<![CDATA[CDBZ Archive - The Invasion]]> http://alex.zulenka.com/ Sat, 05 Sep 2026 18:48:24 +0000 MyBB <![CDATA[Resolution]]> http://alex.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=16367 Wed, 23 Feb 2011 01:15:14 +0000 Chubbs Story Account]]> http://alex.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=16367 Izzit over?

Maybe?

The spaceport is fucking toast, TOAST. That crazy-ass monster bitch exploded. There’s nothing fucking left.

Have you ever seen something like this?

Goddamn, I don’t want to move.

Goddamn, I want to go home.

It’s over right? That’s it; the Myreen is destroyed, all their forces are shattered.

I haven’t heard from command, until I hear from command, we’re at war, respect, solidary, fraternity, egality, get the fuck in line

Should we shoot them? Put them out of their misery? That whole thing? I mean, they’re still our enemy right?

I just want to go home.

===================

Tears, joy, a world of flustered papers and erratic beeps and men hugging each other and women hugging each other

Victory. The Namekian defense was a victory. Chairs spun and rocked against the samba of feet stomping and leaping for victory. Sons and daughters were coming home, and for now, the universe was the happiest place to be.

================

People were dying everywhere, and most of them didn’t know each other. Everyone dies alone.

There, a shot to the head. There, a shot to the chest.

There, a bleeding out shot to the chest.

There, a kneeling man, tending wounds, fighting against an equal and opposite force.
And it was tenuous and everything that could be done was being done, and all the hope that could be hoped was hoped and hoped

And a fractured friend hovered above, helping and doing and squeezing and don’t let go

An exploding ship eclipsed the sun

And the consciousness slipped, and the heart stopped beating, and Jarka slipped quietly past the veil.

================

The planets celebrated, while the heroes picked their way through the reality of the dead left-overs. Now to get rid of the bodies. Now to replant the forests. We must rebuild, we must prepare for what comes next, we must plan and think, we must inform the widows and see that they are taken care of.

What do we do about the remnants?

What do we do about Mercy?

Mercy, and silence. It was a transient victory, a success paired with a failure.

There was no room for middle-ground emotions, so there was no room to think about Mercy today. Maybe tomorrow.

Mercy, and silence.

[With this, the saga comes to a close. Now is the time to segue to your respective planets. Post here as necessary to conclude your contribution to the saga.

If you do not receive a PM from me, then you survived, as far as I'm concerned. It's up to you to decide what that means; how you escaped, what you will do now, etc.

Cheers to all.]]]> Izzit over?

Maybe?

The spaceport is fucking toast, TOAST. That crazy-ass monster bitch exploded. There’s nothing fucking left.

Have you ever seen something like this?

Goddamn, I don’t want to move.

Goddamn, I want to go home.

It’s over right? That’s it; the Myreen is destroyed, all their forces are shattered.

I haven’t heard from command, until I hear from command, we’re at war, respect, solidary, fraternity, egality, get the fuck in line

Should we shoot them? Put them out of their misery? That whole thing? I mean, they’re still our enemy right?

I just want to go home.

===================

Tears, joy, a world of flustered papers and erratic beeps and men hugging each other and women hugging each other

Victory. The Namekian defense was a victory. Chairs spun and rocked against the samba of feet stomping and leaping for victory. Sons and daughters were coming home, and for now, the universe was the happiest place to be.

================

People were dying everywhere, and most of them didn’t know each other. Everyone dies alone.

There, a shot to the head. There, a shot to the chest.

There, a bleeding out shot to the chest.

There, a kneeling man, tending wounds, fighting against an equal and opposite force.
And it was tenuous and everything that could be done was being done, and all the hope that could be hoped was hoped and hoped

And a fractured friend hovered above, helping and doing and squeezing and don’t let go

An exploding ship eclipsed the sun

And the consciousness slipped, and the heart stopped beating, and Jarka slipped quietly past the veil.

================

The planets celebrated, while the heroes picked their way through the reality of the dead left-overs. Now to get rid of the bodies. Now to replant the forests. We must rebuild, we must prepare for what comes next, we must plan and think, we must inform the widows and see that they are taken care of.

What do we do about the remnants?

What do we do about Mercy?

Mercy, and silence. It was a transient victory, a success paired with a failure.

There was no room for middle-ground emotions, so there was no room to think about Mercy today. Maybe tomorrow.

Mercy, and silence.

[With this, the saga comes to a close. Now is the time to segue to your respective planets. Post here as necessary to conclude your contribution to the saga.

If you do not receive a PM from me, then you survived, as far as I'm concerned. It's up to you to decide what that means; how you escaped, what you will do now, etc.

Cheers to all.]]]> <![CDATA[[Mercy] La Belle Dame sans Mercy]]> http://alex.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=16314 Mon, 07 Feb 2011 22:52:52 +0000 John Doe]]> http://alex.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=16314
Before he could make anymore thoughts, Doe began his attack. He threw both fists into the general's ironsides, diving into his guts. The general's uniform caught fire and propelled him backwards, crashing into a pile of fallen militiamen. The flames began to spread all over Fightmaster, who rolled on top of his dead comrades to smother the blaze. A few seconds of tossing and turning put out the red embers. The old general rose back up over his slain subordinates, facing the laughing jackal down the hall.

"How was that?" Doe asked as he raised a friendless middle finger at the grizzly commander. The extended digit glinted and went ablaze, spreading the fire to the rest of Doe's fist. He threw his palm out, a baseball of fire floating in place a few inches ahead. "Steel liquefies at 2500 degrees. Did you know that?" Doe started to rotate his arm backwards, winding up the pitch. "You'll melt a hell of a lot quicker."

Doe chucked the smoldering sphere like a professional pitcher, whizzing through the air at Fightmaster's helmetless head. The mustached veteran flew himself back on the floor, only dodging the attack by a hair. The fireball connected with the metal doors leading to the command center, blowing up on contact. Embers sprinkled onto the bloody floor from the impact and dissolved into red mist; the doors themselves had been disintegrated.

The general arose and inspected the damage on his person. Fightmaster patted himself down, gruffly sighing with relief to find no obvious wounds. He reached his hand up to stroke his moustache with delight, only to fell bare skin where his mighty face bush used to be. Doe's fireball managed to scorch off the old general's whiskers, leaving him bare and ashamed. The hairless general snarled his teeth and roared "Nobody snuffs my MANSTACHE!"

Fightmaster relit his makeshift tobacco-staff, and held it in front of him. The grubby commandant stuffed the massive cigar into his mouth and drew in his breath as much as his old lungs were able. Packed with fumes of the dark tobacco, Fightmaster exhaled. Rivers of black cloud streamed out of the mustached maw and flowed their way at Doe. As the fumes surrounded the shaded saboteur, the dormant flames covering his sleeves caught a spark. The dark clouds detonated, surrounding Doe in a field of fiery death. Waves of explosive force sent the nearby militia, live and dead, flying back into the walls. Fightmaster held fast, rooting himself to the ground as the forceful gusts nearly toppled him.

The dust settled abruptly, leaving behind a giant hole in the floor. The chasm descended into a dark void that was the basements of the military station. There was no trace that even an atom of Doe remained from the massive explosion. Dead for sure. Right?

"Wrong!"

A pair of arms sprouted from the floor beneath Fightmaster's feet, grabbing his ankles. No further warning was given as they flared up and spread their flames all over the old general's body. The formerly mustached commander was cover head to toe with searing inferno, roasting every inch of his body. The flames spread so rapidly that the old man didn't even get a chance to scream. Instead, his scorched remains and his giant cigar fell forward, lifeless and with the pleasantly overwhelming scent of high-grade tobacco.

The burning arms drew themselves back into the shadowy abyss. Doe himself then crawled out of the giant crater in the floor in front of the former general His once fine clothing were now nothing more than shabby rags. Black sunglasses, nearly obliterated but still wearable somehow, concealed his eyes as he walked over his fallen foe. "Whew, you almost got me there. Good thing I'm indestructible!" The militiamen, who were observing from the sidelines, continued their idle watch as Doe brought his heel into their deceased commander. Having adding injury to insult, the tattered victor raised his arm and pointed at the soldiers surrounding him. "From now on, all you assholes are working for me!"

***

"Is this thing on?"

Sitting comfortably in a large swivel chair, Doe hunched over the freestanding microphone in the middle of the command tower. Refitted with a brand set of clothes and sunglasses, the suave dude grumbled as he operated the device. After a few moments of failed effort, he called over a few soldiers to get it going for him. All lights green, Doe cleared his throat and began his message.

"Attention to every numbnut on this planet. This is your fuck-mothering captain, John Doe, speaking. I am currently broadcasting on all channels to tell everyone that I am now in charge of this planet. If you'd like to change my mind, come to...um... Hey, you! Yeah, you, tell me where we are... Mercy? WHERE on Mercy? ... What? Don't give me it in code! ...stupid fucking- Alright.

"Attention shitheads, there's going to be a party in the Jolic dome! Everybody who's anybody is going to be there. I'll supply the kegs, you supply the bodies. It'll be a riot!"

Finishing his announcement, Doe crushed the microphone in his hands, cutting the line. He idly tossed the shambled contraption aside and turned to face the soldiers beside him. Doe nodded towards a familiar face. "Long time no see." A pair of soldiers held Mary Sue in place by her shoulders. Her brown hair was shabby and her fatigues disordered. Her eyes seemed empty, like she wasn't even there, mentally. Doe waved his hands in front of her face, provoking no response from the dazed woman. "What's wrong with her?"

"Nothing, sir," one of the soldiers replied, "we just had to knock her out with one of these." He pointed to a stun gun pinned to his belt. "She was going crazy when she saw us coming. She flipped and started shooting at us. We lost Rick beca-"

"Not interested in the details," Doe cut off, "so you guys can leave. Now." He shooed the militiamen away with both hands, then pointed at the doorway. The men obeyed and piled out of the control room until all that was left was the man in the slick black suit, and a bewildered Mary Sue.

Doe gently lead his female companion into the corner of the large room. There, a plain spring bed had been set up, taken from a nearby bunker. A light push sent Mary falling into the plain white sheets. She regained her senses, peering around until she locked eyes with her captor. The young woman gawked open-mouthed as Doe crudely grinned down on her, loosening his tie.

"We have unfinished business."]]>
Before he could make anymore thoughts, Doe began his attack. He threw both fists into the general's ironsides, diving into his guts. The general's uniform caught fire and propelled him backwards, crashing into a pile of fallen militiamen. The flames began to spread all over Fightmaster, who rolled on top of his dead comrades to smother the blaze. A few seconds of tossing and turning put out the red embers. The old general rose back up over his slain subordinates, facing the laughing jackal down the hall.

"How was that?" Doe asked as he raised a friendless middle finger at the grizzly commander. The extended digit glinted and went ablaze, spreading the fire to the rest of Doe's fist. He threw his palm out, a baseball of fire floating in place a few inches ahead. "Steel liquefies at 2500 degrees. Did you know that?" Doe started to rotate his arm backwards, winding up the pitch. "You'll melt a hell of a lot quicker."

Doe chucked the smoldering sphere like a professional pitcher, whizzing through the air at Fightmaster's helmetless head. The mustached veteran flew himself back on the floor, only dodging the attack by a hair. The fireball connected with the metal doors leading to the command center, blowing up on contact. Embers sprinkled onto the bloody floor from the impact and dissolved into red mist; the doors themselves had been disintegrated.

The general arose and inspected the damage on his person. Fightmaster patted himself down, gruffly sighing with relief to find no obvious wounds. He reached his hand up to stroke his moustache with delight, only to fell bare skin where his mighty face bush used to be. Doe's fireball managed to scorch off the old general's whiskers, leaving him bare and ashamed. The hairless general snarled his teeth and roared "Nobody snuffs my MANSTACHE!"

