sheathed at the ready, while her pistols were clasped to her thighs. The communicator's tinny buzz abruptly cut out. The vocal print analysis had examined her speech and come up clean. For a precise eight seconds, nobody spoke: the mutual assurance that everything was on the level on both sides of the operation. Scarlet looked up and down the long hallway, ensuring that there was no other personnel present. It was empty, only the dull buzz of the ceiling lights accompanying her.

"I received the official mission briefing several hours ago; the ISPC's operation is set to commence within the hour." she began, the open silence on the other end of the line indicating that her handlers at the NHD were listening, "It is believed that the RTGS is fearing a disaster on Valhalla and the ISPC is employing vast firepower as a result. Permit my speculation: they seem to anticipate that there was an attack on the fortress," she went on. Much of this was already known by the Division, but establishing a sense of consistency was crucial. For 5.5 seconds, she paused. Non-urgent battlefield communications required that a strict array of rules on speech and phrasing be followed in order to weed out lies, half-truths and spies. Irregular speech would betray any infiltrator. Outside the window, there was a twinkle as a shooting star rushed by. Scarlet, of course, would never deceive her superiors while on such an important mission. Operation Darkmoon was a critically rare insight into the Platinum Stilettos and the ISPC, and already it had yielded vast amounts of valuable intelligence as a byproduct of her involvement with the mercenary organization. The excellent background the NHD had constructed for her had been foolproof, guaranteeing the Division's commitment to the operation. The potential for valuable information seemed unlimited.

"The ISPC intends to approach Valhalla in OD-91 Percival fighter craft and dock in order to assess the state of the fortress, search for personnel and secure it until the RTGS receives their report, as was anticipated. Conclude operational update A-006. I will deliver my next report at the earliest opportunity after we land on Valhalla, or at the earliest opportunity following any unexpected events." she finished.

"End transmission." she spoke, and the line went silent.

Her report delivered, Scarlet turned heel and walked down the hallway, disappearing through a door as quickly as she had come. By now, her strange armor and unusual eye color had merged into the sea of unusual personalities and skills of the ISPC, but she still attracted stares from the personnel she passed in the hallway -- the male ones, in particular. As well, for a human female, the supersoldier was tall: just shy of 6 feet in height. It was a certain byproduct of the drug programs that had influenced her physical maturation. The white-haired soldier turned a corridor, passing a cleaning droid as it cleaned the floors. The digital voice of a nearby vending machine hawked its products, but Scarlet ignored it. What was often noticed by her colleagues in the ISPC was her posture and her expression: staid and professional, even in the most casual situations. Indeed, the handful of males that had made the mistake of attempting to advance on her sexually in a social manner -- the informal term for it was flirting or hitting on, she recalled from reading a dictionary -- had been turned from men into mice by her iron glare. She turned down another corridor, passing a row of paintings that one of the personnel had fixed upon the walls for flavor: a few depicted fantasy scenes involving dragons and two men clashing in a roaring arena, but Scarlet ignored them as she made for the elevator.

Contrary to her expectations, she had not settled into the social areas of the ISPC very well, having often found herself at a loss with the Corps' more eclectic personalities. Her contemporaries and superiors at the NHD were uniform in behavior: quiet and serious. It had been strange to think that even though the ISPC was feared and respected consistently among both civilians and armed forces as the second sharpest blade on the face of the cosmos, many of their soldiers lacked the social discipline she would have expected. In the addendum of her third operational report, she recalled 9 verifiable incidents where male personnel had debated her physique and compared it to that of other female personnel's. Naturally, there was some pride to be had in being consistently ranked high, even if their opinions were worthless to her. She stepped into the elevator and dialed in the level for the hangars. The doors dinged shut and the lift descended, the vertigo of movement going unnoticed by the trained Scarlet, who was acclimated to such things. Seconds later, she emerged from the elevator and turned immediately toward the direction of the Delta Hangar as if walking on autopilot. Ignoring those she passed in the corridor unless it was urgent, she walked on and stopped near the door to the hangar she had been looking for. At that instant, she felt a sharp pain slice through her back.

"Ngh..." she grunted, suddenly feeling paralyzed -- her limbs wouldn't listen. As if a knife had been thrust into her once more, she shook again as more lances of pain rammed through her back, the fiery sensation seeming to travel up her spine. Her muscles stiffened until it felt as if her body was made of stone, her hands closing reflexively into fists as she attempted to wrest control of her body. Her heart thumped harshly in her chest and she grit her teeth invisibly, shaking. She started to feel dizzy, her vision running out of focus and her own breath tasting metallic. No matter how much she willed it, she could not motivate her limbs to move. What sounded like a deafeningly loud scream roared through her head, a piercing, ugly sound like grating metal. It was so unbelievably painful that Scarlet almost screamed. Black spots pulsed before her vision and she felt as if her legs were going to buckle, but her body seemed rooted in place where it stood. There was one last blast of pain inside her skull, and just like that, the episode's nightmarish grip released and she fell to her knees, panting. The intense pain slowly faded away from her limbs, but it felt as if a hot coal smoldered inside her chest. She instinctively placed a hand over her head, winded. For a few moments, she sat there, trying to process what had happened. It was over?

She rose to her feet, collecting her composure again. The jittery shakes in her limbs subsided as her training kicked in and her nanomachines rushed to quell her anxiety, generating a palpable sensation of relief through her body. She looked around, black spots still dancing before her eyes, but there was nobody there. What had happened? She didn't... understand. Yet, automatically, her soldier's mind took over again and her concerns washed away. Within seconds, she seemed... normal. Her racing heart calmed, her breathing became regular again, and just like that, she was again indistinguishable.

"Tch." she uttered, stepping through the door as if nothing had happened. Carrying herself with professionalism, she strode over to the members who had already assembled, largely ignoring her colleagues and instead focusing intently on the Lieutenant Colonel. As a soldier would, she saluted. Her respect for him should have been artificial, given that he was her superior only as part of an elaborate ruse, but his achievements weren't unknown. He was a person of interest to the NHD -- unimportant to Operation Darkmoon, but still noted -- and Scarlet had been briefed on him and other targets of interest prior to setting out. The engineer next to him, Zandile Freivolt, was among the list, but only as one of the personnel she would execute if Order OC-1 was ever handed down: the systematic extermination of all participating non-NHD parties during an operation in order to ensure operational success, used only as a final measure against severe intelligence compromises or other threats.

"Reporting." she said simply, standing at attention and largely ignoring Amber. A keen eye might pick out the way she shifted her stance and postured her body: at a moment's notice, she could draw her blades. Truly, she was always ready.

[Inferi]

Off in the corner of the hangar bay, the statue of metal finally stirred. For the last hour and a thirty-seven minutes, there had been no movement from the humanoid form standing there, and any attempts at asking if anything was wrong had been refuted by a one-word answer: “No.” It had become repetitive enough that nobody had bothered to pursue the matter after twenty or so minutes, leaving the robotic individual to their own devices. For that entire time, she had been preparing for the mission, although many people would have looked upon her with a raised eyebrow if anyone told them that. Far too many people did not understand the way she operated, thinking it was similar to a human simply because of her appearance, and while she did not mind being mistaken for one of them on most occasions, she had often made it quite clear to those she worked with that, no, she was not human and would never be human.

Her time spent standing in the corner of the hangar had been spent doing two things. Well, two things in general, and thousands if the specifics were gone into. The first was that she had spent the time watching their commanding officer and the engineer work on the fighters, taking note of what they were doing and how they did it. While her databanks had information on how to do something like that, they lacked specifics or skills that could only be learned through the action, and it was because of that lack of information she had not been spending her time assisting the engineer. That, and the fact that some humans didn’t like her assisting, although the reasons they always came up with were illogical and nothing more than organic superstition and emotional takeovers. She had the knowledge of how to maintain, as well as operate, such vehicles, but for some reason her primary role as a combatant ruled her out of doing such work in the minds of many organics.

