#farlight hounds

[939-valkyrie]

I want to see Mechs, but, Magic, you know what i mean? Mechs who's power comes from like, a Lich's Phylactery, Canons who are fired when a spell sigil is completed. Instead of thrusters, it has a magically generated Gravity well that it can manipulate to some extent to move itself around.

maybe something to work on after i finish Farlight (shameless fic plug)

[939-valkyrie]

FHMV E-6 MK.1 "Seraphim"

The E-6 "Seraphim" Is one of the tallest models of FHMV, standing just shy of 100 feet, if you include its "Halo" that floats a few feet above its head. Despite its height, the "Seraphim" is one of the lightest of the FHMV's, necessary for its flight, as the E-6 was designed for CAS and Interception.

Along its back, six wings emerge from its chassis, made of a lightweight metal, each inbuilt with their own Generators, utilizing Farlight to power series of electro-magnets, and propellors to allow for it to hover, and fly from a relatively high altitude, roughly 700 up, more if the generators are overclocked. [Warning: Overclocking the generators of an E-6 MK.1 Model has been shown to deal catastrophic damage to the structural integrity of the FHMV's wings and could potentially render the Machine inert if not properly taken care of. Overclocking should be a LAST RESORT.]

The Seraphim was designed as it was, for two reasons. With its capacity for flight, and the ability to traverse large distances quickly, the Seraphim makes for a great Close Air Support machine, able to swoop in, attack, and immediatetly leave.

It was also, however, designed with no small amount of psychological warfare in mind.

Between its 6 wings, the Halo that hovers above the chassis head, Its lithe, almost unnaturally fast shape, and the very deliberate White, Gold, and Red color palette, The Seraphim Heavily resembles the concept of a retributive angel, Bestowing divine judgement in gunfire and explosions, Hence, its rather on the nose moniker.

Piloting A "Seraphim" Requires the ability to react quickly, as in the air, one wrong adjustment in trajectory could send a pilot into the side of a mountain, or directly in the path of an incoming missile.

It is recommended that only Hounds who were former jet pilots, or even simply adrenaline junkies, nicknamed Falcons, be allowed to even attempt to pilot an E-6 MK.1 "Seraphim."

[939-valkyrie]

Again Pt. 4

It's, surprising, how long the human mind can make one moment feel.

As the mech above me descended, my mind seemed to take, two paths. one down the angry, vengeful side, determined to not fail again

But, the other, found a memory. One that had, faded into obscurity a long time ago.

A hospital bed. Heart and Vital monitors all around me, beeping and humming in time with the throbbing of my own sickly heart. rising and falling in sync with my rattling chest.

Doctors milled about all around me, words being muttered too quiet for me to understand over the machines keeping track of my life like lines of code.

I'd sat like this for so long... Days... weeks... months... I dont remember, what got me there, What it was the doctors said i had, but i remembered them telling me that, i was probably going to be there for the rest of my life.

But then, the soft clicks.

Heels approaching

Metal servos softly hissing

My head couldnt turn, the muscles in my body so atrophied that even breathing was a chore, let alone moving my neck. But eventually she stepped into view.

She was a, rather bland woman, at least at first glance. wearing a white coat almost indistinguisable from that of the doctors. her hair was a pale while and her eyes were piercing and red.

But what caught my attention, was what surrounded her

Metal limbs, extending from her back and surrounding her, all of them softly moving around her body. some ended in hands, some in tools that, even now i can't say for certain what they do.

She stood there, staring at me for, what felt like hours, but might have just been a few minutes. Her sharp red eyes boring into my weak body. One of the doctors stepped up to her, saying something that evaded my pain addled mind, becoming nothing more than a hum in my memory.

But then she spoke.

The words burning into my mind far stronger than the pain ever could have.

"She's perfect~"

[939-valkyrie]

Chapter 4: Disconnections

When Farah awoke again, she wasn’t on the operating table anymore. Instead, she found herself on a bed, within a small room, dimly lit by a single bulb above her head as she laid there, naked and cold. The light was just enough for her to get a decent grasp of her surroundings without having to move too much.