Fightmaster relit his makeshift tobacco-staff, and held it in front of him. The grubby commandant stuffed the massive cigar into his mouth and drew in his breath as much as his old lungs were able. Packed with fumes of the dark tobacco, Fightmaster exhaled. Rivers of black cloud streamed out of the mustached maw and flowed their way at Doe. As the fumes surrounded the shaded saboteur, the dormant flames covering his sleeves caught a spark. The dark clouds detonated, surrounding Doe in a field of fiery death. Waves of explosive force sent the nearby militia, live and dead, flying back into the walls. Fightmaster held fast, rooting himself to the ground as the forceful gusts nearly toppled him.

The dust settled abruptly, leaving behind a giant hole in the floor. The chasm descended into a dark void that was the basements of the military station. There was no trace that even an atom of Doe remained from the massive explosion. Dead for sure. Right?

"Wrong!"

A pair of arms sprouted from the floor beneath Fightmaster's feet, grabbing his ankles. No further warning was given as they flared up and spread their flames all over the old general's body. The formerly mustached commander was cover head to toe with searing inferno, roasting every inch of his body. The flames spread so rapidly that the old man didn't even get a chance to scream. Instead, his scorched remains and his giant cigar fell forward, lifeless and with the pleasantly overwhelming scent of high-grade tobacco.

The burning arms drew themselves back into the shadowy abyss. Doe himself then crawled out of the giant crater in the floor in front of the former general His once fine clothing were now nothing more than shabby rags. Black sunglasses, nearly obliterated but still wearable somehow, concealed his eyes as he walked over his fallen foe. "Whew, you almost got me there. Good thing I'm indestructible!" The militiamen, who were observing from the sidelines, continued their idle watch as Doe brought his heel into their deceased commander. Having adding injury to insult, the tattered victor raised his arm and pointed at the soldiers surrounding him. "From now on, all you assholes are working for me!"

***

"Is this thing on?"

Sitting comfortably in a large swivel chair, Doe hunched over the freestanding microphone in the middle of the command tower. Refitted with a brand set of clothes and sunglasses, the suave dude grumbled as he operated the device. After a few moments of failed effort, he called over a few soldiers to get it going for him. All lights green, Doe cleared his throat and began his message.

"Attention to every numbnut on this planet. This is your fuck-mothering captain, John Doe, speaking. I am currently broadcasting on all channels to tell everyone that I am now in charge of this planet. If you'd like to change my mind, come to...um... Hey, you! Yeah, you, tell me where we are... Mercy? WHERE on Mercy? ... What? Don't give me it in code! ...stupid fucking- Alright.

"Attention shitheads, there's going to be a party in the Jolic dome! Everybody who's anybody is going to be there. I'll supply the kegs, you supply the bodies. It'll be a riot!"

Finishing his announcement, Doe crushed the microphone in his hands, cutting the line. He idly tossed the shambled contraption aside and turned to face the soldiers beside him. Doe nodded towards a familiar face. "Long time no see." A pair of soldiers held Mary Sue in place by her shoulders. Her brown hair was shabby and her fatigues disordered. Her eyes seemed empty, like she wasn't even there, mentally. Doe waved his hands in front of her face, provoking no response from the dazed woman. "What's wrong with her?"

"Nothing, sir," one of the soldiers replied, "we just had to knock her out with one of these." He pointed to a stun gun pinned to his belt. "She was going crazy when she saw us coming. She flipped and started shooting at us. We lost Rick beca-"

"Not interested in the details," Doe cut off, "so you guys can leave. Now." He shooed the militiamen away with both hands, then pointed at the doorway. The men obeyed and piled out of the control room until all that was left was the man in the slick black suit, and a bewildered Mary Sue.

Doe gently lead his female companion into the corner of the large room. There, a plain spring bed had been set up, taken from a nearby bunker. A light push sent Mary falling into the plain white sheets. She regained her senses, peering around until she locked eyes with her captor. The young woman gawked open-mouthed as Doe crudely grinned down on her, loosening his tie.

"We have unfinished business."]]> <![CDATA[[Earth] Of Apathy and Armani Suits]]> http://alex.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=16299 Thu, 27 Jan 2011 18:55:08 +0000 Alexander Trafford]]> http://alex.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=16299
“Can I help you?” she remarked. She had noticed his quite-obvious glancing. Her tone wasn’t rude, however. There was a lingering sense of flirtatiousness in her words.

“Actually, you can. Can I get another one of these?” Trafford lifted his half-full glass and swirled the liquid within. Three cubes of ice were dancing suspended in thick, smooth amber fluid.

“You aren’t finished with that one yet,” she responded. Her voice was cute, and this time it came with a smile.

He glanced at her and met her eyes, and then shifted his gaze to his glass. He lifted his glass towards her as if to cheer her imaginary beverage, and then brought the cool nectar to his lips and let it pour down his throat. He said, “I always like to be prepared.”

She shook her head and giggled. Slowly this time, she refilled his glass with Jack Daniels whiskey.

“Excuse me; can we get some service over here?” a man shouted rudely from the other end of the bar. The young lady blushed and took off to serve the gaggle of drunkards across from him. Trafford moved to inspect them, and was surprised to notice that they were men in uniform. Usually they would be the ones picking up young bartenders, and maybe his success was what triggered their brash behavior.

Whatever, he thought; he would just tip her extra. There was no way these piped-up soldiers were going to lay down a healthy gratuity. He reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and removed the pack of Marlboro Reds.

“You can’t smoke in here.” It wasn’t the bartender who informed him of West City’s recent public smoking ordinance, but the same disgruntled customer who had spoken rudely to the young woman behind the bar. She had poured their drinks and had begun wiping down the wooden counter top between Alexander and the other group of afternoon drinkers. She paused long enough to look at the well-dressed man and roll her eyes sarcastically; this was followed by another smile.

“Really?” Trafford replied, and then tucked a cigarette into the corner of his mouth and ignited it with his mind. “Cheers,” he continued as he lifted his glass towards them, removed the cigarette from his mouth and took a long sip from the highball glassware. After he finished and removed and glass’s edge from his lips, he sighed and released a plume of bluish grey smoke into the bar’s sticky, hot air. The soldier groaned and was visibly upset. Alex chuckled; the guy needed a serious lesson in lightening up.

“How did you do that?” The well-dressed customer turned his head back towards the crew of soldiers sitting at the far end of the bar, expecting the comment to have come from one of them. They were silent, however, and instead had their eyes on a third party, one that had gone unnoticed hitherto. Trafford followed their wandering eyes, and his own gaze quickly found a resting point on another soldier; this was one was an officer, from what he could tell by his uniform decorations, and was sitting alone at a table in the far corner of the bar.

“Excuse me?” Alex replied. He rotated on the top of his stool in order to sort of half-face the man as he spoke. The cigarette was brought in for another long, refreshing inhalation. This was followed by the whiskey, and then a quick glance towards the bartender.

“You lit your cigarette without a lighter. How did you do that?” the man continued. He was sitting in the darkest corner of the bar, his face half-covered in shadows. In front of him was a pad of legal paper, a pen, today’s paper, and a large mug of frothy beer. The manner in which the other soldiers, the jerk-offs at the far side of the bar’s countertop, observed this man led Alex to believe that he was their commanding officer.

Trafford reached into his suit pocket, the same one that housed his pack of cigarettes, and withdrew his silver lighter. It was one of those types where you flipped back the base lid to reveal the actual lighter, and then pulled back on the flint wheel in order to produce a flame. On the side of the lighter, on the bottom case, there were some etchings that his mother had seen fit to customize the device with. It was, after all, an old gift from his parents. “I have a lighter right here,” he said, and then returned to his glass of whiskey.

“I see that, but you didn’t use it,” the officer continued with stubborn determination.

Alex’s focus remained on his glass of whiskey. He had turned his back to the man and did not turn back around to face him. Instead, he chuckled and shook his head. “Whatever you say man, whatever you say.”

He brought the cigarette back to his mouth and dragged on it until he could feel the burnt, strange taste of the filter. Grabbing a few napkins, he crushed the remainder of the cigarette inside and dropped the crumbled mess of fabric onto the countertop. In his other hand, the cool, sweating glass of amber fluid was rocked back and forth in his grip, causing the whiskey to sweep and crash over the shrinking ice cubes.

The sound of stool legs sliding against the old, creaky wooden floor came from his left. He glanced over and looked into the face of the military officer, who had evidently crossed the bar in order to sit beside him.

“Join the militia, we could use a man with your talents,” the man spoke, this time his voice was more gentle and inviting. He was turned slightly in his stool so that his face and torso faced Alex. His left hand was on the bar’s countertop, and his right was in his lap.

“Not interested,” Trafford replied. His words were short and to the point, and they cut through the hopefulness in the officer’s own tone.

“Just hear me out, there’s a lot we could offer you.”

“I said not interested.” The well-dressed young adult cut him off, and took a long swig from his highball glass. The whiskey burned a little on the way down, just the way he liked it. It warmed his insides.

“I know who you are,” the officer continued. This sentence caught Alexander’s attention more so than his previous approach. He dropped his eyes and glanced at the man through their corners.

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“I do; you’re Old Trafford’s kid, you –.”

“Listen, I said I’m not interested,” Alex interjected, this time raising his voice. He remained static, however, with his head dropped and his eyes boring holes into the glassware. He heard scuffling at the far end of the bar. He saw in the corner of his eyes the officer lift his right hand and motion for his subordinates to stop whatever it was that they meant to do.

“Alright, there’s no point pushing the issue then.” The officer lifted himself from his stool, collected his legal pad and then pen, leaving the newspaper and a half-full mug of now-warmed beer, and then withdrew something from the inside of his uniform, presumably form an inner pocket. He dropped a small business card on the countertop beside Alex, sliding it over towards him. “If you change your mind, give me a call. My number’s on the card.”

“I’ll change my mind when whoever it is that we are at war with comes charging through that door,” Trafford replied starkly.

“Well then, that might be sooner than you think. Have a good day,” he replied, and then dropped a nice tip on the bar for the working lady. Trafford furrowed his brow and lifted the glass to his mouth, finishing the whiskey that remained.

“Another, please,” Trafford requested from the bartender as the entranceway into the bar slammed shut behind the exiting soldiers, the group of lackeys in the corner following their commanding officer. He ran his long and bony fingers across his jaw line and sighed.]]>
“Can I help you?” she remarked. She had noticed his quite-obvious glancing. Her tone wasn’t rude, however. There was a lingering sense of flirtatiousness in her words.

“Actually, you can. Can I get another one of these?” Trafford lifted his half-full glass and swirled the liquid within. Three cubes of ice were dancing suspended in thick, smooth amber fluid.

“You aren’t finished with that one yet,” she responded. Her voice was cute, and this time it came with a smile.

He glanced at her and met her eyes, and then shifted his gaze to his glass. He lifted his glass towards her as if to cheer her imaginary beverage, and then brought the cool nectar to his lips and let it pour down his throat. He said, “I always like to be prepared.”

She shook her head and giggled. Slowly this time, she refilled his glass with Jack Daniels whiskey.

“Excuse me; can we get some service over here?” a man shouted rudely from the other end of the bar. The young lady blushed and took off to serve the gaggle of drunkards across from him. Trafford moved to inspect them, and was surprised to notice that they were men in uniform. Usually they would be the ones picking up young bartenders, and maybe his success was what triggered their brash behavior.

Whatever, he thought; he would just tip her extra. There was no way these piped-up soldiers were going to lay down a healthy gratuity. He reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and removed the pack of Marlboro Reds.

“You can’t smoke in here.” It wasn’t the bartender who informed him of West City’s recent public smoking ordinance, but the same disgruntled customer who had spoken rudely to the young woman behind the bar. She had poured their drinks and had begun wiping down the wooden counter top between Alexander and the other group of afternoon drinkers. She paused long enough to look at the well-dressed man and roll her eyes sarcastically; this was followed by another smile.

