#war logs

‘Mars: War Logs’

[PC] [SPAIN] [MAGAZINE] [2013]

“Mars: War Logs is a role-playing game set on the red planet of Mars. It has been nearly a century since the planet and its people were cast into chaos by a cataclysmic event. Player takes on the role of Roy Temperance, recently taken prisoner by the corporation Abundance. As Roy the player must navigate through the on-going struggle on Mars between feuding companies for the control of the most important resource on Mars after the cataclysm: water. As he makes his way through this struggle he must make several important choices that will not only define himself, but define the future of Mars as well. The gameplay consists of a tactical real-time combat system similar to that of the developer's previous role-playing game Of Orcs and Men that lets you tailor the way you fight your foes by choosing to emphasize melee, ranged combat, stealth or perhaps the powerful Technomants powers. The game also features recruitable companions and a system for crafting armor and weapons.” ~MobyGames

The name itself meant little to him, but a quick search later and -

Light solvent. A quick spray down on a dextre dripping with a mech’s vital fluids got it clean enough to move on to the next, the thinned fluids running down the rent armor and onto the improvised medical berths beneath.

“We’ve got three more coming in. Triage Black, see if there’s anything worth saving off them.” The runner ducked back out of the metallic cave that was both savior and detriment.

Searching, searching... There. he heeled over, spilling altitude as he let the sideslip take hold. Transforming and dropping flat-pade to the ground, he let his momentum carry him to his knees in the energon-soaked ground, withdrawing a dextre from his subspace and locking it into his wrist. He ignored the weak twitching of the Frontliner under his servos, delving the dextre into the soupy energon-coolant slurry around the mech’s spark chamber and quickly clamping off non-critical lines.

::I need medevac at these coordinates.::

:Negative, Windstorm. All transports are preoccupied. We can’t spare one to your location.::

“Slag the ‘cons into the pit for the rusting of the Unmaker to gnaw at their sparks.“ The acid in his tone found no target, and the mech under his dextre had mercifully gone into stasis from overheat and depletion. A quick hardline to one of the undamaged medical ports told him enough - he would have just enough time to airlift them.

A quick search through his subspace produced an injector loaded with filler-grade. Cheap, stable, and good for emergencies like this. He loaded a quick shot of the cheap slag into the wounded mech’s systems, and re-subspaced the injector and dextre, jumping up to transform.