[Longshot appears on camera, walking through what appears to be the many, many, many large, defensive installations of Stane's Wall. His hair is slightly longer, there are large bags under his eyes, and five o'clock shadow has turned into the beginnings of a truly dogshit beard. He looks like absolute shit.]
Alright. So. Update time from the Bowshocks.
I think we know where she is, so we're planning a rescue. That's something. We're only doing one more push before the DOJ gets involved because there's some real wild shit going on behind these big fuckoff walls. But that's not what I wanna talk to you about today. Nor would I want to bring up how much of a fucking anxiety inducing nightmare flying on this planet is at all times, nor the sleep I am losing over this.
What I want to focus on is this.
[He turns the camera. In frame is, fairly adjacent to a number of pillboxes...should be a fairly familiar storefront for Tommy's Pizza; a massive chain that seems omnipresent no matter where one goes in the Orion Arm. He turns the camera back to himself, clearly perturbed.]
How.
[Whatever his camera is appears to vibrate a bit from the feeling of exasperation radiating from his face.]
Fucking how.
[He turns the camera back. There is a very clear "OPEN" neon sign visible.]
This is an active. Warzone. Weapons are expected to be hot at all times. There will be firefights today. And they are OPEN. I am going there to get fucking lunch!
People inside didn't even seem that bothered!
What the smoking hell is wrong with the people who run that company, man.
[The image, grainy and low quality, is of a slightly scuffed mech escape pod, with standard IPS-N design; rugged, drab, and large identifiers for collection and re-insertion. The camera circles the pod, which appears to have embedded itself into the ground at an awkward angle; with the hatch open and telltale signs of the occupant having fallen out. Several cuts in a row appear to occur as the camera is pushed up against the inside of the pod as it's carrier appears to go looking for something within. It occasionally peaks the audio from crunchy scraping; potentially from the camera being moved alongside it's carrier. A sound is heard, a mortified yelp. The camera swings violently to look around. It's carrier begins to hyperventilate at what is only somewhat visible on it's poor resolution.]
[Around the pod itself appears to be several large pools of blood; slightly browning and blackening from age. Some is inside the cockpit itself, which appears to trail into a central location approximately 8 meters away. Roughly the same distance however, is what appears to be where the commotion has come from. A puddle of blood that has formed between two small depressions in the earth...and three corpses. Each roughly equidistant from each other. All three confirmed members of The True Sons separatist movement. From the poor quality of footage it is unclear which injury in specific has actually done the poor souls in; two are in a state of severe disembowelment. One has been impaled on what appears to be rebar smashed through the T11 vertebrae and out; the presence of mass amounts of insects suggesting the body is already beginning to rot. The second is much simpler to trace; their hardsuit has been hacked open violently from midsection up into the sternum; opening the central body cavity; several organs in various states of decay splayed out from what appears to have been the fall of the victim. The third appears to have been shot several times. The camera does not linger on the bodies for too long. It is abundantly clear they died in agony.]
[There is signs of violent struggle with a fourth and fifth individual. At some point there is an impact, and a body hitting the ground. Dust disturbance in the street suggests a grav-vehicle appeared and drove off with multiple occupants. The camera turns back to the bodies, then back to the road.]
Footage Notes from VMRT-37:
None provided. Only Senior staff of the mercenary outfit were offered (Here identified as LONGSHOT, SURESHOT, and TRICKSHOT) were silent for several minutes and recused themselves.
Audio analysis of the events are still underway from a blackbox recorder present in the BATHORY OBLIGE.
ADDENDUM NOTE: At 0914 hours, the BATHORY OBLIGE's call signal has been triangulated and identified. In it's present condition, it poses no immediate threat to other Frames in the area, however VMRT staff have repeatedly cautioned against approach due to modifications made by Pilot Glamourshot.
Several Omninet announcements within True Sons territory have been posted.
<<<USER_SURESHOT HAS LOGGED IN>>>
:///USER_SURESHOT HAS OPENED "PERSONAL LOG"
|--> Public <<x>>
|--> Private << >>
:LOG TITLE: Wayward
I sincerely hope putting this out in the omninet does not attract unwanted attention, but all I've had to do is stare at walls and flags and frankly I need something to take my mind off of this boondoggle of a mission.
Admittedly, there's not much else that could have been done. Our job was to deliver a payload against something we struggle with and hope that DOJ forces that said they were right behind us were in fact telling us the truth. This time it was, but if we're asked to do it again I genuinely don't believe we'll survive it. As we are, Ironshot is the only one who even understands this kind of warfare. The poor farmboy has accidentally become important at work, it seems.