“Really?” Trafford replied, and then tucked a cigarette into the corner of his mouth and ignited it with his mind. “Cheers,” he continued as he lifted his glass towards them, removed the cigarette from his mouth and took a long sip from the highball glassware. After he finished and removed and glass’s edge from his lips, he sighed and released a plume of bluish grey smoke into the bar’s sticky, hot air. The soldier groaned and was visibly upset. Alex chuckled; the guy needed a serious lesson in lightening up.

“How did you do that?” The well-dressed customer turned his head back towards the crew of soldiers sitting at the far end of the bar, expecting the comment to have come from one of them. They were silent, however, and instead had their eyes on a third party, one that had gone unnoticed hitherto. Trafford followed their wandering eyes, and his own gaze quickly found a resting point on another soldier; this was one was an officer, from what he could tell by his uniform decorations, and was sitting alone at a table in the far corner of the bar.

“Excuse me?” Alex replied. He rotated on the top of his stool in order to sort of half-face the man as he spoke. The cigarette was brought in for another long, refreshing inhalation. This was followed by the whiskey, and then a quick glance towards the bartender.

“You lit your cigarette without a lighter. How did you do that?” the man continued. He was sitting in the darkest corner of the bar, his face half-covered in shadows. In front of him was a pad of legal paper, a pen, today’s paper, and a large mug of frothy beer. The manner in which the other soldiers, the jerk-offs at the far side of the bar’s countertop, observed this man led Alex to believe that he was their commanding officer.

Trafford reached into his suit pocket, the same one that housed his pack of cigarettes, and withdrew his silver lighter. It was one of those types where you flipped back the base lid to reveal the actual lighter, and then pulled back on the flint wheel in order to produce a flame. On the side of the lighter, on the bottom case, there were some etchings that his mother had seen fit to customize the device with. It was, after all, an old gift from his parents. “I have a lighter right here,” he said, and then returned to his glass of whiskey.

“I see that, but you didn’t use it,” the officer continued with stubborn determination.

Alex’s focus remained on his glass of whiskey. He had turned his back to the man and did not turn back around to face him. Instead, he chuckled and shook his head. “Whatever you say man, whatever you say.”

He brought the cigarette back to his mouth and dragged on it until he could feel the burnt, strange taste of the filter. Grabbing a few napkins, he crushed the remainder of the cigarette inside and dropped the crumbled mess of fabric onto the countertop. In his other hand, the cool, sweating glass of amber fluid was rocked back and forth in his grip, causing the whiskey to sweep and crash over the shrinking ice cubes.

The sound of stool legs sliding against the old, creaky wooden floor came from his left. He glanced over and looked into the face of the military officer, who had evidently crossed the bar in order to sit beside him.

“Join the militia, we could use a man with your talents,” the man spoke, this time his voice was more gentle and inviting. He was turned slightly in his stool so that his face and torso faced Alex. His left hand was on the bar’s countertop, and his right was in his lap.

“Not interested,” Trafford replied. His words were short and to the point, and they cut through the hopefulness in the officer’s own tone.

“Just hear me out, there’s a lot we could offer you.”

“I said not interested.” The well-dressed young adult cut him off, and took a long swig from his highball glass. The whiskey burned a little on the way down, just the way he liked it. It warmed his insides.

“I know who you are,” the officer continued. This sentence caught Alexander’s attention more so than his previous approach. He dropped his eyes and glanced at the man through their corners.

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“I do; you’re Old Trafford’s kid, you –.”

“Listen, I said I’m not interested,” Alex interjected, this time raising his voice. He remained static, however, with his head dropped and his eyes boring holes into the glassware. He heard scuffling at the far end of the bar. He saw in the corner of his eyes the officer lift his right hand and motion for his subordinates to stop whatever it was that they meant to do.

“Alright, there’s no point pushing the issue then.” The officer lifted himself from his stool, collected his legal pad and then pen, leaving the newspaper and a half-full mug of now-warmed beer, and then withdrew something from the inside of his uniform, presumably form an inner pocket. He dropped a small business card on the countertop beside Alex, sliding it over towards him. “If you change your mind, give me a call. My number’s on the card.”

“I’ll change my mind when whoever it is that we are at war with comes charging through that door,” Trafford replied starkly.

“Well then, that might be sooner than you think. Have a good day,” he replied, and then dropped a nice tip on the bar for the working lady. Trafford furrowed his brow and lifted the glass to his mouth, finishing the whiskey that remained.

“Another, please,” Trafford requested from the bartender as the entranceway into the bar slammed shut behind the exiting soldiers, the group of lackeys in the corner following their commanding officer. He ran his long and bony fingers across his jaw line and sighed.]]> <![CDATA[[Mercy] Walk the Line]]> http://alex.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=16290 Mon, 24 Jan 2011 06:35:22 +0000 Katelyn Ross]]> http://alex.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=16290
Eventually, this becomes rhetorical. Eventually, some people discover that it isn’t possible to know the answer. Eventually, it becomes ingrained in a person’s mind that they have got to go with their gut.

Only minutes had gone by since the ambush, but Iris wasn’t out there fighting, on the front lines, with her fellow troops. No; she had holed herself up in an apartment building, and looked down at the battle. Both sides took shots at one another, but the militia soldiers barely made any headway. The extraterrestrials had the obvious advantage, here, and it was clear to the brown-haired girl that the group she had picked had drawn the short straw.

A single thought had plagued her mind since the ambush. A tiny doubt lingered in the back of her mind — waiting, it seemed, for the girl to take note of it. As she watched the ongoing struggle, the push and the pull of the soldiers, it all became clear to her, the inhumanity of it all.

What were they, hogs? That’s what she felt like — an unimportant hog, sent to the slaughterhouse. Iris’s eyes fixed themselves on Private Andrews’ gored body, sprawled next to the jeep they’d been riding in. Nobody even cared that he was dead; at least, that was how it seemed from her viewpoint. Not a single soldier had made an effort to retrieve his corpse.

She wasn’t much better. What had she done, but flee? She’d crawled out of the main road as the dust from the toppled jeep settled, and stolen away into the apartment complex. It was shabby, and filled with dust itself; it looked like it had been closed a long time ago, and had no intention of reopening. But it would do, for the moment; until the roads were clear again, and the deserter could get out safely, and without injury to herself. Iris closed her eyes and fell back on the nearby sofa. She could hardly believe the thoughts that swam around, inside her mind — without injury to herself. That seemed almost as self-serving as the militia’s motives.

She would fight fire with fire, then.

That, then, would be how she explained herself, how she avoided her conscience. Down below, the militia soldiers, the men and women she’d spent the last several hours with, were evenly matched, but only in number. The strength of the forces they faced clearly overpowered them. Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to do anything, or help them. Those soldiers — they were all pawns in the militia’s game, and they just refused to accept it. How could they do that — just die, and throw away their lives for next to nothing?

Iris could feel her fingers tingling, but she did not know why. She guessed — incorrectly — that it had something to do with regret, with her departure from the line of fire. Guilt-ridden, she slid off of the couch and approached the window, peeking through the dusty blinds to watch some of her bunkmates get shot, again. Their numbers dwindled, but the girl still felt no need to join them.

Something about the scene differed, though. Something had changed since the last time she’d looked. All of a sudden, she obsessed over the anomaly — discovering what it was, at least. She watched carefully, attempting to match up the picture before her with the one she’d seen three minutes ago, accounting for each new dead body as they piled up before her eyes. And then, she found it. At the head of the enemy troop, a warrior, in heavier armor than the others, had lead the pack. This advanced soldier no longer stood where he had stood before; he was gone.

A crash came from the apartment below. Iris jumped, spinning on her heel and pressing her back to the wall just left of the window. Her fingers burned — with anxiety, she guessed, again incorrectly — and she continued to watch the door, waiting for the noise’s origin to show itself.

The girl exhaled deeply, letting the breath flow from her lips. Her fingertips became heated, and the wall seemed alive with energy; electricity, fire, something eerily similar to that — the girl didn’t exactly know, and at the moment, that wasn’t exactly her main focus, either. Her eyes stayed on the door, never waving, not for a moment, especially not when a foot caused the bottom stair to creak.

She blinked, but made sure to open her eyes quickly — fear tip-toed up her spine, playing with her emotions as if they were toys. She didn’t dare let her sight waver from the door for more than a second.

Once more, the stairs creaked, but this time, it was much closer to her. She knew that her days were numbered — that freak, that alien freak, had found her. She supposed it was only right — she’d been a coward, and now karma was coming back to bite her in the ass, to tell her that she shouldn’t have just run away and left her unit to die. She was absolutely certain, at that moment, that this was going to be her end, that she was going to die, and that this was retribution for her actions.

“Oh, my God,” she muttered to herself, and then once again took a deep breath — the noises in the stairwell were getting clearer, and closer, and she let her teeth sink into her bottom lip. For a moment, she could taste her own blood, and then released her lip from the death grip. Her gaze never wavered from the door.

A low, gravely breath came from the other side of the door. The doorknob clinked as the alien warrior’s fingers wrapped around it, and twisted it open. Slowly, the door slipped open, and the ugly face of the extraterrestrials’ leader peeked in. His eyes zeroed in on Iris, the last, she thought, of her unit, and his lips curled into a smirk. This was going to be enjoyable for him — gutting her, ripping her to shreds. At least, Iris thought that was what the plan was. She had always found herself thinking far more violently of the aliens’ natures than what they actually might’ve been.

The humanoid creature reached up and pressed a button on the left shoulder-plate of his armor; this, the girl would soon find, served to translate his speech. “Why,” he hissed, “do you run?”

The girl’s face lost all of its color — she was pale with fear, and hesitated to answer. At last, she mustered up the courage to say something — anything — to the invader that stood before her. “I… don’t know,” she answered, honestly, “I’m just… scared. Of you, and all the rest… of you.”

“You are right,” the alien replied, “to be afraid. Hope is lost for your species; you cannot possibly win, not now.”

“I prefer hope in place of fear,” Iris swallowed, “But right now, I can’t help but feel like there’s nothing left but the latter.” She let her eyes trace the alien’s body, and slowly, she let a deep breath fall from her lips. The humanoid alien’s eyebrows raised at this last response; she seemed to have either impressed him with her rhetoric or confused him as to the motives of humans. To be honest, the girl couldn’t tell just from his expression.

“You,” he exhaled, “are a wise human.”

She closed her eyes nervously. If he was going to kill her, she thought, this would be his only chance. She wouldn’t allow him another. But he didn’t take it. When she opened her eyes, she didn’t see heaven, or hell — because in all honesty, she didn’t know which she would go to now. No; she saw him, standing in the exact same spot he’d been in before. He hadn’t taken a single step.

“And you’re a murderer,” she spat, pushing herself off of the wall and sprinting towards him, a renewed vigor inside of her. She felt some sort of righteousness swelling up, almost overpowering her fear, if only for a moment — she was going to defy fate, at all costs.

“Resistance is futile,” the extraterrestrial hummed robotically, pulling back a fist and punching her in the cheek. She slid across the hardwood floor, her cheek reddened from the impact; she didn’t waste anymore time talking with him, but merely followed that instinct that she’d felt before; she lifted her hands, and placed one in front of the other, palms open forward, almost in an ‘x’ shape; she yelled out something, something she couldn’t hear herself say — probably due to adrenaline — and watched as a golden streak of energy erupted from the palm of her hand, and crashed into the invader, sending him flying through the doorway. He tumbled down the staircase, smashing his head into each step as he went.

When Iris dared to look down the staircase after him, the impact had killed him. He lay at the bottom of the stairwell, limp, and dead; and the girl wasted no time. She turned, and yanked several of the drawers out of a nearby wardrobe. She stripped down, exchanging her soldier’s attire for that of a common woman — a pink tank top, blue jeans, and new, clean (she hoped) underwear — and started down the steps. Near the back door, a brown overcoat and black cap hung on a rack; she quickly donned them, and slipped out of the house, into anonymity.]]>
Eventually, this becomes rhetorical. Eventually, some people discover that it isn’t possible to know the answer. Eventually, it becomes ingrained in a person’s mind that they have got to go with their gut.

