Luker number 5
Versed in the lewd.
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Oh shit, if Mech halla can help other designers pump out masterworks the Association is gonna kidnap the planet
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I???
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lost star
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There were hundreds of monitors in the room the being dwelt in. There were more wires and lights. The floors were patterned with embedded devices. The walls that weren't covered in monitors had enough electricity running through them to fry even shielded people. The most prominent feature were the cables though. They crossed the ceiling. They dangled, they reached upwards and downwards. Thick things with enough power to fry nations. Some were attached to ports, some not. Mechanical arms rotated from the sides and plugged some while unplugging others. The pattern followed no logic. Random numbers powered the decisions so that nothing could be predicted. It was controlled chaos shaped into a shield. It was math brough to the limit of human understanding. Numbers were done and redone in countless repetitions. In the distance a caged star powered it all. It wasn't enough. A thousand stars wouldn't be enough for what the being needed.
'Experiment line AHHIDO-922123118. Failure. Experiment line AHHIDO-922123119. Failure.' The text scrolled down and down on one of the monitors. An endless series of experiments. Brute force repetition attempting to solve what nothing else could.
The being at the center of all of this observed without emotion. Nothing about it was human. Not anymore. Time had destroyed what their own modifications had not. Only will and power remained. Something that had once been human still clinging onto reality with sheer spite and stubborn resolution. A mass of cables in the shape sat in the center of the room. If it still resembled a man, that was by coincidence, not by design.
Another monitor continually flickered through displays of people. Each one was labeled. 'Seedling Experiment 43211, Hemington Sector: All normal. Seedling Experiment 43212, Dinari Sector: Failure, Restart Pending Approval. Seedling Experiment 43213, Komodo Sector: Unresolvable Error, Attention Required.'
That caused the being to pause. It didn't even take an effort of will from them for everything to focus on it. Just the shift in attention had the pre-programmed automation bring up all the data available.
Bolt Silica.
Not the most anomalous of the seedlings. That was reserved for the one still trying to play with time and had gotten themselves stuck in a timeloop, again. The being suspected mental damage there, because it was the third time... Correction, possibly the third time. It was up in the air if there was a paradox or some other mechanism in play. Context clues there required an entire suite of super computers to verify matters and that seedling thought that hiding things was important to survival, which complicated things even more. The complications were worth the possible ability to identify the 'current' time travelers in the galaxy though, so they were allowed and even encouraged.
Bolt was genuinely refreshing compared to the others at least. Not only was he trying to explore his conclusions, he was even engaging in the systems! The percentage of those that did that was less than half. Many coasted by or indulged in paranoia, isolation, and eventually destroyed themselves and others in an orgy of violence. (Not an uncommon path for the talented and ambitious.)
For a moment the being felt almost human again, remembering the time when those systems had been founded. The hope, the pain, the reasoning behind everything. Another automatic process triggered as the emotions began to rise and cold flooded the beings mind before the rage and hate at what had followed that founding could find its purchase. The being spared a moment to consider if they should disable that process before deciding to leave it, as they had every other time it triggered. The emotions had no place here, not yet. In time, in time.
The anomaly was traced to a series of cascading aberrations that had no answer based on previous historical references. The local sims had extra players and managers that had no physical location. The computer was properly simulating the local expert's abilities. Two expert masterworks in short order. Discussions with unusual context clues. All of them done together had broken the standard response protocols.
Quick review indicated that there was no physical reason for many of the aberrations. Context clues led to talk about spirits and spiritual works. Discussion like this was not unusual. Religion and personal beliefs heavily tainted designer work in most matters, and was frequently something that had to be worked around. Rational designers were not immune to this, they simply subscribed to the 'religion' of rationality. Referring to it as spiritual work was not the aberration. What was an aberration was the fact that there appeared to be substance to the statements.
It was the simulation records that confirmed that confirmed everything. Designers could not do what Bolt had done there. The masterworks could be considered a talented junior. The simulations combined with the known discussions had broken the monitors. Bolt had created a sim that used the equivalent of duct-tape and tinsel to create something that the grandest simulations available could not. Star Designers could not. The best they had managed was a brute force path that was utterly useless once the variables changed.
Relief.
That was all the being felt at the discovery. Finally. Finally. Something new. Something useful. This deserved actual attention.
Ten seconds passed as the being reviewed the video logs, conversational transcripts, records of notes, everything. Some of it was hidden from anything but them. Some of it was actually completely hidden. Which was another anomaly.
For a moment the being actually had to exert effort!
At thirty seconds the being had its conclusions. Bolt Silica was successfully exploring something old and something new at the same time. Exactly one other designer was currently working on something similar. They had reached for and had grasped a new path in different ways. One of the reasons for the seedling experiment had finally occurred. There were proper results! Now it was time for another step to be taken.
Did Bolt require direct intervention? Three seconds of evaluation said no. The pressure he was under was within tolerances. Designers needed to be tested in conflict. The Master Jeanne was successfully managing it along with her other duties while also keeping her involvement to a minimum. Actually commendable. Nothing else needed to be done immediately in that vein.
There was the matter of the Polymath making moves to investigate though. That woman knew subtlety like a starving dog knew restraint. As in not at all. The gifted child had turned into a gifted adult with all the grace and decorum of a freight train. Her turning her attention to the seedling would not only shine a spotlight on it, but would also likely rip it up from the roots in an attempt to study it. That would have to be discouraged.
What would be a good way of achieving that goal?
Two seconds was spent contemplating that. Full discretion was impossible. A designer needed publicity to grow. Concealing that was within possibilities but resource intensive. Simulations were ran. The Polymath would be distracted by the new toy that was the other, more prominent designer, and by the new realm opening up shortly. She did not need to be appeased or dissuaded in a direct fashion. She heavily relied on MTA reports to act as her eyes and ears. Bolt simply needed to be moved or obscured under other categories until her attention wandered. How?
A mote of amusement came from the possible solution. The sister. Gadget Silica had been getting into areas restricted by her family. She was inquiring into the CFA, delicately probing to see what was allowed. It was good work for her age and technology level. Blatantly obvious for the CFA and the being, but one did not care for a spec of dust floating through the air. Predictions were that the girl would become discouraged by the complete disregard the CFA would have of her, but that could be changed. There were a few important figures in the CFA that would pay attention if properly directed in the appropriate manner. It'd pull her and her brother into a few games between political powers, but that was inevitable. Better now when the being had resources to address things if it became necessary and it'd be a good learning experience. If the CFA was looking into things the Polymath would ignore the area. Getting into conflicts with them was against her own goals and the CFA itself would eventually dismiss the seedling as anything more than a curiosity with contrary goals.