The second, and more important, task that she had been carrying out was the diagnostics and evaluations of her own system. In the time before such an assignment, it made no sense not to check her systems fully and in every way possible if she had the time to do so. Diagnostics of her body and weapons took a lot longer than one might think, even with the speed at which she was able to think. There was just so much to go over, millions of little things that could cause a drop in efficiency if they did not work properly, and she had to make sure those holes were plugged before she charged into battle. Programming issues were the last thing she wanted to have to deal with in the middle of combat, no matter how easy it would be for her to fix most of the problems. It was more the drop in efficiency that was the problem, for she knew better than anyone that such a problem could easily cause damage to either herself or her team that there was no need for. She hadn’t trained thousands of soldiers without knowing basic things like that herself, and she wasn’t about to let a mistake like that be made by her. Others, she didn’t have control over, but at least with herself she could make sure she wasn’t going to have an issue with her interior programming.

Contemplation of the mission briefing had given her no absolute conclusions, although it was clear from what had been said that it was assumed that everyone on the station was dead. Given the reputation of the Stilettos, as well as the data that she had on their forces and deployments, it seemed unlikely that this was the case unless they were dealing with an enemy that had not been faced before. That would render all mathematical conclusions invalid, as an unknown in the equation needed to be assessed before she could assign any value to it. Regardless of the known variables in the equation, this mission’s documents, which she had surveyed extensively both before, during, and after the briefing, gave no conclusions that would assist in planning strategies for this mission. Far too much was unknown for a viable strategy to be assembled, and that meant they would have to plan as they went. As far as Chaos was concerned, this was fine, as she had been made to formulate and evaluate strategies in response to unknowns that would not show themselves until the mission had been initialized.

Her diagnostics were coming to a conclusion, at the precise time that she had anticipated. Beginning them at the time she had done so had been calculated as having a completion time of one hour and thirty-three minutes, and, sure enough, that was how long it had taken. The timing had, as usual, been perfect, and coincided exactly with the time that they would be departing. Five hundred and seventy-three minor errors had been detected and rectified, and the system was now running at optimal capacity. Errors in the armor plating were absent, her exterior plating having just been repaired and replaced by one of the more skilled engineers onboard, and all calibrations in her weaponry systems were complete and accurate to 1.0 x 10^-32 meters. Both Discord and Havoc’s power generators were at maximum capacity, fully charged and ready for use, and her own power core was running at above-optimal specifications. Discord read ok on all settings, the compression device and the anti-grav harness it was attached to functioning perfectly, and Havoc held full ammunition of both kind. Everything appeared to be in order, and the system was ready to bring all systems online.

Spreading her program to all nodes that were necessary to run the mechanical body, Chaos’ power core began to hum, and power began to spread through the entire body. During diagnostics, it had been in a hibernating state, and now that everything was fine it was ready to bring to life. Statuses for all sections of the body began to show, and she quickly checked them again, making sure it was all proceeding as planned. On-the-job repair wasn’t difficult, but as everything checked out she wouldn’t have to worry about it just yet. A certain amount of repair during a mission was perfectly acceptable, and always happened, but more than necessary required more processing power than she was willing to expend on such a task.

The humming continued, and various systems began start-up tests, checking for any further errors, but like everything else they continued to come up free of issues. Arms moved around, she took a step forward, and then returned to how she had been just a moment before. The last thing that happened was that her eyes lit up brightly before dimming back down to a typical brightness for a human eye. The only difference was that her eyes had miniscule numbers, 0s and 1s, scrolling endlessly across them. It was something that she had been unable to alter, no matter how much she had tried to change the body’s programming, but since it wasn’t visible unless the individual looking at it had particularly sharp vision or was inches from her the effect on anyone around her was less than dramatic.

All systems initialized, and Chaos finally stepped forward, her metal foot making much less noise than anyone would expect from a being as heavy as she was. The feet of this particular unit had been designed with a minor negation field, which made the sound coming from the impact nearly nonexistent. It was useless in most situations, but Chaos had designed it with missions in mind that she would not want to be making a great deal of noise during. It was a minor system, and ate up a negligible amount of power, so not adding it would have been illogical.

It was unlikely that the Lieutenant Colonel wouldn’t have known that she had been there during the last hour, but that made no difference when it came to announcing that she was here. That was something that she knew was what humans did, and it made a certain amount of sense. Identifying the individuals present was easier when they made their presence known. Her arrival was seconds after the white-haired soldier of the team – Scarlet, if the dossiers were correct. There was something about that soldier that Chaos felt was wrong. Everything about her checked out, but the way she held herself was not indicative of most soldiers that the AI had fought alongside. She held herself differently than most, having the stance of someone that was always ready for combat, even when the situation did not warrant it. Something about her history just didn’t seem to fit what the AI was seeing, and it was enough to make her want to find out what exactly it was that made the soldier different.

Only one other member of the team was there, the first one that Chaos had seen walk through the door, but that one held little that interested the AI. She was a typical specimen of a sentient race, so only her specialization in combat was of any interest to Chaos. Knowing the capabilities of the entire team was important for her to be most effective, so she had studied the dossiers of everyone she was working with prior to this moment, as she had done with every mission that she had been part of.

“Ready for departure.” she announced, standing largely the same as Scarlet had chosen, at attention and ignoring everyone else. Nobody else was important right now besides the Lieutenant Colonel, so there was no reason to acknowledge them at all.

[MiscChaos]

Derek can only stare at the individual in front of him, somewhat amazed and repulsed at the same time. After a long while, it finally sinks in and he has to keep from both laughing and sighing, if only because it'd hurt to do both at the same time. Once that's done, he finally says, "So tell me again HOW you managed to catch Herpes, a long eradicated disease." while looking at the diseased vagina in question. He heard the first time an explanation involving ancient dildos, lube, a bet, and curiosity, but he just HAD to be sure that was the Private in front of him talking and not shock and imagination. He's not sure even HIS imagination could've sparked a story like that, but he has to be sure. He's even more confused since Herpes had to be contracted by direct contact back in those days, but maybe it was the stronger strain that popped up before the disease was destroyed entirely that this Private has.

Sure enough, the Private, with the reddest blush on her face, goes into how she and another one found a crate of sex toys dating back to the early 2000s and bet each other 20% of their pay that the other wouldn't use them. They had to watch over the other to make sure no one was cheating, so they broke out the lube and went to work. The Private in front of him chose a rather lengthy dildo while the other chose some kind of buttplug that the Private's unsure of. He makes a note to himself that he'll probably see the other Private soon since disease travels much easier through the anus. Anyways, the story ends with the Private discovering a series of sores in the vaginal region and a burning when she urinated almost a week later. Since Herpes had been eradicated so long ago, she didn't know what the hell was going on and came to the ship doctor for help.

"OK." he says, pinching the bridge of his nose to look annoyed. Really, he's still trying not to laugh at this point since he's sure the Private wouldn't appreciate it and he'd rather not have her infect him as vengeance or something. "What have we learned here?"

"Don't use ancient sex toys?"