Only minutes had gone by since the ambush, but Iris wasn’t out there fighting, on the front lines, with her fellow troops. No; she had holed herself up in an apartment building, and looked down at the battle. Both sides took shots at one another, but the militia soldiers barely made any headway. The extraterrestrials had the obvious advantage, here, and it was clear to the brown-haired girl that the group she had picked had drawn the short straw.

A single thought had plagued her mind since the ambush. A tiny doubt lingered in the back of her mind — waiting, it seemed, for the girl to take note of it. As she watched the ongoing struggle, the push and the pull of the soldiers, it all became clear to her, the inhumanity of it all.

What were they, hogs? That’s what she felt like — an unimportant hog, sent to the slaughterhouse. Iris’s eyes fixed themselves on Private Andrews’ gored body, sprawled next to the jeep they’d been riding in. Nobody even cared that he was dead; at least, that was how it seemed from her viewpoint. Not a single soldier had made an effort to retrieve his corpse.

She wasn’t much better. What had she done, but flee? She’d crawled out of the main road as the dust from the toppled jeep settled, and stolen away into the apartment complex. It was shabby, and filled with dust itself; it looked like it had been closed a long time ago, and had no intention of reopening. But it would do, for the moment; until the roads were clear again, and the deserter could get out safely, and without injury to herself. Iris closed her eyes and fell back on the nearby sofa. She could hardly believe the thoughts that swam around, inside her mind — without injury to herself. That seemed almost as self-serving as the militia’s motives.

She would fight fire with fire, then.

That, then, would be how she explained herself, how she avoided her conscience. Down below, the militia soldiers, the men and women she’d spent the last several hours with, were evenly matched, but only in number. The strength of the forces they faced clearly overpowered them. Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to do anything, or help them. Those soldiers — they were all pawns in the militia’s game, and they just refused to accept it. How could they do that — just die, and throw away their lives for next to nothing?

Iris could feel her fingers tingling, but she did not know why. She guessed — incorrectly — that it had something to do with regret, with her departure from the line of fire. Guilt-ridden, she slid off of the couch and approached the window, peeking through the dusty blinds to watch some of her bunkmates get shot, again. Their numbers dwindled, but the girl still felt no need to join them.

Something about the scene differed, though. Something had changed since the last time she’d looked. All of a sudden, she obsessed over the anomaly — discovering what it was, at least. She watched carefully, attempting to match up the picture before her with the one she’d seen three minutes ago, accounting for each new dead body as they piled up before her eyes. And then, she found it. At the head of the enemy troop, a warrior, in heavier armor than the others, had lead the pack. This advanced soldier no longer stood where he had stood before; he was gone.

A crash came from the apartment below. Iris jumped, spinning on her heel and pressing her back to the wall just left of the window. Her fingers burned — with anxiety, she guessed, again incorrectly — and she continued to watch the door, waiting for the noise’s origin to show itself.

The girl exhaled deeply, letting the breath flow from her lips. Her fingertips became heated, and the wall seemed alive with energy; electricity, fire, something eerily similar to that — the girl didn’t exactly know, and at the moment, that wasn’t exactly her main focus, either. Her eyes stayed on the door, never waving, not for a moment, especially not when a foot caused the bottom stair to creak.

She blinked, but made sure to open her eyes quickly — fear tip-toed up her spine, playing with her emotions as if they were toys. She didn’t dare let her sight waver from the door for more than a second.

Once more, the stairs creaked, but this time, it was much closer to her. She knew that her days were numbered — that freak, that alien freak, had found her. She supposed it was only right — she’d been a coward, and now karma was coming back to bite her in the ass, to tell her that she shouldn’t have just run away and left her unit to die. She was absolutely certain, at that moment, that this was going to be her end, that she was going to die, and that this was retribution for her actions.

“Oh, my God,” she muttered to herself, and then once again took a deep breath — the noises in the stairwell were getting clearer, and closer, and she let her teeth sink into her bottom lip. For a moment, she could taste her own blood, and then released her lip from the death grip. Her gaze never wavered from the door.

A low, gravely breath came from the other side of the door. The doorknob clinked as the alien warrior’s fingers wrapped around it, and twisted it open. Slowly, the door slipped open, and the ugly face of the extraterrestrials’ leader peeked in. His eyes zeroed in on Iris, the last, she thought, of her unit, and his lips curled into a smirk. This was going to be enjoyable for him — gutting her, ripping her to shreds. At least, Iris thought that was what the plan was. She had always found herself thinking far more violently of the aliens’ natures than what they actually might’ve been.

The humanoid creature reached up and pressed a button on the left shoulder-plate of his armor; this, the girl would soon find, served to translate his speech. “Why,” he hissed, “do you run?”

The girl’s face lost all of its color — she was pale with fear, and hesitated to answer. At last, she mustered up the courage to say something — anything — to the invader that stood before her. “I… don’t know,” she answered, honestly, “I’m just… scared. Of you, and all the rest… of you.”

“You are right,” the alien replied, “to be afraid. Hope is lost for your species; you cannot possibly win, not now.”

“I prefer hope in place of fear,” Iris swallowed, “But right now, I can’t help but feel like there’s nothing left but the latter.” She let her eyes trace the alien’s body, and slowly, she let a deep breath fall from her lips. The humanoid alien’s eyebrows raised at this last response; she seemed to have either impressed him with her rhetoric or confused him as to the motives of humans. To be honest, the girl couldn’t tell just from his expression.

“You,” he exhaled, “are a wise human.”

She closed her eyes nervously. If he was going to kill her, she thought, this would be his only chance. She wouldn’t allow him another. But he didn’t take it. When she opened her eyes, she didn’t see heaven, or hell — because in all honesty, she didn’t know which she would go to now. No; she saw him, standing in the exact same spot he’d been in before. He hadn’t taken a single step.

“And you’re a murderer,” she spat, pushing herself off of the wall and sprinting towards him, a renewed vigor inside of her. She felt some sort of righteousness swelling up, almost overpowering her fear, if only for a moment — she was going to defy fate, at all costs.

“Resistance is futile,” the extraterrestrial hummed robotically, pulling back a fist and punching her in the cheek. She slid across the hardwood floor, her cheek reddened from the impact; she didn’t waste anymore time talking with him, but merely followed that instinct that she’d felt before; she lifted her hands, and placed one in front of the other, palms open forward, almost in an ‘x’ shape; she yelled out something, something she couldn’t hear herself say — probably due to adrenaline — and watched as a golden streak of energy erupted from the palm of her hand, and crashed into the invader, sending him flying through the doorway. He tumbled down the staircase, smashing his head into each step as he went.

When Iris dared to look down the staircase after him, the impact had killed him. He lay at the bottom of the stairwell, limp, and dead; and the girl wasted no time. She turned, and yanked several of the drawers out of a nearby wardrobe. She stripped down, exchanging her soldier’s attire for that of a common woman — a pink tank top, blue jeans, and new, clean (she hoped) underwear — and started down the steps. Near the back door, a brown overcoat and black cap hung on a rack; she quickly donned them, and slipped out of the house, into anonymity.]]> <![CDATA[[M][Namek] The Tempest]]> http://alex.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=16259 Wed, 19 Jan 2011 03:51:55 +0000 Juno]]> http://alex.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=16259
It had been over a day since the militia soldiers had found his naked body lying in the Namekian wilderness, his power exhausted from the transformation. One of the soldiers had slung his unconscious form over the back of her hover-bike and, thankfully, transported him to safety — but his tour on Namek wasn’t destined to just end there.

After chewing on a Senzu bean and having his wounds healed, he’d been shuffled to a debriefing room, where he had been ordered to tell the higher-up officers everything he remembered about their base.

“What does it matter?” he asked, “They’re all dead now.” He said that with a degree of confidence, despite not knowing exactly how many he’d killed while he was in his Oozaru form. The officer at the head of the table — an older man, with a churlish disposition, in Juno’s experience — chuckled.

“You might have noticed,” he began, “the gargantuan mother-ship that hovers over our city. This is not, as you may have thought, some simple war.”

Juno sighed. They were getting melodramatic again.

“I’m not sure what you expect me to do about that,” the hybrid spoke, lacing his fingers together and sitting his hands on the table. Another chuckle escaped the older man’s lips. Am I … amusing you, old man? the hybrid thought. He pondered the idea of voicing his annoyance with the officer’s persistent attempts at giggling at his every word, as if he was some sort of jester performing funny tricks, but in the end decided against the idea.

“Well, that is exactly why we have called you here, Juno,” his Majesty — the thought tickled Juno, but he held back his laughter — responded, “To tell you what we expect you to do. Or, rather, what we hope you will do for us.”

So now you’re going to make me feel bad, Juno nodded, or … try, at least. I’m not one to be guilt-tripped, sir.

“The Grand Ship Myreen dominates the visible sky above Ja City,” the officer explained, “And we need a warrior like yourself — with knowledge of the enemy — to take it down for us. We have all come to the conclusion that you, Juno, are the warrior for this job.”

The hybrid sat back in his chair, musing over this proposition; it was obviously an opportunity for glory, but for whatever reason, the hybrid didn’t find himself motivated by that whatsoever. On the other hand, he didn’t understand why they thought he knew any more about the enemy than anyone else. The majority of the time he’d spent at their base had been as a guest in their prison cells, or in a state in which his mind was not his own. In the half-Saiyan’s mind, he didn’t think he was any more intellectual than anyone else on the subject of these … mysterious invaders. It mystified him that these men and women in fancy suits seemed to think that he was, somehow, inside a loop they themselves were out of.

“Obviously, we do not expect you to attempt to tackle this alone,” a woman to the older man’s left said, leaning on the elder’s chair.

Are you questioning my abilities? the hybrid thought, a smirk painting itself on his countenance. He stood up from his chair, and looked at the pair of officers across the room. “I think,” he told them rather confidently, “That I can handle myself.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure, Juno,” the woman’s voice said.

“The invaders that you have faced are tough enough,” the older man continued his partner’s statement, stopping Juno as he prepared to open the door and leave the debriefing room, “And we expect the ones on the Myreen to be even stronger. You’ll need a team — at least three skilled warriors, like yourself — to truly succeed. If you go alone, then you are giving yourself a death sentence.”

And perhaps, he considered, that was exactly what he wanted — a death sentence. He’d been a part of this melodramatic war, and he’d almost gotten himself killed over it. Was it worth that? It wasn’t as if he considered Namek his home, or anything like that — he lived primarily on Earth, which was not in danger, to his knowledge.

“We have warriors that you can use,” the old man continued, “Warriors that you know, and those you do not whose potential is, perhaps, even more potent.” The hybrid glanced over his shoulder, intrigued by this last statement. He hesitantly crossed back to the chair, and slid down into it, staring across the table once more before daring to say anything else.

“ … I’m listening.”

~ + ~

For the last day and a half, Juno had mulled over what had been said in that meeting. The meeting where he’d signed his life away to this cause, no matter whether or not he actually cared about the people he was trying to save — and that had been, perhaps, the thought he’d focused the most on. Or second most.

Why had he said yes? Out of some false desire to leap into adventure again? He’d already done that, and it had ended up getting him almost a week — in Earth time — in the extraterrestrials’ prison. No; he’d grown some sort of desire to do right, some idea that he was obligated to ‘be the hero.’ And it fucking pissed him off. This hero shit wasn’t his ball game. That was Kaden. Or Piper. Or whoever the hell decided they wanted to be do-gooders.

That didn’t mean that Juno wanted to be the ‘bad guy’ — no. He just… hated the idea of caring about other people (well, most other people). He thought that it hindered him, feeling like he had to protect these … people, most of whom he’d never even met before. It baffled him. And it was recent, too. Within the past two years, or so. Before that, he’d only cared about himself. And rightfully so.

