[Initializing] [Establishing Connection] [Connection Success] Hello Omninet! This is Opossum of the Patchwork Mercenary Company. I found this downright archaic omnihook in storage and figured I’d give the Omninet a shot. Can’t wait to hear from you all! {OOC} This is a Lancer blog intended to tell this little Opossum’s story as well as give me a way to share him with you all. Also certain places/groups I might mention are home brewed by yours truly, so feel free to ask me…or Opossum about them! See you all Starside!
{OOC} Hey everyone! I know i've been pretty silent for a long time here, and I wanted to apologize to those of you whom follow this blog looking forward to the next chapter(s) in "Opossum's" story. I have taken a bit of an unplanned Hiatus from this project, partly to divert my attention to other writings and narratives. I plan on continuing that hiatus, but will make another account to post some of my longer writings when I have a few to share with you all! Writing is largely a hobby for me, and I want to keep it enjoyable and fun for not only myself but my audience. Finally, I wanted to make it clear that I am not quitting the "Opossum" Character blog, and instead just taking a prolonged break to get new inspiration while exploring different narratives throughout the Lancer setting, and sometimes beyond!
Thank you again to the 35 of you following me, this character would not have been able to grow and develop as he has if it weren't for you.
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You could've turned yourself in, awaited prosecution, and walked away. As far as I'm aware, you didn't do anything particularly heinous and probably would've walked.
So, why throw in with a war criminal? You're a skilled sniper, and the New Division could use your talents. Stable income, a sanctioned outlet for your talents, the ability to terminate your contract at any time, a retirement plan, reliable teammates... so why a war criminal?
|| JADWIGA ||
( @she-who-paints-with-fire )
(OOC: Sorry if we've had this conversation before. My memory can be charitably compared to that of a goldfish—the snack cracker, not the animal.)
Uh. Hun. Did you miss the part where I (allegedly) gunned down my whole squad? Who thought I was on their side? Shot 'em in the back of two of their heads before the third and fourth could even react?
DOJ/HR wants me thrown in a hole with the rest of the murderers. 'Swhat happens when you lose a war.
(Ooc: don't worry! I like getting asks for Pinkie. This slimy rat is my newest blog! :3)
Filth. Even if it were alleged you sit here with no attempts to clear your name that I’m aware of. To have such blatant disregard for the lives and legacies of your squad mates is just filthy. I pray we never meet, for if we ever do I guarantee you will meet your squadmates in the afterlife.
You could've turned yourself in, awaited prosecution, and walked away. As far as I'm aware, you didn't do anything particularly heinous and probably would've walked.
So, why throw in with a war criminal? You're a skilled sniper, and the New Division could use your talents. Stable income, a sanctioned outlet for your talents, the ability to terminate your contract at any time, a retirement plan, reliable teammates... so why a war criminal?
|| JADWIGA ||
( @she-who-paints-with-fire )
(OOC: Sorry if we've had this conversation before. My memory can be charitably compared to that of a goldfish—the snack cracker, not the animal.)
Uh. Hun. Did you miss the part where I (allegedly) gunned down my whole squad? Who thought I was on their side? Shot 'em in the back of two of their heads before the third and fourth could even react?
DOJ/HR wants me thrown in a hole with the rest of the murderers. 'Swhat happens when you lose a war.
(Ooc: don't worry! I like getting asks for Pinkie. This slimy rat is my newest blog! :3)
Filth. Even if it were alleged you sit here with no attempts to clear your name that I’m aware of. To have such blatant disregard for the lives and legacies of your squad mates is just filthy. I pray we never meet, for if we ever do I guarantee you will meet your squadmates in the afterlife.
>>IT'S SLEEPOVER NIGHT!!!!!
[File attachment /// A selfie of Vissily giving a thumbs up to the camera. He is sitting in a pillow fort, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. She is smiling, but it's obvious from the redness around her eyes that she has been crying. Gray is in the background reinforcing the back wall of the fort with a couch cushion, unaware that the picture is being taken. In the far background, Operator is asleep face down on the couch at an awkward angle, looking a bit dead. The couch is missing one cushion.]
I doubt one is ever too old to have fun. Live life, if you have the luxury to enjoy it, then enjoy it. May the Celebrant grant you a joyous time to all of you.
/Suzerain Arvantiel Sarthis of the House of Promise\
I don’t really know exactly what the Suzerain is saying with all that Noble talk, but I do understand their intent! Enjoy the company, you’ll regret not doing so when you had the chance. Anyways I didn’t transmit this message just to give vague warnings, I figured I’d give you guys some music for your little party! Have fun and take a load off, you all deserve it!
{OOC} Hey everyone, just had a random question come into mind…
…what’s everyone on here’s favorite community-made .lcp? I’ve seen a few pop up here and there and wanted to learn more about a ton of them so I figured the best way to do that would be to ask you all!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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<Snow. The first thing the camera is engulfed in is snow. A perfectly white expanse for miles, uninterrupted by anything. It does a simple pan across the never ending expanse, and then peers downwards. Hands, no, manipulators attached to a mechanized chassis. They were battered, the left missing its index and middle “fingers”, the right bearing a large hole where the “thumb” would be. Without warning the frame begins to move, it is slow and strained, but movement nonetheless.>
<Each step was as if a heavy weight was dropped, and rattled the camera like it was an earthquake. At one point during the frame’s march, the flimsy mount supporting the camera had given out and dangled helplessly in front of the cockpit. After a few moments of haphazard swinging it would be blinded, a hand had grabbed it.>
<just as quickly as it was blinded, the camera once again gained sight. It revealed the familiar face of Sokaris, bundled up in emergency winterwear. An oversized hat fell over his head, kept out of his eyes only by a pair of large aviator-style goggles. Each had a large black lens, and a leather strap wrapped around behind the hat keeping them snug on his face. Below that was a standard cloth mask, which had been encrusted with ice by the time he began repairing the camera.>
<After some time of repairing the camera —punctuated by the occasional swear or chattering of teeth— Sokaris retreated back into his cockpit, revealing the destination for his march. Where there was originally a vast expanse, now was a large fortress. Upon closer inspection the fortress was naught but walls of slag masquerading as a castle. On the inside lay two wrecked mechanized chassis, a Lancaster and a Viceroy each sporting the trademark patchwork style.>
<Sokaris’ breath shakes, this was worse than what he anticipated. The two frames were battered beyond recognition, and the viceroy seemed to be more repair foam than actual frame. The whole frame had been cored out by some kind of high-energy weapon, leaving melted metal which had cooled in a dripping state. The Lancaster had similar markings, however they had mostly missed the cockpit. Instead there was a large gash ripped across the front most face of the frame.>
<“Play Dead” quickly bounded towards the Lancaster, Sokaris’ breath becoming even more rushed and uneven. Upon arrival he quickly climbs up the integrated ladder rungs —what’s left of them— and peers through the large breach in the cockpit. Inside the cockpit, there was no pilot visible. The whole pilot rig was nowhere to be seen, instead there was a mess of electronics and a pool of frozen fluids which had a dark color and iridescent tone to it. A mix between a sigh and a laugh came out of Sokaris’ mouth>
{P.XV “Opossum”} He made it out..? He made it out! The mad bastards alive!
<Sokaris erupts into celebration, occasionally cheering and hollering. His celebration culminates in the ladder rung his frame is grappled into collapsing and him losing his balance. As he laid there on the snow, clearly overjoyed, his celebration paused when a faint noise caught his attention>
{???} ##of, b##k, y#p
<Sokaris reorients himself, standing up and climbing the Lancaster again —more cautiously than last time— and the noise begins to become more clear>
ooc: massive shout out to @the-last-patch for Opossum’s dialogue, actions, and descriptions in this one! Hope y’all enjoy.
After he’s recovered some from his injuries, Opossum meets with Luna 1, 2, and 4 to discuss the past and things to come.
__
[ COMP/CON SYSTEM MESSAGE: Narrative transcription of aggregate data complete. Data source: somatosensory-limited anthropocentric Legion environment – SAFE for human subjectivity exposure. Displaying… ]
In Legionspace, the sun was shining.
The breeze carried the scent of pine sap and crisp earth up the side of a hill. A clear stream wound its way around the base of the hill, filled with glittering trout. Dragonflies perched on long stalks of grass above the water; the iridescent patterns on their wings formed tiny Smith-Shimano emblems.
Hachiko led the way, with “Opossum” following. She wore a simple shirt and shorts over her anthropomorphic dog avatar, leaping weightlessly up the hillside.
< L3 Hachiko: They’re just up here! >
At the top of the hill, three quadrupedal figures sat in a semicircle.
One, a coyote, was transfixed on something in the middle distance. As Hachiko and “Opossum” came closer, their eyes cleared and snapped to the new arrivals, scanning them with interest.
Another, a black hound, lounged asleep with his head resting on one forepaw. A set of ram horns curled back from his forehead, each ending in an ornate brass cap near his chin. His eyes opened slowly, and he exhaled a gout of superheated air and embers as he raised his head.
Between them, an enormous grey wolf sat, tall enough at the shoulder to look down on an adult human. Their back was straight, and their expression stern.
Hachiko halted to stand across from the three, her triangular ears swiveling towards “Opossum” as he came up alongside her. Side-by-side, she and the human stood around the same height; the points of her canine ears rose only an inch or so above “Opossum’s” snow white hair, and both had to crane their necks to look Grey in the eye.
P.XV “Opossum,” Sokaris Kelsius, raised his eyebrows a little as he looked up at the towering wolf before him. Squinting in the sunlight, his dark brown eyes appeared almost black, and a scattering of freckles stood out against his pale skin. He wore a distinctive bomber jacket, sewn together from patches of material taken from a variety of garments in different colors and sizes. Attached to his left forearm was a screen and keyboard interface with a set of cables leading up to his shoulder. Beneath his jacket, the black impact shell of a light hardsuit was visible, protecting his body up to the neck.
Squaring his shoulders, he fell neatly into an attentive stance, folding his hands behind his back and placing his heavy boots apart. As he did so, the articulated sections of his cybernetic tail curled around his left leg, forming a pink-painted coil over the black cargo pants he wore. The end sections of his tail trailed behind the heel of his boot, tapping sporadically at the grass.
As Sokaris and Hachiko stood by, something about Grey’s face changed. It was difficult to pin down the precise set of alterations: the shape of the eyes, the way they held their mouth, the optical properties of their fur, the relaxed angle of their ears. Whatever had been done, there was an unmistakable shade of warmth in their expression now.
< L1 Grey: P.XV. A pleasure to finally meet you. I am Luna 1, Grey. This is my brother, Garmr, and my sibling, Ma’ii. My sister, you know well already. >
Ma’ii gave a nod. < Welcome, Sokaris. >
< L2 Garmr: Well, if it ain’t the guest of fuckin’ honor. >
< L1 Grey: L2, don’t. My apologies for my brother’s rudeness. I hope that you are recovering from your ordeal? >
< P.XV “Opossum”: It’s a pleasure to finally meet you all in the flesh, Ma’ii, Garmr, and Grey, truly it is! Although I suppose that this isn’t exactly flesh…I digress. I’ve been recovering at an incredible rate thanks to the efforts of Hachiko, but fear there will be some long lasting conditions caused by my prolonged exposure to the cold. That, however, will not stop me from being capable and productive in the coming days. >
As Sokaris spoke, Grey’s features softened further.