"Don't use ancient sex toys without having them CHECKED OVER. Really, you can use a damn 1900s rifle for all I care so long as it's disease free." Derek's not sure he likes the look on her face when he says that. Like she's seriously considering the idea. This time he really does sigh. "Take 2 of these and call me in the morning." he says, handing her a couple of pills that will prevent her from being contagious at least. "Then we'll start the week long treatment to get rid of them. And tell your friend, anyone you or your friend has fucked, and anyone THEY'VE fucked to come in or visit their nearest doctor. I'd rather stop the breakout before it becomes a serious problem." Because really, it'd be more than a minor annoyance to have more and more people cut into his free time with Herpes sores. When he notices the Private about to leave, he sighs again and says, "You can put your pants back on, Private. Make sure to wash them and any other pants you wear when we get planet side. In water completely separate from any other source of water. And disinfect and evaporate the shit after you're done." She looks shocked to find them still on the floor before putting them on and actually leaving. It SHOULD worry him that the Private doesn't wear underwear, but in the face of her managing to get Herpes, that seems minor. Once she's gone, he FINALLY devolves into that fit of laughter.

"Herpes! In THIS day and age! The fuck!?" he says in between bouts of laughter. He considers getting a sample to maybe use against enemies, loading it into his Needle Gun making them suffer over weeks rather than killing them straight out, but dismisses it. Even he's not THAT cruel in the pursuit of entertainment. About when he's coming down from his laughing fit does he get the call to report in. He picks up Lyndsy, stores his Needle Gun (loaded with a combination of Destroying Angel and Deathcap poisons) in his doctor's coat pocket, and stashes his Stun Spear on his back before heading out. He's still chuckling when he makes it to the hangar, a fact that made the people passing him weary and avoid him. His reputation as a prankster is strong around these parts and anything that might make him laugh is perceived as something that might put them in danger. "Reportin' in, Jonny boy!" he says with a lazy salute. He sees 3 people have arrived before him, only 1 of which he'd actually talk to. The other are waaaay too serious and robotic for his tastes.

[Grape Me]

Aaron sat in the Kusanagi lounge telling jokes to some of the other crew mates. During Aaron's time with ISPC he has gotten to know most of the fellow ship mates either through work or missions. He loved it here, and although many of his jokes were "getting old" to some or were just cheesy, he never seemed to run out. He liked to tell many, especially to the new crew members who had yet to hear these jokes. You also have to take into consideration that the battle cruiser was huge, so knowing everybody was near impossible. There were also a few ship mates he knew who to stay clear from... Anyway, in the lounge:

Aaron took a sip of his drink before telling the next joke. Most of the people sitting in the booth with Aaron were human, two were another species. These guys were not Aaron's friends, turth is, Aaron didn't really have any, but that didn't stop him from socializing with others. Most of them knew Aaron through reputation, a smartass engineer. Aaron put the finished beverage down and leaned forward to tell the next one.
"Alright, so a blonde and brunette are having a conversation.
The Blondie said, We gonna do some space traveling.
The brunette replied, "Oh Yeah, where are ya going.
The blonde said, To the sun, no one has ever been there before.
But you will burn up before you get there, said the brunette.
We thought about that, said Blondie, So we're going at night."

A few of the people listening laughed, most just rolled their eyes. That was about the best response he would get from these guys, it was good enough. Satisfied, Aaron smiled leaning back.

One of the guys sitting next to him, finished laughing, brought up a question. "Eh short stack, is it true Edge gave ya a mission?" The guy seemed curious, as that might have been the only reason he sat here in the first place. Aaron looked over at him and smirked, "yap, but it's top secret." Aaron placed a finger over his lips and made a shh' sound as a jest.

The guy pressed on with the questions. "Yeah? I heard your headin' to Valhalla with some of the other crew mates, station gone dark or sumthen'."
Arron started to get uncomfortable, he didn't like where this was going. "Not sure, details were brief," he lied, wanting to end this subject.

At that moment ARK, Aaron's personal AI, began to talk through Aaron's headset. "Aaron you need to go to Hangar Bay Delta, you've wasted enough time here already." Aaron let out a sigh. "Ok mooooom. Sorry guys, duty calls. I'll catch ya later when missions over." He stood up, exiting the booth, making his way out of the lounge. He headed to his quarters first, needing to pick up his equipment. Ark began to speak up again. "That last joke was lame." Aaron smiled, "oh shutup you, the next one I had coming was better." The AI and Aaron laughed.

As he entered his room be began grabbing his equipment. He got his hacker interface, repair kit, auto-turrets, shotgun, and energy sword all together, putting some ammo in his pockets. "Is that everything?" "It's everything."

Aaron left his room and made his way into the hanger. As he entered he saw a group of 6 ahead, all but one from the mission briefing. As he approached he asked ARK more info on the people ahead. "Well Derek Hernandez is ahead, sure you two will get along, he's quite the prankster." "Yes yes I know Derek, what bout the other chumps?" ARK took a moment before responding. "Lt. Col. Jonathan Edge, the leader of this little task force. Lt. Zandile "Zan" Freivolt, Edge's most trusted engineer." Aaron made a snort. "Ha! 1000 credits says I'm a better engineer then that guy. I bet he couldn't handle himself in combat like me." "How humble of you to say," ARK commented sarcastically. "Just one of the beauties of being me I guess."

ARK continued, "Amber Rictone, Neko, Blitzer, 19 years of age, seems normal. Scarlet White..." "Scarlet White...?" I'm reading through her background... seems just like a normal merc but... something doesn't quite-" "Booooring. Next." "Huh...""What?" "The last one, it's an AI." Aaron's eyes widen with interest. "Shit really? What's it's name?" "CHAOS unit mk 6." "Looks like you got yourself a friend," Aaron said mockingly.

As Aaron got closer he stepped next to Derek giving him a nudge on the shoulder. He gave a silly grin at Edge. "Here," said Aaron as if this was taking attendance at a school. He looked over at the ladies and Derek. "I see the girl scouts have arrived, wonder where the others at." He glared over at the other engineer and sneered, he saw this as some competition. "Down boy," said ARK. Aaron then looked at the OD-91 "Percival" astronautic fighter-craft. He made a whistle. "Damn look at that beauty."

[Icaelus]

Ring, ring.

A hand reached out, slapping the alarm clock into silence. Another hand extended, clawing a pillow away and dragging the rest of a disheveled figure out from under the bed sheets, a head full of neck-length blonde hair emerging first, then followed by a slender, youthful body, perhaps slightly un-endowed in the chest department, much to her grief. Clothed in pajamas with teddy bear patterns all over them. Yeah. Mom packed. Shut up, okay. Teddy bears were cute, anyway.

Sallvyn Devox sat up groggily, staring balefully at the offending alarm clock which was now mercifully silent. 8.00 ante meridiem. God, that was way too early to wake up..especially after that beer she downed last night, griping to Alviss over holocall about how boring life on a ship was..anyway, the idiot had fallen asleep halfway into the call as usual, so she had just continued drinking for bit more before hitting the hay..
Damn, she had forgotten how much of a lightweight she was. No wonder Dumbass and Dipshit(nicknamed, of course.), her two brothers had kept her well away from alcohol and anything dangerous in general, preferring to keep their oh-so-precious lil sister out of harm's way, safe forever. Fuck that.
Loathe as she was to agree with them though, it was a valid point. Keep away from alcohol. Jesus, the headaches really weren't worth it. Anyway, why the heck did she set the clock for 8am, again? Must've been something important to wake up this early for..

"Nngh."
Sally groaned as she threw the covers off, planting her feet onto the cold floor and briefly shivering as the touch of the icy steel robbed the warmth from her soles. The cogs in her mind turned slowly, coming back up to speed as she wiped the sleep gunk out of her teal eyes. What just had she woken up for, again..?

The cogs moved like clockwork..and just as she remembered, the alarm clock rang again.

8.05am. Jon Edge's briefing began at 8.15am. Fuck.

The teddy bear pajamas were yanked off in a split moment, cast away into the air as Sally rushed into the bathroom, a woman with a purpose.

2 hours later..