Perhaps, though, that wasn’t everything — perhaps there was something else, something a bit deeper swimming around there. And he tried to push away the idea that it was because of them, because it wasn’t. He didn’t even know if they were still alive, for God’s sakes.

Of course they were still alive — they weren’t weaklings. Of course, in Juno’s experience, neither of them had exactly been the best physical fighters, but Sophia had shown her ability to hold her own, and Kaden could blow up shit with the best of them. But it wasn’t them. That couldn’t have been the reason he’d agreed to this.

“Sir, what can I get for you?”

Juno looked up. The bartender raised an eyebrow — she was attractive, but she seemed smart as a whip. She could tell the hybrid was distracted — heck, he’d been so distracted that it had taken prompting from the girl for him to actually notice her. Normally, with a girl that pretty, he’d take notice rather quickly, but his senses seemed to be … lacking, at the moment.

Senses. That reminded him of Kaden, and his invaluable ability to sense ki signatures. The hybrid had, in his many thoughts, convinced himself that it was this technique that made the idea of working with Kaden such an attractive one. After all, if he’d actually wanted to work with the courier for the sake of working with him, he could just give up all of his pride that he’d been storing up over the last twenty years. He couldn’t exactly give in after all of the enmity he’d instigated between himself and the blonde male.

He quickly flipped open Sophia’s folder, and looked at her picture, in an attempt to distract himself. She looked exactly the same as he remembered her — if a bit more hardened, perhaps.

“I’ll — ” he stammered, looking up from the priestess’s (was she still a priestess?) picture and back into the eyes of the hot bartender, “ … I’ll take a, uh, a glass of Coke, I, uh, guess.” The girl scowled.

“No hard liquor?” she asked, “Aren’t you a soldier?”

Juno shook his head. “Not a soldier,” he said, looking back down at the picture, “Not, well, uh … not exactly.”

The girl scoffed, and turned around. Juno closed Sophia’s folder, and let himself get drowned in his thoughts again. What if Kaden and Sophia didn’t show up from their mission in time? He’d need other people. He had to go through more folders, look for more people, backups, and potentially extra people, especially since he didn’t know if the three of them would be enough. The elder man had said three people, minimum, including himself, but… would three be enough?

“Screw this, I’ve got to stop stressing.”

It was true — he had to stop worrying about it. It would all fall into place, eventually. At least, he hoped it would. In the meantime, he watched the attractive bartender slide his Coke down the bar, and then he shot her a flirtatious glance, which she returned amiably; and he sipped the soda with a smile.

He leaned back on the bar stool, and brushed Kaden’s folder off of the bar, then quickly did the same to Sophia’s. He wouldn’t have much longer to rest before he had to take his team — whatever team that may have been — up to the Grand Ship Myreen, where they would all risk their lives and, probably, die trying to protect Namek. And at the moment, he didn’t want to think about them, or anyone else.

This was his calm before the storm, and he was going to savor every moment of it.

Quote:OOC: Any questions, PM me. Spots are reserved for Kaden and Sophia if they want them because I've talked to them previously, but anyone can join. We just might have to make two strike teams if we get kind of crowded. Kthxbai.
]]>
It had been over a day since the militia soldiers had found his naked body lying in the Namekian wilderness, his power exhausted from the transformation. One of the soldiers had slung his unconscious form over the back of her hover-bike and, thankfully, transported him to safety — but his tour on Namek wasn’t destined to just end there.

After chewing on a Senzu bean and having his wounds healed, he’d been shuffled to a debriefing room, where he had been ordered to tell the higher-up officers everything he remembered about their base.

“What does it matter?” he asked, “They’re all dead now.” He said that with a degree of confidence, despite not knowing exactly how many he’d killed while he was in his Oozaru form. The officer at the head of the table — an older man, with a churlish disposition, in Juno’s experience — chuckled.

“You might have noticed,” he began, “the gargantuan mother-ship that hovers over our city. This is not, as you may have thought, some simple war.”

Juno sighed. They were getting melodramatic again.

“I’m not sure what you expect me to do about that,” the hybrid spoke, lacing his fingers together and sitting his hands on the table. Another chuckle escaped the older man’s lips. Am I … amusing you, old man? the hybrid thought. He pondered the idea of voicing his annoyance with the officer’s persistent attempts at giggling at his every word, as if he was some sort of jester performing funny tricks, but in the end decided against the idea.

“Well, that is exactly why we have called you here, Juno,” his Majesty — the thought tickled Juno, but he held back his laughter — responded, “To tell you what we expect you to do. Or, rather, what we hope you will do for us.”

So now you’re going to make me feel bad, Juno nodded, or … try, at least. I’m not one to be guilt-tripped, sir.

“The Grand Ship Myreen dominates the visible sky above Ja City,” the officer explained, “And we need a warrior like yourself — with knowledge of the enemy — to take it down for us. We have all come to the conclusion that you, Juno, are the warrior for this job.”

The hybrid sat back in his chair, musing over this proposition; it was obviously an opportunity for glory, but for whatever reason, the hybrid didn’t find himself motivated by that whatsoever. On the other hand, he didn’t understand why they thought he knew any more about the enemy than anyone else. The majority of the time he’d spent at their base had been as a guest in their prison cells, or in a state in which his mind was not his own. In the half-Saiyan’s mind, he didn’t think he was any more intellectual than anyone else on the subject of these … mysterious invaders. It mystified him that these men and women in fancy suits seemed to think that he was, somehow, inside a loop they themselves were out of.

“Obviously, we do not expect you to attempt to tackle this alone,” a woman to the older man’s left said, leaning on the elder’s chair.

Are you questioning my abilities? the hybrid thought, a smirk painting itself on his countenance. He stood up from his chair, and looked at the pair of officers across the room. “I think,” he told them rather confidently, “That I can handle myself.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure, Juno,” the woman’s voice said.

“The invaders that you have faced are tough enough,” the older man continued his partner’s statement, stopping Juno as he prepared to open the door and leave the debriefing room, “And we expect the ones on the Myreen to be even stronger. You’ll need a team — at least three skilled warriors, like yourself — to truly succeed. If you go alone, then you are giving yourself a death sentence.”

And perhaps, he considered, that was exactly what he wanted — a death sentence. He’d been a part of this melodramatic war, and he’d almost gotten himself killed over it. Was it worth that? It wasn’t as if he considered Namek his home, or anything like that — he lived primarily on Earth, which was not in danger, to his knowledge.

“We have warriors that you can use,” the old man continued, “Warriors that you know, and those you do not whose potential is, perhaps, even more potent.” The hybrid glanced over his shoulder, intrigued by this last statement. He hesitantly crossed back to the chair, and slid down into it, staring across the table once more before daring to say anything else.

“ … I’m listening.”

~ + ~

For the last day and a half, Juno had mulled over what had been said in that meeting. The meeting where he’d signed his life away to this cause, no matter whether or not he actually cared about the people he was trying to save — and that had been, perhaps, the thought he’d focused the most on. Or second most.

Why had he said yes? Out of some false desire to leap into adventure again? He’d already done that, and it had ended up getting him almost a week — in Earth time — in the extraterrestrials’ prison. No; he’d grown some sort of desire to do right, some idea that he was obligated to ‘be the hero.’ And it fucking pissed him off. This hero shit wasn’t his ball game. That was Kaden. Or Piper. Or whoever the hell decided they wanted to be do-gooders.

That didn’t mean that Juno wanted to be the ‘bad guy’ — no. He just… hated the idea of caring about other people (well, most other people). He thought that it hindered him, feeling like he had to protect these … people, most of whom he’d never even met before. It baffled him. And it was recent, too. Within the past two years, or so. Before that, he’d only cared about himself. And rightfully so.

Perhaps, though, that wasn’t everything — perhaps there was something else, something a bit deeper swimming around there. And he tried to push away the idea that it was because of them, because it wasn’t. He didn’t even know if they were still alive, for God’s sakes.

Of course they were still alive — they weren’t weaklings. Of course, in Juno’s experience, neither of them had exactly been the best physical fighters, but Sophia had shown her ability to hold her own, and Kaden could blow up shit with the best of them. But it wasn’t them. That couldn’t have been the reason he’d agreed to this.

“Sir, what can I get for you?”

Juno looked up. The bartender raised an eyebrow — she was attractive, but she seemed smart as a whip. She could tell the hybrid was distracted — heck, he’d been so distracted that it had taken prompting from the girl for him to actually notice her. Normally, with a girl that pretty, he’d take notice rather quickly, but his senses seemed to be … lacking, at the moment.

Senses. That reminded him of Kaden, and his invaluable ability to sense ki signatures. The hybrid had, in his many thoughts, convinced himself that it was this technique that made the idea of working with Kaden such an attractive one. After all, if he’d actually wanted to work with the courier for the sake of working with him, he could just give up all of his pride that he’d been storing up over the last twenty years. He couldn’t exactly give in after all of the enmity he’d instigated between himself and the blonde male.

He quickly flipped open Sophia’s folder, and looked at her picture, in an attempt to distract himself. She looked exactly the same as he remembered her — if a bit more hardened, perhaps.

“I’ll — ” he stammered, looking up from the priestess’s (was she still a priestess?) picture and back into the eyes of the hot bartender, “ … I’ll take a, uh, a glass of Coke, I, uh, guess.” The girl scowled.

“No hard liquor?” she asked, “Aren’t you a soldier?”

Juno shook his head. “Not a soldier,” he said, looking back down at the picture, “Not, well, uh … not exactly.”

The girl scoffed, and turned around. Juno closed Sophia’s folder, and let himself get drowned in his thoughts again. What if Kaden and Sophia didn’t show up from their mission in time? He’d need other people. He had to go through more folders, look for more people, backups, and potentially extra people, especially since he didn’t know if the three of them would be enough. The elder man had said three people, minimum, including himself, but… would three be enough?

“Screw this, I’ve got to stop stressing.”

It was true — he had to stop worrying about it. It would all fall into place, eventually. At least, he hoped it would. In the meantime, he watched the attractive bartender slide his Coke down the bar, and then he shot her a flirtatious glance, which she returned amiably; and he sipped the soda with a smile.

He leaned back on the bar stool, and brushed Kaden’s folder off of the bar, then quickly did the same to Sophia’s. He wouldn’t have much longer to rest before he had to take his team — whatever team that may have been — up to the Grand Ship Myreen, where they would all risk their lives and, probably, die trying to protect Namek. And at the moment, he didn’t want to think about them, or anyone else.

This was his calm before the storm, and he was going to savor every moment of it.

Quote:OOC: Any questions, PM me. Spots are reserved for Kaden and Sophia if they want them because I've talked to them previously, but anyone can join. We just might have to make two strike teams if we get kind of crowded. Kthxbai.
]]> <![CDATA[[Namek] A Crash Landing]]> http://alex.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=16232 Thu, 13 Jan 2011 07:54:11 +0000 Geeli Ou]]> http://alex.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=16232
“What in the hell happened?” A voice faintly echoed across the earthen floor. Sid’s ears, picking up on the noise immediately, tracked its source like a trained hunting hound: a group of soldiers, or militia, or whatever they were, had gathered around some of the smashed crates and were searching through the remains. Sid snatched up his bag and eagerly dashed over towards them.

“Hey, hey we got company!” One of the soldiers shouted as the youngling raced towards the small group.

“No, I’m a friend!” Sid shouted as he smacked himself in the forward. He should have shouted to them before just sprinting over. Everyone knows you don’t trust strangers after all, Mrs. Jones in the third grade had taught him that. Then again, he didn’t know these people either. Could he really trust them?

“Stop!” One of the men, who wore a basic combat uniform with a single insignia sewn onto the shoulder, leveled his gun as Sid slowed to a halt and raised his arms high above his head.

“Don’t shoot! Please!” Sid shouted, his voice shaking with fear as he thrust his hands into the classic ‘I surrender, don’t shoot’ pose.