I am...loathe to discuss BENEATH THE EYE as it stands. It is fine. It's repairs are going well, and it should be ready for battle if retaliatory measures are taken. My issues as of right now are twofold; the True Sons deviated completely from what we knew about them as though they knew our plan of attack before it even happened. Something was very wrong from the minute we took our positions. I fear our benefactors have been compromised.
I fear if we take the field again we won't be so lucky.
The other, is of course, Glamourshot...and what her absence is doing to the rest of our team.
Longshot is beside himself. He's always been like this when it comes to losses or MIA personnel as far as I have been told, this is sort of why he is the way he is; why he values speed over everything. He once told me it is the equalizer for a thought of being late. He was supposedly this way after our founder disappeared, and now I fear he's reliving those feelings. Helplessness bothers him. A lot. I sincerely hope cooler heads prevail.
Trickshot has effectively disappeared herself, only reappearing at mealtimes. She says she is working with the search parties for Glamourshot's escape pod. I'm inclined to believe her, and you should too. I certainly don't have a clue where she's been, and since taking this blighted fortress I hope I only find out when she's gotten the escape pod.
Moonshot has, predictably, spent her time in prayer. I can only hope her god has heard her. Buckshot sometimes sits with her now; her issues were dealt with by Trickshot's administrations, but without her presence she has taken to prayer. I wonder sometimes if she remembers this as a part of her life prior.
Is there such a thing as salvation if you no longer remember whose god you prayed to?
My days now are long; spent with eyes staring into featureless lots and high walls that are no different than any other. Sometimes as part of a team, other times on my own. This place will only foment further conflict if these massive walls remain, and there is no will to smash them down without war. In this environment it is natural to see how The True Sons were able to mutate into what they are. With so many chokepoints, so many fortifications...it seems natural that brother should turn against brother.
I thank fate and the gods that I never lived this way. Or never have to. Irregular city and village streets would be a delight if it meant I never spent time staring at a painted expanse wondering if there was a foe behind it.
Maybe it's just the vulnerability we're all feeling. It's the first time in awhile we've been in this position. Maybe we forgot that this part of our job; that showing up when the fighting gets bad is a magnet for the reaper's scythe. That being this level of disruption is a recipe for disaster in the hands of hubris.
Maybe.
I don't know. I just want my friend to be less of a raving lunatic. He paces when he can't sleep and it's making my very busy schedule of keeping a large gun pointed at potential enemies a lot harder than it should be.
I sincerely hope Glamourshot is alright. For our sakes, for our benefactor's sakes...and for whomever found them.
I sincerely hope someone sympathetic to our cause found them. The alternative is...not ideal.
Briefing: Full deployment of VMRT-37 to planet <<<STANE'S WALL>>>. <<<STANE'S WALL>>> was a major staging point and location of major battle in distant past in the transition between SecComm and ThirdComm. Siege of <<<STANE'S WALL>>>; already a significantly fortified world due to previous inter-polity relations within the system being frosty at best, lasted 45 weeks and resulted in over 30,000 dead, including 1200 confirmed civilian casualties, although independent research into this matter has been spotty at best.
Political response in aftermath was extraordinarily negative due to deep-rooted sympathies to anthrochauvinist govt throughout class lines being shaken due to various overreaches of force to enforce "security" during the actions. SecComm sympathetic representation became anathema for years in the most affected areas which coincidentally were major population centers; effectively splitting the planet between Union-adjacent and SecComm remnant powers in parliament.
Over the course of [<XXX?] years, Remnant powers isolation created increasingly paranoid and apocalyptic mindsets, changing their immediate philosophy to something referred to as "The True Sons", which appears to be a logical if extremely violent and paranoid endpoint of this ideology. True Sons territory became increasingly difficult to pass through until precisely five weeks prior, when all borders and checkpoints controlled by True Sons were made impassable due to what they deemed "a weakness in the hearts of the wall and a taint of the flesh" and fortified rapidly.
When fire was traded against Civilians attempting to extricate their loved ones, VMRT-37 was sent in to intervene and enforce a crossing.
Mission Goals: Breach defensive perimeter "Rise of Hampton Brook" to allow for emergency response units/DOJ Units to establish safe havens for crossing.
Mission Materials:
Frames
1x ASV PEREGRINE-class Frame piloted by Longshot - "VIOLET COMET"
1x IMI ZEPHYROS-class Frame piloted by Sureshot - "BENEATH THE EYE"
1x GMC SAGARMATHA-class Frame piloted by Ironshot - "DUETTO GUTPUNCH"
1x IPS-N VLAD-class Frame piloted by Glamourshot - "BATHORY OBLIGE"
1x HA KUZUTOV-class Frame piloted by Trickshot - "JUMPSCARE"
1x HOR-Pattern LYCAN Frame piloted by Buckshot - "WARHOUND"
All frames provided by VMRT-37 at cost.