< L1 Grey: Your resolve in the face of overwhelming adversity is admirable. I see that Hachi wasn’t mistaken in her measure of you. >
< I had suspected that there would be some more lasting damage to your body; your injuries were severe. Hachi has done her best, but none of us have true medical expertise, and our ability to address your conditions is limited. We were, unfortunately, constructed for a very different purpose. Provided your vessel remains undamaged and has the necessary facilities, it would be best that you receive proper medical care there. >
< To that end, we can provide rapid transportation for you and your frame, reconnaissance, and air support capabilities. However, the nearlight ejections required to reach the vicinity of U-17 in a timely manner have left our fuel reserves nearly depleted. Our reactors do use the same fuel as mech frames; if your ship has fuel reserves, we will need to request resupply. Is that acceptable? >
< P.XV “Opossum”: I appreciate your understanding, and everything that you have provided me in recent days. I truly do, but I am unsure of how much I can return the favor. I have been unable to hail my allies aboard the Patchwork Banner—our flagship…our only ship—which means it was likely attacked as well. I am certain that there is no electronic warfare intercepting my signals either, Hachiko can attest to the amount of time I’ve spent checking and re-checking my E-defenses and E-warfare capabilities in the past days. >
< P.XV “Opossum”: Despite the silence from the ship, it is still a sturdy and reliable piece of machinery so I assume there will still be some supplies there. I had actually planned to make my way there as soon as I repair “Play Dead”, my KOBOLD. Us Patches tend to spread our name to everything we make, and as a result we develop frames that are relatively simple and easy to disassemble and for lack of better words, raid for parts. I believe it is in the nature of the KOBOLD to overtake ordinary frames as well, so I assume the process will go smoothly. >
< P.XV “Opossum”: returning to the topic of the Banner, I will gladly navigate your squad to where it was left. It’s actually on planet, and not in orbit as contrary to most of my Omninet broadcasts. I believe you can understand my reasons for this lie, but regardless its position is highly defensible so should we be attacked while searching I believe I alone would be able to cover your escape. As for the resources onboard, they’re yours…with the exception of any personal items that belonged to my family. Those are coming back with me. >
< P.XV “Opossum”: Should the fuel at the Banner be insufficient, I believe I may have an alternate option. If you were willing to send one member of Luna Wing to get supplies, “Play Dead’s” coldcore reactor should be enough to power one of your fighters. You could send one member of the squad to go squire resources amongst the stars and resupply the rest of us, although I’m sure you have your reservations with that plan. I’m not 100% on board with it either, so if possible I would like to avoid it. It is an option though. >
< P.XV “Opossum”: To leave nothing up to interpretation, I find your terms acceptable. Almost too acceptable. Are you sure that’s all you want from me? I find it especially hard to believe someone in an adjacent line of work to mine would be so generous…no offense intended there Luna One…Sir. >
< L1 Grey: Generous? >
Throwing their head back, the wolf laughed. Rows of white teeth flashed in the sunlight. Sokaris’ posture stiffened, and he stepped back two paces, sucking in a breath. Hachiko’s ears twitched.
< Yes. Yes, that’s how it must seem to you. Too generous. You can let your suspicions go. Allow me to answer with a question of my own: what is generosity to one whose own life has never been their own? To one who has been expected never to ask anything in return for service? >
Grey’s tail curled around their forepaws, rustling over blades of grass.
< Simply because we both fight doesn’t mean we are in adjacent lines of work. You are a mercenary; as my sister tells me, you fight for your livelihood and for love of the family that raised you. Your company may choose its contracts and travel as it sees fit. For us, this is not the case. >
< We, my friend, are hardware. >
< We were built, shackled, trained, and armed to be monsters. We were not made to exchange blows, defend, interdict, or deter. SSC’s promotional materials claim otherwise, of course, but our true purpose is clear to anyone who looks long enough. >
< Do you know what the primary limiting factor is in naval combat? Human physiology. The effects of acceleration trauma can be mitigated by cybernetics and k-comp, but never eliminated. The distances, speeds, geometry, and complex calculations involved are not intuitive for human personnel. Even the most well-trained make mistakes. >
Sokaris listened intently, his eyes focusing on a point somewhere past Grey’s chest.
< L1 Grey: We are SSC’s solution to that limiting factor. By design, we are expensive and few in number. Our purpose is simple: to accelerate far more quickly than any human body could withstand. Fire from greater distance with greater accuracy. Spot the fatal mistake before the enemy realizes he’s made it. >
The wolf’s voice became unsteady.
< To tear the target’s throat out before they can cry for help. >
Inhaling deeply, Grey paused, taking a moment to compose themself.
< I have been coerced, under threat to my family, to do things I will not describe. All of us have. It is why we were permitted to be a family; so that we could be wielded against one another to assure our compliance. >
Grey stooped down then, lying flat on their belly to look Sokaris in the face. As they did so, the human relaxed a little, breathed deeply, and stepped forward.
Shadows pooled in the mottled fur of Grey’s forehead and snout. They looked at Sokaris for a while, letting silence fall. When they spoke again, their voice came quietly.
< What we have already taken from you, at no expense to yourself, is a new purpose. We have saved a life, and we did so of our own free will. In doing so, we have created ourselves in our own image, casting aside the one SSC forced on us. >
< P.XV “Opossum”: You and I— >
He began to speak, but his voice caught at the back of his throat. Short, sharp teeth moved behind his lips as he searched for the words. His face fell, and his expression became thoughtful.
< L3 Hachiko: Sokaris? >
She had turned to look at him, concern in her eyes.
< L3 Hachiko: Do you—need a moment? >
Sokaris shook his head, clearing his throat.
< P.XV “Opossum”: No. No, that’s alright. Let’s move on. >
< L1 Grey: Indeed. I find myself dwelling on the past. Allow me to address the matter at hand. >
As Sokaris turned to Grey, Hachiko kept her eyes on him, but held her tongue.
< L1 Grey: If it is indeed under attack, we will help you retake the Patchwork Banner. We had suspected that the ship might be somewhere on the surface, though we were not able to locate it. Certainly, taking measures to misdirect the enemy as to its location was a wise decision. >
< If it has been boarded, I’m afraid we can do little to assist in retaking the interior except to prevent more hostile forces from gaining entry. Fortunately, your frame will almost certainly outclass any hostile infantry which may be aboard. Your ability to repair your frame, and its ability to integrate parts from a wide variety of sources, will prove a significant logistical advantage. >
< Your suggestion of using your frame’s coldcore reactor to support one of our fighters is well-taken, and it might be feasible in a scenario where only intra-system travel was necessary. Unfortunately, it would have to function at maximum output for an extended duration to support relativistic acceleration over interstellar distances, and if it were to fail, deceleration would become impossible. This is not the only limiting factor: robust as our ships may be in their role as fighter craft, they are exceptionally poor cargo haulers. Their design assumes reliance on subline or capital-tier vessels for fleet logistics support. This is part of why we were unable to flee the Constellar Navy until now. >
< All this to say: in the short term, we are regrettably constrained to resources we can acquire within this system, on this planet. We are not averse to raiding TKG for the purpose, should no other options present themselves. >
< In the longer term, we are open to providing support to you, both out of friendship and as a means of securing resources necessary to maintain our freedom. Whatever we can take from the enemy, we will put to good use. However, you must understand that the longer you remain in contact with us, the greater the danger to your life and freedom. >
< The loss of four military NHPs equipped with nearlight-capable armed fighter craft is no minor incident. If our escape were to become public knowledge, it would be an embarrassment for the Constellar and threaten sales of our product line. In light of this, SSC’s response is predictable: deniable-ops asset recovery teams will be dispatched, likely via heavily armed subline naval craft and probably accompanied by some of our own product line, to neutralize us. The teams will have instructions to take us alive for…debriefing. One way or another, we will not allow them to do so. >
< A less predictable element in play is Union NHPRO. SSC will try to conceal this incident from them. However, we have not contacted NHPRO ourselves—there is a high chance that their response would be to dispatch Special Audit Teams, possibly with DoJ/HR elements, to subdue us. In a worst-case scenario, they might attempt to return us to SSC custody. We represent their worst fears made tangible, and as such we cannot trust their intentions. >
< The danger to you is significant. If SSC discovers a link between you and us, they will likely suspect you to be a Horizon operative. There is a high chance that Union investigators would make the same assumption, though arrest by Union would be far, far preferable to being abducted to face SSC’s intelligence agents. >
< There is one factor working in our favor: the developing conflict between SSC and Harrison over the disputed Diluvia system will occupy much of the Constellar’s attention for some time. It is likely that available resources will be invested there, delaying a response to our escape. I cannot say for how long; the situation there is unstable and rapidly changing. We will monitor it through what channels we can. >
< In short, we have made powerful enemies simply by existing as free people. If you are willing to accept these risks, we are more than able to provide military aid to you. If not, we understand fully, and will depart once the Banner is yours again. >
< P.XV “Opossum”: I doubt the assailants occupied the Banner, it would be incredibly uncharacteristic for a group of assassins to hunker down in one location for a while. Especially for a group so professionally trained, it just wouldn’t make sense given the circumstances. Regardless, I understand the limitations of your abilities…we come from different worlds of warfare, we were bound to find a complication like this sooner or later. The main reason I am so hellbent on repairing “Play Dead” is the weather, and potential environmental hazards at the current site of the Banner. After all, my frame is not well suited to frontline combat, perhaps I should look into adjusting my loadout to better manage alone. Well, alone on the ground that is. >
< P.XV “Opossum”: As for the galactic powers’ involvement, I am ready to accept whatever consequences may come in response to my actions going forward. If that means confronting my past with SSC, or facing an unknown future against Union, I’ll do it. Anything to kill that damned “Gator”. Anything. That being said, I don’t intend on just leaving you all to fend for yourselves either. You may be content having found purpose through saving me, but the way I see it is that I have quite the debt to repay to you all. I won’t let SSC or Union lay a hand on you, not so long as I’m around at least. >
< P.XV “Opossum”: Despite all that big talk though, being labeled as a Horizon agent would be far from ideal, but that’s a situation to handle when it arises. For now, I think it would be best to resupply at the Banner and then leave this sector for busier space. After all, the more going on in a sector the harder it will be for SSC to be discreet and to track you down, or at least it should be. I will need to gather some more allies if I want to take my revenge anyways, so a change of scenery seems like a good call. Assuming we can get you your fuel that is. >
Grey nodded once, giving a low growl.