“Jesus Christ Brett, it’s just a fucking kid,” another man stepped forward and spoke. “Put your god damn gun down.”

The second man slapped the body of the first man’s assault rifle, knocking down the barrel and forcing him to lower his weapon. The aggressor apologized, and the two walked forward towards the still stagnant pre-teen. There were others behind them, who were simply watching the scene unfold and were continuing to salvage what they could from the scattered equipment

“What are you doing out here kid?” the second man questioned.

Sid hesitated for a moment, eyeing the man who had previously leveled his weapon at him, and then responded, “I was on the ship, sir.” He spoke as if he were being questioned and reprimanded by the principal, guilt riddled his voice.

“That ship was for militia personnel only! How in the hell did you get on?!” The first man interjected, his question rhetorical and his frustration palpable. It was understandable, Sid thought to himself, the man had probably lost countless friends when the ship went down. Anger was an emotion that was frequently redirected.

“Settle down Brett,” the second man continued, turning slightly and pressing his hand down on his comrade’s shoulder. After a moment, Brett seemed to calm. The formerly aggressive man glanced one more time at the kid, and then turned his back and returned to the other members of their group.

“You snuck on that plane, didn’t you?” The second man, an older man, asked as he stepped towards Sid.

“Yes sir, I snuck on that plane.”

“And why did you do that?”

“Because I’m going to help,” Sid responded. His voice was strong and confident, but there was fear in his eyes as he watched the transport vehicle smolder in the background. What could he do against something that could do that to a space ship?

“You were going to help were you?”

“No sir, I am going to help.”

The older man chuckled and reached forward towards Sid. The boy recoiled slightly, but a reassuring glance from the protective soldier made him reconsider. Continuing his original motion, the man gripped the child’s small muscles jokingly.

“Alright, well, you’re strong enough for me. Come help us carry some equipment and we’ll get you home, alright?”

“Yes sir!” Sid shouted excitedly, a grin spreading across his face. He raced past the older man towards the beaten, downtrodden group of soldiers and volunteers.

“We’re taking kids with us now, huh boss?” a third man walked up to the older man as the child departed and questioned him.

“Would you rather leave him out here to fend for himself?”

The question was met with silent approval, and the two older men watched with crossed arms as the mysterious young boy raced around smashed crates, searching for equipment to salvage.]]>
“What in the hell happened?” A voice faintly echoed across the earthen floor. Sid’s ears, picking up on the noise immediately, tracked its source like a trained hunting hound: a group of soldiers, or militia, or whatever they were, had gathered around some of the smashed crates and were searching through the remains. Sid snatched up his bag and eagerly dashed over towards them.

“Hey, hey we got company!” One of the soldiers shouted as the youngling raced towards the small group.

“No, I’m a friend!” Sid shouted as he smacked himself in the forward. He should have shouted to them before just sprinting over. Everyone knows you don’t trust strangers after all, Mrs. Jones in the third grade had taught him that. Then again, he didn’t know these people either. Could he really trust them?

“Stop!” One of the men, who wore a basic combat uniform with a single insignia sewn onto the shoulder, leveled his gun as Sid slowed to a halt and raised his arms high above his head.

“Don’t shoot! Please!” Sid shouted, his voice shaking with fear as he thrust his hands into the classic ‘I surrender, don’t shoot’ pose.

“Jesus Christ Brett, it’s just a fucking kid,” another man stepped forward and spoke. “Put your god damn gun down.”

The second man slapped the body of the first man’s assault rifle, knocking down the barrel and forcing him to lower his weapon. The aggressor apologized, and the two walked forward towards the still stagnant pre-teen. There were others behind them, who were simply watching the scene unfold and were continuing to salvage what they could from the scattered equipment

“What are you doing out here kid?” the second man questioned.

Sid hesitated for a moment, eyeing the man who had previously leveled his weapon at him, and then responded, “I was on the ship, sir.” He spoke as if he were being questioned and reprimanded by the principal, guilt riddled his voice.

“That ship was for militia personnel only! How in the hell did you get on?!” The first man interjected, his question rhetorical and his frustration palpable. It was understandable, Sid thought to himself, the man had probably lost countless friends when the ship went down. Anger was an emotion that was frequently redirected.

“Settle down Brett,” the second man continued, turning slightly and pressing his hand down on his comrade’s shoulder. After a moment, Brett seemed to calm. The formerly aggressive man glanced one more time at the kid, and then turned his back and returned to the other members of their group.

“You snuck on that plane, didn’t you?” The second man, an older man, asked as he stepped towards Sid.

“Yes sir, I snuck on that plane.”

“And why did you do that?”

“Because I’m going to help,” Sid responded. His voice was strong and confident, but there was fear in his eyes as he watched the transport vehicle smolder in the background. What could he do against something that could do that to a space ship?

“You were going to help were you?”

“No sir, I am going to help.”

The older man chuckled and reached forward towards Sid. The boy recoiled slightly, but a reassuring glance from the protective soldier made him reconsider. Continuing his original motion, the man gripped the child’s small muscles jokingly.

“Alright, well, you’re strong enough for me. Come help us carry some equipment and we’ll get you home, alright?”

“Yes sir!” Sid shouted excitedly, a grin spreading across his face. He raced past the older man towards the beaten, downtrodden group of soldiers and volunteers.

“We’re taking kids with us now, huh boss?” a third man walked up to the older man as the child departed and questioned him.

“Would you rather leave him out here to fend for himself?”

The question was met with silent approval, and the two older men watched with crossed arms as the mysterious young boy raced around smashed crates, searching for equipment to salvage.]]> <![CDATA[[Earth] Tight Shirts & Short Skirts]]> http://alex.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=16224 Tue, 11 Jan 2011 06:13:07 +0000 Rebekah]]> http://alex.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=16224
Making a left turn onto the boardwalk was an ice cream truck, and on the menu that was hastily taped to the side of the serving window was an item named "Suzie Q's." A square sugary treat with two brownies mashed on top of creme filling. Now and again the driver would sound his bell alerting the kids in the area to his presence.

Little did he know that a twenty eight year old military sniper was bounding in his direction.

"Simone! Wait up!" Shouted Lisa, the recon snipers tactical spotter.

The dark purple haired woman was less than pleased of having to sprint through crowds of people in nothing more than a string bikini. She had no idea how Simone hadn't lost her top when she nearly took out the hot dog cart and cleared the group of school kids. "Such a childish woman," she thought.

Lisa's pleas were going unnoticed. Using a park bench as a boost Simone launched herself at the oncoming Ice Cream truck which in turn sounded it's horn. Plastering herself to the windshield she caused the driver to swerve and slam into a nearby palm tree, dropping coconuts down onto the roof.

"Are you crazy, lady!? You could have hurt someone!"

The blue green haired woman's response was only fits of giggling. As the man got up from his seat to move to the window in the side of his truck Simone moved to greet him. He eyesight was graced with the well endowed woman jumping up and down pointing at the Suzie Q's on the shelf. He nearly lost himself in the fact that her string bikini was about ready to come off, but managed to remain professional long enough to hand her a box.

With a happy cheer she took the box and tore it open, grasping the sweet packages of sugary goodness in her hands. Lisa caught up and instantly slammed a palm against her forehead.

"You nearly hurt twenty kids, knocked over a pregnant lady, and knocked out some poor teenagers retainer just for Suzie Q's!?" She scolded.

"Mhm!" Simone said with a mouthful of food causing chocolate crumbs to fly from her between her lips.]]>
Making a left turn onto the boardwalk was an ice cream truck, and on the menu that was hastily taped to the side of the serving window was an item named "Suzie Q's." A square sugary treat with two brownies mashed on top of creme filling. Now and again the driver would sound his bell alerting the kids in the area to his presence.

Little did he know that a twenty eight year old military sniper was bounding in his direction.

"Simone! Wait up!" Shouted Lisa, the recon snipers tactical spotter.

The dark purple haired woman was less than pleased of having to sprint through crowds of people in nothing more than a string bikini. She had no idea how Simone hadn't lost her top when she nearly took out the hot dog cart and cleared the group of school kids. "Such a childish woman," she thought.

Lisa's pleas were going unnoticed. Using a park bench as a boost Simone launched herself at the oncoming Ice Cream truck which in turn sounded it's horn. Plastering herself to the windshield she caused the driver to swerve and slam into a nearby palm tree, dropping coconuts down onto the roof.

"Are you crazy, lady!? You could have hurt someone!"

The blue green haired woman's response was only fits of giggling. As the man got up from his seat to move to the window in the side of his truck Simone moved to greet him. He eyesight was graced with the well endowed woman jumping up and down pointing at the Suzie Q's on the shelf. He nearly lost himself in the fact that her string bikini was about ready to come off, but managed to remain professional long enough to hand her a box.

With a happy cheer she took the box and tore it open, grasping the sweet packages of sugary goodness in her hands. Lisa caught up and instantly slammed a palm against her forehead.

"You nearly hurt twenty kids, knocked over a pregnant lady, and knocked out some poor teenagers retainer just for Suzie Q's!?" She scolded.

"Mhm!" Simone said with a mouthful of food causing chocolate crumbs to fly from her between her lips.]]> <![CDATA[[Mercy] Failure To Communicate]]> http://alex.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=16219 Mon, 10 Jan 2011 22:41:05 +0000 John Doe]]> http://alex.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=16219
As the doors slowly unlatched themselves, the soldiers began to sense an uncomfortable smell. They began to look around as they sniffed the air, attempting to identify the smell. After the door's final lock was open, the militia turned back to the ship. It was quiet for a few seconds as the door stayed unmoving. One of the soldiers turned towards his comrades and broke that silence. "Does that smell like... smoke?"

As if on cue, a large crashing sound came from the inside of the cargo room. "Fuck!" The militia immediately stepped back and readied their riffles, aimed at the cargo doors. Another crash came again, rocking the entire ship. "Fucking fuck!" The militia took another step back as they kept their weapons steady. A third crash. "God fucking damnit!" With a final crash, the cargo doors flung open. Doe tripped out of the ship and fell face first onto the ground below. "Motherfucking!"

With their weapons fixed on Doe, the militia squad inched towards the facedown stowaway. Doe turned himself over on his back, and put his fist on his forehead. His shades were still intact, though slightly uneven from his tumble earlier. Both his suit and overcoat had various stains scattered about, smudged and reeking of alcohol. With his other hand, Doe ran his fingers through his short black hair, disheveled and having the slightest hint of women's perfume. "God damn, I feel like shit right now." John lurched forward, now sitting up as the militia moved closer.

"Freeze!" the largest of the soldiers yelled out. His deep voice boomed over the incoming ships that began to dock around them. He took another step towards Doe. "Put your hands up!"

Doe chuckled before asking "Well which is it?" His grin quickly returned to a grimace as he stood up on his knees, patting the dust off his suit. "Listen, pal, I've got a big headache right now, so I'd appreciate it if you shut the fuck up." Doe stood up completely and rubbed his forehead with his hand. He turned to look at one of the militiamen that was in front of him. "Ya got any smokes?"

The large soldier yelled again. "Sir, I told you to put your hands up!" He made a small jabbing motion with his riffle, trying to relay a sense of haste in his order. "Now!"

Doe turned around to directly face the man shouting at him. "Geez, you guys are like a broken record with that shit." He started walking towards the man, balling his hands into fists. "What's next? 'You're under arrest?' Fucking clichés." Then Doe leapt at the man before hearing a loud bang.

A shot zipped past his head as Doe stopped midstride. "He said to put your hands in the air, asshole!" This voice was much softer than the large militiaman. Doe turned to his side to see a small soldier. This militiaman was certainly a pipsqueak, if he ever saw one. Couldn't be an inch over 5' 2". The small soldier readied her weapon again. "The next one's going through your head!"

"Holy shit." Doe remarked, lowering his hands back to his sides. "Is that a woman?"

