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2/13/2016 12:22:57 AM
27
[b]An Empire to Last the Night:[/b]
[i]Helios[/i]
Hallwinter opened his eyes and stretched, adjusting to the blistering light of the fire. The fine lids on his eyes had already polarized his surroundings for him, yet waking up from a crash was hardly a pleasant experience, even for a Choran.
The ship, if it could be called that, had been shot down by Imperial SAM missiles, and through some miracle, had made it to the surface relatively intact. The crumbled ruins were ablaze with plasmatic fire, yet Ginger's armor largely protected him from the flame, and the heat didn't bother him in the least. However, the cockpit had crumbled upon landing, and the durasteel playing had cut a large gash in his shoulder. Golden ichor seeped out of the wound, and stained his void-black armor.
(At ends as to what to post. Open to Blackjack specifically, but anyone's welcome).
English
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[i]Walking towards the man are two figures, both familiar. The one stands taller than the other, an looks bulkier, more powerful. On his shoulder is a large machine gun, and the hilts and grips of various weaponry can be seen sticking up from his back. Two magnums are at his hips, and two belts of .50 caliber ammunition cross his chest. An American flag billowed out behind him in the wind, and his eyes glowed red. The other figure was shorter and sleeker, its eyes glowing blue. A hood and a tattered cloak covered the second man's head and back, and a sword and rifle could be seen on his back. Two bandoliers crossed his chest, two magnums were at his hips. On his shoulder was a khukri blade in its sheath, on his left leg, a Bowie knife in a boot holster. The approached the crashed ship, no weapons in hand.[/i]
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As Ginger crawled himself through the busted cockpit, you realize both how little, and how much, he had changed. Physically, he looked unchanged: the same black hair, tan skin with a tinge of blue, and vibrant purple eyes that burned with a fire. He still wore the same rugged armor, with sleek contours and pauldrons that were scarred with plasma burns, bullet scratches, and at least one stab wound that was hastily repaired. Unlike the two, he seems completely unarmed, besides a small HardLight fist surrounding his own hand, enveloping it like an azure halo. Golden ichor still poured out of the wounds on his legs and torso, yet before their eyes the muscles under the skin began to stitch themselves together. He stands up to face them, a confused look on his face, "Wilson? That you?"
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[i]The bulkier figure's response was predictably sarcastic.[/i] Nah. It's his -blam!-ing mother. Give me a second. [i]With that, he switched his comms unit transmitter off, and the figure with him did as well.[/i] You're a hot target, at least for the Feds, and I can't say I really like them more than you.
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Ginger pulls a shard of durasteel out of his thigh, and tosses it aside with a grimace, "Well, hopefully that's for the best. I don't want an enamored merc taking me anywhere. From what I could tell in orbit, the Imperial base is a few clicks North from our position. Hope you two don't mind hoofin' it a little."
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[i]Wilson laughs.[/i] I walked from Vegas to -blam!-ing Boston. I'm fine. He's young, he'll be alright. [i]He says pointing to the man next to him.[/i]
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Ginger raised an eyebrow, ignorant of Ancient Earth geography, "I'll assume that walking from Vegas to Boston is impressive. It's not too far for us, but we should watch out for Imperial or Federation forces. The Imps might not recognize us, and I've gotten the impression that the Feds don't like us very much." He starts walking North, gesturing for you two to follow him
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Edited by Trashcan Jesus: 2/13/2016 6:49:36 PMFar as Phallus knows, we're supposed to be killing you. I don't exactly give a rats ass about the -blam!-in' Feds. Wolfie was just workin' with them to find you. [i]The two follow as instructed.[/i]
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"Killing me, I understand. But why would they want to spy on me?... Who hired you two?" He doesn't turn his head as he walks, merely continuing to look ahead.
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[i]The other figure speaks up, having not spoken yet.[/i] They needed disposable killers. Wilson was never hired.
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"Well, I suppose Wolfe's own son would make a pretty damn fine merc. Your father left some pretty big footprints to -" Whatever he might have said next was interrupted by massive booms, that reverberated throughout the planet. Federation ships had begun to exit warp in orbit, and even in the upper stratosphere. Several fleets, at least, all directed at the dormant Imperial fleet. "We may need to walk a little bit faster..."