A few messages were sent and the appropriate people alerted discretely. It was far from difficult. The being's complete authority allowed them to do whatever they wanted. The Master Jeanne in particular needed new directions. The pressure would be less useful after the CFA intervened. A quick simulation of the forces involved indicated that there was a high probability of things going exactly as desired. That was enough for now. The revised alerts and people in the know would notify it if there was another problem.
One minute of attention given, the being moved onto other things. Several more flags had been tripped and they had to investigate all of them. The experiments had not stopped even for a second. A millisecond passed before another thing occurred to it. Bolt had speculated about certain things that could be checked and used right now could they not? A thousand things were rearranged within an instant and an order given.
Twelve hours later something worthy of full interest was once again happening. Everything but emergency priorities were dropped to a minimum as the meeting time approached. Then, precisely on time a small woman with very closely shorn hair appeared in front of them through a teleportation process. Two more appeared after. All the women were identical. Results of another's experiment, unsuccessful but salvaged. The figure examined them and approved as it had every other time they met.
"Sir." The lead woman inclined her head. "You requested physical presence?"
"Yes." The being replied in their synthesized voice. "Details sent."
The woman nodded as her implant reviewed what was sent and frowned in mild confusion. "I am to install a component on several stored mechs and then speak with the machines?"
"Experiments in other areas have indicated that certain machines may have a lingering psionic echo. The ones noted were once piloted by..." The synthetic voice wasn't so crude as to stutter, but it did almost pause there. "Important pilots. Relevant documentation and recordings have been sent, and more can be requested."
For a heartbeat the woman said nothing. Her face smoothed out and she stilled a moment. She then nodded. "Very well. Assuming your assumption is correct, if we can confirm the presence and the transfer, you wish to transfer them out into another mech?"
"Into the Three Monkeys still in construction. Modify the design as needed." The being confirmed.
"Do we have an estimate as to what that will change?" The woman asked back.
"No."
"Then we will initiate standard recording procedures. It will be done." The woman, along with her companions gave a small salute and nod with the words.
"Good. Status of you and others?" The being continued.
Another pause followed before one of the trailing women spoke up. "The adjustments and cybernetic implants have eliminated the pain, phantom and otherwise. We are fully functional."
That was acceptable. "Comfort level?"
"Within tolerances. Our sisters have all reported similarly." The woman said.
"Noted preference for liquid diet. Advise other methods of ingestion, or several addendums such as ice cream and sorbet. Also noted training requests for ground and security actions." The being brought up.
All three women nodded. "They wish to contribute, even if it's dangerous."
"Unnecessary."
"You ordered us to chose our own paths father." The lead woman said very softly.
"Still unnecessary. Request further modifications and equipment if pursing that path." The being almost sighed. "The ones under the Five Scrolls designation are superior in specific areas associated with the training they are requesting. Extreme measures need to be taken to insure victory."
"We understand." All three women nodded again.
"You of all would." With that the being's attention turned away. "Return to duties."
The women disappeared. The room was colder in their exit. The being didn't notice. This was nothing new. The room was always colder after the children left for war.
'Experiment line AHHIDO-922123118. Failure. Experiment line AHHIDO-922123119. Failure.' The text scrolled down and down on one of the monitors. An endless series of experiments. Brute force repetition attempting to solve what nothing else could.
The being at the center of all of this observed without emotion. Nothing about it was human. Not anymore. Time had destroyed what their own modifications had not. Only will and power remained. Something that had once been human still clinging onto reality with sheer spite and stubborn resolution. A mass of cables in the shape sat in the center of the room. If it still resembled a man, that was by coincidence, not by design.
Another monitor continually flickered through displays of people. Each one was labeled. 'Seedling Experiment 43211, Hemington Sector: All normal. Seedling Experiment 43212, Dinari Sector: Failure, Restart Pending Approval. Seedling Experiment 43213, Komodo Sector: Unresolvable Error, Attention Required.'
That caused the being to pause. It didn't even take an effort of will from them for everything to focus on it. Just the shift in attention had the pre-programmed automation bring up all the data available.
Bolt Silica.
Not the most anomalous of the seedlings. That was reserved for the one still trying to play with time and had gotten themselves stuck in a timeloop, again. The being suspected mental damage there, because it was the third time... Correction, possibly the third time. It was up in the air if there was a paradox or some other mechanism in play. Context clues there required an entire suite of super computers to verify matters and that seedling thought that hiding things was important to survival, which complicated things even more. The complications were worth the possible ability to identify the 'current' time travelers in the galaxy though, so they were allowed and even encouraged.
Bolt was genuinely refreshing compared to the others at least. Not only was he trying to explore his conclusions, he was even engaging in the systems! The percentage of those that did that was less than half. Many coasted by or indulged in paranoia, isolation, and eventually destroyed themselves and others in an orgy of violence. (Not an uncommon path for the talented and ambitious.)
For a moment the being felt almost human again, remembering the time when those systems had been founded. The hope, the pain, the reasoning behind everything. Another automatic process triggered as the emotions began to rise and cold flooded the beings mind before the rage and hate at what had followed that founding could find its purchase. The being spared a moment to consider if they should disable that process before deciding to leave it, as they had every other time it triggered. The emotions had no place here, not yet. In time, in time.
The anomaly was traced to a series of cascading aberrations that had no answer based on previous historical references. The local sims had extra players and managers that had no physical location. The computer was properly simulating the local expert's abilities. Two expert masterworks in short order. Discussions with unusual context clues. All of them done together had broken the standard response protocols.
Quick review indicated that there was no physical reason for many of the aberrations. Context clues led to talk about spirits and spiritual works. Discussion like this was not unusual. Religion and personal beliefs heavily tainted designer work in most matters, and was frequently something that had to be worked around. Rational designers were not immune to this, they simply subscribed to the 'religion' of rationality. Referring to it as spiritual work was not the aberration. What was an aberration was the fact that there appeared to be substance to the statements.
It was the simulation records that confirmed that confirmed everything. Designers could not do what Bolt had done there. The masterworks could be considered a talented junior. The simulations combined with the known discussions had broken the monitors. Bolt had created a sim that used the equivalent of duct-tape and tinsel to create something that the grandest simulations available could not. Star Designers could not. The best they had managed was a brute force path that was utterly useless once the variables changed.