"Fuck you!" responded the small soldier. She shifted uncomfortably for a second before repositioning her rifle. "What if I am?! Hands up!" Doe grinned before obeying her orders, slowly raising both arms into the air and then placing them behind his head.

Doe looked back over to the large militia. "Tell ya what, you can arrest me, as long as she's the one to put on my cuffs."]]>
As the doors slowly unlatched themselves, the soldiers began to sense an uncomfortable smell. They began to look around as they sniffed the air, attempting to identify the smell. After the door's final lock was open, the militia turned back to the ship. It was quiet for a few seconds as the door stayed unmoving. One of the soldiers turned towards his comrades and broke that silence. "Does that smell like... smoke?"

As if on cue, a large crashing sound came from the inside of the cargo room. "Fuck!" The militia immediately stepped back and readied their riffles, aimed at the cargo doors. Another crash came again, rocking the entire ship. "Fucking fuck!" The militia took another step back as they kept their weapons steady. A third crash. "God fucking damnit!" With a final crash, the cargo doors flung open. Doe tripped out of the ship and fell face first onto the ground below. "Motherfucking!"

With their weapons fixed on Doe, the militia squad inched towards the facedown stowaway. Doe turned himself over on his back, and put his fist on his forehead. His shades were still intact, though slightly uneven from his tumble earlier. Both his suit and overcoat had various stains scattered about, smudged and reeking of alcohol. With his other hand, Doe ran his fingers through his short black hair, disheveled and having the slightest hint of women's perfume. "God damn, I feel like shit right now." John lurched forward, now sitting up as the militia moved closer.

"Freeze!" the largest of the soldiers yelled out. His deep voice boomed over the incoming ships that began to dock around them. He took another step towards Doe. "Put your hands up!"

Doe chuckled before asking "Well which is it?" His grin quickly returned to a grimace as he stood up on his knees, patting the dust off his suit. "Listen, pal, I've got a big headache right now, so I'd appreciate it if you shut the fuck up." Doe stood up completely and rubbed his forehead with his hand. He turned to look at one of the militiamen that was in front of him. "Ya got any smokes?"

The large soldier yelled again. "Sir, I told you to put your hands up!" He made a small jabbing motion with his riffle, trying to relay a sense of haste in his order. "Now!"

Doe turned around to directly face the man shouting at him. "Geez, you guys are like a broken record with that shit." He started walking towards the man, balling his hands into fists. "What's next? 'You're under arrest?' Fucking clichés." Then Doe leapt at the man before hearing a loud bang.

A shot zipped past his head as Doe stopped midstride. "He said to put your hands in the air, asshole!" This voice was much softer than the large militiaman. Doe turned to his side to see a small soldier. This militiaman was certainly a pipsqueak, if he ever saw one. Couldn't be an inch over 5' 2". The small soldier readied her weapon again. "The next one's going through your head!"

"Holy shit." Doe remarked, lowering his hands back to his sides. "Is that a woman?"

"Fuck you!" responded the small soldier. She shifted uncomfortably for a second before repositioning her rifle. "What if I am?! Hands up!" Doe grinned before obeying her orders, slowly raising both arms into the air and then placing them behind his head.

Doe looked back over to the large militia. "Tell ya what, you can arrest me, as long as she's the one to put on my cuffs."]]> <![CDATA[[Namek] Super Fun Happy Making Friends Time]]> http://alex.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=16209 Mon, 10 Jan 2011 00:32:33 +0000 Prototype]]> http://alex.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=16209
He whipped out a blank check and held it against the wall with the back of his hand while simultaneously writing out the necessary details. "No, a wall. Yeah, you know, those four things around you that make up a room? ... I don't know. Hold on, I'll find out." Robert put his hand over the phone's receiver. "Hey, uh ... guy, what do you want this wall made out of?"

Vad simply stared at Robert. The disconcerted human swallowed hard, deciding to choose for him. "Uh ... something strong, I guess?" When Vad didn't seem to object, he continued. "So, metal. Of some kind. ... No I don't know. Probably something resistant to bombs and bullets and what have you. ... You're asking too many questions! I need this wall built yesterday!"

It was starting to click. A wall around the major spaceport of Ja. A silent warrior type waiting for the storm. This guy was somehow linked to that message that he deciphered during the afternoon. He was interested in protecting Namek just like he was. Well, to be fair, Robert was chasing the thrill of adventure rather than bowing to a sense of altruism, but it hardly mattered. He had a sidekick!

Not that he would say that to his face.

Robert flipped the phone back into one piece. "It's been ordered and the wall will commence building tonight. I had to pull more strings than a puppeteer, but it's happening."

Vad wasn't paying the vandal any attention. The woman, Trixie, wasn't as unsocial as her husband. "That's good news. The sooner the wall goes up, the better."

Robert was way out of his depth, but that little voice ordering him to find thrills was too authoritative. "So you guys know about the incoming ... uh ... invasion?"

"That's what we're preparing for," Trixie answered. "We know that having patrols to protect the space port is simply not viable. We're thinking that a defensive perimeter might be enough to hold back the invaders."

"Why just the space port?" Robert inquired, his trepidation vanishing.

"Well, we can only protect one thing at a time," she said. "Besides, the space port is of vital strategic importance. If Namek lost its only way on and off the planet, everyone here could be trapped."

"Yes, I can see your point," Robert replied, stroking his chin. "That's it! I've decided."

"Decided what?" Vad, for the first time, said.

"Uh ... well ... if it's OK with you two, I'd like to join your efforts to protect the space port."

Vad and Trixie looked at each other before the demoness spoke. "You?"

"Yeah!" Robert replied enthusiastically. "I know I don't look like much, but trust me, I'm an awesome warrior!"

Trixie looked back to her saiyan husband. "He is helping us out with the wall. Extra help wouldn't hurt, even if all he can do is fire a pistol. If he's terrible, he'll die anyway."

Robert stared at Vad with hopeful eyes, knowing the final word had to come from him. His permanent scowl suggested that his hope was in vain, but he didn't exactly say no at the first break in his wife's statement. What a rush it would be to engage the enemy as Prototype on alien terrain with his stoic, metal clad soldier! Robert wasn't even sure of the limitations of his suit yet, but he felt that this Vad and Trixie could definitely assist in pushing the boundaries.

"As long as he stays out of my way," Vad agreed coldly.

"That's a yes!" Robert yelled, pumping a fist in the air. "Oh, uh ... I mean, that's cool."

Vad turned around and headed towards the kitchen, one of the few areas unaffected by Robert's terrible driving skill. As he spun, the Capsule Corporation inventor identified an appendage that didn't normally belong to humans. A brown, furry tail.

A tail?

His instinct was to call it out, but in his current situation that may have earned him further unwanted ire. He scrutinised it; was it an actual extra limb, perhaps a result of slow evolution? Or was it simply a decoration, or perhaps holding sentimental value to the warrior? It seemed to move about as if it were alive, but that fact didn't help Robert any.

He decided to keep his mouth shut and looked back over the sprawling metropolis of Ja City. They had no idea what was coming, and neither did Robert.

That's what excited him the most.]]>
He whipped out a blank check and held it against the wall with the back of his hand while simultaneously writing out the necessary details. "No, a wall. Yeah, you know, those four things around you that make up a room? ... I don't know. Hold on, I'll find out." Robert put his hand over the phone's receiver. "Hey, uh ... guy, what do you want this wall made out of?"

Vad simply stared at Robert. The disconcerted human swallowed hard, deciding to choose for him. "Uh ... something strong, I guess?" When Vad didn't seem to object, he continued. "So, metal. Of some kind. ... No I don't know. Probably something resistant to bombs and bullets and what have you. ... You're asking too many questions! I need this wall built yesterday!"

It was starting to click. A wall around the major spaceport of Ja. A silent warrior type waiting for the storm. This guy was somehow linked to that message that he deciphered during the afternoon. He was interested in protecting Namek just like he was. Well, to be fair, Robert was chasing the thrill of adventure rather than bowing to a sense of altruism, but it hardly mattered. He had a sidekick!

Not that he would say that to his face.

Robert flipped the phone back into one piece. "It's been ordered and the wall will commence building tonight. I had to pull more strings than a puppeteer, but it's happening."

Vad wasn't paying the vandal any attention. The woman, Trixie, wasn't as unsocial as her husband. "That's good news. The sooner the wall goes up, the better."

Robert was way out of his depth, but that little voice ordering him to find thrills was too authoritative. "So you guys know about the incoming ... uh ... invasion?"

"That's what we're preparing for," Trixie answered. "We know that having patrols to protect the space port is simply not viable. We're thinking that a defensive perimeter might be enough to hold back the invaders."

"Why just the space port?" Robert inquired, his trepidation vanishing.

"Well, we can only protect one thing at a time," she said. "Besides, the space port is of vital strategic importance. If Namek lost its only way on and off the planet, everyone here could be trapped."

"Yes, I can see your point," Robert replied, stroking his chin. "That's it! I've decided."

"Decided what?" Vad, for the first time, said.

"Uh ... well ... if it's OK with you two, I'd like to join your efforts to protect the space port."

Vad and Trixie looked at each other before the demoness spoke. "You?"

"Yeah!" Robert replied enthusiastically. "I know I don't look like much, but trust me, I'm an awesome warrior!"

Trixie looked back to her saiyan husband. "He is helping us out with the wall. Extra help wouldn't hurt, even if all he can do is fire a pistol. If he's terrible, he'll die anyway."

Robert stared at Vad with hopeful eyes, knowing the final word had to come from him. His permanent scowl suggested that his hope was in vain, but he didn't exactly say no at the first break in his wife's statement. What a rush it would be to engage the enemy as Prototype on alien terrain with his stoic, metal clad soldier! Robert wasn't even sure of the limitations of his suit yet, but he felt that this Vad and Trixie could definitely assist in pushing the boundaries.

"As long as he stays out of my way," Vad agreed coldly.

"That's a yes!" Robert yelled, pumping a fist in the air. "Oh, uh ... I mean, that's cool."

Vad turned around and headed towards the kitchen, one of the few areas unaffected by Robert's terrible driving skill. As he spun, the Capsule Corporation inventor identified an appendage that didn't normally belong to humans. A brown, furry tail.

A tail?

His instinct was to call it out, but in his current situation that may have earned him further unwanted ire. He scrutinised it; was it an actual extra limb, perhaps a result of slow evolution? Or was it simply a decoration, or perhaps holding sentimental value to the warrior? It seemed to move about as if it were alive, but that fact didn't help Robert any.

He decided to keep his mouth shut and looked back over the sprawling metropolis of Ja City. They had no idea what was coming, and neither did Robert.

That's what excited him the most.]]> <![CDATA[[Mercy] Another Man's Treasure]]> http://alex.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=16204 Sun, 09 Jan 2011 09:06:04 +0000 Katelyn Ross]]> http://alex.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=16204 You’d think they’d put a little more effort into making these places cleaner, Iris thought, as she shuffled through the line of makeshift soldiers. She had been a tenant, however temporary, on this hell hole of a planet for no more than three or four minutes and she already hated it — mostly because of the dust that insisted on clogging up her lungs. She should have expected it, probably; it was, after all, one huge desert, blanketing the entire surface of the world. Nothing like Earth… no, her home had variety. In one place, a desert climate might reign supreme, but you might walk just a score or two of miles and you’d find grasses and trees, growing peacefully away from the aridity of the former.

Somehow, she hadn’t foreseen this: the homesickness she was feeling. Again, it had been maybe four whole minutes, and already, regret seeped into her, and she missed the tufts of grass in the park, or the high-rising silver skyscrapers. Space travel just wasn’t her thing, she guessed; unfortunately, this was what she had signed up to do, and she was going to finish what she’d started, even if that meant death. She hoped that it didn’t mean death, of course, but she had convinced herself, during moments of the flight where she wasn’t sleeping, that her life was a noble sacrifice for the safety of the North Quadrant.