On the far side of the room, was a door, simple steel, with no window, but, at the same time, no knob, or handle, or even a control panel. Beneath her was a small bed, just barely large enough to fit the woman on top of, and directly to her right, was a sink, a toilet, and a chair with a desk.

A holding cell, she thought to herself, this place is a holding cell.

She tried to shift, half expecting restraints, but instead, found pain. Aching, searing, burning pain going from the back of her head, down her spine, and along her arms; intense enough to lay the Sgt. back down flat as she yelped out, which, truthfully only slightly lessened the pain.

Blearily through the pain, Farah noticed a sound, from the other side of the door. Movement, faint and quiet, but distinctly movement. The sound of clothes moving, a foot shifting on the hard floor.

So, there’s guards.

She stayed there, laid flat on her bed for a long time, quietly groaning and whimpering at every small movement as it elicited red hot pain across her body, But, in time, she grew… Numb, to it. At least numb enough to finally, properly sit upright.

Her back felt odd, as did her arms. Painful, yes, but that wasn’t the whole of it. There was a strange disconnect, as though her movements were lagging behind just a little, not enough to be debilitating, but enough for her subconscious to notice it.

She outstretched her right arm, wincing and gritting her teeth as a shock of pain went through her arm and up to the base of her skull. She wasn’t imagining it, there was a strange delay, as though her arm were just a millisecond behind her input.

As she stared at it, trying to understand, she twisted her arm slightly, just to test it again, when she sees something on the back of her arm. Two, strange metal protrusions, one at her elbow, the other at her wrist. They were circular, about as big around as her palm, and seemed to have some sort of indent in the center.

They looked like ports to her, or an outlet of some kind. She’d seen the internals of a few ships in her time, and they reminded her of the massive ports that some of the large electronics would be plugged into to power certain functions of a ship. But she’d never truly paid much attention, she was a soldier, not an engineer. Though, these seemed smaller, only a few inches across rather than nearly a foot across like she’d seen on the ships.

She turned her head, pushing through the pain as she lifted her other arm, turning it over to see those same ports on her left elbow, and wrist.

“What the fuck…?” she muttered softly to herself.

These must have been what was causing her so much pain. She couldn’t see her back, but she figured it was safe to assume they were along her spine too.

Her mind flashed back to the smiling face of Briar, leering over her as mechanical limbs splayed out behind her before Farah’s mind slipped into the bliss of unconsciousness. Briar must have done… whatever this is.

She let her arms drop, falling to her sides which only served to elicit another wince out of her, and that same odd feeling of disconnection.

Something about that feeling nagged at her, pulling at the back of her mind like a plague that she couldn’t combat. It felt so intensely wrong to the woman, A feeling of her body not being her body, something else taking her own inputs and looking over them, before letting them through, it made her skin crawl with a discomfort she couldn’t shake.

Farah spent, what could have been hours, or days, sitting there, slowly testing her movements, learning to deal with the pain, the discomfort of this odd disconnect, until she could walk mostly comfortably, pacing around her small cell.

At some point during her testing, she discovered ports, similar to those on her arms, on the sides of her thighs, knees, and ankles. She’d discovered as much when she’d accidentally bumped into the chair with one, an incident that sent so much pain through her that she collapsed to the floor, crying out in agony for several moments, before it slowly faded. Outside she heard more movement, and even a few words, though the door between her and the sound muffled it to the point of incomprehensibility.

Eventually, she was sitting once again, on her bed. Her leg still aching with the memory of agony playing along her nerves, as she began to try and rationalize what was happening to her.

Was this some, strange torture method of Briars? Most of the records on the so called “doctor” were, conflicting, some stating she’d been around since the beginning of the war, some 200 odd years ago, some stating that she was an opportunist, and others stating that Briar wasn’t a person, but a position, one passed down periodically. But very few spoke of Briar’s methods, only of Bricorps, which, that alone was ruthless.