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Oh shit.... [i]Wolf looks up, and then back to Hallwinter as Wilson looks up to the spacecraft.[/i] Why are they after you?
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Ginger pulls a chip out of a socket in his armor, almost the size of his fist. "This AI chip contains the only active launch codes for Imperial superweapons and installations across the galaxy. If we don't get this to that base, then the Empire will die before it stands a chance."
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ALWAYS -blam!-ING NUKES! HOW LONG DOES IT TAKE FOR US TO LEARN THAT THEY'LL -blam!- US UP?! [i]Wolf sighs as Wilson rants, and looks back to Ginger.[/i] How far to that base. They're tracking us, chances are it was the money. They'll get to his Vertibird, which is about a mile west, but not us. I took the cash out of my bandolier during the ride.
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Edited by GingerlyWalnut3: 2/14/2016 3:06:52 AM"Good, that should buy us an hour or so. Chances are they'll get to the base before us, so expect a bit of a fight." Hallwinter still remains unarmed, and though he's capable without them, he'd still be at a disadvantage without one, "Can either of you spare a gun? I'm kinda feeling left out here."
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[i]Looking back down at Ginger, Wilson slides his MG3 off of his back and tosses it over to him. He then slides two belts of .308 ammunition off of his armor as well, tossing them over.[/i] Pretty simple to operate. Pop the top, put the first bullet on that feed tray, lock the top, then charge it with the handle on the side. Each of those belts is mil-spec API with a tracer every tenth. 300 a belt, 1500 RPM. I'd tell ya that it kicks like a mother-blam!-er but it doesn't if you're in armor. She's a modern MG42.
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[spoiler]Ima pick the ruins clean[/spoiler] [b]A man was seen, standing in what seemed to be Federation Power Armor, although it wasn't exactly it It seemed to be more crude, roughly repaired and maintained Must be a scavenger, as he was picking through the remains[/b]
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Ginger peaks out of the cockpit, not recognizing the man who scavenged the wreckage. With two rapid punches, he shatters the thick glass windows, and crawls out of the cockpit. He appears unarmed, but looks can often be deceiving. Blue static crawled across the ceramic plates of his armor, as his shields attempted to recharge to no avail.
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[b]The man noticed, but kept to himself, not trying to start a fight He pulls out a small grenade, pocketing it[/b] [i]"Not the normal man, I assume?"[/i]
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"I'm many things, but I'm hardly a normal man." Ginger grunts as the muscles stitch themselves together, and the skin regrows over the wound.
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[b]The man looks over, and chuckles, going back to picking over the remains of the ship[/b] [i]"Yeah, can already tell"[/i]
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Ginger recalibrates a tac-pad on his left wrist, likely checking the status of his armor. He then extends his right arm out, a blue halo forming around his closed fist, and suddenly, a shotgun forms in his hand. The beast is thick, grey, and blocky, almost as if it was built for him specifically instead of a human, and the nozzle spreads outwards like a dish. The gravity shotgun had long been a staple of Ginger's Arsenal, but it had been many years since he had required it's services. "Alright, well I'm off. Help yourself to anything on that ship."
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Edited by Xeno: 2/13/2016 12:31:49 AMYou see a man in black armor, a red visor gleaming from the helmet. His armor is bloodied and scratched. In each hand he holds a large hand cannon, and 2 katanas lay on his back. He seems to be sitting on a pile of corpses, talking to himself and staring into the air.
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Ginger peaked out of the cracked cockpit, recognizing the bodies as the ones of the Federation troopers he had killed on his way to Helios. With two rapid punches, he shatters the thick glass windows, and crawls out of the cockpit. He appears unarmed, but looks can often be deceiving.
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He stops his bickering and stares at you man. "Oh hello there."
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Ginger grunts as the deep gash repairs itself, the skin growing back over the flesh as the muscles stitch themselves together before your eyes. He doesn't speak, merely nods a greeting.