Damn, that was a nightmare.
Sally grumbled mentally as she proceeded down one of the Kusanagi's many corridors, headed for the hangar. It was nearly time for dispatch and being almost late twice in a morning was not how she wanted to start a day off..
The Overcaster Bow was already slung across her back, folded compactly until she needed to make use of it. A quiver of the titanium alloy arrows bristled from her side, where it would be easy to draw arrows from. Sally glanced to her right arm, her Gauntlet was already strapped on and ready to punch some stuff in. Heat Blade, in scabbard on her back. Everything, check. Yeah, she was fully kitted out..though a sidearm or two wouldn't help. You never knew when you needed to quickly draw a weapon when you weren't in melee range..
But that aside, she didn't even know if it was going to be a combat mission. It seemed likely..but just what the hell could've made the entire Valhalla station go dark for three weeks and counting? It was the HQ of the Platinum Stilettos, the most efficient and equipped military there was! This was going to be one interesting mission..

The doors hissed open to admit the Stealth Trooper as she strode right in, casting eyes around at the general vicinity. Probably everyone else was already gathered..which meant once again, she was the last one here.
Suppressing a long-suffering groan, Sally stoically marched onwards, face kept expressionless as she came to a stop, falling in beside Scarlet White, one of the Troopers selected for the mission. She didn't know Scarlet much at all. The woman had always kept to herself and was a new face. But the ease which with she moved and the posture she always took, seeming ready to draw her two blades at a second's notice was reassuring, in a sense. Scarlet White was no newbie when it came to combat, that was for sure..
She looked around at the rest of the squad.

There was this dude in a lab coat..Derek..uh..Hernadez, right? Probably, yeah. She knew him as one of the medics on board, a real devil of a joker he was. Something that she would be looking out for was to not be the butt of one of his pranks..
Sal shifted her glance, her eyes lingering on the Blitzer, Amber Rictone. She wasn't on a personal level with the woman, but she seemed friendly enough..and she had one real odd selection of equipment for a Blitzer. Wasn't that a cloaking device on her armor..? Oh, nevermind. To each her own.
Next up was..the AI. Chaos, as she had made herself known by. It was an odd name, not at all suiting the cool, calm persona of the robot at all. The name inspired confusion, death, panic. Sal had a feeling that whoever named the AI hadn't put too much thought into it..
And next..Aaron. Huh, yeah. Sally didn't like the guy much. He seemed personable enough with the rest of the crew, but he was one real smartass and was quite lippy even around his superiors. The man wouldn't have lasted a single day in formal military school with his attitude. What probably kept him toeing the line was his AI, ARK. His very own personal AI..that would've been really useful. Maybe she could get Alviss to build her one..maybe...

As her baby-blue eyes came to a stop on Lt. Col Jonathan Edge, she quickly became a tad bit more aware of what was expected of a soldier in the presence of her immediate superior.
"Uh, reporting, sir!"
Sally snapped off a textbook salute, kicking herself mentally as she resumed her normal position. Probably shouldn't have said "Uh."

[jayjaycaps]

"...So when the patient woke up, his skeleton was missing, and the doctor was never heard from again..! Anyways, that's how I lost my medical license." Chris laughed heartily, unlike his patient's more nervous laugh. In truth, Chris hadn't lost his license. He had never gotten it, actually. He just figured that a joke here would be pretty good, as his patient was pretty nervous. It was quite understandable though, as Chris would be nervous too if he thought he had gotten herpes from a twentieth century buttplug. Especially if your friend had thought she had gotten herpes from a dildo that came out of the same box as the aforementioned buttplug.

"Yes, you can get herpes in your butt. Do you have herpes in your butt? No." Chris had a tough time not laughing at the female Private sitting in front of him, as the entire story was pretty hilarious. Something about a bet, a box choke full of various sex toys, and some good ol' fashioned lube. The look of relief on her face was a welcoming sight though, as she was quite cute when not worried out of her mind. Giving her a quick once over, he couldn't help but give her a sly grin. It was met with a shy blush and a coy smile, which was enough for Chris.

Writing his number on a piece of paper, he handed it to the girl. "You should be fine, but if you have any questions, call me at anytime." Chris gave the Private a wink, making her blush and giggle. Chris looked down briefly, and while coughing, added "Oh, and uh, pull your pants up." Pulling off his latex gloves, Chris tossed them in the trash before leaving the room.

Looking down at his watch, Chris noticed he only had a few minutes to spare before he had to be in the hangar. Quickly swinging by his room, he loaded up with all of his things which had been neatly laid out on his bunk. He took his twin SMGs and strapped them to his thighs Throwing on his backpack full of his medical textbooks, ammo, and clothes, he checked over his fire ax, nicknamed The Surgeon. Chris often joked he'd performed a few mid battle amputations with this ax, and it was hard to tell if he was kidding or not. The well worn wooden handle felt so comforting in his grip, and the heavy blade brought a sick, maniacal grin to his face. Deciding it was as sharp as it was going to get, he slung it across his pack and made for the hangars. Upon entering, he noticed he wasn't the first one to show up, but thankfully not the last. Four girls, and two other guys. Chris liked the odds. "Christopher Artz, reporting in." Looking over to Derek, he recognized him from around the medical ward, so he gave him a nod and a "Sup."

[Noosie]

"Wake up."

Three seconds to respond, two more to recall her surroundings. Too slow, more stimulants next time. One bloodshot eye cracks open, shutting shortly afterwards when its cautious gaze is met by a burning spear of light that stings what little sleep remains from Chare's mind. The sound of breaking glass echoes through the sparsely decorated room, the unfortunate lamp next to the damaged merc's bed crashing to the floor, as did its precursors.

"Get out of bed."

With a grunt of annoyance Chare heeds her long-time adviser, sitting upright and turning to pull herself off of her still-made bed without disturbing the sheets any more than necessary. The handle installed halfway up the wall gives without so much as a creak, coming apart in her still-armored hand. Not even out of bed, and already two new dents in her wallet. Still, caution pays its own dues. With a shrug and a mental note to get a more sturdy support, Chare swings her legs over the side of her bed, crusty eyes now wide open in the darkness. A glance down serves as all the reminder the disturbed scout needs as to her mistake this morning; She'd gone to sleep with nearly half her gear still on. Definitely more stimulants.

"It's time."

It takes only a moment for Chare to realize the futility of swearing at the voice in the back of her head. It takes a few more moments, and several failed attempts, for her to find and assemble her under-armor ensemble. Next time, less yanking during removal. Bad enough to damage furniture, worse to need to replace her only comfortable clothes. After a series of rather suggestive stretches, Chare manages to retrieve her armor from under her bed. It takes less time to put on than the under-armor, which is either a serious design flaw in her wardrobe, or a sign of her genius for efficiency when it comes to combat gear. Whatever.

"You're going to be late."

Ah, the joys of poor mental health. Not only was the voice particularly chatty this morning, it also seemed to be even worse off than her organization-wise. Still plenty of time. The buttons of the wall safe bleep listlessly in response to her touch, giving an error message every two digits. Not that it actually tracked errors, but she'd found the idea of some poor bastard trying to figure that out hilarious. And had since come to regret it every morning, given that the little keypad stood between her and her meds. Two red pills, three blue pills, one green pill......

"You are still unarmed."

Still annoying, but less potentially damaging than the voice she normally shared her brain with. Baton, check. Still needed cleaning, but that wasn't vital. 'Vider, double check. Hardly going to forget one of her favorite toys. Occy? Not a fucking chance she'd leave that behind. She loved that particular innovation of hers more than she'd ever love another human being. Not that that's saying too much. Now fully armed and moderately dangerous, Chare Blódegesa leaves her room and lets the door lock behind her. As she hears the bolt slide into place, she activates her armor's stealth function.