Most of Bricorps business was entirely around Mechanics, leading to the corporations early stages as one of the foremost creators of advanced technology, but, as the corporation grew stronger over time, and they learned of the elusive “Farlight”, their goals seemed to shift.

Their work shifted towards war, the creation of new ships, weapons, and even advanced combat tools such as Exoskeletons.

That caught her attention, as she thought about it. Exoskeletons… Was that what this was? Was briar testing some sort of new exoskeleton on her? Surely that wasn’t it…

And what of those machines Farah had found in the containers back planetside. Briar had spoken as though those things Belonged to her. Not in the sense of a thief claiming something was theres simply by right of being the one who held it, but as though they’d always been hers, as though it was the Coalition who was the thief, not the other way around.

“And weapons need someone to use them” Briar had said, right before Farah had been put under. Does Briar intend to-

Farah’s train of thought was cut off, as movement occurred outside her room, clearer this time, as footsteps reverberated outside.

Someone was approaching her room.

For a moment, all Farah could think about was the fact that she was still utterly naked, the only things adorning her body were the ports that still faintly ached, so long as she remained perfectly still. But, before she could do anything about it, even pull the thin sheet from her bed around her body, the door opened.

She’d half expected to see Briar standing on the other side, looming in the doorway like a malevolent shadow, but she was instead met with another familiar silhouette.

The doctor, or, nurse, or something, that had been by her table when she’d awoken the first time stood, staring at her blankly, with a clipboard in her hand. Her hair was still tied back in a neat bun on the back of her head, and her face remained impassive, the dim light of the bulb above their head casting faint shadows on her face that accentuated her deep-set eyes.

“Good. You seem aware this time. More so than the last time I came to check on you.” Her voice remained just as flat as it had before, so much so that it took Farah a moment to fully register what was said.

“Last time? What do you mean the last time? I only just woke up a little bit ago… I think”

The woman flicks the clipboard to the side, as though to dismiss Farah’s confusion.

“Unimportant. You can stand, correct?”

Farah doesn’t answer, only glaring at the woman, not content with that answer.

The nurse sighs, the first sound of something resembling a proper, human emotion Farah has heard from her.

“I’ve come in here to check on you four times now, over the last two days. The first two you were still unconscious, the third you were awake but catatonic. This is the first time you’ve been upright, and cognizant. Happy?” She doesn’t give Farah a chance to affirm or dissent. “Can you stand?”

Two days. It’d been two days since whatever Briar and this woman had done to Farah. Some part of her mind fades out, trying to comprehend that, But, when the nurse snaps her fingers, suddenly a few feet closer to Farah, she nods, somewhat shakily pushing herself upright.

It still felt strange, wrong, and so, stars damned painful, but she stood.

“What did you do to me…” It’s not a question, not really.

The nurse doesn’t answer, of course, instead turning to walk back out, obviously expecting Farah to follow.

She stares after for a few moments, numbly weighing her options. She could stay here, just not leave her cell, but as she stares, she sees a hint of something moving next to the door frame. A gun barrel, then a boot. Guards, right. So, staying wasn’t an option, they would just drag her out. Escape wasn’t possible here, especially not in her current state.

The Nurse glanced back, still impassive, but something about the way her head turns, but her body didn’t, exuded impatience, just enough that it pulled Farah out of her stupor, as she slowly, shakily, and painfully followed her, still excruciatingly aware of her own nudity as she passed the pair of guards outside her room.

As she stepped out, the door silently closed behind her, as the guards stepped in behind her. An escort, in case Farah tried something, of course.

The hallway they stepped into was long, brightly lit by painfully white lights in strips across the floor and ceiling. Along the hallway on her left, were several more doors identical to her own, though none of them had guards posted. It seemed she was the only one being kept wherever this place is.

A few hallways split off on the ride side, continuing down deeper into, whatever this place is, off to, who knows what sorts of things, But Farah, the Nurse, and the two guards continued down the same hallway they’d started in.

“Where are you taking me?” Farah asked, hoping that she’d actually get an answer, but was only met with stony silence, the only sounds following her question being the sounds of boots hitting metal, and the soft sounds of her own bare feet touching the same metal flooring.