Relief.
That was all the being felt at the discovery. Finally. Finally. Something new. Something useful. This deserved actual attention.
Ten seconds passed as the being reviewed the video logs, conversational transcripts, records of notes, everything. Some of it was hidden from anything but them. Some of it was actually completely hidden. Which was another anomaly.
For a moment the being actually had to exert effort!
At thirty seconds the being had its conclusions. Bolt Silica was successfully exploring something old and something new at the same time. Exactly one other designer was currently working on something similar. They had reached for and had grasped a new path in different ways. One of the reasons for the seedling experiment had finally occurred. There were proper results! Now it was time for another step to be taken.
Did Bolt require direct intervention? Three seconds of evaluation said no. The pressure he was under was within tolerances. Designers needed to be tested in conflict. The Master Jeanne was successfully managing it along with her other duties while also keeping her involvement to a minimum. Actually commendable. Nothing else needed to be done immediately in that vein.
There was the matter of the Polymath making moves to investigate though. That woman knew subtlety like a starving dog knew restraint. As in not at all. The gifted child had turned into a gifted adult with all the grace and decorum of a freight train. Her turning her attention to the seedling would not only shine a spotlight on it, but would also likely rip it up from the roots in an attempt to study it. That would have to be discouraged.
What would be a good way of achieving that goal?
Two seconds was spent contemplating that. Full discretion was impossible. A designer needed publicity to grow. Concealing that was within possibilities but resource intensive. Simulations were ran. The Polymath would be distracted by the new toy that was the other, more prominent designer, and by the new realm opening up shortly. She did not need to be appeased or dissuaded in a direct fashion. She heavily relied on MTA reports to act as her eyes and ears. Bolt simply needed to be moved or obscured under other categories until her attention wandered. How?
A mote of amusement came from the possible solution. The sister. Gadget Silica had been getting into areas restricted by her family. She was inquiring into the CFA, delicately probing to see what was allowed. It was good work for her age and technology level. Blatantly obvious for the CFA and the being, but one did not care for a spec of dust floating through the air. Predictions were that the girl would become discouraged by the complete disregard the CFA would have of her, but that could be changed. There were a few important figures in the CFA that would pay attention if properly directed in the appropriate manner. It'd pull her and her brother into a few games between political powers, but that was inevitable. Better now when the being had resources to address things if it became necessary and it'd be a good learning experience. If the CFA was looking into things the Polymath would ignore the area. Getting into conflicts with them was against her own goals and the CFA itself would eventually dismiss the seedling as anything more than a curiosity with contrary goals.
A few messages were sent and the appropriate people alerted discretely. It was far from difficult. The being's complete authority allowed them to do whatever they wanted. The Master Jeanne in particular needed new directions. The pressure would be less useful after the CFA intervened. A quick simulation of the forces involved indicated that there was a high probability of things going exactly as desired. That was enough for now. The revised alerts and people in the know would notify it if there was another problem.
One minute of attention given, the being moved onto other things. Several more flags had been tripped and they had to investigate all of them. The experiments had not stopped even for a second. A millisecond passed before another thing occurred to it. Bolt had speculated about certain things that could be checked and used right now could they not? A thousand things were rearranged within an instant and an order given.
Twelve hours later something worthy of full interest was once again happening. Everything but emergency priorities were dropped to a minimum as the meeting time approached. Then, precisely on time a small woman with very closely shorn hair appeared in front of them through a teleportation process. Two more appeared after. All the women were identical. Results of another's experiment, unsuccessful but salvaged. The figure examined them and approved as it had every other time they met.
"Sir." The lead woman inclined her head. "You requested physical presence?"
"Yes." The being replied in their synthesized voice. "Details sent."
The woman nodded as her implant reviewed what was sent and frowned in mild confusion. "I am to install a component on several stored mechs and then speak with the machines?"
"Experiments in other areas have indicated that certain machines may have a lingering psionic echo. The ones noted were once piloted by..." The synthetic voice wasn't so crude as to stutter, but it did almost pause there. "Important pilots. Relevant documentation and recordings have been sent, and more can be requested."
For a heartbeat the woman said nothing. Her face smoothed out and she stilled a moment. She then nodded. "Very well. Assuming your assumption is correct, if we can confirm the presence and the transfer, you wish to transfer them out into another mech?"
"Into the Three Monkeys still in construction. Modify the design as needed." The being confirmed.
"Do we have an estimate as to what that will change?" The woman asked back.
"No."
"Then we will initiate standard recording procedures. It will be done." The woman, along with her companions gave a small salute and nod with the words.
"Good. Status of you and others?" The being continued.
Another pause followed before one of the trailing women spoke up. "The adjustments and cybernetic implants have eliminated the pain, phantom and otherwise. We are fully functional."
That was acceptable. "Comfort level?"
"Within tolerances. Our sisters have all reported similarly." The woman said.
"Noted preference for liquid diet. Advise other methods of ingestion, or several addendums such as ice cream and sorbet. Also noted training requests for ground and security actions." The being brought up.
All three women nodded. "They wish to contribute, even if it's dangerous."
"Unnecessary."
"You ordered us to chose our own paths father." The lead woman said very softly.
"Still unnecessary. Request further modifications and equipment if pursing that path." The being almost sighed. "The ones under the Five Scrolls designation are superior in specific areas associated with the training they are requesting. Extreme measures need to be taken to insure victory."
"We understand." All three women nodded again.
"You of all would." With that the being's attention turned away. "Return to duties."
The women disappeared. The room was colder in their exit. The being didn't notice. This was nothing new. The room was always colder after the children left for war.
Status
Not too sore, are you?
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I assumed they're just someone against the Five Scrolls. With how much they're hating on spirituality I'm guessing they hate the "gods" supposedly behind the scrolls.
foo-jin
Most polished sword in the trichilliocosm.
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I don't think they'd be this invested in Bolt's discoveries if they disregarded spirituality.
Status
Not too sore, are you?
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I mean, I think it's more that they see it as something scientific like the MTA. Bolt not calling it Psionics or whatever they use seemed to annoy them.
lost star
Connoisseur.
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Tis an oc Star Designer.
I debated a lot in introducing them. Figured now was the best time.
lurkingkraken
Experienced.