Several minutes of aimless wandering pass before the paranoid mercenary arrives at the hangar, somewhat disappointed to find that she's arrived after everyone else. A glance at the others confirms that she's in the right place. Taking a deep breath, masked by her helmet's sound-proofing, Chare moves with slow methodical steps as she crosses the hangar, giving a wide berth to her fellow fighters as she circles them once and gives each one a quick once-over. Satisfied with the unlikelyhood of open hostility, she ends her circuit behind the "prankster" doctor.

"Boo."

Emerging from stealth with a smug grin behind her tinted visor, Ms.Blódegesa stands straight and still after her whispered declaration of her presence. Not her usual tact, but she may as well try for a mediocre first impression before her particular brand of crazy shone through too much.

[Zender_Solarheart]

(NOTE: Since Gorb has once again dropped off the radar pretty much forum-wide, I'll keep his character on an "Inactive Standby" status. If any of you have to leave for an extended period of time, let me know in advance, and I'll put your character there. Characters on Inactive Standby will basically be outside existence until the player returns to control them; they will not be noted in combat, conversations, or any other aspect of the RP's events. It's a lot easier to handle than it sounds, don't worry. Moving on...)

Jon nods to each team member as they fall in, Zan standing at attention along with them. "At ease, everyone." Lt. Col. Edge says upon finishing his mental headcount, then turns so that his right flank faces towards the docked Percivals. Thankfully, each of you received proper training on how to fly these things a while back, so you can all handle their operation without incident. However, there's 11 fighters docked and ready, despite there being only 10 people to fly them for this mission. Before anyone can point that out, Jon explains: "As you might have noticed, there's one more fighter here than there are people on our team. That one's for Zan's wingman, Gunnery Sergeant Francis Strudel."

"Somebody call for little old me?"

A rather...effeminate male voice rings out from over yonder, followed by a man wearing hot pink armor, who can be assumed as the owner of that voice. "Hey guuuuuys!" Strudel calls out while waving, looking...errr..."fabulous" as can be. "Right on cue." Zan says, though his tone of voice sounds more disappointed than expected, as if he was hoping Strudel would sit the mission out. Derek may remember the Gunny from a day at the cafeteria, where he could be overheard trying to claim his armor's "light red" instead of pink, and accidentally making countless gay sex innuendos in the process.

"Alright everyone. From left to right, your fighters are..."

Cut to a few minutes later, and everyone's loaded up in their fighters, commencing primary ignition, and basically ready for takeoff, when suddenly...

...Vamoose.

No seriously, Private Marcus P. Vamoose comes in out of nowhere, calling out: "Edge! Edge, where are you going?! And why have you turned into a big metal paper airplane?" A loud groan can be heard from Jon over the comms, who switches his channel to the Percival's external speakers, and replies: "On a mission, Vamoose. And no, you can't tag along." "But why not, Looty Kernel?! I want to sock it to the Plutonium Stringos too!" "It's 'Platinum Stilettos,' and we're saving them, not fighting them!" "But you can't make stilettos out of platinum! It's a precious metal, too expensive!!" "Oh, for a fucked duck's sake..."

Turning his Percival around in hover mode to face directly at Vamoose, Jon yells out: "Vamoose! We are leaving, and I order you to stand RIGHT ON THAT SPOT. No moving. Got it?!" Vamoose simply pauses and nods, but considering how much of a dumbass he just was, it leaves some doubt as to whether he even comprehended that order. To make a long story short, though, you get out of the hangar just fine, and over to...

<Location: Valhalla Detection Zone.>

Despite the tension just a few seconds prior to entering the Valhalla station's spherical zone of detection, you are met with no hostilities. Depending on the person, this can either be comforting...or disturbing. "I don't like this...it's too quiet." Jon muses over the comms, then inquires: "Zan, you picking up anything?" "Nothing yet sir, aside from a visual of large-scale debris at 2 o'clock far. Shall I investigate?"

"...Affirmative, but not without backup. Strudel, follow Zan, but don't open fire unless shot at first. The rest of you, follow me. We'll circle around from the other side."

[napsii]

Tactically, the ISPC's irregular troop formations were troubling. Unlike government-operated armies, the organization's teams seemed guerrilla weighed against the calculated, uniform teams of Scarlet's own NHD. But she was not alarmed: records indicated the ISPC's subsistence on irregular tactics. This meeting wasn't necessary proof of her teammates' discipline problems either: the lacking professionalism had been repeated countless times. For many, their guide seemed to be passion, a lust for the paycheque or nothing at all. The few exceptions were obvious among the crowd that stood before her: in particular, the battle android Chaos. The machine's presence had been a side-note in the NHD's files, but its rare technology and close ties to the former Destiny's Selection were something of both tactical and personal interest to Scarlet. Her qualities were often compared to that of a machine's, but the supersoldier knew they were worlds apart except in their taciturn natures. But Scarlet was unwilling to linger on trivial things for long: there was a critical mission ahead of her, and her teammates' natures had no bearing on Operation Darkmoon, except for where they interfered.

As the commander reviewed their seating assignments, her silent breathing exercises helped orient her on piloting. The Percival had since been phased out of the NHD's fleet by the Division's newest fighter craft, the XR-1 Eris, but she had been trained in their use and excelled in the principles of piloting. The arts of control and discipline were her strongest traits and critical to success with any vehicle. It wasn't long before she was interfacing with her machine, wordless as usual. Her confidence in any aircraft demanded an absolute faith that it would function, and so her hands moved with speed to acclimate herself to its complex systems. She had stowed her weaponry in the narrow compartments paralleling the interior. It was her every intention to see them lost in space were she to go down with no chance of recovering them; even this stripped technology was too valuable to lose. The Percival's systems proved troublesome to settle into, but her training took over sooner or later and with no ear for the banter outside, she was hooked in and ready to go within minutes. The supersoldier stared on ahead as the canopy hissed shut around her, the optical suite and the dim glow of instrument panels providing the only light inside the cockpit. Her hands settled on the control sticks, which hummed to life.

The first operational phase of Operation Darkmoon would now commence.

---

The sea of stars had lost all of their majesty for Scarlet. Her creators had often lectured of the time in history where the depths of space were the greatest mystery to any species. Yet humanity had reached the stars and first held hands with the rest of the galaxy's species, politics had stripped away the grandeur -- the idealism. The engines of Scarlet's aircraft hummed noiselessly as it glided through the cosmos, Valhalla an ever-growing silhouette on the horizon ahead. Although the vessel was quiet enough to seem bored, the instrument panels were alive with activity: figures of speed, orientation, weapons stocks provided a small bonfire of activity that seemed to light up the few cubic feet around her in the blackness of the void. The supersoldier flew along the coattails of the formation, where her view of her teammates was interrupted only by passing meteors, the rainbow brilliance of nearby nebulas or the glow of the nearby stars. Unperturbed by the lack of resistance, Scarlet was quiet, but left her autopilot disengaged as a gesture of caution. To some, it might be mystifying to think that such a belligerent corner of the universe was this still. Yet the supersoldier had been taught that when stars and planets were seen as goals of finance or simple pride, it was easy to mistake their world as a quiet one. The NHD thrived under this very ignorance. But the red-eyed woman was divided, tactically. It was not hard to understand the RTGS' fear of Valhalla's silence; the ISPC, with their first-hand knowledge of the Platinum Stilettos, had no answers. Even more telling, the NHD's intelligence sector was at a loss. Such truisms were not worth pondering, but Scarlet could practically feel her superiors' interest in the back of her neck.

Radio chatter came and went. She said nothing, except where the commander was involved, but even then, she took her orders in silence. It was wise to make as little assumptions as possible, and so she followed.