She debated silently to herself whether or not asking again would be worth it, considering the last time she’d been indignant, it actually provided her an answer, but, as she glanced back at the two guards bearing chemcoil rifles, she decided against it. Better to wait until she found out herself than to push her luck at this moment.

In the back of her mind, she kept track of where they had been, and what she’d seen. In the seemingly more and more unlikely scenario that she finds a way out of her cell without getting caught, it was best for her to memorize what she can of this place, in case something here leads to a way out.

Despite her pain riddled and bedraggled state, she was still a soldier, and a damn good one at that. She was the only of her squad that had survived, after all. If only she hadn’t gotten cocky…

Despite her best efforts, her mind drifted back, to the cold, snow covered valley Epsilon-2 had been nestled within. The snow gathered around her legs, the very same legs that now ached as she’d propped up her pilfered rifle on her knee, the reticle of its built-in optic centered on Briar's face, with her finger curled around the trigger, ready to take the shot.

A Hero. She would have been “A Hero…”

Her own voice startled her out of her reverie. She’d said that aloud, she realized, as the woman in front of her turned her head to look at the sergeant, with a faintly bemused expression, before turning back towards a large door the group was approaching.

The door opened silently, just as the door to Farah’s cell had opened, and led into a room that took Farah several moments to properly understand.

The ceiling went high into the air, at least 300 feet above the sergeant's head, and continued even farther into the distance, with the farthest wall marked by what seemed like a large door. It felt like a hangar, one she’d seen time and time again, but most Hangars are built long and wide, so several ships can fit inside, but this hangar is different, long but skinny, only about 80 feet wide. On the left side, about 60 feet up, a platform that jutted out from the wall, a control center.

But all of these details left Farah’s mind almost instantly, as her eyes fell upon the true centerpiece of the Hangar.

Hanging from chains and hooks, only a few dozen feet from where she stood, was something towering. Something she recognized, or at least recognized pieces of.

The Machine. Built from the very pieces she’d witnessed on Ipira IV, was massive, standing nearly as tall as this room did, sleek metal panels almost as big as some ships making up its exterior, with metal internals visible where pieces were still being attached by massive cranes. It was painted a deep blue and a dark, nearly black red, as though a piece of the dusk light sky had been harvested to paint this massive machine… this weapon.

“Weapons need someone to use them,” Briar had said. And as Farah looks upon this weapon, a sinking feeling fills her stomach.

“A hero…”

[939-valkyrie]

Announcement!

Hello! So, I've seen a lot of people have enjoyed my shorter work "Again" and its subsequent parts If you've found my account, and enjoy Mechsploitation, Mecha, and just things like that, i highly recommend you go and read them For those of you who have already seen those, and have been keeping up with my, admittetdly weird posting schedule, you've likely seen updates on my Fic Farlight Hounds, and I'm happy to announce that Chapter 1 has officially been posted to Ao3!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/78384146 Please go check it out, it would mean a lot to me! subsequent chapters will be posted as they are written!

[939-valkyrie]

If yall have questions about my writing or Farlight or anything like that, dont be scared to send asks <3 (Not me interaction seeking lmao)

[939-valkyrie]

Farlight Hounds: Chptr: 2: The Lights

(Previous Chapters: Epsilon-2 and An Interlude)

Lights.

Lights were the first thing Farah noticed when she woke up.

Bright and blinding, searing her corneas, even when her eyes were closed.

The second was the smell. Or rather, the Lack thereof. Wherever she was, it was sterile. Cold and clean, and nothing like what she was used to. There was no smell of gun oil, or musty old uniforms, or even the faint smell of a breeze, or that painfully cold scent of snow.

It was blank. Empty, in a way she couldn’t fully understand. The thing it reminded her of most, was the nurses office, back when she was still a boot, being checked out to make sure she was physically fit for recruitment.

She’d hated that place from the moment she’d walked in.

Blearily, She opened her eyes, trying to see past the blinding lights above her, with little success; they turned everything around her into a white haze, only faint impressions being visible.