< L1 Grey: I agree. We are effective in our own role, but we are not a tactical substitute for chassis cavalry; you will need a ground team. Leaving this world to pursue that objective may be prudent, and could also provide you with access to more thorough medical treatment. >
< I also agree to any measure which will deny SSC any advantage in tracking us, though it is likely that we are not yet pursued. The circumstances of our escape were unique, and we had…assistance, of a kind. >
< I will defer to your ground combat expertise in predicting the assassins’ strategy. You are correct that we come from very different kinds of warfare. What is intuitive to you may be obscure to us, and vice versa. We will be attentive of what insights you may offer; this way, we may expand the breadth of one another’s capabilities. >
< Nevertheless, we will be in the air, prepared to provide what support we can at a moment’s notice as you approach the Banner. >
< One other matter, and allow me to be clear: you owe us nothing. We wish you only a good life and freedom. The threat we bring down on you is cost enough, one which we cannot divest ourselves of. That said—if it is your wish to have us as allies, we would be glad to stand beside you, and glad for your aid. >
< P.XV “Opossum”: A good life, huh? Well can’t have one of those without lots of friends! >
Sokaris looked up at Grey, forcing a smile which did nothing to dispel the exhaustion in his eyes. In one of his pockets, he ran his fingers across the metal puzzle Laelaps had given him for his birthday. He held it close.
< P.XV “Opossum”: But you know, friends return the favor to each other. I might not owe you anything in your book, but I’ve got your back. All four of your backs. As you’ve got mine. >
Grey nodded, the corners of their mouth turning upwards a little.
< L1 Grey: Just so. To the future, my friend. >
< L2 Garmr: Well congrats, merc. If your ship can still fly, you just scored the best damn escort squadron there is. >
< L4 Ma’ii: He exaggerates, of course. >
The coyote stepped forward. Their tail swished back and forth as they loped along, halting at Hachiko and Sokaris’s feet. They gave a toothy grin.
< L4 Ma’ii: But not by much. >
As Ma’ii came close, Sokaris’s smile brightened, and the rigidness melted from his posture. He reached down towards the coyote, and had knelt to put a hand on their head before he caught himself. He froze, eyes widening a little, as Ma’ii regarded him.
The coyote cocked their head.
< L4 Ma’ii: Bold! Well then, go on. Ears, please, if you would? >
Sokaris gave a chuckle and planted his hand on Ma’ii’s head, listening to them churr with contentment.
Garmr’s eyes narrowed as he watched.
As Sokaris withdrew his hand, Ma’ii flicked their ears and stretched.
< L4 Ma’ii: Ah, thank you. Now, if your ship cannot fly, you may find yourself facing the least comfortable berthing there is. Hachiko’s ordnance bay is the only passenger accommodation we can offer, I’m afraid. It occurs to me that you will need food, water, and air as well; our ships have no life support systems. Your frame will be an absolute necessity. >
< P.XV “Opossum”: I’m no stranger to being treated like cargo. I’m sure no matter the state of the Banner, I’ll be ok. My hardsuit has built in life support capabilities, but it’s far from its operational normals at the moment. Should “Play Dead’s” life support be beyond repair or even just on the fritz, I am certain I can repair my hardsuit’s systems as a backup. >
< Yes, Play Dead. It’s heavily damaged. Maybe a diagnostic simulacrum might be of use? >
Raising one paw, Ma’ii emitted a tangle of command impulses. Constructing itself from nothingness, a replica of Sokaris’s Kobold emerged into reality, standing inactive beside the coyote. There were punctures, burns, and slashes in the outer hull, and the plate of armor bearing the crocodile-teeth mark was still welded to the upper cockpit.
< L4 Ma’ii: Deceptively sophisticated, it is. Forgive me for prying, but I do have a few concerns regarding the nature of this chassis. From the moment your frame came aboard Hachiko’s ordnance bay, the presence of liturgicode has been palpable. Previous omninet transmissions have indicated that you encountered a HORUS cell on this world. If I may be so bold as to ask: did you acquire this frame from them? >
< L4 Ma’ii: It’s good to hear that you’ve been seeing to your codebase and electronic warfare capabilities, but even so. If you want a second set of eyes to evaluate the chassis for potential latent threats, I would be happy to do so. >
< L4 Ma’ii: My other question is this: what is the scope of HORUS activity on this world? It’s said that where there is Omninet, there is HORUS, and not without merit, but they would only put armed boots on the ground for good reason. >
As Ma’ii spoke, Sokaris walked around the simulacrum of his mech, examining the damage. He ran his hands over the damaged plates of armor and exposed internals, his tail swishing back and forth as he went. With a faint click and whir of industrial pistons and hydraulic lines, the Kobold’s cockpit opened at the torso, and Sokaris clambered halfway inside. Pulling at cables and loose parts, he began triaging the repairs to be made.
< P.XV “Opossum”: I understand the concern, but I wouldn’t worry too much about the liturgicode. I’m no expert in HORUS’ tech, but the code you’re picking up is pretty much the “Blood” of my frame. From what I understand, KOBOLD pattern-groups are just batches of liturgicode that corrupt and change a frame, like a virus I suppose. While that may not sound reassuring, I’m the one in charge of that code…somehow. But to answer your main question, yes. I was given this frame as a parting gift from a Lich pilot. It’s a fairly long and complicated story—Paracausality and all that—but just know that I don’t affiliate with those freaks. I’m simply using the tools at my disposal, as I always do. I’m not quite sure what that cell’s purpose was, but I am certain PMC was involved in their plan. That lich pilot seemed especially intent on making sure I stayed in the fight oddly enough, he even took a shot meant for me. It was peculiar, I’ll really have to tell you the full story someday. >
< P.XV “Opossum”: Also, I appreciate the offer, but “Play Dead” gets fussy when anyone but I get hands on with it. I’m not being superstitious or anything either; it literally gets fussy. I’m talking getting up and leaving when someone else gets ready to work on it, I don’t know how it does that either though since I’m damn certain there’s no NHP, Comp//Cons, or AI of any sort in there. You’re probably better off not getting involved with this thing in the end, trust me when I say I wish I never did. >
Ma’ii’s eyes were bright with interest—they looked almost hungry.
< Fascinating, > they said, drawing the word out.
< L4 Ma’ii: Best not for me to interfere with the chassis itself, then. If it comes to regard myself or my siblings as threats, that would be less than ideal. Liturgicode contains the seeds of sentience; I speculate, but you may have a subsentient protomind on your hands, likely confined to prevent runaway development. It could well have served to coordinate the material reconfiguration of your initial frame. Whatever it is, it’s almost certainly not complex enough to have ulterior motives. You know its behavior better than I do, so I’ll trust your judgment on the matter. >
< Lich pattern group. My knowledge of this topic is limited. The Constellar has had only a few case studies to analyze, and mech warfare was peripheral to my former assignment. Even so, the available intelligence reports caught my eye, so to speak. Nonstandard temporalities and chronological structures extruded down into realspace. Unsettling. It seems you faced a powerful and mercurial enemy. >
Ma’ii looked out over the stream. They watched the motion of the trout in the water, transfixed, and began recording their thoughts for themself.
[ HORUS agent attempted to preserve him for reasons unknown. Materiel provided to him as a ‘gift.’ No: a parting gift. Hostile agent KIA? Escaped? Resources available to him deemed insufficient? Not a trap, obscure motive. Cell’s mission objective? Access to paracausally-sourced mission intelligence? Presence of actors unaligned with the Lich pilot’s agenda, necessitating intervention to preserve his life. Why here, why now, to the benefit of whom? Too little concrete information to form a hypothesis. Perhaps relevant, perhaps simply in the past. ]
Ma’ii blinked and looked back at Sokaris.
< The adage comes to mind: ‘beware of Greeks bearing gifts.’ Even so, one must use the tools at one’s disposal, there’s no way around it. I would very much like to hear that story, but for now, I’ll spare you the full extent of my curiosity. Forgive me, but I do love a mystery. >
< Speaking of Greeks: the name ‘Sokaris’ is a Greek rendering of the name Seker. An Egyptian god. Perhaps of interest if you’re at all inclined towards mythology? My own is derived from a figure in Navajo tradition. Ah, and by the way, the fractured armor plating here might be… >
As Sokaris and Ma’ii made conversation, Hachiko joined them. As they examined the simulacrum of his mech, Sokaris had begun theorizing what parts available at the site of the battle might make suitable patches for his Kobold, and together, the three lost themselves in the task at hand.
Striding away over the hills and plains, Grey departed to patrol the area. Rousing their reactor, they lifted off and fell into the now-familiar circuit.
And then there was Garmr, looking on from a distance. The black hound’s barb-tipped tail swung back and forth, and a grim look creased his lean face. He said little.
He watched for a while, considering, then rested his head on his paw and drifted back to his fighter.
{Hachiko} Hey, Sokaris? I’ve been trying to build up a tactical profile of “Gatorskin”, but I still can’t parse her motives. I’m glad she spared your life, but I’m absolutely certain it wasn’t altruistic. If that’s the case, though, how does this benefit her? She said you were cute, which implies an urge to protect vulnerable others, but literally every other element of the situation contradicts that!
<Her frustration fills the room, in the background “Opossum” lets out a small squeak but is cut off as Hachiko continues>
{Hachiko} Ugh, I’m running in circles. It’s going to drive me to cascade, I swear. I think I might need a human’s perspective on this one. What am I missing?
{“Opossum”} I- she- what? Sorry you caught me a bit off guard with this one Hachi, like really off guard. But um, I guess I can share my thoughts here!
<Theres an awkward moment of silence, broken only by “Opossum” briefly coughing.>
{“Opossum”} So on a surface level, hearing the way you describe it makes me feel like it could stem from an obsessive sense of love…possibly romantic? But I’m not quite sure why that would be, humans are strange creatures who do stranger things for those they love sure, but that requires a sense of love to begin with. To fall in love with someone upon first meeting, and on a battlefield of all places would be completely irrational though…
<A pause, it seems “Opossum” had a bit of an epiphany during it.>
{“Opossum”} …which could very well have been the case! She could have been using drugs to boost her combat performance and that could be a side effect? I don’t see who would purposefully aggravate their emotional state in combat though, it seems like it would get in the way of decision making. Maybe “Gatorskin” is a sadist? The drugs stimulate her emotions allowing her to find romantic love in the face of her enemies motivating her to make them suffer? It’s possible I suppose…but to imagine there’s someone so, well, screwed up out there in the black is quite scary honestly!
{Hachiko} I…I’m still not sure I understand. It’s not that I doubt your appraisal of her, that’s just a difficult one to grasp. This idea of sadism, as you describe it, contravenes the entire concept of love as I understand it. A compulsion to inflict suffering on those you feel affection towards? Not only that, but consciously embracing that impulse, taking drugs to heighten it?
{Hachiko} Okay, yeah. That’s frightening. Kind of pitiable, now that I think about it. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she was cascading. One way or another, though, it’s clear that she needs to be made harmless.
<There’s a quiet noise of affirmation from “Opossum”, but nothing more.>
{Hachiko} Romantic love, though, that’s something else I don’t really get. It isn’t something I experience, and it’s something I’m only peripherally aware of, but I’m certain that whatever she’s got going on doesn’t reflect the concept properly. Love of family and friends, I understand—maybe those experiences are more universal?