Fluidly, she yawed her fighter toward the commander's left wing in adherence of his orders. The supersoldier's control of the aircraft was calculated and precise, graceful even for a simple motion. She was careful to hang back from the deeper radar signature produced by fighters flying close together.

Ever suspicious, though, she kept her senses alert as she flew. The most limiting circumstance of being in a vehicle was the suppression of her senses; she was forced to rely almost entirely on the instruments, maneuvering and her eyesight in order to stay aware in the vacuum of space. It was hampering, almost, demanding a set of skills for which her training was not as extensive.

[Inferi]

Although the lack of extreme discipline in the ISPC had been visible to Chaos ever since she had joined, this particular setup was one of the worst that she had seen. The initial team had been mostly acceptable, and although she had doubts about the personalities of a few of them a quick revisit of their dossiers assured her that they had at least some competence in the field. She wouldn’t completely trust the data until there was some visual evidence to back it up, but the available evidence told her that, at the very least, she did not need to be watching all of them at all times to make sure they weren’t running in the way of her hammer.

Once again, Scarlet’s stuck out, but Chaos did not devote too much processing power to examine it. That could be done over time, and so she put aside a small reserve of her processing ability to go over it and find anything she could that was out of place. If anything was found, any possible connections to exterior events would be investigated, and conclusions would be drawn from what was found. It was a cyclic process, and one that would need to be done thousands of times to find anything conclusive. The inspection would commence now, and continue to take place until something was found or she needed the reserves for something important. It didn’t matter how long it would take, or what else would need to be brought up from her data files. The AI was patient and very persistent, and if she wanted to find something it would eventually be found, assuming that it was there to be found.

Without a word to the rest of the team, Chaos found her fighter and climbed in, immediately syncing herself with the system. While not directly connecting her program to the fighter’s control systems, all readouts and data that the fighter would process would now go directly to her, eliminating the need for her to watch the readouts on the fighter’s console. Simulations had dictated that this was far more efficient, as it eliminated several milliseconds of reaction time that were needed to keep an eye on the exterior of the fighter and watch the console at the same time. Almost immediately, data began pouring in, all of it telling her that the fighter was fully operational and ready to fly. The engineer had done a good job, and only a few minor things had to be done to make sure she could operate it to maximum efficiency.

It was the final arrival, the one that wasn’t even coming on the mission, that would have made her cringe if she had been human. That amount of blatant stupidity and idiocy n the hangar had increased by a magnitude of ten at least, and she was reminded why she questioned the methods of the ISPC when it came to recruiting. Such a person would do nothing except put his team in danger, and therefore should never be allowed anywhere near a functioning operation. If she wouldn’t be arrested or kicked out of the ISPC for doing so, Chaos would have shot him the moment he started talking and reduced the danger for any future team. Unfortunately, that was frowned upon, and she couldn’t understand why. The logical move was to remove weakness from the equation when the goal was success, but few organics seemed to understand this basic concept.

Engines fired up, controls were taken, and the fighter carrying the AI sped from the hangar. The mission was now underway.

-----

Mindless chatter was something Chaos would not engage in, and so the entirety of the journey was spent in silence. Silence was far better than the rambling of organics, and the only reason she kept the transmission channel to everyone open was because it made more sense tactically. Missing the chatter would not be worth missing an emergency broadcast. Besides, spoken words did not interfere with data analysis, and so she had no reason not to listen just in case.

The lack of hostilities around the perimeter of the station was something Chaos had anticipated. If a station had no contact, then one would assume that it was due to nobody being there. In a situation like this, nobody being there likely meant they were all dead, and anyone that had managed to attack a station like this without alerting anything else was not an enemy that would make an open assault on the first ships to enter the area. If they were going to be attacked, it would likely be through surprise. With that in mind, Chaos had been carefully watching her sensors for anything abnormal, and continued to do so as she remained on her commander’s wing, taking the direct side opposite of the fighter Scarlet was piloting.

Anything from the sensors would take direct priority, so she would recognize it immediately and be able to act on it. She was not going to be surprised by anything this fighter could detect, and made sure to keep enough space in the formation for an evasive maneuver should it be needed.

[MiscChaos]

It takes every ounce of concentration that he's built up over the years of being a doctor, but Derek manages, just barely, not to jump and shout as someone manages to take him completely by surprise. He's unable to help the look of complete and utter shock on his face though, that shining through clear as day saying that whoever got him got him good. He slowly turns to meet whoever's responsible, trying to master his expression as he goes. He mostly fails, but at least he doesn't look COMPLETELY surprised anymore. And he's not fingering Lydnsy's trigger compulsively anymore, which is always good.

"Well played, stranger. Well played." he says with a small grin. "Oh when I get you back for this, it shall be glorious!" Then Derek hears Strudel's effeminate voice and sighs. If there's anyone due for a psychiatric evaluation anytime soon, it'd be him since Derek doesn't think he's ever HEARD OF someone so far in the closet, much less actually seen one. Still, he's not gonna be the one to bring it up. Instead, he'll silently laugh at Zan's pain for having such a flamboyant wingman. He turns and gives a nod of the head to his fellow medic, apparently of the name Chris, then boards his fighter, waiting until they're on the radio to say anything since time is kinda a factor on this one. He opens his mouth to ask if Chris has seen that other Herpes potential patient when instead his words are turned into a groan. Vamoose. What the hell is Vamoose doing here?! He can almost FEEL the intelligence of the room draining out, everyone becoming that much dumber for listening to the Private! Good thing they get out of there pretty quickly or else everyone would've become to stupid to remember how to fly their fighters!

Derek took as little training in flying the Percival as he could, the idea of flying a giant robot, common in this day and age, less of an exciting prospect than coming up with a new disease (with an accompanying cure of course. He's bored, not stupid) and it probably shows. His movements aren't nearly as smooth as everyone else's until he gets a grip on how the thing works and even then, they're still pretty rough. He can probably get through a fight, but he's not doing any fancy maneuvering or nothing. With the mission underway, he turns his attention back to Chris.

"Yo, Chris! Did you get anyone suffering from Herpes today? I got one who had it and I'm worried about an outbreak on base before we get back." he says over the radio. He shuts up though when he's given orders to follow Edge, flying this thing smoothly taking most of his concentration to do with his inexperience with the thing.

[Grape Me]

As the appearance of the rest of the task force came into view Aaron gave an uneasy look at them. "Sheesh." In his eyes these people either looked like unprofessional dimwits or scary ass motherfuckers. This was probably the most... unique group of people Aaron has ever worked with. Although "weird" fitted his taste. This could be interesting. Hey, maybe he could crack up some new jokes his been working on anyway.

The arrival of Francis Strudel almost made Aaron burst out laughing. Not cause he thought anything about this particular person, but because he could see the dissatisfied look on the other engineers face. It amused Aaron. He kept his composure however turned to face the Percival Astro-Fighter. He smiled. Damn, it was one badass piece of engineering. Aaron had work on fighters similar to this model. So he already had experience on it's basic functions, even when he received training on how to use it. Aaron was already a pretty well trained polite, but fixing and hacking were more of his strong suit. There was no doubt in his mind however that he could pull off some pretty advance maneuvers especially with the help of his AI.

He hopped inside the fighter and ARK established a connection with the ships systems. Although Aaron could handle it himself, having ARK do most of the work was a load off his shoulders. "Ahhh, you just keep doing what your doing ARKy, Imma' get some shut eye," he joked. "Hmm, I wonder what this 'self-destruct' button does." "Very funny," Aaron said giving a short smile, a little unsure if it was a joke, he decided not to ask. As they were about to leave the hanger Vamoose comes waddling in. The levels of idiocracy were off the charts. Aaron couldn't help but to laugh out loud. This was gold. ARK just let out an agitated sigh. After that little incident, they were finally off.