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To me it reads more like the CFA would have ignored Gadget since she's just a 3rd rater groundling, but now that he's interested they will pay attention to her and want to keep her.
That's what the politics is about, the CFA vs the MTA over what mech parts and philosophies are and are not appropriate for a spaceship to draw from for inspiration, or do it would appear to me.
Bolt is the Seedling.
And unless Bolt and his sister work together to make a turret-mech explicitly designed to be affixed to a ship, or a ship that is piloted by a pilot until it arrives at the war zone at which point it disassembles itself into a bunch of smaller mechs, Zord+Megazord style, then he's probably right that the spacers won't really care about what Bolt is up to.
I027
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lost star
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The building wasn't much of a building. It was more like a shack. Made of pre-fabricated metal welded together hastily, it should have been horrendously hot. A cooling until that had likely been ripped from the mech in the corner made it chilly instead. At night another unit made it unpleasantly hot. The tables in the place were more metal, welded to the ground hastily atop pillars and covered in a resin-like substance to make them usable. They were lumpy but surprisingly smooth. As were the chairs. Those were made of a type of plastic that made them light and very easy to break, based off the remnants in the corners.
In shorter words the place was a shithole on a shithole planet. Even the booze was shit. It was practically pure alcohol that dribbled out of an automated bartender. The device had hard stuff and harder stuff.
"How the fuck do you keep finding these places?" The man's words indicated confusion, the emotions behind them were pure violence.
Jake tipped back his cowboy hat and leaned back on his chair as he fingered the gun at his side. "In this case there's nothing better." He drawled back. "Planet has dirt, some merc camps, and not much else. Hear rumors about natives, but ain't seen a lick of them."
"Jake Jake Jake, you've refined finding shitty watering holes to an art. You can't tell me you didn't look for something like this." The man strode into the bar and glanced around before turning to the 'bartender' and punching it. It dribbled out more alcohol into a metal cup and he snorted. "Ok, you actually impressed me. This is bad."
The cowboy kept his hand on his gun. "At least it's standing. Think we can leave it that way?" He didn't hold out hope.
The man downed the drink in one gulp and shuddered. "It deserves death for this shit, but if it's the only bar here I'll leave it just to watch you suffer." He took a seat and frowned. "So what do you got?"
"Price first Butcher." Jake gave the other expert a flat look. "You got it?"
"Exotics enough to repair your baby." The man confirmed with a leer. "You sure you don't want me to bring it now?"
"And see you try to kill me again?" Jake asked with an upraised eyebrow. "We both know what you'd do if we're in mechs anywhere close to one another."
"True. It's taking a lot to not just lunge over the table and kill you now." Butcher confirmed with a surprisingly friendly smile.
Jake wasn't fooled for a second. They'd run in the same military, but not in the same circles. They were familiar with one another like you would be with a man down the street. Even then he knew enough to know that Butcher wasn't joking. He'd likely gotten worse even. It almost made the meeting a mistake really. He'd be in serious danger in a mech, but outside it was still very dangerous.
"Not sure why you want to bother. Your mech is going to start degrading soon. Might take a decade for them to really stop working, but anything made by seniors and below dies with them, and your 'baby' isn't an exception." Butcher continued with a trace of bemusement.
Right there was why Jake had bothered. Butcher was a monster, but he was also one that had a lot of knowledge that wasn't common. Probably why he was still alive even now. The man got obsessive about the strangest things and picked up a lot of uncommon knowledge.
"Getting it repaired will let me take a job and get off the planet with my boys." The expert explained his general plan with a shrug.
With a functional mech he was a valued asset to anyone. It would be trivial to get transportation for a small group consisting of him and a few friends if he needed. It'd been a backup plan he'd been working on for awhile, especially once it became apparent that the carrier was on its last legs.
Butcher snorted. "Ah, get your ass kicked and run away. Suppose I shouldn't be surprised you keep with the pattern. Well, it does make this easier. I don't want to kill cowards really."
Liar. Jake didn't say because he wanted as little attention as possible on him here. He just adjusted his hat and redirected. "You want to kill the people in the mountain instead."
"Yep. Don't care about whatever treasure they have. Just want to murder the supposed monster they have." The man's expression at that statement couldn't be described as anything less than eager. "So tell me." He breathed out and leaned forward.
Jake was an expert. He'd been in danger before. Nothing came close to the sheer menace he was feeling from that man right now. Butcher was a monster in human skin and it showed right now.
"Pilots a woman. Rumor has it she's got two mechs, but didn't see both of them. Saw one." The man rattled off as he scooted his chair away slightly. "Light mech, resonant material lets her repair fast enough that she healed between reloads. Favored ambush and skirmishing tactics. No ranged weapons."
Butcher seemed almost disappointed at the information. "That's it? Jake, I'm going to have to downgrade you to Jakey." He moved before he finished the words.
Jake had already been pulling out the gun. It didn't help. The weapon was out but his opponent was holding the arm away and he was on the ground before he could register what had happened. The chair was trashed. The floor was also filthy, but that was an irreverent observation because his face was pressed against it.
"Jakey, Jakey." Butcher cooed. "You arranged this because you said you had information. I could look that up on the net. I did actually. It's why I know everything there is to know about Lilly. You could call it my obsession even. I always know all about the people I'm fighting. It's my passion. It's my love. It's my purpose of being. And here you are trying to fulfil that purpose with stale and moldy information. Do you understand how disappointing that is?"
"Psychopath doesn't do you justice." The expert ground out from his place on the floor as he tried to struggle out from the pin.
"Haha, no. Another fact you probably didn't know. Experts like us? We're defined by how we ascend. Me? I shoved a nice and pretty sword right into an experts cockpit. It was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. It was a high beyond all highs." Butcher breathed out. "So, unless you want to be my next high, you're going to help me here. Either proper information, or something else. Maybe your men. I could use some meat to throw while I go after the real prize."
"If you think my men would go into that grinder again willingly, you got another thing coming." Jake said bluntly.
"Oh with some motivation they will. Really, that's all you need. A reason. It doesn't even have to be a good one." Butcher twisted Jake's arm until the gun was out of his grip and then threw it across the room. "Take a seat Jakey."
Jake debated going for the gun. He was quite sure the other man would kill him. He instead took a seat and glared. "We're both experts here. I doubt you can convince me of anything I don't want to do."