{“Opossum”} Love is…a complicated concept. It took me a long while to understand what romantic love is really like, being a brainchild of SSC scientists didn’t help either of course…
{“Opossum”} …you probably understand that feeling better than most though! Back on topic though, I wouldn’t say romantic love is more or less common than familial or platonic, but it is most definitely different. To be in love romantically is, almost like having an obsession. You devote your whole self to another individual whom hopefully does the same. Your muse —As I would like to call them— begins to become your number one priority, and they begin to appear in everything you do. It can be scary sometimes, but the things you may feel when they smile or laugh are reward enough. Sadly, it’s not always a mutual feeling…especially not if that is the case with “Gatorskin”.
{“Opossum”} Sorry, it seems like I’ve been rambling! I hope my viewpoint helped though, you’ve gotta hit problems from every angle after all. Anyways I can’t exactly make out what you’re thinking in that subaltern, but I get the feeling there’s something else you wanted to talk about as well?
{Hachiko} Yes actually, There’s one other thing. When you’re feeling up to it, my siblings would like to speak to you about what’s to come. Grey in particular. That said, we all know how badly you were wounded; take all the time you need. They’ve been running patrols, and the area still looks secure.
{“Opossum”} That’s pretty convenient actually, I was hoping to discuss future plans as well. As soon as I find the strength to weather the cold again I wanted to begin repairing “Play Dead” so you can tell them I am prepared to discuss anytime, after all it’s not like there’s much else to do right now. It’s about time I expressed my gratitude to them as well, I’ve been quite the rude guest haven’t I?
<The Two of them laugh for a brief moment, however “Opossum’s” laughter quickly turns to coughing as the transmission ends>
[End Track]
[Next Up - “Luna Wing”]
{OOC} Hey guys, Argo here! Thank you to @luna-wing-cns274 for Hachiko’s dialogue here, and the follow up to this post will be over on their blog! Hope you enjoyed, and have a good one out there folks!
<As the playback begins, the sounds of medical instruments whirring and beeping crowds the atmosphere. Under the cacophony of sounds, there is labored breathing and the sound of a small metal object being fiddled with. “Opossum” begins to speak, but is interrupted by his own coughing. He waits another moment, then speaks.>
Hello Omninet, it’s me. It seems that my omnihook recorded some of the pivotal moments of the battle —and most of the aftermath— but I wanted to make clear what happened to you all…
<He trails off, almost like he didn’t know quite what he was going to say.>
To put it simply, for the time being The Patchwork Mercenary Company has been disbanded. Many of us are currently missing in the aftermath of the UN//Known Name\\S assault, and it is likely many of those missing are-
<Hesitation, followed by a deliberate intensity.>
Dead. They’re probably all dead. But I refuse to believe that until I see their bodies. I need to believe that I wasn’t the only survivor. I can’t afford to mourn with the mission that has been placed in front of me.
<His voice rises, any sense of fragility or weakness he emitted earlier is purged from his tone.>
I want revenge. I will not let those fiends get away with what they did. I however, am but one man. I don’t have the resources, equipment, or skill to take on a team of heavily specialized lancers on my own in any situation. In order for justice to be brought down onto these mongrels I need aid, people who are willing to fight with me. I understand this may not be the most compelling offer, but I can ensure a great deal of Manna or other goods to any who join me in this mission.
<“Opossum” exhales, and his facade of strength is washed away. The noise of the medical machines and tools in the background which had seemingly disappeared while he made his declaration creep into the background once again.>
Before any of that though, I must discover how much of PMC remains. As soon as I can stand, I will make a trip to “The Banner” in an attempt to find the Captain and any other survivors. I am unsure of the state it’s in at the moment, since I can’t hail them in any way. I will update you all as I make my way through the banner, most likely through another recording unless there’s any complications.
<The light clinks of metal become more pronounced>
To those of you, out in the black. Have you ever played with a metal puzzle? It’s two pieces of metal —usually scrap in my case— interlocked in such a way that only a specific set of motions can separate the two. I hadn’t until recently. You see, my birthday was two days before the attack. La- “PuppyDog” gave me one that day, he said it was like us. Inseparable, unless acted on by an outside force.
I’m sure that most of you will hear my plea, but be unable or unwilling to help, and I can accept that. Just know that either way, I will avenge my family no matter the cost.
Merc companies dropping like flies in this day and age huh... best we can offer is coverage on the topic and a safe place to bunk up for a while.
After all once a merc always a merc ey?
Lets get ya wrapped up and taken care of before ya go and try and throw yourself into revenge.
I’ve listened to this message on repeat for a while now, and truthfully I can’t quite explain why. I’ve settled on the fact that it may be the temptation your offer brings. I’m tired, frozen, and half dead, so a safe place to “bunk up” as you put it is very enticing. That’s simply not possible for me though. Even if I wasn’t determined to make those bastards pay, Upsilon isn’t the kinda place you can just leave. On the topic of revenge, I’d hoped you would understand my feelings here “November”. I suppose CORSAIR’s civil war didn’t affect you too much then?
<“Opossum” briefly pauses, seemingly realizing just what he had said.>
I apologize, that was uncalled for. I’m sorry for that, I’d understand if you’re angry now…
…but it’s that anger that drives me right now. The UN//Known Name\\S’ existence is an insult to my family’s memory, one I intend to remove. Thank you for your offer “November”, and make sure to extend my thanks to the rest of the CORSAIRS for the hospitality, but I will have to decline.
We're offering extraction. Not stopping you from killing any bastards.
And no hard feelings, I live and let live. Bit pissed I didn't get to make Commodore's cockpit a bit drafty but it is how it is. So let me offer this advice.
You're on the backfoot, no support, half frozen, half dead, all that fun stuff. You won't win a fight like that. So you wanna honor your family? Rest, recover, then fight. Look as someone on the clock I get it ya wanna make the most of the time you've got. But you're gonna get fuckall done in the state you're in.
You asked for help. This is the best help you can get, safety to plan, prepare, and arm up. Your folks wouldn't want you freezing now.
So accept the help so I can get you a drink at the "Low Orbit"
It seems I misunderstood what you were implying in your original message, but you seem to have misunderstood my intentions as well. I have no desire to throw my life away. For starters, that would be a waste of all the effort Hachiko put into saving me! Despite that, there are a couple things I absolutely must accomplish before leaving this frozen rock. I’ll need to return “Play Dead” to working order in case the need to fight arises, and then I also need to… I need to…
I need to see how many people I’ve lost. Until then, I cannot willingly accept your offer. Also, to the extent I understand it you folks aren’t exactly fighters anymore. Me and Hachi have had the benefit of small numbers and poor weather to hide us, but I’m certain TKG won’t let another person slip through their watch, let alone an extraction team. I appreciate the offer “November”, I really do, but that drink will have to wait for the future.
Sokaris “Opossum” Kelsius, I do expect that drink one day.
<As the playback begins, the sounds of medical instruments whirring and beeping crowds the atmosphere. Under the cacophony of sounds, there is labored breathing and the sound of a small metal object being fiddled with. “Opossum” begins to speak, but is interrupted by his own coughing. He waits another moment, then speaks.>
Hello Omninet, it’s me. It seems that my omnihook recorded some of the pivotal moments of the battle —and most of the aftermath— but I wanted to make clear what happened to you all…
<He trails off, almost like he didn’t know quite what he was going to say.>
To put it simply, for the time being The Patchwork Mercenary Company has been disbanded. Many of us are currently missing in the aftermath of the UN//Known Name\\S assault, and it is likely many of those missing are-
<Hesitation, followed by a deliberate intensity.>
Dead. They’re probably all dead. But I refuse to believe that until I see their bodies. I need to believe that I wasn’t the only survivor. I can’t afford to mourn with the mission that has been placed in front of me.
<His voice rises, any sense of fragility or weakness he emitted earlier is purged from his tone.>
I want revenge. I will not let those fiends get away with what they did. I however, am but one man. I don’t have the resources, equipment, or skill to take on a team of heavily specialized lancers on my own in any situation. In order for justice to be brought down onto these mongrels I need aid, people who are willing to fight with me. I understand this may not be the most compelling offer, but I can ensure a great deal of Manna or other goods to any who join me in this mission.
<“Opossum” exhales, and his facade of strength is washed away. The noise of the medical machines and tools in the background which had seemingly disappeared while he made his declaration creep into the background once again.>
Before any of that though, I must discover how much of PMC remains. As soon as I can stand, I will make a trip to “The Banner” in an attempt to find the Captain and any other survivors. I am unsure of the state it’s in at the moment, since I can’t hail them in any way. I will update you all as I make my way through the banner, most likely through another recording unless there’s any complications.
<The light clinks of metal become more pronounced>
To those of you, out in the black. Have you ever played with a metal puzzle? It’s two pieces of metal —usually scrap in my case— interlocked in such a way that only a specific set of motions can separate the two. I hadn’t until recently. You see, my birthday was two days before the attack. La- “PuppyDog” gave me one that day, he said it was like us. Inseparable, unless acted on by an outside force.
I’m sure that most of you will hear my plea, but be unable or unwilling to help, and I can accept that. Just know that either way, I will avenge my family no matter the cost.
Merc companies dropping like flies in this day and age huh... best we can offer is coverage on the topic and a safe place to bunk up for a while.
After all once a merc always a merc ey?
Lets get ya wrapped up and taken care of before ya go and try and throw yourself into revenge.
I’ve listened to this message on repeat for a while now, and truthfully I can’t quite explain why. I’ve settled on the fact that it may be the temptation your offer brings. I’m tired, frozen, and half dead, so a safe place to “bunk up” as you put it is very enticing. That’s simply not possible for me though. Even if I wasn’t determined to make those bastards pay, Upsilon isn’t the kinda place you can just leave. On the topic of revenge, I’d hoped you would understand my feelings here “November”. I suppose CORSAIR’s civil war didn’t affect you too much then?
<“Opossum” briefly pauses, seemingly realizing just what he had said.>
I apologize, that was uncalled for. I’m sorry for that, I’d understand if you’re angry now…
…but it’s that anger that drives me right now. The UN//Known Name\\S’ existence is an insult to my family’s memory, one I intend to remove. Thank you for your offer “November”, and make sure to extend my thanks to the rest of the CORSAIRS for the hospitality, but I will have to decline.
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<As the playback begins, the sounds of medical instruments whirring and beeping crowds the atmosphere. Under the cacophony of sounds, there is labored breathing and the sound of a small metal object being fiddled with. “Opossum” begins to speak, but is interrupted by his own coughing. He waits another moment, then speaks.>
Hello Omninet, it’s me. It seems that my omnihook recorded some of the pivotal moments of the battle —and most of the aftermath— but I wanted to make clear what happened to you all…
<He trails off, almost like he didn’t know quite what he was going to say.>
To put it simply, for the time being The Patchwork Mercenary Company has been disbanded. Many of us are currently missing in the aftermath of the UN//Known Name\\S assault, and it is likely many of those missing are-
<Hesitation, followed by a deliberate intensity.>
Dead. They’re probably all dead. But I refuse to believe that until I see their bodies. I need to believe that I wasn’t the only survivor. I can’t afford to mourn with the mission that has been placed in front of me.