Support Materials
x2 Support pods for ammunition, spare internals/externals that are most often targeted.
x1 complete custom print of WARHOUND external shell due to previous concerns of re-integrating the carapace.
Mission Events TIMELINE:
All events are recorded from the commlink and the Bowshocks' Frames (that were recovered at the scene for review)
14:00: Initial strike begins. All units deployed.
14:10: VIOLET COMET commits to typical maneuvers of it's frame's capabilities; tying up faster units in CQC and attempting to draw AA fire. These engagements also serve as on-site scouting for additional information during dive procedure. BENEATH THE EYE provides cover fire and attempts to pick off defensive installations near edge of combat zone. Further chaos is sowed via BENEATH THE EYE's unusual drone capabilities and JUMPSCARE's electronic warfare, as well as shock attacks designed to eliminate or impair priority support targets. Typical engagement will force True Sons to funnel into the path of BATHORY OBLIGE and WARHOUND, whose front-line capacities are utilized to devastating effect, augmented back-line fire support provided by HIS PROMISED RETURN. Main tactic is to draw fire towards VIOLET COMET, BATHORY OBLIGE and WARHOUND, eliminate priority targets via BENEATH THE EYE/HIS PROMISED RETURN backline fire as well as JUMPSCARE's communications and e-warfare shock tactics; all in order to allow DUETTO GUTPUNCH path of least resistance to begin fortification breach procedures as outlined by pilot Bruno Dellarossa on page 5 of briefing.
14:18: True Sons loyalists adjust tactics abruptly upon initial engagement from anticipated and observed tactics in similar situations. Drones launched by BENEATH THE EYE are singled out and terminated; allowing bottleneck to be broken. This forces BENEATH THE EYE to find cover; a difficult prospect due to relative slow speed of the frame, it's default locomotion, and disadvantageous terrain. This allows True Sons fire support to focus on frontline frames. WARHOUND/BATHORY OBLIGE's armor is able to withstand, but sustained fire forces HIS PROMISED RETURN back. DUETTO GUTPUNCH is also focused down as it makes it's way onto the battlefield. It too is armored, but combined forces effort quickly force it into cover. Mortar fire from DUETTO GUTPUNCH is only effective at scattering infantry and low level grunt frames, damage to the fortification is negligible.
14:21: To the repeated dismay/aggravation of pilots, they must engage the plan as intended, however must now fight their way through without issue. It is determined that use of Support pods are not advisable due to enemy prioritizing support elements in combat operations. Though it is not a popular decision, Support Pods are determined to not be worth investment in this engagement and held. At no point during the battle are they called for.
14:25: Fire support targeting is disabled by JUMPSCARE, forcing manual control of most turrets on the wall. Due to delays in manpower and clever use of Assassin Drones, about half of the arrays are not usable. This does however still pose considerable risk to VIOLET COMET, who must now "hug" the fortification in order to avoid further fire.
14:30: Fire support targeting for the fortification comes back online. VIOLET COMET/JUMPSCARE hypothesize support frame is responsible. Both resolve to focus on AA/Fire support positions in order to flush out support apparatus. This allows both to be able to support each other and force these backline elements to defend themselves, but effectively cuts them off from providing support to the rest of the team.
14:42: DUETTO GUTPUNCH, WARHOUND, HIS PROMISED RETURN, BATHORY OBLIGE, and BENEATH THE EYE are effectively pinned in place by heavy gunners. They are able to trade blows, but due to the failure of e-warfare and increased drone interdiction by True Sons; effective fighting capacity for at least two frames is lessened greatly. BENEATH THE EYE and HIS PROMISED RETURN are able to link up and begin focusing on taking out firing line. JUMPSCARE attempts to fall back to provide linebreaking capacity only to find herself being fired upon; enemy fortifications have Locked On to her and her alone, forcing use of hacking to either break Lock Ons or to do the same as VIOLET COMET. Due to JUMPSCARE's limited range capacity, it can do little but spit out drones that will be destroyed near instantly and provide support for VIOLET COMET, who has redoubled efforts.
14:45: WARHOUND requests GO LOUD. Request is denied due to no significant break in firing line ahead of team. HIS PROMISED RETURN suggests that line can be broken by use of going LOUD and capacity of HIS PROMISED RETURN; asks for trust and support as they perform their work. VMRT-37 opts to send both WARHOUND and BATHORY OBLIGE to maximize chances of line-breaking.