"I told you. I know everything about who I fight." Butcher met Jakes eyes in a deliberate fashion. "Did you enjoy running? You had a nice life. Top of the class, first in line, easy ascension. You were put in a lovely little red custom mech and then pushed into a choice battle. You ascended fighting trash and was proud of it."
That was such an exaggeration that Jake wanted to punch the other man on principle.
"Haha. Now here's the fun part. When everyone died you took the ships and ran, but a cute little nepo-pilot like you never really got logistics, so you grabbed too much. You landed on a planet close to where you fled and realized you had no money. No one would give you anything, and then you panicked when things started going wrong." Butcher continued mercilessly. "It wasn't like they needed all of it right? They were probably going to die too, and it wasn't like you had space mechs..." He trailed off leadingly.
Jake looked away. He had very mixed feelings about his recent actions. The reasons were close to what he'd been thinking as well. The planet had been next in line and they'd had almost no defenses. There had been nothing he could do that would help them.
"No judgement here Jakey. But you've already started down this path. You're a cowboy bandit now and people are going to look at you like that. You ascended picking off vermin. You love to put on a show against the masses. So that's what you do. I target that little lady that kicked your ass, and you can go off and play. Think of this like just another job before you... Run again." Butcher grinned as he leaned back on his seat. "I don't even want the loot. You know what I want. I'll take enough to feed me and my crew, and let you have everything else. It's not like they'll need it either."
"I don't buy a lick of what you're selling, but if you're going to go with those terms..." Jake sighed as his head started to hang. "Damnit, it will convince everyone."
"Not surprised. Call me a monster, I deserve it." Butcher got up and moved to the dispenser, giving it another hit. "I don't dress it up pretty. But you all? The men you brought with you? They're animals now. Let me guess, you got drinking, whoring, drugs, and more right? You don't need to answer. I can guess. They're self destructing and you just realized it."
"Wouldn't say it like that." Jake muttered.
It was a mix of grief, rage, and other emotions. No one was in a healthy mindset, and the constant running had not helped. They were barely holding themselves together, and that failed attack had not helped at all. Truthfully Jake had been pretty sure that they wouldn't have even noticed him leaving with the sane people for a long while.
He'd still leave right now if he could, but he wasn't kidding about needing those parts. Lilly had done a number on his mech and another fight without some serious repair was a death sentence. Jake exhaled.
"We fight on opposite sides of the mountain, and if you get yourself killed I'm leaving no matter what." He said quietly.
"See, one reason and you're doing exactly what I want." Butcher picked up a cup from the machine and downed the liquid. "Bleck. It's worse the second time." He shuddered. "Whatever." He threw the cup away and started to walk out. "Parts will be where you want em. Don't be late for our date though, I am getting blood, and yours won't be satisfying, but I will get it if you try to weasel out of everything."
Jake didn't say anything as the other man left. As painful as it was to say it, Butcher had the rep. He loved killing, but only in mechs and against expert pilots. This sort of thing was very nice to have pointed at the enemy.
"One bad decision after another." The man concluded to the empty air after a few minutes with more than a little pain.
If he weren't an expert he probably would have drunk himself into a stupor. He was still very tempted. Instead he got up. He'd survive. That was all he ever wanted.
In shorter words the place was a shithole on a shithole planet. Even the booze was shit. It was practically pure alcohol that dribbled out of an automated bartender. The device had hard stuff and harder stuff.
"How the fuck do you keep finding these places?" The man's words indicated confusion, the emotions behind them were pure violence.
Jake tipped back his cowboy hat and leaned back on his chair as he fingered the gun at his side. "In this case there's nothing better." He drawled back. "Planet has dirt, some merc camps, and not much else. Hear rumors about natives, but ain't seen a lick of them."
"Jake Jake Jake, you've refined finding shitty watering holes to an art. You can't tell me you didn't look for something like this." The man strode into the bar and glanced around before turning to the 'bartender' and punching it. It dribbled out more alcohol into a metal cup and he snorted. "Ok, you actually impressed me. This is bad."
The cowboy kept his hand on his gun. "At least it's standing. Think we can leave it that way?" He didn't hold out hope.
The man downed the drink in one gulp and shuddered. "It deserves death for this shit, but if it's the only bar here I'll leave it just to watch you suffer." He took a seat and frowned. "So what do you got?"
"Price first Butcher." Jake gave the other expert a flat look. "You got it?"
"Exotics enough to repair your baby." The man confirmed with a leer. "You sure you don't want me to bring it now?"
"And see you try to kill me again?" Jake asked with an upraised eyebrow. "We both know what you'd do if we're in mechs anywhere close to one another."
"True. It's taking a lot to not just lunge over the table and kill you now." Butcher confirmed with a surprisingly friendly smile.
Jake wasn't fooled for a second. They'd run in the same military, but not in the same circles. They were familiar with one another like you would be with a man down the street. Even then he knew enough to know that Butcher wasn't joking. He'd likely gotten worse even. It almost made the meeting a mistake really. He'd be in serious danger in a mech, but outside it was still very dangerous.
"Not sure why you want to bother. Your mech is going to start degrading soon. Might take a decade for them to really stop working, but anything made by seniors and below dies with them, and your 'baby' isn't an exception." Butcher continued with a trace of bemusement.
Right there was why Jake had bothered. Butcher was a monster, but he was also one that had a lot of knowledge that wasn't common. Probably why he was still alive even now. The man got obsessive about the strangest things and picked up a lot of uncommon knowledge.
"Getting it repaired will let me take a job and get off the planet with my boys." The expert explained his general plan with a shrug.
With a functional mech he was a valued asset to anyone. It would be trivial to get transportation for a small group consisting of him and a few friends if he needed. It'd been a backup plan he'd been working on for awhile, especially once it became apparent that the carrier was on its last legs.
Butcher snorted. "Ah, get your ass kicked and run away. Suppose I shouldn't be surprised you keep with the pattern. Well, it does make this easier. I don't want to kill cowards really."
Liar. Jake didn't say because he wanted as little attention as possible on him here. He just adjusted his hat and redirected. "You want to kill the people in the mountain instead."
"Yep. Don't care about whatever treasure they have. Just want to murder the supposed monster they have." The man's expression at that statement couldn't be described as anything less than eager. "So tell me." He breathed out and leaned forward.
Jake was an expert. He'd been in danger before. Nothing came close to the sheer menace he was feeling from that man right now. Butcher was a monster in human skin and it showed right now.