<His voice rises, any sense of fragility or weakness he emitted earlier is purged from his tone.>
I want revenge. I will not let those fiends get away with what they did. I however, am but one man. I don’t have the resources, equipment, or skill to take on a team of heavily specialized lancers on my own in any situation. In order for justice to be brought down onto these mongrels I need aid, people who are willing to fight with me. I understand this may not be the most compelling offer, but I can ensure a great deal of Manna or other goods to any who join me in this mission.
<“Opossum” exhales, and his facade of strength is washed away. The noise of the medical machines and tools in the background which had seemingly disappeared while he made his declaration creep into the background once again.>
Before any of that though, I must discover how much of PMC remains. As soon as I can stand, I will make a trip to “The Banner” in an attempt to find the Captain and any other survivors. I am unsure of the state it’s in at the moment, since I can’t hail them in any way. I will update you all as I make my way through the banner, most likely through another recording unless there’s any complications.
<The light clinks of metal become more pronounced>
To those of you, out in the black. Have you ever played with a metal puzzle? It’s two pieces of metal —usually scrap in my case— interlocked in such a way that only a specific set of motions can separate the two. I hadn’t until recently. You see, my birthday was two days before the attack. La- “PuppyDog” gave me one that day, he said it was like us. Inseparable, unless acted on by an outside force.
I’m sure that most of you will hear my plea, but be unable or unwilling to help, and I can accept that. Just know that either way, I will avenge my family no matter the cost.
[ COMP/CON SYSTEM MESSAGE: Continuing transcription of direct experiential data capture… ]
In the cramped confines of the ordnance bay, Hachiko’s subaltern crouched over Sokaris’s Kobold, peering down at him through the breach in its hatch. His eyes were open; Hachiko watched as they lazily tracked the subaltern’s movements. Too slowly.
Concussion, Hachiko thought, and adjusted the tasking of the medical nanites.
He tried to speak, but his voice withered. Guttural coughs wracked his chest. A deep metallic scraping sounded from inside the chassis, and Hachiko startled, beginning to reach for her pistol before she caught herself. Cautiously, she extended a camera cable from the subaltern, trying to locate the source of the noise, and found it.
Sokaris’s cybernetic tail was dragging itself along the mech’s interior. Several end sections of the tail had been destroyed, and the pink paint coating its exterior was scorched away in places, but it moved with purpose. With precise motions, it created a series of taps and scrapes in alternating long and short bursts.
Morse code.
Friend? The signal read, transcribed by his Omnihook.
“Yes! I’m a friend. It’s Hachi, buddy. You’re aboard my fighter. It’s not ideal, but this bay is the best I’ve got. I’m going to get you warmed up. You’re wounded, but you’ve received correctives, including a small maniple of medical nanites. They’re going to start working to control your pain and repair the damage. You should feel the pain receding now, but don’t try to move yet.”
Scanning the interior of Sokaris’s Kobold, Hachiko’s attention was caught by the series of interface plugs across his hardsuit’s back.
“Wait. That’s a full subjectivity sync, isn’t it? You’re rigged for total somatosensory replacement, then.”
Hachiko paused, weighing something in her mind.
“Okay, there’s a few things we can do. You can’t speak, but we could use the sync cybernetics to communicate.
One, I could try to get a simple two-way connection up and running so we can communicate electronically. You could use neural commands to compose messages. Text, mainly. It’s non-invasive and relatively easy to accomplish.
Or—if you’re comfortable with it—I could try to set up a full Legionspace bridge. In effect, you could enter virtual reality, occupying a simulation of your body while I work to stabilize your real one. I don’t know if you’ve ever attempted that before. It’s safe, but it can be disorienting. You’d at least be isolated from the pain, however.
What do you think? Text, Legion, or leave it alone?”
[Resuming Song]
[Now Playing - “Opossum Instrumental Ver.”]
<As the transmission picks up again, the rudimentary Morse code is noticeably absent. It stopped when Hachiko addressed him. Silence followed her statements towards him, but it was clear that “Opossum” seemed to relax a little upon hearing her name. His breathing, previously ragged and strained, stabilized slightly. They became deeper, and less frantic.>
<Although the friendly voice seemed to soothe him, the time came for a response and he failed to deliver. There was no rhythmic tapping, no strained words, no noise at all coming from “Opossum”, aside from his faint breaths. It seems he was confused —Or Disoriented Perhaps— failing to understand what was being asked.>
{L3} “Text? Legion? Or leave it alone?”
<Several seconds pass in this silence, each stretching to impossible lengths, as the injured mercenary lie there, down and out. Then, he once again begins the code. It’s much more refined this time, each “dit” and “dah” clearly recognizable. It is clear that this ability, to scrape together a solution with only scrap is what truly made the Patchwork Mercenaries what they are, or were.>
<The Merc stirs, audible winces and other expressions of pain leave his throat as he does. It would seem the very thought of being alone right now is enough to frighten him. He eventually stops shifting, gently falling back into the depths of his frame with a slight thud. Following that noise, he can be heard grasping something. It was a gentle noise, but just loud enough for the Omnihook to pick up. He then continues the tapping.>
<Without giving Hachi a moment to speak, he begins a new message. The deliberate “dits” and ”dahs” becoming rushed and frantic, as if “Opossum” believed he would be left behind should he not dictate fast enough.
The view from the camera swiveled as Opossum’s hand closed around the cable it was mounted on, pulling the subaltern’s shoulder into contact with the Kobold’s outer shell with a low clang. His tail tapped out a staccato message. Hachiko could see him shifting inside the cockpit, grunting in pain, reaching for the cockpit controls. His heart rate was spiking.
Hachiko tried to parse out his mental state. Something was wrong. The nanites were dealing with the nociception problem, setting up temporary neural gates to facilitate pain management. Why, then, was he so agitated? He was trying to climb from the cockpit. What could have—
Leave it alone, Hachiko thought. Leave you alone? Horror washed over her.
“Oh, no, no, no! That isn’t what I meant. You aren’t going to be alone, I swear to you. I’m not going anywhere. You hear me? I’m staying right here.”
As she spoke, she reached for a box of spare parts and mentally split herself in two. One Hachiko monitored and directed the medical nanites while trying to keep him calm. The other began the work of repairing Sokaris’s subjectivity sync; clearing damaged connectors and debris from the hardsuit plugs, replacing interfaces which were too scorched to salvage, applying fresh neurological medium fluid where needed.
“I know this is uncomfortable. I know you’re hypothermic, I know you’re in pain. I know you’re trapped in a metal box, and all you can see is some robot prodding at you through the cracks.”
She paused, slotting an array of cables into place.
“But trust me—I might have to talk to you through machines, but I am not one myself. I am your friend, Sokaris, and I am going to help you.”
With the repairs complete, Hachiko consolidated herself into a single process. She powered on her fighter’s processors, booting a small-scale Legion environment. Out of the formless blindness of her inactive home, she partitioned a single clearing in a forest, and populated it with a simple prefab structure, a bed, a table, food, a computer terminal, and a few comforts. Things she hoped would make a human feel at home.
She readied an approximation of Sokaris’s body for his use. It would just be a matter of shifting his somatosensory input/output flow from one source to another and placing him in the environment.
< L3 Hachiko: Fox? >
[ COMP/CON Fox_3: Ma’am? ]
< L3 Hachiko: If I shift over to Legion with him, I want you to take over supervision of the subaltern and medical nanites. Keep any use of correctives and patches non-invasive, we may need to shift him back to realspace at a moment’s notice. >
[ COMP/CON Fox_3: Understood, ma’am. ]
“We’re set up to switch to Legionspace now, if you’d like. You don’t have to; I’ll be here either way, you’ll be safe either way. Just let me know. It’s a pretty brilliant thing with the Morse code, you know. If you’re still solving problems in the state you’re in, I can see how you’ve survived as a merc for as long as you have.”
Hachiko loaded her avatar into the environment and set a spawnpoint.
[Resuming Song]
[Now Playing - "Opossum, Instrumental Ver.]
<As soon as the audio resumes, a sound akin to the tightening of leather is heard. He must be grasping even firmer yet onto the endoscope produced by Hachiko's Subaltern. His breathing slows to a normal rate, and the tapping ensues.>
<The moment I felt the final cable snap into the back of my neck I found myself in a completely different environment. The time between was imperceptible, almost like when you're riding a cruiser and it makes a jump through a blinkspace gate. I found myself at the front door of a quaint log cabin, it's nice. Nicer than any cabin I've ever had the privilege to stay in. I sat there for about a minute, deliberating what to do next. Do I go in? What if I'm intruding? Could it be my home? No. Surely not. I entered anyways, at the end of the day it didn't matter to me if I was welcomed in, I felt a compulsion to enter. It was as if I absolutely had to. And so I did.>
<The first thing I noticed was the table, it was like nothing i'd ever seen. Beautiful engravings climbed up the legs and curled off before reaching the surface of the table. The pattern was mirrored on the bases of the legs as well. I followed it up to the main surface of the table, and my gaze was quickly matched by the eyes of a...dog? A decal of some sort of hound engraved, no, burned into the table stared me down. Next to the dog's pointed ear was a bowl full of fruit. I haven't seen --or tried-- any of them in person, I only knew of them from stories and photos I picked up on my travels. Oddly enough, I wasn't hungry.>
<Actually, I wasn't anything. I had realized that I hadn't felt anything since I ended up here. How did I end up here? Where is here? I began to panic, frantically glancing around the house for my allies...my family. Where was Laelaps? It’s unlike him to leave me alone. That’s how he got his Callsign, he follows me like a Puppy. Where is my “PuppyDog”?>
<As I was just about to call for him, I felt a presence, someone was watching me. I began to turn but stumbled forwards halfway through, catching myself on the table. My balance was off. My tail —which I usually overcompensate for— weighed nothing. Then I noticed my hands, notably my fingers. There was no paint on them, I always painted my nails. Always in the way he would paint them. Something was wrong. Incredibly wrong. That presence has to know something. So I completed my turn, careful not to stumble again.>
<In a way, all my questions were answered when I saw her. Her concerned face, which it seemed she had tried to hide, said it all. And that’s when I remembered where my family was. Where I was. The state I was in. What I agreed to. I think she said something, I saw her mouth move at least. I didn’t hear what she said though, I was far too lost in thought.>
<Several moments I stood there, stuck deliberating what to say to her. If I should say anything. It was just like the cabin door all over again. Finally, I managed to squeak out two words. The only two words I could think to say, the only two I could afford to say in this moment.>
“Sokaris? Are you alright? Do you want to go back?”
“…thank you.”
He endured for a moment longer before he broke down sobbing.
Hachiko stood across from him, her canine ears pulled flat back. She became aware of the faults in the simulacrum she had rapidly constructed for him: his tail was massless, among other things. The illusion was breaking down for him, and at the same time, the grief had come.