As they drifted in formation through space Aaron couldn't help but to be amazed. It had been awhile since being outside the battlecruiser, but that isn't why he was breathless. The galaxy was something that always interested Aaron. Moving on through, the fighter's engines humming, ARK was controlling most of the ships functions. Aaron, however, released ARK of it's controls. "Umm, what are you doing?" "What do you think? I'm going to test this baby out." "Aaron, we have clear orders to-" Aaron already broke out of formation and was flying the ship through an astroid field. "I hate you." Aaron went through the deadly field of rocks, dodging them one by one. With a few close calls here n there, Aaron made it through relatively fast and efficiently, he was a damn good pilot. He pulled off a few twirls and spins, and then, a huge meteor came into view. "Look out!" yelled ARK through the ships systems. Aaron smiled and then pulled up, pushing forward on the throttle. The ship managed to barely pass the giant space rock that nearly killed them. "Are you trying to get us killed?" "Ok ARKy, where's your sense of adventure?" Aaron then returned to formation with the others giving the control back to ARK, who proceeded to give him a long and serious lecture.

The radio chat went here and there and Aaron mostly just chimed in one and awhile to give bad jokes. Then, he heard Derek's question about the Herpes patient. Aaron felt another joke coming on but then ARK managed to sense it coming. "Behave..." Aaron just left out a single laugh over the coms to let them know he heard the question. Then he thought. Wasn't there something called Doctor-Patient Confidentiality? Well I guess this wouldn't apply because he technically wasn't using the individuals name, but Aaron decided to think twice before going to see Derek if he had any embarrassing medical issues.

Valhalla soon came into view. It was a massive space station, interesting in design but nothing too special. The lack of hostile forces, erie emptiness of space and sound was slightly unsettling. "ARK you picking up anything?" "Not yet... I'll continue scanning." When hearing Edge's orders Aaron picked up a rear position behind the fellow fighters. He was focusing on protecting the blind sides of his fellow comrades.

[jayjaycaps]

Chris had been nervously eyeing the Percival's docked in the hangar, hoping he wouldn't have to get in one. Chris had never been good with space travel. Sure, on a ship as big as the Kusanagi, he was fine, as each little movement was hardly noticeable. But on something as fast moving as a Percival? Chris had a hard enough time with planes back on Earth, let alone a amazingly fast, incredibly claustrophobic star fighter.

Letting out an audible gulp, Chris climbed into one of the fighters. He spent the next few moments taking deep breaths, and swallowing some antiemetic pills he had brought along. They would help make sure he didn't spew chunks all over the controls, but Chris would still feel pretty sick. Checking over the various screens and boards that lay in front of him, Chris came to the conclusion that the ship was damn near mint condition. Gathering up some last bits of resolve and nerve, he eased the Percival into the dark reaches of space.

Keeping his ship as steady as physically possible, Chris had to push his mike away from his mouth so that his deep breaths weren't heard. His stomach had already begun to act up, and he felt pretty sick. Thankfully, someone had tried to talk to him, taking his mind off of the motion sickness. "Yea, kinda sorta." Chris told Derek, moving the mike back up to his mouth. "Some private who thought she had it. Didn't catch it though. She said there was another person in on that bet, I'm assuming you took care of her?" Chris chuckled nervously, hoping his lunch wasn't about to come up as he did. He kept his craft as steady and as slow as physically possible, keeping him at the back of the pack.

[Zender_Solarheart]

Zan and Strudel advance slowly towards the debris field, staying alert for any sign of potential danger. No such signs show up, though, even as they maneuver through the debris field. As they approach the center of that field, they get a good look at where all the debris came from: a massive hole blasted into the underside of Valhalla. No, wait...

"That's odd...the damage isn't like that which you'd get from an outside attack. It's more like..." "Spit it out, Zan." "...more like it was caused from within. Like someone snuck an explosive inside the station, and detonated it here." "What? No way, that's impossible. There's no way you could sneak in enough ordnance to cause this much damage...right?" "With all due respect sir, it's my belief that 'impossible' does not truly exist." "Eh, whatever...let's just head for the docking hang-"

However, Jon's order to dock is cut short by a pair of plasma bolts streaking down, just a hair away from his fighter's nose. Then, a visual alert pops up, announcing that the comm system's been hacked, and...

(cue BGM: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=czFUhr5ErV4)
"Can't let you do that, fly-boys!"
"The Doctor has ordered us to take you down."
"Zanny! Long time no see!"
"Doc's enemy is MY enemy!!"

In order from first to last, a conceited-sounding female, cold-toned male, flirtatious female, and tough-guy male all cut in over the comms. Not too long afterward, a diamond formation of fighters fly in; two are colored green, while the third and fourth are purple and red, respectively. The fighters themselves seem...dragon-like, as the forward-mounted plasma cannons are shaped like claws, and the wings have a very dragon-like shape to them. Hell, the rear fuselage looks like it has a tail jutting out between the twin engines.

"Ugh...just what I need to see. The Dragon's Fangs." Jon mutters, identifying the four fighter pilots as part of the Dragon's Fangs, a rival merc group to the ISPC. While a bit smaller, the Fangs bolster their units with impressive technology, some of which one could think was scavenged from a fallen Stiletto operative, because it's just that good. At this point, Zan chimes in with the one comment that, by now, most of you would probably agree with:

"Let's take care of these guys first!"

/========\
WARNING!
\========/
VS Dragon Fang Ace Squadron, piloting "Draco" fighter-craft.

Spoiler (click to show/hide):

HP: 2000 each.
Cannon weapon: Twin front-mounted Heavy Plasma Cannons.
Primary ordnance: High-charge "Shieldbuster" EMP missiles.
Secondary ordnance: Plutonium-tipped "Thin Man" mini-nukes, launched from the nose.

NOTE: Your Percival fighters have 1500 HP each, and are armed with a full payload of 20 "Nova" plasma missiles (Heat-type). However, for the sake of maneuverability, their bomb bays were relieved of the heavyweight "Rhaknam" torpedoes, instead carrying 5 ECM pods in that space to ward off inbound missiles. Also, the "Photo-Vulcan" cannons won't run out of energy, but they can overheat if used too much, so dogfight smart.

[MiscChaos]

"Oh goddammit!" he mutters to himself as enemies come in hot. He's just barely flyin' this thing right now. Dogfighting sounds like it had bad idea written all over it with his level of piloting. "I can support someone as they fight, but I'm not good overall with a Percival so I think I'd be rather bad in direct combat." he says over the com, figuring it better to get his weakness out there in the open for others to work with instead of botching everything up.

[Inferi]

For the briefest moment, Chaos wondered why she wasn’t trying to completely integrate her program into the fighter. Doing so would allow her to do so much more, including tapping into the sensors of every other craft in the squad. She would be able to know exactly what was happening with everyone, and would be able to support them to the best of her ability. It might even allow her to tap into the fighter crafts of enemy squadrons, should she get the proper transfer line. Then she remembered when she had first tried to do that, the first mission after joining the ISPC, and the unease it had caused amongst everyone. Apparently, organic beings were emotional enough that they preferred some privacy to an increased combat effectiveness. It had gone against her logical judgment, but Chaos had refrained from doing such a thing again just for the sake of squad cohesion. She knew, though, that eventually she would feel it necessary to leave the robotic shell, and when she did, the paranoia and stupidity of a few organics wasn’t going to stop it from happening.