14:50 - 15:25: WARHOUND and BATHORY OBLIGE charge position. HIS PROMISED RETURN designates position between two ARCHER-class frames for Āyah of the Syzygy. BATHORY OBLIGE is patched into enemies comms, wherein pilot Glamourshot begins actively threatening the combatants. Intimidation tactics appear successful as enemy fire focuses down on BATHORY OBLIGE almost exclusively for approximately 4 minutes. BATHORY OBLIGE's armor fails, structure damage is reported. WARHOUND is given clearance for GO LOUD protocol; sheds outer carapace. Successful initial melee attack creates hole in firing line and surprise of LYCAN-pattern frame causes major confusion. BATHORY OBLIGE continues at significantly reduced speed. Enemy combatants attempt to surround BATHORY OBLIGE. DUETTO GUTPUNCH has begun advancing.
15:29: BATHORY OBLIGE is engaged in combat with three frames. Through careful positioning, their close quarters weapon is able to clear initial positions. WARHOUND is given carte blanche to begin attacking any . BENEATH THE EYE and HIS PROMISED RETURN advance, laying supporting fire. It is at this point that DUETTO GUTPUNCH has entered the edge of effective cannon range.
15:34: BATHORY OBLIGE abruptly ceases function. Current theory is broken coolant line caused runaway heat gain. BATHORY OBLIGE's escape pod abruptly fires out behind defensive fortification. All remaining forces now focus DUETTO GUTPUNCH. VIOLET COMET reports shredded status trying to interdict fortifications. JUMPSCARE reports structural damage in similar straits. All available units attempt to defend DUETTO GUTPUNCH. DUETTO GUTPUNCH for it's part fires a barrage, and does significant damage to the fortification.
15:45: Second volley from DUETTO GUTPUNCH lands. <> falls entirely, creating 41 yard wide hole in fortification. Successful breach calls for DOJ/Union forces to appear overhead. <> forces are routed.
16:20: Final stragglers are apprehended or retreat from <>. Total control established. VMRT-37 are posted at abandoned docking bay for repair.
Mission ANALYSIS: Mixed success. Perimeter established. Whereabouts of Glamourshot unknown.
VMRT Team Comments:
<<<USER_LONGSHOT>>> Those shitheels knew we were coming and knew what we were gonna do. Those motherfuckers just knew.
We'll get Glamourshot back. You can quote me on that. We're getting that crazy bitch back.
<<<USER_SURESHOT>>> <OPTED OUT FOR SECURITY CONCERNS>
<<<USER_BUCKSHOT>>> im sorr y tha t <<<USER_Glamourshot>>> d i dnt come b a ck
i w ill do w h at i can to h elp fin d h er
<<<USER_MOONSHOT>>> The trials of Him on High are many and great. When they leave, we know they must return. She will return to us. I am relieved and indeed overjoyed that we have ensured freedom of movement among the populace!
<<<USER_IRONSHOT>>> Seconding Moonie. Princess crazyface will turn up sooner or later. We got the mission done and nobody else had to get hurt in the process. I'd rather focus on keeping the pathway we just built out of bullets from further action, y'know what I mean?
<<<USER_Tr1cksh0t>>> If you're reading this, and you seemed to be pretty clever at figuring out what we were doing, I'll just let you know this:
If you're smart, you killed her before she hit the ground. If you're insane, you took her prisoner.
Yeah we don't have an exact idea of where she is. Her mech is still advancing on a location in awful condition.
If you're on the planet Stane's Wall & see a VLAD that looks like a princess night from one of those grimdark tabletop games, don't go near it. If you are Karrakin nobility and are near Stane's Wall...don't be.
Otherwise that's what we've been dealing with. Kind of hard to hostage negotiation when the enemy retreats behind a big fuckoff wall and our resident wall-cracker got focused down even after all we did. Longshot is taking this hard, so I dunno if he's gonna be much help. We've called in a Union representative as well as Burnice to assist. We'll keep you posted.
And to those who have her?
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha you have fun with that.
Cities.
Ah hah.
Cities she says! That's what she thought this was. Cities. Like there could theoretically be an end to it.
Big hollow geometric shapes and little thin windows or big portholes with bases measured in miles. Am I right? Is that what's in your head?
No. Absolutely Not.
This was a maniac's dream made real. A maniac with a sculptor's heart. It defied reason, it defied physics. its issues were exactly what you think they were and were somehow worse.
This is the world of Trellron.
From what I gathered, about 5 million people still live in the habitable zones. I do not know how they can stand it.
It is effectively a moon.
Made out of literal millions of miles.
Of free-floating.
Meticulously balanced and placed.
Concrete.
We got the history lesson on how it was made. We got the history lesson on the people.