"Pilots a woman. Rumor has it she's got two mechs, but didn't see both of them. Saw one." The man rattled off as he scooted his chair away slightly. "Light mech, resonant material lets her repair fast enough that she healed between reloads. Favored ambush and skirmishing tactics. No ranged weapons."
Butcher seemed almost disappointed at the information. "That's it? Jake, I'm going to have to downgrade you to Jakey." He moved before he finished the words.
Jake had already been pulling out the gun. It didn't help. The weapon was out but his opponent was holding the arm away and he was on the ground before he could register what had happened. The chair was trashed. The floor was also filthy, but that was an irreverent observation because his face was pressed against it.
"Jakey, Jakey." Butcher cooed. "You arranged this because you said you had information. I could look that up on the net. I did actually. It's why I know everything there is to know about Lilly. You could call it my obsession even. I always know all about the people I'm fighting. It's my passion. It's my love. It's my purpose of being. And here you are trying to fulfil that purpose with stale and moldy information. Do you understand how disappointing that is?"
"Psychopath doesn't do you justice." The expert ground out from his place on the floor as he tried to struggle out from the pin.
"Haha, no. Another fact you probably didn't know. Experts like us? We're defined by how we ascend. Me? I shoved a nice and pretty sword right into an experts cockpit. It was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. It was a high beyond all highs." Butcher breathed out. "So, unless you want to be my next high, you're going to help me here. Either proper information, or something else. Maybe your men. I could use some meat to throw while I go after the real prize."
"If you think my men would go into that grinder again willingly, you got another thing coming." Jake said bluntly.
"Oh with some motivation they will. Really, that's all you need. A reason. It doesn't even have to be a good one." Butcher twisted Jake's arm until the gun was out of his grip and then threw it across the room. "Take a seat Jakey."
Jake debated going for the gun. He was quite sure the other man would kill him. He instead took a seat and glared. "We're both experts here. I doubt you can convince me of anything I don't want to do."
"I told you. I know everything about who I fight." Butcher met Jakes eyes in a deliberate fashion. "Did you enjoy running? You had a nice life. Top of the class, first in line, easy ascension. You were put in a lovely little red custom mech and then pushed into a choice battle. You ascended fighting trash and was proud of it."
That was such an exaggeration that Jake wanted to punch the other man on principle.
"Haha. Now here's the fun part. When everyone died you took the ships and ran, but a cute little nepo-pilot like you never really got logistics, so you grabbed too much. You landed on a planet close to where you fled and realized you had no money. No one would give you anything, and then you panicked when things started going wrong." Butcher continued mercilessly. "It wasn't like they needed all of it right? They were probably going to die too, and it wasn't like you had space mechs..." He trailed off leadingly.
Jake looked away. He had very mixed feelings about his recent actions. The reasons were close to what he'd been thinking as well. The planet had been next in line and they'd had almost no defenses. There had been nothing he could do that would help them.
"No judgement here Jakey. But you've already started down this path. You're a cowboy bandit now and people are going to look at you like that. You ascended picking off vermin. You love to put on a show against the masses. So that's what you do. I target that little lady that kicked your ass, and you can go off and play. Think of this like just another job before you... Run again." Butcher grinned as he leaned back on his seat. "I don't even want the loot. You know what I want. I'll take enough to feed me and my crew, and let you have everything else. It's not like they'll need it either."
"I don't buy a lick of what you're selling, but if you're going to go with those terms..." Jake sighed as his head started to hang. "Damnit, it will convince everyone."
"Not surprised. Call me a monster, I deserve it." Butcher got up and moved to the dispenser, giving it another hit. "I don't dress it up pretty. But you all? The men you brought with you? They're animals now. Let me guess, you got drinking, whoring, drugs, and more right? You don't need to answer. I can guess. They're self destructing and you just realized it."
"Wouldn't say it like that." Jake muttered.
It was a mix of grief, rage, and other emotions. No one was in a healthy mindset, and the constant running had not helped. They were barely holding themselves together, and that failed attack had not helped at all. Truthfully Jake had been pretty sure that they wouldn't have even noticed him leaving with the sane people for a long while.
He'd still leave right now if he could, but he wasn't kidding about needing those parts. Lilly had done a number on his mech and another fight without some serious repair was a death sentence. Jake exhaled.
"We fight on opposite sides of the mountain, and if you get yourself killed I'm leaving no matter what." He said quietly.
"See, one reason and you're doing exactly what I want." Butcher picked up a cup from the machine and downed the liquid. "Bleck. It's worse the second time." He shuddered. "Whatever." He threw the cup away and started to walk out. "Parts will be where you want em. Don't be late for our date though, I am getting blood, and yours won't be satisfying, but I will get it if you try to weasel out of everything."
Jake didn't say anything as the other man left. As painful as it was to say it, Butcher had the rep. He loved killing, but only in mechs and against expert pilots. This sort of thing was very nice to have pointed at the enemy.
"One bad decision after another." The man concluded to the empty air after a few minutes with more than a little pain.
If he weren't an expert he probably would have drunk himself into a stupor. He was still very tempted. Instead he got up. He'd survive. That was all he ever wanted.
Luker number 5
Versed in the lewd.
- Joined
- Jul 11, 2014
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Well, I'm shedding no tears when those fuckos die.
lurkingkraken
Experienced.
- Joined
- Mar 3, 2020
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Unfortunately for Jake, he's just confirmed that he's the bad and Butcher's the Ugly.
Which means the Bounty Hunter must be the good.
I can't wait to see Dullahan wearing its new Cowboy hat.
Which means the Bounty Hunter must be the good.
I can't wait to see Dullahan wearing its new Cowboy hat.
I028
New
lost star
Connoisseur.
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It was not hard to spot the mass of mechs readying themselves. It was so obvious that it was painful really. Unfortunately Kriff couldn't stop it. No one in Olympus could. Butcher had landed, and his reputation was just enough to cajole the opportunists and cowards into trying one last time. It wasn't a military force so much as a mob or horde bent on... Well anything. There was no moral high ground. There was barely any reason. The gathering men, women, and opportunists weren't even there for the supposed loot inside Olympus really. They were there just because others were gathering. Mob behavior essentially. The last remnants of dead nations gathering together in grief and spite uncaring of the reasons.
This was humanity at its worse. A seething mob that brought nothing but ruin in its wake. A gathering of all the things that could be considered evil in humanity. All of it egged on by Butcher and a reluctant Jake. There was no sense or humanity here. It was a group of people that couldn't be called anything more than desperate and vile.