At first, she’d thought she was alone in this bright, sterilized room, until one of the impressions moved, seeming to float around her line of sight, the only sign of it actually being a person coming from the faint sound of footsteps around her.

‘Why is everything so muffled sounding?’ she thought to herself; Every sound around her seemed like it was in water, faintly reverberating in her head.

A momentary flash of a memory filled her mind, the feeling of something hitting her, hard.

‘Shit… i must have a concussion’ she realized. Whatever hit her had gotten her good; her head was swimming, and the longer she was conscious, the more a dull thrumming ache in the back of her head began to overcome her senses.

“...light- turn off… turn off the light” Her words came out slurred, her tongue seeming to trip over itself as she spoke. One of the impressions, the one that had stepped around her a moment earlier, paused, leaning down to look over her.

As it came closer, the impression started to take shape in front of her. A younger woman, perhaps in her early 20’s, wearing her black hair in a tight bun with piercing green eyes.

The woman inspected Farah for what felt like minutes but, likely was only a few moments, before straightening back out, glancing up towards the other shapes.

“She’s awake. Though, she seems to be quite out of it. Let the Doctor know” The Woman's voice was curt and short, but sharp enough it cut through the concussion-haze filling Farah’s head. One of the other shapes shifted, making a motion Farah could only guess was a nod, before it moved away, out of her line of sight.

Ultimately, it didn’t matter much to Farah, as the searing lights were finally turned off, letting her eyes have a break from it, as the room faded from blinding brightness to a more natural, fainter color.

As her eyes finally adjusted to the more, appropriate lighting, she finally got a proper look around the room and, as she’d suspected, it seemed to be a hospital room; sterile white walls, fluorescent lights in the ceiling, and a fixture she knew, faintly, was a light designed to create no shadows, designed for surgical work. That must have been what was blinding her.

What was more interesting to the Sergeant, however, were the two other people still within the room. The first, was the woman she’d seen a few moments earlier, the second, was a man in a full tactical outfit. Dark black and red plate carrier, as well as a basic helmet and visor, carrying a rifle.

It took Farah several moments to realize why the getup seemed so familiar to her, until she spotted an emblem emblazoned on the upper left corner of the plate carrier. A black and red spider.

He was Bricorp.

When she glanced at the woman, panic beginning to swell in the sergeant's chest, she realized the same emblem was proudly displayed on her labcoat as well, a sight that finally sent Farah over the edge.

Despite the concussion, and growing pain in her skull, Landau leapt up, ready to claw at the man to try and take his gun- Or… At least that's what she tried to do. Ultimately, the most she pulled off was moving off of the bed before collapsing, her legs crumpling beneath her like rotted support beams.

“I told them we should have restrained her.” The woman again, behind her now as she laid there, limp on the floor, just out of reach of the boots of the PMC. “Now we have to get her back up on the table before the Doctor gets here or she’ll have both of our heads”

Footsteps, two sets of them, as both the woman and the Mercenary approach her. Before she can protest, let alone fight, she feels hands grasp her shoulders and her arms, lifting her up and placing her back onto the table, getting met face to face with the PMC

Weakly, Farah makes a scowling expression at him, which seems to do little to intimidate the man, simply drawing a derisive snort from him before he steps away, returning to his post by the door of the room.

The woman, meanwhile, began adjusting Farah’s position, setting her arms against her sides, and straightening out her weakened legs.

“You… sick fucks… what did you… do to me-?”

The Woman looks up towards Farah’s face, as the sergeant weakly speaks.

“You have a concussion, and a small skull fracture. We gave you some sedatives to ease the pain until the Doctor arrived to see you.” Again, her words were curt, sharp, and short, leaving no room for interpretation “But, she’s on her way now, I’m sure.”

The Doctor…? Farah had to spend several moments, racking her pain and sedative addled mind to try and piece together who the woman was talking about, before finally, it clicked.

Briar.

As though to prove her point, the door opened, causing the PMC to step aside, and Clicks filled the room; metallic and reverberating, not from heels, but from metal augments.