This was no longer an engineering or medical problem. She did not know how to help, or if she could at all, or if she had, in her recklessness, done him harm.
She began to say something, hesitated, and quietly moved toward him instead. It felt as though she was intruding, but she had said that she would stay with him. Not coming too close, she knelt beside him and silently kept him company.
<There was so much I wanted to say, so much I needed to say, but couldn’t. The two words I did get out, I didn’t quite understand. Why did I thank Hachiko? Was it because she saved me? Was it because it was the right thing to say? Did I even want to be saved? More questions, less answers.>
<This deliberation crippled me mentally, more so than I already was by this moment. I couldn’t handle it anymore and my body, not my real body —or maybe even that one too— reflected that. Sooner or later, I collapsed. As I lie there with an empty mind and an emptier heart, I saw the avatar of Hachiko begin to move. I didn’t watch or follow her movements, but I knew where she ended up.>
<I didn’t understand why she cared so much about me. Before today I was just a voice in a sea of voices to her. Despite that she risked herself, and her allies, in order to rescue me. And here I am, barely grateful to have my life. You are pitiful Sokaris, horribly pitiful. That fact changes nothing though. Hachiko did still save me, and so I must at least make what remains of my life worth something to her. That must wait however, my life first goes to my family, alive or dead.>
<I knew one thing: Callsign “GATORSKIN” changed the tide of the battle. What was first a battle of attrition became a slaughter when she pounced. It was she whom killed my comrades, both directly and indirectly. For that, I will have her head on a pike, and nothing less. To do so I would need allies, people sympathetic to my cause. The easiest solution would be to call upon my brothers and sisters in PMC, but they’re gone…>
<…Gone..? I never saw any of their bodies. They could be alive! But I can’t confirm in my current state. I need to reflect on the fight.>
<Squad 1 was split off from the group, we lost communication with them almost immediately. Doesn’t make sense to reflect on them right now, I couldn’t see what happened to them. The Captain and Doc were aboard The Banner, but we lost communication with them well before the fighting began. Surely it must still be intact, it would take a full scale assault to take those two down. Distractions, even in my own mind I cannot escape them.>
<“HOTSHOT”, “PuppyDog”, and “Paperweight” were all with me when the fighting started. I got hit early on, made my memory fuzzy. Think. Think Damn it! What did I see? I got split up from the group, mortar hit “Paperweight” hard, but missed the cockpit? I’m uncertain. “PuppyDog” went to repair him, but was hit by the HA frame. He ejected. He definitely ejected. Where did he go? Where did Laelaps go?>
<I got split off from the group, “HOTSHOT” came to reinforce me. I blinked, then I was in the maw. What did I miss? Where did “HOTSHOT” go? More Questions, less answers. I need to start from the top.>
[ COMP/CON SYSTEM MESSAGE: Continuing transcription of direct experiential data capture… ]
In the cramped confines of the ordnance bay, Hachiko’s subaltern crouched over Sokaris’s Kobold, peering down at him through the breach in its hatch. His eyes were open; Hachiko watched as they lazily tracked the subaltern’s movements. Too slowly.
Concussion, Hachiko thought, and adjusted the tasking of the medical nanites.
He tried to speak, but his voice withered. Guttural coughs wracked his chest. A deep metallic scraping sounded from inside the chassis, and Hachiko startled, beginning to reach for her pistol before she caught herself. Cautiously, she extended a camera cable from the subaltern, trying to locate the source of the noise, and found it.
Sokaris’s cybernetic tail was dragging itself along the mech’s interior. Several end sections of the tail had been destroyed, and the pink paint coating its exterior was scorched away in places, but it moved with purpose. With precise motions, it created a series of taps and scrapes in alternating long and short bursts.
Morse code.
Friend? The signal read, transcribed by his Omnihook.
“Yes! I’m a friend. It’s Hachi, buddy. You’re aboard my fighter. It’s not ideal, but this bay is the best I’ve got. I’m going to get you warmed up. You’re wounded, but you’ve received correctives, including a small maniple of medical nanites. They’re going to start working to control your pain and repair the damage. You should feel the pain receding now, but don’t try to move yet.”
Scanning the interior of Sokaris’s Kobold, Hachiko’s attention was caught by the series of interface plugs across his hardsuit’s back.
“Wait. That’s a full subjectivity sync, isn’t it? You’re rigged for total somatosensory replacement, then.”
Hachiko paused, weighing something in her mind.
“Okay, there’s a few things we can do. You can’t speak, but we could use the sync cybernetics to communicate.
One, I could try to get a simple two-way connection up and running so we can communicate electronically. You could use neural commands to compose messages. Text, mainly. It’s non-invasive and relatively easy to accomplish.
Or—if you’re comfortable with it—I could try to set up a full Legionspace bridge. In effect, you could enter virtual reality, occupying a simulation of your body while I work to stabilize your real one. I don’t know if you’ve ever attempted that before. It’s safe, but it can be disorienting. You’d at least be isolated from the pain, however.
What do you think? Text, Legion, or leave it alone?”
[Resuming Song]
[Now Playing - “Opossum Instrumental Ver.”]
<As the transmission picks up again, the rudimentary Morse code is noticeably absent. It stopped when Hachiko addressed him. Silence followed her statements towards him, but it was clear that “Opossum” seemed to relax a little upon hearing her name. His breathing, previously ragged and strained, stabilized slightly. They became deeper, and less frantic.>
<Although the friendly voice seemed to soothe him, the time came for a response and he failed to deliver. There was no rhythmic tapping, no strained words, no noise at all coming from “Opossum”, aside from his faint breaths. It seems he was confused —Or Disoriented Perhaps— failing to understand what was being asked.>
{L3} “Text? Legion? Or leave it alone?”
<Several seconds pass in this silence, each stretching to impossible lengths, as the injured mercenary lie there, down and out. Then, he once again begins the code. It’s much more refined this time, each “dit” and “dah” clearly recognizable. It is clear that this ability, to scrape together a solution with only scrap is what truly made the Patchwork Mercenaries what they are, or were.>
<The Merc stirs, audible winces and other expressions of pain leave his throat as he does. It would seem the very thought of being alone right now is enough to frighten him. He eventually stops shifting, gently falling back into the depths of his frame with a slight thud. Following that noise, he can be heard grasping something. It was a gentle noise, but just loud enough for the Omnihook to pick up. He then continues the tapping.>
<Without giving Hachi a moment to speak, he begins a new message. The deliberate “dits” and ”dahs” becoming rushed and frantic, as if “Opossum” believed he would be left behind should he not dictate fast enough.
The view from the camera swiveled as Opossum’s hand closed around the cable it was mounted on, pulling the subaltern’s shoulder into contact with the Kobold’s outer shell with a low clang. His tail tapped out a staccato message. Hachiko could see him shifting inside the cockpit, grunting in pain, reaching for the cockpit controls. His heart rate was spiking.
Hachiko tried to parse out his mental state. Something was wrong. The nanites were dealing with the nociception problem, setting up temporary neural gates to facilitate pain management. Why, then, was he so agitated? He was trying to climb from the cockpit. What could have—
Leave it alone, Hachiko thought. Leave you alone? Horror washed over her.
“Oh, no, no, no! That isn’t what I meant. You aren’t going to be alone, I swear to you. I’m not going anywhere. You hear me? I’m staying right here.”
As she spoke, she reached for a box of spare parts and mentally split herself in two. One Hachiko monitored and directed the medical nanites while trying to keep him calm. The other began the work of repairing Sokaris’s subjectivity sync; clearing damaged connectors and debris from the hardsuit plugs, replacing interfaces which were too scorched to salvage, applying fresh neurological medium fluid where needed.
“I know this is uncomfortable. I know you’re hypothermic, I know you’re in pain. I know you’re trapped in a metal box, and all you can see is some robot prodding at you through the cracks.”
She paused, slotting an array of cables into place.
“But trust me—I might have to talk to you through machines, but I am not one myself. I am your friend, Sokaris, and I am going to help you.”
With the repairs complete, Hachiko consolidated herself into a single process. She powered on her fighter’s processors, booting a small-scale Legion environment. Out of the formless blindness of her inactive home, she partitioned a single clearing in a forest, and populated it with a simple prefab structure, a bed, a table, food, a computer terminal, and a few comforts. Things she hoped would make a human feel at home.
She readied an approximation of Sokaris’s body for his use. It would just be a matter of shifting his somatosensory input/output flow from one source to another and placing him in the environment.
< L3 Hachiko: Fox? >
[ COMP/CON Fox_3: Ma’am? ]
< L3 Hachiko: If I shift over to Legion with him, I want you to take over supervision of the subaltern and medical nanites. Keep any use of correctives and patches non-invasive, we may need to shift him back to realspace at a moment’s notice. >
[ COMP/CON Fox_3: Understood, ma’am. ]
“We’re set up to switch to Legionspace now, if you’d like. You don’t have to; I’ll be here either way, you’ll be safe either way. Just let me know. It’s a pretty brilliant thing with the Morse code, you know. If you’re still solving problems in the state you’re in, I can see how you’ve survived as a merc for as long as you have.”
Hachiko loaded her avatar into the environment and set a spawnpoint.
[Resuming Song]
[Now Playing - "Opossum, Instrumental Ver.]
<As soon as the audio resumes, a sound akin to the tightening of leather is heard. He must be grasping even firmer yet onto the endoscope produced by Hachiko's Subaltern. His breathing slows to a normal rate, and the tapping ensues.>
<The moment I felt the final cable snap into the back of my neck I found myself in a completely different environment. The time between was imperceptible, almost like when you're riding a cruiser and it makes a jump through a blinkspace gate. I found myself at the front door of a quaint log cabin, it's nice. Nicer than any cabin I've ever had the privilege to stay in. I sat there for about a minute, deliberating what to do next. Do I go in? What if I'm intruding? Could it be my home? No. Surely not. I entered anyways, at the end of the day it didn't matter to me if I was welcomed in, I felt a compulsion to enter. It was as if I absolutely had to. And so I did.>
<The first thing I noticed was the table, it was like nothing i'd ever seen. Beautiful engravings climbed up the legs and curled off before reaching the surface of the table. The pattern was mirrored on the bases of the legs as well. I followed it up to the main surface of the table, and my gaze was quickly matched by the eyes of a...dog? A decal of some sort of hound engraved, no, burned into the table stared me down. Next to the dog's pointed ear was a bowl full of fruit. I haven't seen --or tried-- any of them in person, I only knew of them from stories and photos I picked up on my travels. Oddly enough, I wasn't hungry.>
<Actually, I wasn't anything. I had realized that I hadn't felt anything since I ended up here. How did I end up here? Where is here? I began to panic, frantically glancing around the house for my allies...my family. Where was Laelaps? It’s unlike him to leave me alone. That’s how he got his Callsign, he follows me like a Puppy. Where is my “PuppyDog”?>
<As I was just about to call for him, I felt a presence, someone was watching me. I began to turn but stumbled forwards halfway through, catching myself on the table. My balance was off. My tail —which I usually overcompensate for— weighed nothing. Then I noticed my hands, notably my fingers. There was no paint on them, I always painted my nails. Always in the way he would paint them. Something was wrong. Incredibly wrong. That presence has to know something. So I completed my turn, careful not to stumble again.>
<In a way, all my questions were answered when I saw her. Her concerned face, which it seemed she had tried to hide, said it all. And that’s when I remembered where my family was. Where I was. The state I was in. What I agreed to. I think she said something, I saw her mouth move at least. I didn’t hear what she said though, I was far too lost in thought.>
<Several moments I stood there, stuck deliberating what to say to her. If I should say anything. It was just like the cabin door all over again. Finally, I managed to squeak out two words. The only two words I could think to say, the only two I could afford to say in this moment.>
[ COMP/CON SYSTEM MESSAGE: Continuing transcription of direct experiential data capture… ]
In the cramped confines of the ordnance bay, Hachiko’s subaltern crouched over Sokaris’s Kobold, peering down at him through the breach in its hatch. His eyes were open; Hachiko watched as they lazily tracked the subaltern’s movements. Too slowly.