All of this was possible because these had not been the best people before all of this. Those had died fighting, or had gladly enlisted elsewhere to continue to fight. These were the thieves, cowards, and wretches that had picked up and fled. Only some of the gathering people had something resembling morality and were in the group because of momentum. The rest had already committed to looting and pillaging for their own reasons. Few of those reasons were good.
Kriff had considered this the worst case scenario. It had been inevitable unfortunately. At some point someone would have tried this. All they could do was attempt to chip away at the gathering groups and prevent further organization.
This meant that the Backscratchers went into overtime. It meant that the Crows did bombing runs until their engines went out. It even meant that their ground forces did what they could with small thrusts here and there. Everything possible was done to keep the mob from becoming something overwhelming.
It was impossible to tell how significant the results were. A significant portion of the attackers were in what amounted to junk mechs. They'd been top of the line mechs before the sand war. Now they were running on hopes and dreams. Some of them had even been 'repaired' and fueled by some natives inclined to value money over their fellows, which made them functional, but not exactly stellar. A Junk Rat special was meant to get you back in the quickest, cheapest, and frequently dirtiest fashion. These types of mechs were ultimately expendable and they were what took the most damage from the raids.
Numbers had a way of telling though, and the enemy had the numbers. Had Olympus not had the defenders advantage, they would have had no chance. They had a chance here. It wasn't going to be easy in any fashion. They still had that chance and that was what everyone told one another to keep morale up. (It was the truth, but that didn't stop things from being terrifying.)
The battle was going to hinge on the experts and how they moved. Pup was pivotal, much to his dismay. If the expert managed to get his howls off with the right timings, they'd win.
Butcher and Jake knew that in an abstract manner. They knew that when an expert howled the defenders got better. The exact mechanics were irrelevant in the face of that. They would attempt to kill the young man if they find him. There was absolutely no question about that. Both sides knew it. What only one side knew was that if they spotted him, he was likely dead in short order. Pup was simply too young and weak as an expert to do more than last a few minutes. Kriff would be dedicating significant forces focused on keeping their most critical man alive. Yet it was the other experts that would ultimately be responsible for that, and that was tricky.
Lilly could win against Jake. If she rode out on Morning Star, Jake the Cowboy was practically guaranteed to lose. Leo had fought Butcher the Murderer before and hadn't won. He'd been destroyed truthfully. The expert lived up to his reputation, and even now that reputation was forcing considerations.
Ultimately the decision was to have Lilly fight with Dowry and Leo to eliminate Butcher, while Pup tried to delay Jake. This would, and should guarantee the loss of Butcher. Once that was done Lilly would race around the mountain and try to eliminate Jake. It said something that Butcher could make a two vs one a toss up.
Of course, all this hinged on the enemy attacking first. They didn't bother doing it immediately. They instead simply gathered around in a sort of indecisive almost attack. It was almost a siege, but Olympus still had enough orbital control that it they could simply use orbital assets to travel if they needed. Their new carrier was being held together by threads and prayers, but it was holding, and more importantly doing work. They were slowly growing in numbers and managing to repair their forces faster than projected due to the added transport.
Had the enemy been under any sort of direction, they would have attacked once it became apparent that Olympus was too damaged to properly defend. They weren't. The enemy was just a group of deserters held together by the expert reputation that Butcher and Jake carried. Truthfully both experts were barely in control of the gathered forces. The pilots that made up the 'army' had almost no morale, discipline was dying or non-existent, and the frequent attacks and harassments were causing everyone to gather together and bunker down more than anything else, which was also causing serious infighting between incompatible groups.
This meant that a month passed as the mob dithered and wavered between attacking and falling apart. Kriff exploited that ruthlessly, trying his damnedest to get an idea of the enemy's scope and critical assets. The Wrench Rats likewise did everything in their power to repair everything. It couldn't last though.
Midway through the second month the enemy's wavering will shifted enough to attack for them to move. The reason wasn't because of any sort of opening. It was the fact that supplies were starting to get thin. The mob had no logistical train supporting them, and there were no locals nearby to steal from either. Their own numbers had destroyed any chance of a proper siege. So out of desperation they simply charged. The end result was a lurching, hungry mob moving towards the mountain with both desperation and something close to insanity.
It probably would have been funny in another time. Mechs themed as undead defending against a 'zombie' horde. Experiencing it was nothing of the sort.
Kriff almost immediately pulled back all their forces once the attack started. They had the area flooded with mist and readied themselves. The Crows went up into the air again, but waited. There were simply too many mechs to really defend against in the first wave. Some areas had them moving practically shoulder to shoulder. Trying to block that sort of thing required numbers they simply didn't have.
What they did have was the mountain shields. Flicking them on at full blast stopped the enemy at the edges of the mountain. It wouldn't last that long against these sorts of numbers, but they didn't need to. It stalled the mob mentality, and let the next group move forward. The Crows were ordered to fly. Just the Crows.
By this point Bolt and the others had sort of identified how the curses worked for the Crows. It was pseudo-random. What seemed to happen was that the effects were dependent on where the nanomachines hit and how much was hit. They were a sort of 'plague' of sorts that tainted parts of the mech. The mechs could flush the effect eventually, but thanks to the wide range of places you could hit it was always hard to predict how the curse would be applied. Basically, if you hit the head just right you could cause the sensors in the head to malfunction. If you hit a lot, then the mechs would almost shut down. You could cause friend-or-foe recognition to malfunction and so on.
This wide variety of effects had a particularly fun result when used on several groups that were being jammed and didn't quite trust one another. Once the Crows did their flyby, about half the mechs had various debilitations. A notable portion of them had friend-or-foe changed and no other problems. The results were both predictable and quite useful. Infighting started to happen and all of the sudden there was complete chaos.
It was into that chaos that everyone was deployed into. It was not nice. It was not neat. Nor was it pleasant. The goal was a sweep of the mountain. A sharp blade that would wipe off the confused people while the Backscratchers tried to take out the backline supporters. As few as there were. Backline mechs weren't glamourous or dangerous directly, so they were frequently the first to be cannibalized for parts by disorganized groups.
Naturally, this wasn't as easy as it sounded. The sheer mass of people made it a mess beyond belief.