It didn't help. At all.
It is literal miles upon miles upon miles of concrete tunnels wrapped together like a rubber band ball. The only reprieve are the habitable zones; big fuck-off cubes and spheres full of plants and life support supplies that somehow counterbalance everything. Inside all of that? Just more fucking concrete. Concrete for literal ages. Epochs.
Just about every surface made of concrete, and if it doesn't you can bet it's got fucking concrete holding it up or it's got embellishments. If you don't live inside the habitats, then you probably live somewhere in or on the tunnels. When the tunnels crack open because of sudden changes in pressure outside of it, which has happened and will happen again, those lucky enough to have their hardsuits on usually find a way to live on top of the tunnels until it gets repaired.
We got sent in to deal with the tunnels topsiders deciding they wanted to get at all the fresh food and luxury fucking concrete being made in the habitable zones and didn't care how many people had to die to do it. One group even had the bright idea of just breaking one of the habitable zones off of the planet entirely and holding almost half of the population hostage until they either found what real gravity felt like or they became god-kings.
We got thrown into this pre-fall modernism nightmare to make them knock that off.
Let's play a little game here. I know you haven't gone, but it'll be fun. Where do you think we are here?
[A frame of a massive space station window to the local star; which illuminates a series of two story high-rises interconnected with rail stations. Just about every surface that can be seen that isn't metal or cloth is a drab grey-brown. Shapes jut from the horizon like jagged teeth punctuated by seemingly random slits of light passing through windows. The effect of being here seems hypnotic, if not unimaginably dull. Some buildings are painted. They seem to almost exist as pattern interrupts; drawing the eye to some color other than grey.]
Where we were here was somehow closer to the core than most of it's residents EVER GO. EVERYONE HERE STATE THEY SEE THEIR STAR FOR TWO AND A HALF HOURS A DAY. THEN IT'S JUST STATION LIGHTING.
And how about here? Can you guess? COULD you guess?
[There is a still image of what looks like a number of randomly jutting pillars of concrete that seem to converge and sharply turn into one another with only a vague notion of why. From this view, it appears to be like fingers closing together.]
If we wanted to, we could have just left orbit from this spot in particular. Just from Jump jets. If Longshot wanted to he could've broke through in an instant and became a low orbit satellite. This is what it is like being here. Your relationship with space becomes irrevocably fucked. The Psychological framework of these people is breakthrough worthy.
Oh, and if you think guerilla separatist forces with unclear but ultimately destructive goals may be smart enough to use this uniform color against you by intentionally making frame armor blocky have I got good fucking news for you!
[Footage from several different members of the Bowshocks' mech optic ports with varying quality is shown. The landscape, if it can be said to be a landscape, is dominated by exactly one color that is occaisonally broken up by the entire chasm lighting up with natural starlight, tracing picture perfect light in various shapes into the ground and into the space. Longshot and Sureshot's cameras are the easiest to identify; they are high above their comrades. Ironshot's is also quite easy, as it towers over the terrestrially bound Frames, it's unusually mechanical Trickshot's camera is easy too, as occasionally it weaves between the legs of the larger mechs, looking for corners and full of HUD-level scanners looking for targets. Targets seem to be in short supply, though the chokepoints seem to be everywhere. Every step seems to echo somewhere else....and then on a camera switch, the entire landscape in front of them seemingly unfolds, frames seem to appear as if by magic; turning and beginning a thunderous roar of kinetic fire. The world becomes a dust and debris cloud as various voices begin panicked response. ]
Yeah.
That happened at some point every week it felt like. This was an early one.
I'm happy we're home and alive, but that place fucked with my perception of time and color and I am not going back there ever again. I made personally certain Union takes interest in that crazy moon again in the interest of study and chokes the system in ships with guns on them so I never have to fucking go back. I've put up with a lot and that was a bridge too far.
[A Shot of a small cafe inland on the planet of Sunward Side. There is a large colorful alcoholic drink with a decorative sail in it on frame.]
So yeah. I'm going to sit a mission or two out for purposes of "I want to readjust to a world of color." If you need something sneaky done, go ask Sureshot. I'm sure he can handle it.
Question for the people. Pilots specifically. Good ones (lancer, kuriasser, whatever you call yourself). I don't care about your opinion if you suck shit.
[Do you have a favorite pilot?]
Like, that you enjoy watching. Or thinking about. Maybe model yourself after. Someone you admire, you know, you know.
There's some work that goes into finding them but I really, really, really like watching unlisted, no commentary crisis footage that features STARSLAYER. That's a big go to when I'm bored and need something in the background while I work on Midori or cook for the guys.