Farah didn’t even have to turn her head to feel Briar’s presence. Immediately she could feel the Doctor's eyes boring into her.

Painfully, her neck shifted, until finally she was able to see Briar, standing at the end of the bed she’d been laid in. Somehow the woman was even more intimidating up close; She towered over the bed, dark eyes staring into Farah.

“It’s good to see you awake, Sergeant” Briar spoke with a slow, methodic rhythm, the tone of someone in control of the situation. Behind the woman, those same mechanical arms, tipped with various instruments of medical practice, seemed to float around her body.

“Why… Why the fuck didn’t you kill me…” Farah was having trouble focusing on Briar, her head still swimming from the concussion.

“We’ve been watching you for some time now, Ms. Landau. Keeping a close eye on your training, your ascension through the ranks.” Briar’s face, which had been passive up this point, split into a disingenuous smirk. “You’re quite the Specimen, Sergeant.”

Something about the way Briar said ‘Specimen’ sent a chill down Farah’s spine that she didn’t understand.

“It would have been a waste to kill you, even though you tried to kill me.” The PMC by the door seemed to grip his gun tighter as Briar mentioned Farah’s failed attempt on the Commander's life, as though he hoped Farah would try again so he could put the Sergeant out of her misery.

“But, instead, I have an idea of a… Better use for you” The grin Briar wore began to seem more genuine, though no less sinister to Farah. “Surely you saw what was in those containers, yes?”

The woman paused for several moments, before Farah finally realized Briar actually wanted a response out of her.

“I did. Those… weird machines…” Her speech was getting better, that was a good sign at least.

Briar nods, servos in her neck whirring quietly in the otherwise silent room. “Those machines were part of a project of mine. One that was decades in the making. One that your Coalition stole from me. They hoped that keeping them there on Ipira would make them safe from me finding them.”

Briar leaned in, the arms behind her following her movement, bringing various sharp objects uncomfortably close to Farah's defenseless body.

“But I'm sure you can see how pointless that plan was~” The words were a stage whisper, as though Briar was faking at confiding in Farah. After hovering over the Sergeant for a moment, Briar straightened back out. “So, we came to retrieve it, and well, getting you too was such a treat~”

Farah’s head swam, though, not from the concussion, not anymore.

“But… What does that… What does that have to do with me?”

“You see, those Machines, they weren’t each their own things. No, they were pieces of a whole, to make something bigger. A weapon. And weapons need someone to use them.” The grin turned into a full smile, sincere but in all the wrong ways.

Farah’s brows furrowed, her pain and lethargy addled mind struggling to put the pieces together. “You… You want me to… I’ll… I’ll never fight for you- I’ll never fight my people- And you sure as fuck can’t make me-”

The arms behind Briar, the ones that made her look strangely like a spider, began encroaching on Farah, causing the Sergeant to feebly try and scramble backwards, higher up onto her bed, but her limbs were weak, causing her to slip.

“Are you so sure about that, Little Freehawk~?” Briars words dripped with poorly concealed venom, as she approached Farah, an almost giddy glint in her eyes. “The Coalition has been such a thorn in my side for so long… It’s time to show them what it’s like”

As Briar spoke, Farah felt a soft poking sensation in her arm, one that, if it hadn’t been for Briar’s alarming proximity, would’ve caused Farah to pull away, or even throw a punch, but instead, all she could do was look at it.

By the bed stood the other woman, the one who had called for Briar. In her hands she held a syringe, now empty as she pulled it from Farah’s arm. The woman didn’t even glance at Farah’s face, simply turning on her heel to look at Briar, before giving a nod and stepping away.

Almost immediately, Farah felt a warm, numb sensation flow out from the spot on her arm, making her already weak and heavy feeling body feel like it weighed 400 pounds, causing her to slump against the bed.

Before unconsciousness took hold, Farah blearily made out Briars approaching form, as one of the arms, one bearing a scalpel, slowly, ever so slowly, inch towards her chest.