This was humanity at its worse. A seething mob that brought nothing but ruin in its wake. A gathering of all the things that could be considered evil in humanity. All of it egged on by Butcher and a reluctant Jake. There was no sense or humanity here. It was a group of people that couldn't be called anything more than desperate and vile.
All of this was possible because these had not been the best people before all of this. Those had died fighting, or had gladly enlisted elsewhere to continue to fight. These were the thieves, cowards, and wretches that had picked up and fled. Only some of the gathering people had something resembling morality and were in the group because of momentum. The rest had already committed to looting and pillaging for their own reasons. Few of those reasons were good.
Kriff had considered this the worst case scenario. It had been inevitable unfortunately. At some point someone would have tried this. All they could do was attempt to chip away at the gathering groups and prevent further organization.
This meant that the Backscratchers went into overtime. It meant that the Crows did bombing runs until their engines went out. It even meant that their ground forces did what they could with small thrusts here and there. Everything possible was done to keep the mob from becoming something overwhelming.
It was impossible to tell how significant the results were. A significant portion of the attackers were in what amounted to junk mechs. They'd been top of the line mechs before the sand war. Now they were running on hopes and dreams. Some of them had even been 'repaired' and fueled by some natives inclined to value money over their fellows, which made them functional, but not exactly stellar. A Junk Rat special was meant to get you back in the quickest, cheapest, and frequently dirtiest fashion. These types of mechs were ultimately expendable and they were what took the most damage from the raids.
Numbers had a way of telling though, and the enemy had the numbers. Had Olympus not had the defenders advantage, they would have had no chance. They had a chance here. It wasn't going to be easy in any fashion. They still had that chance and that was what everyone told one another to keep morale up. (It was the truth, but that didn't stop things from being terrifying.)
The battle was going to hinge on the experts and how they moved. Pup was pivotal, much to his dismay. If the expert managed to get his howls off with the right timings, they'd win.
Butcher and Jake knew that in an abstract manner. They knew that when an expert howled the defenders got better. The exact mechanics were irrelevant in the face of that. They would attempt to kill the young man if they find him. There was absolutely no question about that. Both sides knew it. What only one side knew was that if they spotted him, he was likely dead in short order. Pup was simply too young and weak as an expert to do more than last a few minutes. Kriff would be dedicating significant forces focused on keeping their most critical man alive. Yet it was the other experts that would ultimately be responsible for that, and that was tricky.
Lilly could win against Jake. If she rode out on Morning Star, Jake the Cowboy was practically guaranteed to lose. Leo had fought Butcher the Murderer before and hadn't won. He'd been destroyed truthfully. The expert lived up to his reputation, and even now that reputation was forcing considerations.
Ultimately the decision was to have Lilly fight with Dowry and Leo to eliminate Butcher, while Pup tried to delay Jake. This would, and should guarantee the loss of Butcher. Once that was done Lilly would race around the mountain and try to eliminate Jake. It said something that Butcher could make a two vs one a toss up.
Of course, all this hinged on the enemy attacking first. They didn't bother doing it immediately. They instead simply gathered around in a sort of indecisive almost attack. It was almost a siege, but Olympus still had enough orbital control that it they could simply use orbital assets to travel if they needed. Their new carrier was being held together by threads and prayers, but it was holding, and more importantly doing work. They were slowly growing in numbers and managing to repair their forces faster than projected due to the added transport.
Had the enemy been under any sort of direction, they would have attacked once it became apparent that Olympus was too damaged to properly defend. They weren't. The enemy was just a group of deserters held together by the expert reputation that Butcher and Jake carried. Truthfully both experts were barely in control of the gathered forces. The pilots that made up the 'army' had almost no morale, discipline was dying or non-existent, and the frequent attacks and harassments were causing everyone to gather together and bunker down more than anything else, which was also causing serious infighting between incompatible groups.
This meant that a month passed as the mob dithered and wavered between attacking and falling apart. Kriff exploited that ruthlessly, trying his damnedest to get an idea of the enemy's scope and critical assets. The Wrench Rats likewise did everything in their power to repair everything. It couldn't last though.
Midway through the second month the enemy's wavering will shifted enough to attack for them to move. The reason wasn't because of any sort of opening. It was the fact that supplies were starting to get thin. The mob had no logistical train supporting them, and there were no locals nearby to steal from either. Their own numbers had destroyed any chance of a proper siege. So out of desperation they simply charged. The end result was a lurching, hungry mob moving towards the mountain with both desperation and something close to insanity.
It probably would have been funny in another time. Mechs themed as undead defending against a 'zombie' horde. Experiencing it was nothing of the sort.
Kriff almost immediately pulled back all their forces once the attack started. They had the area flooded with mist and readied themselves. The Crows went up into the air again, but waited. There were simply too many mechs to really defend against in the first wave. Some areas had them moving practically shoulder to shoulder. Trying to block that sort of thing required numbers they simply didn't have.
What they did have was the mountain shields. Flicking them on at full blast stopped the enemy at the edges of the mountain. It wouldn't last that long against these sorts of numbers, but they didn't need to. It stalled the mob mentality, and let the next group move forward. The Crows were ordered to fly. Just the Crows.
By this point Bolt and the others had sort of identified how the curses worked for the Crows. It was pseudo-random. What seemed to happen was that the effects were dependent on where the nanomachines hit and how much was hit. They were a sort of 'plague' of sorts that tainted parts of the mech. The mechs could flush the effect eventually, but thanks to the wide range of places you could hit it was always hard to predict how the curse would be applied. Basically, if you hit the head just right you could cause the sensors in the head to malfunction. If you hit a lot, then the mechs would almost shut down. You could cause friend-or-foe recognition to malfunction and so on.
This wide variety of effects had a particularly fun result when used on several groups that were being jammed and didn't quite trust one another. Once the Crows did their flyby, about half the mechs had various debilitations. A notable portion of them had friend-or-foe changed and no other problems. The results were both predictable and quite useful. Infighting started to happen and all of the sudden there was complete chaos.
It was into that chaos that everyone was deployed into. It was not nice. It was not neat. Nor was it pleasant. The goal was a sweep of the mountain. A sharp blade that would wipe off the confused people while the Backscratchers tried to take out the backline supporters. As few as there were. Backline mechs weren't glamourous or dangerous directly, so they were frequently the first to be cannibalized for parts by disorganized groups.
Naturally, this wasn't as easy as it sounded. The sheer mass of people made it a mess beyond belief.