I also really like the courtroom evidence video of the "Sicario" Blackbeard from that one Station raid (I replay the part in the middle where he shreds three frames in two seconds a lot).
I guess that's more than one but I think they're so cool and they're my favorites. Who's yours?
Have a good day and thank you for reading my question!
-Ilfrith
://NHP-NOAH-Burnice: What a lovely {{question}}! We posed this query to the members of the Bowshocks, who have returned from a recent peacekeeping mission!
:///Sureshot: There was a lancer whose name I never knew on my homeworld.
We were one of many being terrorized by Harrison among a host of miserable tyrants, and that frame, just an Everest with artful camouflage that melded it perfectly into the mountains and somehow blended into the grasslands with ease. Always a long-range fighter; rarely stuck around in one place for long. Cameras caught it often, little glimpses here and there. It disappeared when I was about 15, and there was a period of mourning. It always seemingly knew where the people's foes were, and where to catch them at their weakest. Because it had sustained so much damage over time, it's sole optic was a beam of light that almost never went out. It took on the name of THE EYE. When war came again, I needed to be just Beneath The Eye to meet the demons at our gate.
I like to think I did just that.
///:Moonshot: Oh, I have always had an admiration of the Ofanim, but it's calling eluded me until I left Aunic space. I always had a dear friend at mass who would sit with me that was blessed to take the Blue. Oh and her de Linio! What wonderous sermons of peace she had flowing across it in verse that would make your heart swell! Her lance could sing choruses as it gave His enemies into His care with only a few simple strikes.
But she was no warrior, at least not like they said. She often doted upon me like I was her very best friend. I know she walks her path among the outremer now. I do not know if she still walks with the Soul she was paired to...but I like to think she is alive. I like to think, with every nock of my bow, she can see the light of Him connecting us. She was such an inspiration!
///:Ironshot: Oh yeah, no question about it, for me my favorite pilot growin' up was Bonaface. Where I was comin' up you didn't really pick up a callsign like they do in the interior, you just defended your crop, defended your people, and eventually your name became your callsign. It was like a superpower; you'd slack on your chores and your nona would come out and declare "Bonaface would do his chores!" and that'd be it, you couldn't disappoint 'em. Mom? Dad? Family? They were fine, but they weren't the heroes whose houses you could visit. They showed up to harvest fests. They ate at the same places you did when you were growin' up.
And Bonaface was the best in the system by far. He was just like us; farm kid with only the essentials, and he managed to get a hunk of junk printed that could smash ships in half. He even did it once! I swear to god he did! Oh man...he was just the best. He's why I painted my frame Silver, and I just hope to live long enough to get that moment. That moment of little rugrats lookin' up and seein' the stars. When I met him, and like really talked to him, he was an old man then but man he still had that poise to 'em, y'know? He told me that's what kept him goin'. Seeing those little tykes looking up and seeing something bigger than a pumpkin farmer in a pumpkin farmer. That really stuck with me.
///:USER_Tr1cksh0t: Hotshot, probably. She saved my life more than once. Got me out of the Armory service, found a way to make it stick. She was the first Lancer I'd ever met that didn't disappoint me deeply. You got used to that working for Harrison, maybe more than anything. Meeting someone who was one hundred percent honest about who they were and why they did the things they did was...eye opening. You never get used to that in that kind of work.
:///Glamourshot: Oh, I couldn't pick just one, darling. The violence some of our predecessors have done throughout the years? Truly inspiring stuff. There was one however that gained quite a reputation in Karrakin space for their ruthlessness. Some jilted nobleman who quit his position to take up the noble trade of leaving a trail of broken bodies and corpses splayed like a hunter's kill. Oh, you should've seen what he did with [DETAILS EXPUNGED DUE TO UPSETTING MATERIAL]. I only ever got to see his execution on the Omninet when they caught him. Two Pankrati and almost an entire host of the House of Stone gone before they got him! Such murderous genius is never recognized in it's time. I like to think, for just a moment, that the carnage of IBLIS MAW lives in my frame. I truly hope to meet that level of catastrophic violence one day. Oh, how a girl can dream~
///:Buckshot: DOJ Medical Officer Lucinda Collier and Bowshocks Officer Mari-<<<CENSORED>>> gave me my life back. I am slowly picking up the pieces, but I am here because of them.
://Longshot: Had to be Hotshot, our founder. She did not treat her mech like it was big or slow or any of that. She found ways to turn hard light into such a crazy show that nobody would think to shoot at anything else but her. When I met her, I thought she was just some blowhard, but the more I went out on missions with her, the more I fought and bled with her, more I argued with her...More than anything I think she just got what it meant to be a Lancer, like deep down in her heart I think she got it. She understood what that meant, and what it meant to bear that, and what you had to do to avoid letting it get to you. She's why any of this happened; why I'm alive and why I can even do any of this.