[939-valkyrie]

Farlight Hounds: Chpt. 1. Epsilon-2

War is a fact of life. It has been for as long as humanity has understood how to wield a rock against their fellow man. For thousands of years, it's been evolving. Changing as we learned new and interesting ways to wield bigger, faster, harder, and sharper rocks against others.

It feels like every other month, some new weapon is made, something new to oppress with. Especially now, when the Farlight war has been raging for almost 150 years across two galaxies.

Farah Landau doesn’t really know why the Farlight war started, something something, corporations wanted a sector of space, something something, citizens didn't like it, and it simply blew up from there.

Regardless of why, or who, or how, she's stuck there now. The mountains of Ipira IV in the distance, visibly rising up into the sky on the horizon like jagged fangs. She might have thought them beautiful, once, but she can’t devote too much of her attention to them now.

A bullet whizzes past her head, clanging loudly into the side of a nearby shipping container. A few moments later, 4 more bullets struck, just barely missing the spot Farah’s head had just been.

She reaches to her chest, activating a comm unit, before she begins barking orders into it. She’s stuck here between these stars forsaken shipping containers with an entire squad of Bricorp PMC’s bearing down on her. There was no way in hell she was going to be able to beat them off, even as her battalion's best shooter.

“What’s even in these fucking containers that Bricorp could want so bad?” She spits out into her comm unit but receives nothing in return. No response to her orders, no response to her question. Nothing but empty static.

“Shit.”

They must have killed our comms. She knew the comms array for this place sucked, it was all dependent on one tower, but that's all that the Coalition could put together. They don't have the resources Bricorp has. None of the fancy guns, or nice armor or big ships.

Well, the Coalition as a whole doesn't anyway. Farah does have one of their fancy guns right now though, Courtesy of the small handful of Bricorp PMC’s she was able to take out over the last hour or so, before they were able to pin her down here under fire.

It's a fancy looking rifle, sleek black with a mixture of polycarbonate and steel framing, emitting a slight humming sound. “Chemcoil” she thinks to herself. She’d heard of it before, a mixture of normal gunpowder and electronic coils to accelerate rounds. Until now she’d never seen, let alone held one before, but now, she technically could have a handful of them, though that would be impractical.

4 more rounds whizz past her, slamming into the shipping container.

She has to find somewhere to go, some way to get a vantage point, or at least somewhere to hide and regroup. She scans around. The small base, Epsilon-2, is mostly storage, massive steel containers stacked around. About 200 feet to her right is a Barracks building, ramshackle and crumbling, but it worked well enough for what the Coalition needed, but right now, those 200 feet may as well have been a mile. So, the containers it is.

She turns, looking at the one she stood in front of. Could she get inside? Farah didn’t actually know what was inside, any of these containers. One of the Rules set down when she and her Squad were assigned here, was to never look in the Containers. She and her squadmates had spent days on end spouting theory upon theory of what might be in them, but none of them ever tried to find out for themselves.

Well. It's time to change that.

The container is locked shut with some sort of intricate padlock. Without the key, she wouldn't be able to open it.

Good thing she has a master-key.

With a few hard smacks of the butt of her stolen rifle, broken up by occasionally firing in the PMC’s direction, Farah slowly breaks the padlock, sending it clanging to the ground at her feet, before she swings open the container door.

It opens with surprising ease, the hinges smoothly swinging outwards, revealing the dark interior of the container. It's better than nothing. She leans down, scooping up the padlock, and chucking it further into the compound, making sure it hits a few containers as it goes, hoping the sound would make the PMC’s think she bolted deeper into the base, before slipping inside the container, closing the door behind her

Once inside, Farah takes a moment, panting slightly. Breaking that lock was harder than she thought. Her arms burned with pain and her chest ached as the adrenaline in her blood began to dissipate.

She pressed her ear against the metal door, listening for the sounds of the PMC's she'd given the slip. Faintly she could make out footsteps and barked commands. They sounded distant, but it was hard to tell through the thick metal. If nothing else, if they sound muffled to her, she would be muffled to them too.

She stayed at the door for what felt like several minutes, the burning aches in her body screaming at her to sit down, before she finally turned her attention deeper into the container.