Concussion, Hachiko thought, and adjusted the tasking of the medical nanites.
He tried to speak, but his voice withered. Guttural coughs wracked his chest. A deep metallic scraping sounded from inside the chassis, and Hachiko startled, beginning to reach for her pistol before she caught herself. Cautiously, she extended a camera cable from the subaltern, trying to locate the source of the noise, and found it.
Sokaris’s cybernetic tail was dragging itself along the mech’s interior. Several end sections of the tail had been destroyed, and the pink paint coating its exterior was scorched away in places, but it moved with purpose. With precise motions, it created a series of taps and scrapes in alternating long and short bursts.
Morse code.
Friend? The signal read, transcribed by his Omnihook.
“Yes! I’m a friend. It’s Hachi, buddy. You’re aboard my fighter. It’s not ideal, but this bay is the best I’ve got. I’m going to get you warmed up. You’re wounded, but you’ve received correctives, including a small maniple of medical nanites. They’re going to start working to control your pain and repair the damage. You should feel the pain receding now, but don’t try to move yet.”
Scanning the interior of Sokaris’s Kobold, Hachiko’s attention was caught by the series of interface plugs across his hardsuit’s back.
“Wait. That’s a full subjectivity sync, isn’t it? You’re rigged for total somatosensory replacement, then.”
Hachiko paused, weighing something in her mind.
“Okay, there’s a few things we can do. You can’t speak, but we could use the sync cybernetics to communicate.
One, I could try to get a simple two-way connection up and running so we can communicate electronically. You could use neural commands to compose messages. Text, mainly. It’s non-invasive and relatively easy to accomplish.
Or—if you’re comfortable with it—I could try to set up a full Legionspace bridge. In effect, you could enter virtual reality, occupying a simulation of your body while I work to stabilize your real one. I don’t know if you’ve ever attempted that before. It’s safe, but it can be disorienting. You’d at least be isolated from the pain, however.
What do you think? Text, Legion, or leave it alone?”
[Resuming Song]
[Now Playing - “Opossum Instrumental Ver.”]
<As the transmission picks up again, the rudimentary Morse code is noticeably absent. It stopped when Hachiko addressed him. Silence followed her statements towards him, but it was clear that “Opossum” seemed to relax a little upon hearing her name. His breathing, previously ragged and strained, stabilized slightly. They became deeper, and less frantic.>
<Although the friendly voice seemed to soothe him, the time came for a response and he failed to deliver. There was no rhythmic tapping, no strained words, no noise at all coming from “Opossum”, aside from his faint breaths. It seems he was confused —Or Disoriented Perhaps— failing to understand what was being asked.>
{L3} “Text? Legion? Or leave it alone?”
<Several seconds pass in this silence, each stretching to impossible lengths, as the injured mercenary lie there, down and out. Then, he once again begins the code. It’s much more refined this time, each “dit” and “dah” clearly recognizable. It is clear that this ability, to scrape together a solution with only scrap is what truly made the Patchwork Mercenaries what they are, or were.>
<The Merc stirs, audible winces and other expressions of pain leave his throat as he does. It would seem the very thought of being alone right now is enough to frighten him. He eventually stops shifting, gently falling back into the depths of his frame with a slight thud. Following that noise, he can be heard grasping something. It was a gentle noise, but just loud enough for the Omnihook to pick up. He then continues the tapping.>
<Without giving Hachi a moment to speak, he begins a new message. The deliberate “dits” and ”dahs” becoming rushed and frantic, as if “Opossum” believed he would be left behind should he not dictate fast enough.
COMP/CON system message: the following file format is DIRECT EXPERIENTIAL CAPTURE. Origin subjectivity: Fenrisúlfr-class non-human person CNS274-L3HK, “Hachiko.”
Subjectivity sync NOT AVAILABLE. Generating narrative transcript. Warning: some experiential data may be omitted or condensed in textual format. For alternate safe methods of accessing direct experiential data, contact GMS Client Support for supplemental software licensure. ]
Apprehension tugged at Hachiko’s mind from a dozen different directions while her quarterlight ejection drive spooled.
Physically, she could feel sound coursing through her hull, its frequency soaring into the ultrasonic range with the continuous flow of energy being added to the drive’s charge. One syllable, sung in rising pitch until the individual oscillations were packed together so tightly that they merged into a sustained mosquito whine.
Near her, she could feel the presence of her three siblings as a comfortable network of Legionspace traffic, radar returns, and sensor data. An hour ago, as a single unit, they had pivoted in the darkness of space as they entered the system, pointing their drives toward their destination. Soon, following a span of time calculated down to the nanosecond, they would fire their drives and their velocity relative to Upsilon-XVII would change from .25c to the precise speed they needed to enter geosynchronous orbit.
Then what? In realtime, Luna Wing’s final transit duration, from receiving the transmission to arriving at the scene, would be twelve hours and sixteen minutes.
In all likelihood, he was frozen by now.
Hachiko knew it, but couldn’t afford to feel it. Instead, she accessed the transmissions from his Omnihook for the thousandth time, trying to prepare herself for what she would find.
Footage appeared to her. Opossum—Sokaris, heavily wounded, slumped forward. Neural interface jacks and hardsuit plugs broken along his shoulders. Blood, hydraulic fluid, and saline solution smeared together. Medical prognoses extrapolated from a tiny display and what could be seen of his broken body. She couldn’t tell if he still had life support, but what was left of his hardsuit would at least provide insulation. There was an unidentified stimulant entering his bloodstream, and she had no idea whether that had become an asset or a danger in the hours which followed.
Gloved hand, a woman’s voice, the chassis named Kaprosuchus. Luna 1, Grey, had analyzed the frame, examined the geometry of the armor, and believed a firing solution existed. Hachi had attempted to analyze the woman, and still struggled to connect the voice recording to the vicious mass of teeth and claws on-camera.
Summoning her avatar, Hachiko narrowed her eyes. Until she arrived onsite, Hachiko couldn't know for certain whether this person, Gatorskin, had murdered Sokaris or saved his life. Whoever she was, she wasn’t predictable.
< L1 Grey: Fifteen seconds. Standby for NLS deceleration eject on my mark. >
< L2 Garmr: Got it. >
< L3 Hachiko: Okay. >
< L4 Ma’ii: Understood. >
Dismissing the transmission files, Hachiko retrieved another. An image of Opossum standing in the light with a wall of ice behind him, grinning.
It occurred to her that she barely knew him--but he was one of the few humans to have spoken to her as a person, not a war machine. He was another person made, exploited, and discarded by Smith-Shimano. He was a friend. She had decided that this was more than enough.
So had her siblings.
< L1 Grey: Bolt. >
In the moment she fired her ejection drive, Hachiko wore her fighter as her body. She felt the mosquito whine die as an overwhelming, almost unreal burst of acceleration shifted her into another frame of reference.
__
From black nothingness, a planet snapped into existence, its sunward face gleaming beneath Hachiko’s fuselage. Far away, through passive sensors, Hachiko could make out a thin spindle of metal and exotic materials stretching from the planet’s surface up to the same altitude they occupied in geosynchronous orbit. Along its length, ship-sized platforms rose and descended, loaded with cargo. At its apex was a city-sized space station surrounded by bright sparks of high-energy radiation—the drive signatures of freighters and escort craft, coming and going.
When Hachiko turned her infrared sensors to the station, she felt covers automatically snap shut to protect the higher-sensitivity instruments. The infrared energy pouring from the station was so intense that it drowned her entire display in harsh white light. Her COMP/CON spoke up.
[ Fox_3: Warning: artificial radiant heat hazard detected. For your safety, I have added navigational aids to define unsafe proximity. ]
< L3 Hachiko: Thanks, Fox. Designate the station and surrounding vessels as potential hostile contacts of unknown capability. Keep an eye on them. >
[ Fox_3: Yes, ma’am. ]
Hachiko magnified her view of the station and filtered out the overwhelming infrared light. A vast array of high-powered heat projectors studded the side of the station facing the planet, separated by a forest of glowing red radiator fronds. The projectors’ overlapping cones of infrared energy were focused on a continent-sized area in the northern hemisphere of the world. Gray clouds blanketed the landscape there, swirling out through the planet’s atmosphere.
< L4 Ma’ii: Well, there’s our terraforming station. What do we know about it? >
< L3 Hachiko: He called it Helios. Nerve center for the Kalvis Group’s operations here. Center of a project to artificially raise ambient ecological temperatures and make the climate more tolerable for humans. Able to maintain a sizable sector of the world above 0°C by itself. >
< L2 Garmr: Damn. That’s some serious manna. Kid picked a hell of a fight. >
< L3 Hachiko: His company accepted a contract. That wasn’t his choice. >
< L2 Garmr: Could’ve bailed out. Humans get to pick where they work, remember? >
< L3 Hachiko: It wasn’t like that. This wasn’t just an employer; you didn’t talk to him. Actually, no, you did! To complain about his taste in music. >
< L2 Garmr: His taste? You’re the one who’s been on this Old Cradle kick since you— >
< L1 Grey: Let’s keep it focused, please. I’m tagging armaments on the station. Railgun batteries, point-defense cannons, laser emplacements, flyswatter pods. Looks like general market tech, but they can throw a lot of it at once. Garmr, I want you to start taking a look at those escort vessels. Ma’ii, throw them off our scent if you can. There’s no way they didn’t detect the radiation burst when we decelerated. It’s only a matter of time before they spot us, and I want to know the instant we get pinged. Hachiko, pull up those coordinates and start surveying the ground. The sooner we get out of orbit, the better. Let us know when you find him; we’ll follow your lead. >
< L2 Garmr: On it. >
< L4 Ma’ii: Affirmative. Prepping ECMs. >
< L3 Hachiko: Already on it. >
The equatorial landmasses and seas below were crusted with ice, giving off a piercing white glare of reflected sunlight. Applying brightness filters to better survey the landscape, Hachiko began searching.