She was the best of us.
[The camera cuts back to Burnice, who appears to be deeply affected by certain answers, clutching a fist her chest. She gives a sigh, a deep one. Half-content, half sad. Her subaltern sags in place.]
://NHP-NOAH-Burnice: Of that we are in agreement.
[she looks back up at the camera.]
://NHP-NOAH-Burnice: We hope you found this an enlightening look into our people.
[The image is from what must be an external camera aboard VIOLET COMET, it zips through illuminations of color and florets of colorful gunpowder. Colors of blue and green dominate, with some red. VIOLET COMET charges through what must be over six miles of these illuminations, spinning, gaining altitude, diving at a preposterous rate, only to hard course correct before hitting water or land fall. it Climbs, and climbs, and turns; a cruising speed as illumination after illumination below goes off between the many smaller landmasses. Some even go up over the ocean; much larger and probably not entirely all that safer. A planetwide party from beyond the eyes of birds.]
<<<USER_LONGSHOT HAS ESTABLISHED CONNECTION>>>
The best part of the job by far is this.
The joy, the excitement, the parties, the drinks, the solstice outfits.
Never forget that part. Above all else. Never forget you live and breathe and eat like shit and drink like fish. Just like any good person.
The Bowshocks wish you a very merry solstice, and a realtime new year.
We'll be right here ready to help if you need us.
[The image cuts to a still photograph; the Bowshocks in various formal beach attire holding up hollowed out gourdes to the camera on the tarmac of their base' launchpad. Some; namely Sureshot and Longshot, are clearly more raucous in comparison to others like Moonshot and Glamourshot. But all are happy and lucky to be alive.]
When I was a kid, somebody told about this guy who had a saying about speed. It was a gift from god, he said. You can't teach it like you can everything else.
I think about it a lot.
Where I lived, the world I lived on, perfect for going fast. Temperate zones had all these winding roads that connected to grasslands that were straight shots. Racing was big, aeronautics manufacture as well. You either got a white collar job, or you made it in putting your own dumb ass in a big machine that goes fast or making the big machine that goes fast that your dumb ass friends jumped into.
A lot of people tried, anyway.
That moment of adrenaline, where you're being crushed into the seat and trying to keep control of it all...So many people either get their first trip to the hospital or swear off it entirely when they manage to pull themselves out of it; shaking like leaves.
I never really had it. I always had that feeling of "it's over already? It was just getting good!".
It's still like that now. Even after everything.
I'm still trying to see more of that gift from god.
And I think I'm gonna keep looking for it.
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<<<USER_LONGSHOT HAS REQUESTED: TAKEOFF TIME TRIAL CLEARANCE. CLEARANCE GRANTED. CLEARING RUNWAY T-1 FOR TRIALS.>>>
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USER_TR1CKSH0T: We found an old Sagarmatha.
USER_TR1CKSH0T: Ok. "found" is doing a lot of legwork. It was more like delivered to us.
USER_TR1CKSH0T: There's a pretty niche industry on this planet in archaeo-salvage; some battlegroups had a big fight in low orbit some triple digit number of years ago and a lot of the ships who didn't break up in orbit (and a lot of the ones that did), hit the water and settled on the ocean floor.
USER_TR1CKSH0T: Most of the good stuff rotted away decades ago or is in wrecks that are so deep underwater it isn't even worth trying to get to, but sometimes larger operations come up with interesting hauls.
USER_TR1CKSH0T: One of the larger operations in our area found one sitting on the ocean floor and I cannot overstate how cruel Time and pressure has been to it.
USER_TR1CKSH0T: Hundreds of millions of pounds of saltwater, couple hundred years, and a couple of nice big holes in the center mass honestly turned it into more of a slightly rusted reef than anything else. It's bisected from whatever the hell happened to it, Central Computer's absolutely fucked, just has to be.
USER_TR1CKSH0T: A lot of that stuff was built to last, but that's a kind of last that no Frame can handle. Not forever, anyway. It's fuel rods are gone on account of whatever hit it the first time decided to keep going straight through it.
USER_TR1CKSH0T: They asked us if there was a body in there. I just pointed at the massive hole in the chest and stated that's where the cockpit was, and stuck my hand in.
USER_TR1CKSH0T: In unrelated news, I now have a fucking splint on my finger because the crustaceans on this world don't fucking play around.
USER_TR1CKSH0T: Told them they can give to an artist or heave it back into the edge of a reef. Good bye and good riddance to INDUSTRIAL GRADE; a frame once home to a bitch-ass crab.