With a click, she turns on a chest mounted flashlight, bathing the container and its contents in a pale white light, momentarily blinding the sergeant. Once her eyes adjust, she steps forward, wincing slightly at the metallic sound her foot makes when it lands, but it doesn't dissuade her, not when she gets a good look at what's before her.

At first, she doesn't understand what it is. A mass of metal, wires, and servos. The hunk is nearly 25 feet long, and at least 6 feet wide, painted in a dark blue, with red accents.

“What the hell…?” She muttered to herself. The object was foreign, not looking like any sort of machine she'd seen before, not a gun, not a vehicle.

“It… almost looks like a foot…” some part of her mind thinks.

And it does, the end closest to the doors is flat, taller than the rest of the piece, and has a space between it, And the rest of it, with some sort of joint connecting them, like it could bend and move independently.

Still confused, she walks alongside the hunk of metal, inspecting it, before eventually reaching the far end of it, where it seems the piece would connect to something else, another joint, this part chrome, unpainted, like it would be hidden by another segment.

“It really does look like a foot, and maybe a shin… but I've never seen something like this… do the rest of these containers have more like this? More legs? Maybe a body, or arms?”

She couldn't wrap her head around this and couldn't call in and ask about it with the Comms array out of commission, and she definitely couldn't go out and try and escape.

From outside, more faint footsteps were audible, and Farah was beginning to realize that hiding in the container may have been a bad choice. She was a sitting duck now, trapped in a metal container with something she couldn't even use, something she was beginning to suspect Bricorp had come to Epsilon-2 with the intention of taking these very things.

She turns, about to check the door of the container, hoping she still had time to slip out and figure out her next moves, when a new sound reverberates off the steel walls surrounding her. The low thrum of engines, getting slowly louder, making her chest hurt with the vibrations.

Gingerly, She opened the door, just a sliver, to get a look out. The light of Ipira IV’s sun blinding her for a moment, before the sun itself was blocked out, a massive cargo shuttle passing over head, its cargo door already opening.

“They must be here for these containers…” She thinks to herself. “I need to leave… there's too many of them here and i have to warn the rest of the coalitions…”

She watched the shuttle pass for a few more moments, before slowly opened the door more, just enough for her to slip out, hoping the sound of the shuttles massive engines would drown out the sound of old hinges, before sliding out. The cold air of Ipira IV hit her, causing her breath to catch for a moment, before she composed herself, softly stepping around the sides of the container, trying to use them as cover for her escape.

Just a few hundred feet, and then she could disappear around the northern ridge, and wait them out.

To her left, she heard the shuttles engines power down as it settled on the ground, and PMCs began preparing to move containers. As she came around the edge of the containers, the shuttles landing site came into view. There were at least 40 PMCs, and a few stolen vehicles moving the containers into the shuttle.

What caught Farah’s eyes, however, was a woman standing beside the shuttle. Her details were, difficult from this distance, but she wore something akin to a white labcoat that waved absently in the breeze, her hair long and white. The startling part, however, were the several mechanical extensions emerging from her back, waving around as though with minds of their own.

Farah had seen this woman before.

Briar.

Founder of Bricorp.

The First to Farlight.

Why would she be here? What would be so important about those parts that she would come here herself?

The weight of the gun she’d pilfered from a PMC shifts, reminding Farah of its existence. She could use it. One good shot and she could take out one of the biggest players in this stars-forsaken war. One shot.

She lifts the rifle, double checking the chamber, before raising it to her shoulder, lining up the sights with Briar.

One shot.

She breathes in, the cold air electrifying her lungs.

One.

She begins to pull on the trigger

She’ll be a hero.

Thwack.

She feels something hard hit the back of her head, as the gun falls from her hands, unfired, and she crumples to the ground, snow flying up around her from the impact. With a pained groan she rolled over, trying to see what had hit her, and is met with a PMC, brandishing the butt of their rifle.

“No…” She croaks out, before the rifle connects again, sending her into unconsciousness.

(Next Chapter: An Interlude)