As it was, she was forced to wait upon a communication to tell the state of the situation, and began processing the possibilities as soon as it came in. If the debris field was caused by parts from the station, and the point that the damage stemmed from appeared to have an explosion point on the interior of the station, the enemy had been within the station before any damage had been done to it. From what she could see, the station had suffered no other damages to the exterior, which meant nothing had happened until the station had already been infiltrated. That ruled out direct assault, as such a scenario would have debris of fighter craft in the field as well as more damage to the exterior of the station. That left either an infiltration with sleeper agents long prior to the assault, or a combat situation in which the enemy had been able to sneak past the station’s defenses completely and dock before anyone knew anything was wrong. Both of these were outcomes that would not have been expected, given the military power and paranoia that surrounded the Stiletto home station, and an inspection from within the station would be needed to confirm anything. Zan’s opinion was something she agreed with, though: Impossibility was not something that could be used to rule something out before it was proven that such a thing was actually impossible.

Unfortunately, there was no time for that, a plasma bolt tearing through the space just in front of their leader’s nose. Instead of immediately breaking formation, as many might do, she stayed on his wing until she knew exactly what was going on. Splitting everyone up would be fine when the threat was known if it was a correct assessment, but doing so beforehand would only serve to make them individual targets. Confirmation was not long in coming, and inwardly she cursed when the communications system was overridden, giving her another reason why she should be in the network. Sealing off a system from enemies was incredibly simple if she had access to everything. As it was, she could still seal off her own network, but it required a bit of quick work that took away from her performance. Thankfully, they hadn’t engaged quite yet and she was able to do so without any issue. This wasn’t done before their opponents had revealed themselves, though, and if she was human she would have sighed. The Dragon’s Fangs were a group that was very well known to her by reputation and through reports, although she had never crossed paths with them personally. While the immediate response was to label them as responsible for the attack, she immediately disregarded that. While a rival group of the ISPC, her information suggested that they did not have the power to mount an attack on Valhalla, and their flamboyant style suggested that, even if they did, they wouldn’t have gone about it in the method that appeared to be the case. It was more likely that they had come to scavenge the remains of the station, perhaps in an attempt to gain technology that they shouldn’t have.

Whatever the case, they were in a place they shouldn’t be, and that was reason enough to take them down.

“Scarlet, keep them off me.” she told the other pilot, breaking formation and pulling her fighter off to the side, accelerating into a wide turn as she did so. From what she could tell, the fighters her squad was in were faster and more maneuverable than those they were up against, and she intended to use that to her advantage. Given the angle that the enemy fighters were coming in at, her turn would bring her around so that she was behind them, and that was always the best situation to be at in a dogfight. It also helped that a majority of the weapons on the enemy crafts were facing forward, giving a marked advantage to being on someone’s six. Hopefully Scarlet would have gone with her and would be keeping her own six free of enemies, as Chaos knew that a lone fighter was easy prey. She had picked the other pilot out of everyone for two reasons. One, she had displayed the best control of her craft so far, and two, she was right nearby the AI. Hopefully Chaos’ analysis hadn’t been incorrect.

[daxtinator396]

Amber had been flying quietly trying not to laugh at the ridiculous antics of Strudel and Ducker. Those guys... oh those guys. They sure were fun to drink with. Specially Strudel. Poor guy has no idea how gay he sounds! Made for good fun though. As she was lost in her thoughts though she approached the debris field and reached combat level immediately," Time to rock. What the hell could cause so much damage?" She wondered aloud over the comms before suddenly she heard explosion,"Oh damn... I think this mission just changed abit..." She said alittle solemn. Not many people could have survived that. Then something came along that she knew what to do with. Combatants,"Get your flashy lizard butts over here so I can spank em!" She cried out with glee as she roared her fighter into action going into a daring corkscrew with her Vulcan cannons stitching hot laser death towards the group of fighters,"Derek run Wingman!" She said into her mike calmly despite the ridiculous corkscrew she was performing. Why fly normal in space when there's no gravity to clip your wings?

[napsii]

Zandile's report was a strange development, but his theory wasn't entirely implausible to Scarlet. Valhalla was critical to the Platinum Stilettos, and its defenses were notably stubborn, but sneak attacks -- a tactic dating back millennia -- could subdue even the best safeguards. The supersoldier listed her plane to the left so that she might get a better view of the fortress. Gleaming in the light of the nearby star, it seemed stagnant, even for a space station. An attack on the fortress would require a strict and coordinated effort on the level of a professional military force. She didn't share the commander's overconfidence in the Stilettos, but the group was known for their prowess, and more critically the fortress was wired into the RTGS' communications network; it had not been until regular communications ceased had the RTGS sent to investigate. Collapsing the Stilettos' tether to the RTGS without alerting them would be a Herculean task. Her speculations were many, although unfounded. As one of the known universe's most established armed forces, the Platinum Stilettos were in no shortage of nemeses. The motive to attack them was plentiful, but the capability was not. She listed back into formation, knowing that her superiors would be concerned with an unknown entity that could match the Stilettos' militarily. Being the tip of the Republic's spear in special operations, the Stilettos were the benchmark against the Division judged their own state. It was the NHD's modus operandi to outclass all of its opponents.

The fluorescent shine of plasma bolts drew her attention to the commander's plane.

The radio squealed as the console warned of a communications hack. Just hearing the voices that emerged on the radios, the supersoldier felt her speculations being founded. She cast her look into the distance whence the attacks had came: a four-person formation of abnormal-looking craft were soaring into visual and sensor view. The red-eyed soldier concentrated for a closer look. The machines' design narrated that they were mercenaries, and the commander's indignation was the nail in the coffin. Unfazed by the sudden attack, Scarlet didn't hold her breath. The jeers of the foursome -- the Dragon's Fangs -- were telling. Although they were among the dozens of private armies that the NHD had cataloged as important, they hadn't been one of the names on the table discussing the likelihood of an attack. Their inane rivalry with the ISPC was something of note, but they were guns for hire, and the "Doctor" was likely their employer. The supersoldier said nothing; this rivalry didn't concern her, but the presence of a mercenary force complicated things. Naturally, she thought of doctors -- scientists or academics with an interest in the Stilettos. Hundreds of names surged to mind, and most of them seemed irrelevant. The NHD was careful in hiring R&D personnel with a history tied to the RTGS, but disenchanted or laid off scientists pursuing new avenues filled their ranks and it wasn't unreasonable to suggest that there were third parties with similar intentions. Yet, for all she knew, "Doctor" could have been an epithet or a moniker.

For now, it wasn't entirely irrelevant. The Dragon's Fangs were an obstacle, so she would traverse them.

It wasn't unexpected that the battle android, Chaos, would have gravitated toward her. The calculating minds of AI were predictable in that respect, and ever since entering the ISPC, Scarlet had not been able to dismiss the attention that the machine had paid her. Though this persona, Scarlet White, was bulletproof, the android's brainpower was one threat to her cover. So far, there had been no reason to believe the machine had unraveled anything and Scarlet had kept her distance out of prudence, but the android had probably come to opine on her personality by this time. The supersoldier didn't need to voice her acknowledgement: her movements were telling enough. Smoothly, she rolled her plane to the right and passed the underside of the commander's plane in pursuit of Chaos' aircraft. Accelerating forward, she intercepted the android's trajectory mid-turn and neatly blended into a position to her right and rear, keeping persistently on her wing as they neared the four opponents. With their numbers advantage, they could more efficiently tackle the enemy aircraft. The Dragon's Fangs abnormal technology was noted, but their weight and armaments were an elemental weakness against the sleeker Percivals. In covering Chaos, she would permit the android to supply a persistent offense while the red-eyed soldier herself deflected counterattacks. She sped up to close the distance, slowing when near for precision. Her hand was carefully on the trigger: her aircraft's cannons were devastating and reliable in close combat.

"On your move." she said simply.