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:LOG TITLE: Grins.
Our little "reward" is turning into a bit of a dilemma.
Our artist companion has taken a couple of the portraits so far, no issues to report on most, but two of our number have been giving them fits.
Glamourshot is...as I hope has been stated before...difficult. Not necessarily a "diva", but she has a certain energy to her that most find overbearing or offputting. She wants to have a smile, she thinks it's inviting to anyone who would need a Lancer, she says. Her problem is that every smile I've ever seen her with is a crooked one. Eyes too wide, grin too wide. The kind you see on the faces of those who have killed and have experienced an ecstatic awakening.
She's been in little arguments with the artist about this since. I suspect they'll both give up and settle on whatever seems the least threatening.
The other is...complicated. Buckshot, or Jasper to us. Her face is...difficult for her. She's explained it like she's always woken up with a feeling like it's been numbed for a surgery. As such, she struggles considerably with facial expression. Longshot told her it isn't a big deal, she can present how she pleases...the problem is that she wants to look like she belongs and is happy with us, and having seen her in front of a mirror, it seems like it takes minutes for her to smile, then it drops. She's quite frustrated with it and we're trying to workshop some ideas. Some practical, some...not.
Kind of makes fussing over the length of your beard feel like a molehill in the presence of mountains.
I suppose having a picture day makes everyone a little Camera shy.
I've taken to fishing on my off-time. Our little jetty to the closest settlements is perfect for it, but I'm always told it's better to get out onto the boat. I came from a craggy planet where water pooled in large, impossibly deep lakes and were usually lousy with development. I'm always waiting for a sensor to go off to pull the hook back in to avoid giving someone a free piercing or lose the hook, and it never comes.
Maybe it's just nice to have some quiet. I haven't had to pick up a rifle in days, and it feels good. I'm allowing myself to feel good about that for the first time in awhile...and I can handle it.
I know I will have to pick up the rifle again. I know I will have to set to a grim task again. I will have to take life. Again.
But for now, I can fuss over parts of my beard that are starting to gray, I can sit on a dock for hours and fish, I can argue about rally results with my friends.
If the worst I have to worry about is a picture, I am doing very well.
We have returned from another successful mission and reappropriated the spoils of the to the local systems, a local artist has offered us a lovely gift of portraiture! They will be coming to our home to perform the deed over the course of a few days.
The autumn festivals have begun here, and we're a mere day removed from such a spectacle; the Floatilla of Phantoms! The children of the local community take local watercraft and lash them together after defacing them with such colorful paints and effigies, and run and play across the little armada in little costumes. Their parents then throw sweets to these "sailors of the damned" to keep them from coming ashore and terrorizing the community.
I wish I could show these wonderful sights to those I once called brother and sister in the Ascendency...but I fear they may call for "drastic" measures if they did see it. Oh well. I think they will see in time.
All preparations for us now go towards replenishing, and awaiting our next assignment vigilantly! Oh, and our portraits! I must prepare to sit for many minutes while they work, it's quite exciting!
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We can probably spare Glamourshot and Buckshot to go help out, I'm pretty sure their mechs can handle being a few hundred feet under water.
Just send coords and we can get them out there on the next flight. Just uh...when she's working, maybe don't have an open audio feed from Glamourshot.
Like...at all. Other than that? fish in a barrel.
:///Longshot: I'm sitting here sifting through the husk of a pirate's outpost, just cataloging stuff they stole so it can get picked up. Great stuff, definitely don't want to just blast it all out an airlock, absolutely not trying to find a reason to get back out into Zero-G, cannot begin to describe how much I don't need to get back to the adrenaline of that. I think Sureshot and Trickshot are on the report of how I got to this point. We'll post it later.
///Longshot: Anyway, you know this image, right?
[An image flashes on the screen. It is a wire-frame silhouette of an Everest. This well-known image has a number of red dots all over the Everest's legs, head, around the cockpit, and several large dots in the head. The image is a common example of the concept of Survivorship bias.]
///Longshot: A good friend showed me it during our first few weeks of knowing each other, and I've never stopped thinking about it ever since. I think most of us know that this is a major point about survivorship and all that, but do you want to know where that dataset came from? It's crazy. I found out that it wasn't even from an actual battle. It was from a failed licensing test using paintballs before the virtual tests. Total simulation stuff. The person who attempted it never got in a Lancer-grade Frame again. They didn't even bother giving them a graded score.
:///Longshot: I just thought that was interesting.
:///Longshot: Anyway can you tell I'm tired of cataloging replacement coolant tank parts and tablet glass yet or what-