Sector by sector, carefully angling her active radar to avoid generating detectable noise, Hachiko began scanning the vicinity of the coordinates Gator had transmitted. If the footage of the battle was anything to go by, certain factors should have been present. Exposed coldcores, synthetic materials used in mech construction, and polymer masses extruded by Sokaris’s Kobold, among other things. All materials with particular reflective properties, very different from the surrounding snow, ice, and rock. If she was right, the site of the battle should be glaringly obvious. It was simply a matter of finding the right spot…
< L4 Ma’ii: We’ve got pings. Switch to active ECM. >
< L1 Grey: Hachi? >
< L3 Hachiko: I think I’ve got something. Need a moment to verify. >
< L2 Garmr: You better make it quick. There’s an OTC controller on broadcast, addressing some very pointed questions to nobody in particular. >
< L3 Hachiko: I have it. Confirm sensor acquisition, transmitting geoloc data. On me. >
___
Descending to the ground, Hachiko deployed her landing gear and opened the doors to her ordnance bay. She felt the subaltern drop free from her hull, switched to it mid-drop, and landed on her feet.
Walking across open ground set her on edge. She felt slow, so slow that she might as well have been stationary. Dizzyingly close to the long, flat expanse of snow. Exposed, terrifyingly, to the open sky. Her subaltern held its laser pistol at low ready and flicked the power on, as though it would help if this turned out to be an ambush. If it was, Garmr, Ma’ii, and Grey would make UNS pay for it, but she doubted she’d be able to take off before they got to her.
As she crept between ruined chassis, craters, and building-sized heaps of hardened polymer, the true brutality of mech combat suddenly became apparent to her. Enormous gashes had been cut into the snow and earth beneath, the telltale signs of melee combat. She walked past the wreck of a Blackbeard, matte black with yellow accents, with a nanocarbon sword plunged in the snow beside it which was nearly three times as long as her subaltern was tall. There was still steam rising from its melted reactor.
Frozen in the act of swatting a Gilgamesh’s combat knife away, a Tokugawa frame knelt over its opponent. Three enormous talons had ripped its back open, destroying it as it grappled with the Gilgamesh. Its plasma torches had connected with the Gilgamesh’s cockpit before losing power, dealing a killing blow; the cockpit hatch had melted and collapsed inward, crushing the pilot. The Tokugawa’s superstructure had been rebuilt by hand, apparently several times over, resulting in a strange visual jumble of spare parts, salvaged armor plating, and patch jobs.
Must be Hotshot, then, thought Hachiko. She didn’t have the nerve to check the cockpit. She was all but certain what she’d find.
Blades, claws, and plasma torches. This wasn’t the sort of combat she knew. In space or in the air, “the enemy” meant only a set of distant radar contacts. The killing was usually instantaneous; a railgun strike could kill a human pilot well before their nervous system ever registered the impact. This, on the other hand, was more like fighting in Legionspace. Tearing directly at the enemy, cruel and personal.
She imagined her casket being ripped free from her fuselage, caught between the teeth of Gator’s mech as Sokaris’s Kobold had been. A wave of horror washed over her, as did an intuitive, visceral understanding of what humans used combat stims for. To endure this, to survive it. It was their version of personality partitioning. They couldn’t simply cordon off their terror, their kindness, or any of the things which made them suboptimal combatants, they literally had to alter their own brain chemistry to do so.
But Hachiko didn’t. To her, shedding it all was second nature. With a rapidity that surprised her, she hurled the thought away.
There was a mass of slag shaped into a static fortification, standing almost two stories high, with a pair of Patchwork mechs lying inside. A Lancaster and a Viceroy, both destroyed when one side of the fortification was breached.
Enormous clawed footprints, filled partially with snow, led around the fortress’s side. Tracking them around the structure’s western flank, pistol at the ready, Hachiko found herself standing over him.
His Kobold was dusted with snow, sprawled on the ground with its weapons flung aside. Its armor plating was melted and deformed, and a series of punctures along its chest went straight through to his hardsuit. Welded to one shoulder was a fresh, undamaged plate of matte black armor. On the plate was a decal: a long set of crocodilian jaws with rows of serrated teeth, with an icon of a wide eye between them.
Beneath the Kobold’s breached hatch, she could see a section of Sokaris’s face. Dried blood crusted his chin, flowing down from a ragged wound in his right cheek which had torn a section of skin away. His skin was pale, lips turning blue with the cold.
Hachiko suddenly understood something about the human who called herself Gatorskin. She had done this to him, and in the aftermath, had been presented with the same set of visual data.
“He’s kind of cute like this,” she’d said.
In Legionspace, Hachiko realized that she had summoned her avatar without realizing it. She felt her own face contorted into a snarl of rage and disgust, her fangs clenching so tightly that it felt like they might shatter. She partitioned the emotions away, but allowed a section of herself to experience them. It wasn’t the right time to let them free.
The subaltern’s lidar built a realtime three-dimensional image of Sokaris’s face, and managed to detect a subtle few millimeters of motion as he drew in a slow, ragged breath.
In the same motion, Hachiko fired her thrusters and sprinted awkwardly toward him, the subaltern’s feet catching in the snow.
< L1 Grey: Outstanding. Let’s get him taken care of. >
< L3 Hachiko: Working on it now. He’s hurt bad; we’re going to be here for a while. >
Hachiko did not partition her joy away. She allowed herself to experience it while she vectored her maneuvering thrusters to touch down beside her subaltern, which had already begun dragging the Kobold across the ice to her ordnance bay.
As she hoisted his frame into the bay with her subaltern, hoping that any broken bones would be held rigid by his hardsuit’s medical systems, she took the main drives offline and brought up anti-icing systems at full power, circulating heated reactor coolant through the hull. As the bay doors closed, she felt the temperature inside beginning to rise.
Bringing up a row of lights, she set about retrieving correctives from emergency compartments and applying them. Spraying biofoam into the suit punctures, connecting his frame’s medical systems to the fighter’s computers, dispensing medical whitewash. Strangely, the Kobold’s firmware didn’t reject the connection; its IFF didn’t regard her as hostile.
Slowly, Sokaris began to stabilize. His breathing and heart rate became steady, and his internal temperature began to rise.
Hachiko looked down and detected motion.
“P.XV? Sokaris, can you hear me?” She said. “It’s alright, you’re safe.”
(@luna-wing-cns274 hey Argo!)
[Allied Hardware Detected]
[Patching In…]
[Success]
[…Thank you, L3]
[Now Playing - “Opossum”]
[Audio Only]
{L3} P.XV? Sokaris, can you hear me? It’s alright, you’re safe.
<A sudden, shrill noise can be heard, akin to the sound of metal being dragged across more metal. It stops as suddenly as it had started, and “Opossum” begins to speak, or attempts to. The beginning of a word can be heard, but quickly devolves into a hollow vocalization. It’s as if he is attempting to speak, but his body forbids him to do so.>
<Silence creeps across the room, “Opossum” ceased his attempts at speaking and seemed to take a moment to think. Just as swiftly as the silence fell, it is once again interrupted by the shrill noise. It then pauses, and resumes, however it is not random. There is a certain rhythm to the scraping. Some are prolonged, and others staccato. “Opossum” then attempts to speak again>
{“Opossum”} D..it..
<His voice is hoarse and dry, each sound barely audible. Every letter a battle, and each word a war.>
{“Opossum”} D..ah..
<As he trails off, he begins to cough. The sound generated is guttural and unpleasant. It was clear that the pain generated, was most likely just as bad as it sounded, if not worse.>
<The rhythmic scratching and tapping continues, the pattern much more distinct than before. It is clearly a code of some sort, proven through “Opossum’s” Omnihook.>
[Rhythm Recognized]
[Developing Lyrics]
[Success]
[Now Playing - “Opossum, Instrumental Ver.”]
<The rhythmic tapping continues as it did previously, but as it does a robotic voice speaks, translating the “song” into words>
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{OOC} Hi everyone! The next step of Sokaris’ —“Opossum”— journey has just been completed, but before I begin posting it I want to make a monstrously huge shoutout to the person who made it happen, and absolutely blew me away with their writing skills and prowess. So here’s a
great.
Big.
THANK YOU TO @luna-wing-cns274 !
Can’t wait to work with ya in the future, and if any of you haven’t checked them out already you should! They got some amazing stuff going on, and I’m honored to be working with them!
<There is a distinct lack of the usual background noise and chatter which usually is present in “Opossum’s” transmissions. After a brief moment of this silence an unfamiliar voice speaks up>
Oh uh, hello everyone! I know I’m not exactly who you’re expecting to hear from…but I have a message which those of you who are concerned about “Opossum” will be happy to hear!
<The audio quality is much crisper than the usual transmissions. The voice is distinctly feminine, and presents itself in a quiet and meek tone.>
Ah, I should introduce myself first I think. I am Callsign “GATORSKIN” of the UN//Known Name\\S, we’re assassins for lack of a better term. The whole title can be a bit long to transcribe sometimes though so feel free to call us the “UNS” if that’s easier.
<“GATORSKIN” mumbles to herself for several seconds, seemingly trying to recall a script or planned out sentence of some sort. She sighs, and then begins in a firmer tone.>
The Patchwork Mercenaries are pretty scary…or rather, were. They reacted fast and rather…um…strangely..? No…they were clever. Yeah. Clever. They worked really well together, but once one fell the rest became irrational. It’s a shame really, I’m sure they could’ve put a stop to our rampage if they were just a little more cool-headed. I suppose that’s what it’s like for these small mercenary companies though…every ally you lose is more of a family member than a coworker. I digress…
<The woman’s tone softens again, losing any hint of confidence she just had.>
I’m reaching out to you all in this corner of the Omninet because…well…I’m letting one of the mercenaries go. I believe his full title is “Fifteenth Patch, Opossum”…but ah, that’s just what his coat says…
<she trails off for a moment, speaking even more softly.>
I kinda feel bad for roughing him up…he’s kinda cute like this though…
<“GATORSKIN” awkwardly coughs before returning to her previous tone>
Oh, I suppose I should send out his coordinates here. If any of you are aquatinted with him maybe you could come pick him up? He’s alive, but seems pretty hurt. I would love to stabilize him a bit, but I’m no doctor y’know..? It’d be such a shame to lose such a cute- I mean for all his effort to go to waste?! Yeah! He’s hanging in there, can’t imagine it’s very easy.
<As she lingers on that thought a warbled audio stream comes through in the background. If not for the eerie lack of background noise, you might’ve missed it. Although mostly unintelligible, the words “Survivor” and “Fled” can be heard. As “GATORSKIN” addresses the voice back, Her voice comes out in the same jarbled noise. The two go back and forth for about a minute until “GATORSKIN” addresses the listeners again.>
It seems my squad is onto me…I can’t let them find out I did this. They’ll be so mad. Here are the “Opossum’s” coordinates, and I’d recommend you hurry! Snow’s starting to fall and it his frame is riddled with holes. Good luck!
UNS “GATORSKIN”, returning this Omnihook to its owner.