She didn’t think she’d be on the front lines, though. She was a girl, first and foremost, and while she had an utmost respect for women in the workplace — one that must’ve been even more furious deep in her heart, as displayed by her unconscious lunge at Mr. Bombadil’s degrading behavior, back on Earth — she knew that war, in particular, had always been the man’s domain. There were women who could fight, she was sure; cardinal exceptions to the rule, and ones that her gender should be proud of. She was of the opinion that she herself, however, was not one of these; therefore, through what could be attributed to her lack of self-esteem, she had concluded that the generals of this war thought similarly, and would keep her far away from the fighting.

She hoped so, at least. To be completely honest, she had never been one for combat; she’d always been a working girl, in the sense that she could do paperwork quickly, and end up with a quality result. As a secretary, or a speaker, or a student, she was exceptional, but she didn’t think her success would be replicated on the battlefield. It just didn’t seem likely that she of all people — Iris Swanning, the girl from Earth who joined the military because of some false sense of duty triggered by a freak accident — would be any good at this sort of thing.

It might’ve also been fear. Ever since the incident at Mr. Bombadil’s office — an incident which seemed to have only been an hour or so ago, but was probably further in the past than she remembered since she’d napped the majority of that time — she had had a suspicion tugging at the back of her mind that someone was after her; that she was being followed, and that at any moment, her bubble of safety would be breached, and she would find herself unable to run away. She didn’t think anyone would be desperate enough to follow her off Earth, but there was always that worry, in the back of her mind, that she was more important than she realized.

The line continued to move; Iris again stepped forward, closer and closer to the receptionist. Darn, she thought, catching a glimpse of the recruitment secretary, another woman to deal with; and this one’s military, she’s probably even more testy and sarcastic than the bitch from Capsule Corp.

Heaving a heavy, drawn-out sigh, she stepped forward. A couple more soldiers were in line ahead of her, but she was finally close enough to hear what they were talking about up at the desk; she couldn’t catch every word, but occasionally, the woman would take out a device — a scouter, she told one boy who asked — and it would take some sort of reading, and then she would point off in one direction or the other. Eventually, the woman pointed enough that Iris grew curious about what she was pointing at (to be honest, she didn’t know why she hadn’t looked before), so she looked up. Two signs hung over two respective doors — one reading ‘Warriors’ and the other reading ‘Troops.’ Iris wondered what that meant.

Eventually, it was her turn at the desk. She stepped forward and smiled a shy smile, nervously holding back her criticism about the lack of cleanliness in the spaceport’s atmosphere. The receptionist — Betty, it said on her nametag — looked up with a smile, and then asked charmingly, “May I have your name, miss?” For a moment, Iris didn’t register the question. She smiled sweetly in response, but the question had yet to actually reach her mind. All sound cut out, and she couldn’t tell you exactly what was going on until the receptionist broke in again. “…miss? Your name?”

Iris was shaken out of her stupor, quite unsure of what, exactly, had happened. “Huh?” she asked stupidly, looking down and meeting the receptionist’s glance, “Oh, right, my name. Uh, I’m, uh… Swanning comma Iris.”

The receptionist chuckled a bit, and then went down to her paper. Iris didn’t quite understand what was so funny — she’d only repeated what she’d heard the boy before her say. Suddenly, the revelation hit her; the boy before her must’ve been the originator of what was now — and what would cease to be after her — a trend. Which meant that now she looked like an idiot, like she was trying to copy the aforementioned boy’s penchant for being a smartass.

Over the receptionist’s soldier, a man in a suit leaned against a wall, smoking a cigarette. A chill ran up Iris’s spine, and she looked away, breathing heavily, and nervously. After a few seconds, she dared to look back, but when the crowd of people once again parted and gave her view, the man was gone, as if he’d never been there at all. Strange — almost as if he’d just disappeared.

“…ah, here we are. Iris Swanning, you said?” ,” Betty said, looking up at Iris, who returned her glance immediately this time. “It doesn’t have listed whether you’re a warrior or a troop. Do you know which one you are?”

“…I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about,” Iris answered bluntly and honestly, and Betty once again smiled from the humor bleeding from the poor, sheltered girl’s situation. She nodded curtly and did the scouter trick on Iris, who seemed to be at a dreadfully low reading, because it didn’t take long for the scouter to register her strength level.

“You’re a troop, ma’am,” the secretary smiled, sitting back in her seat and shoving the scouter back into the desk. “Good luck.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Iris asked, confused. She didn’t know what she wanted now; were warriors relegated to the front lines? Did she actually have to fight? Was she going to be one of those throwaway soldiers that the army allowed the aliens to feed on in order to get them into a vulnerable position? “Ma’am, please,” Iris pleaded, but Betty had already moved on.

“Next!”]]> You’d think they’d put a little more effort into making these places cleaner, Iris thought, as she shuffled through the line of makeshift soldiers. She had been a tenant, however temporary, on this hell hole of a planet for no more than three or four minutes and she already hated it — mostly because of the dust that insisted on clogging up her lungs. She should have expected it, probably; it was, after all, one huge desert, blanketing the entire surface of the world. Nothing like Earth… no, her home had variety. In one place, a desert climate might reign supreme, but you might walk just a score or two of miles and you’d find grasses and trees, growing peacefully away from the aridity of the former.

Somehow, she hadn’t foreseen this: the homesickness she was feeling. Again, it had been maybe four whole minutes, and already, regret seeped into her, and she missed the tufts of grass in the park, or the high-rising silver skyscrapers. Space travel just wasn’t her thing, she guessed; unfortunately, this was what she had signed up to do, and she was going to finish what she’d started, even if that meant death. She hoped that it didn’t mean death, of course, but she had convinced herself, during moments of the flight where she wasn’t sleeping, that her life was a noble sacrifice for the safety of the North Quadrant.

She didn’t think she’d be on the front lines, though. She was a girl, first and foremost, and while she had an utmost respect for women in the workplace — one that must’ve been even more furious deep in her heart, as displayed by her unconscious lunge at Mr. Bombadil’s degrading behavior, back on Earth — she knew that war, in particular, had always been the man’s domain. There were women who could fight, she was sure; cardinal exceptions to the rule, and ones that her gender should be proud of. She was of the opinion that she herself, however, was not one of these; therefore, through what could be attributed to her lack of self-esteem, she had concluded that the generals of this war thought similarly, and would keep her far away from the fighting.

She hoped so, at least. To be completely honest, she had never been one for combat; she’d always been a working girl, in the sense that she could do paperwork quickly, and end up with a quality result. As a secretary, or a speaker, or a student, she was exceptional, but she didn’t think her success would be replicated on the battlefield. It just didn’t seem likely that she of all people — Iris Swanning, the girl from Earth who joined the military because of some false sense of duty triggered by a freak accident — would be any good at this sort of thing.

It might’ve also been fear. Ever since the incident at Mr. Bombadil’s office — an incident which seemed to have only been an hour or so ago, but was probably further in the past than she remembered since she’d napped the majority of that time — she had had a suspicion tugging at the back of her mind that someone was after her; that she was being followed, and that at any moment, her bubble of safety would be breached, and she would find herself unable to run away. She didn’t think anyone would be desperate enough to follow her off Earth, but there was always that worry, in the back of her mind, that she was more important than she realized.

The line continued to move; Iris again stepped forward, closer and closer to the receptionist. Darn, she thought, catching a glimpse of the recruitment secretary, another woman to deal with; and this one’s military, she’s probably even more testy and sarcastic than the bitch from Capsule Corp.

Heaving a heavy, drawn-out sigh, she stepped forward. A couple more soldiers were in line ahead of her, but she was finally close enough to hear what they were talking about up at the desk; she couldn’t catch every word, but occasionally, the woman would take out a device — a scouter, she told one boy who asked — and it would take some sort of reading, and then she would point off in one direction or the other. Eventually, the woman pointed enough that Iris grew curious about what she was pointing at (to be honest, she didn’t know why she hadn’t looked before), so she looked up. Two signs hung over two respective doors — one reading ‘Warriors’ and the other reading ‘Troops.’ Iris wondered what that meant.

Eventually, it was her turn at the desk. She stepped forward and smiled a shy smile, nervously holding back her criticism about the lack of cleanliness in the spaceport’s atmosphere. The receptionist — Betty, it said on her nametag — looked up with a smile, and then asked charmingly, “May I have your name, miss?” For a moment, Iris didn’t register the question. She smiled sweetly in response, but the question had yet to actually reach her mind. All sound cut out, and she couldn’t tell you exactly what was going on until the receptionist broke in again. “…miss? Your name?”

Iris was shaken out of her stupor, quite unsure of what, exactly, had happened. “Huh?” she asked stupidly, looking down and meeting the receptionist’s glance, “Oh, right, my name. Uh, I’m, uh… Swanning comma Iris.”

The receptionist chuckled a bit, and then went down to her paper. Iris didn’t quite understand what was so funny — she’d only repeated what she’d heard the boy before her say. Suddenly, the revelation hit her; the boy before her must’ve been the originator of what was now — and what would cease to be after her — a trend. Which meant that now she looked like an idiot, like she was trying to copy the aforementioned boy’s penchant for being a smartass.

Over the receptionist’s soldier, a man in a suit leaned against a wall, smoking a cigarette. A chill ran up Iris’s spine, and she looked away, breathing heavily, and nervously. After a few seconds, she dared to look back, but when the crowd of people once again parted and gave her view, the man was gone, as if he’d never been there at all. Strange — almost as if he’d just disappeared.

“…ah, here we are. Iris Swanning, you said?” ,” Betty said, looking up at Iris, who returned her glance immediately this time. “It doesn’t have listed whether you’re a warrior or a troop. Do you know which one you are?”

“…I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about,” Iris answered bluntly and honestly, and Betty once again smiled from the humor bleeding from the poor, sheltered girl’s situation. She nodded curtly and did the scouter trick on Iris, who seemed to be at a dreadfully low reading, because it didn’t take long for the scouter to register her strength level.

“You’re a troop, ma’am,” the secretary smiled, sitting back in her seat and shoving the scouter back into the desk. “Good luck.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Iris asked, confused. She didn’t know what she wanted now; were warriors relegated to the front lines? Did she actually have to fight? Was she going to be one of those throwaway soldiers that the army allowed the aliens to feed on in order to get them into a vulnerable position? “Ma’am, please,” Iris pleaded, but Betty had already moved on.

“Next!”]]> <![CDATA[[Namek] Bad Medicine]]> http://alex.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=16198 Sun, 09 Jan 2011 02:32:31 +0000 Juno]]> http://alex.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=16198
“We’ve got to take you to the medical bay, sir,” the male nurse implored him, tightening his grip on the half-Saiyan’s arm. Juno’s scowl deepened, and he jerked away from the medic, panting heavily.

I’m not going to some damn med-bay.

The medic’s expression mimicked Juno’s; a frustrated frown. He bent his knees, and began to dig around inside the fanny-pack that was hanging off of his waist — Juno had to stifle a laugh, because he seemed to be having a rather tough time searching blindly for whatever it was he was searching for.

Of course, none of this was his fault — he had enough coherent thoughts to know that the pilot of the shuttle was to blame. He’d been through space before, and was very comfortable with the journey. But this pilot, whoever the hell they’d hired to fly this batch of recruits from Earth to Namek, obviously hadn’t aced his end-of-course exam when he was tested for his flying license. The turbulence had been absolutely ridiculous; even with his seat-belt on, Juno had been flung this way and that around his corner of the ship, and the result was a churning stomach.

One trip to the in-flight bathroom to puke a little, and they thought he had a terminal illness or something. It wasn’t that serious — and the more this encounter continued, with other recruits filing past them as if nothing was disturbing their sunny day, the more he began to think that this gender-bending male nurse was the only one who viewed the matter with even the slightest sense of urgency.

“I was a bit seasick,” the seer proclaimed, “Nothing to be worried about. Focus your efforts on someone who really needs them.”

“Sir, you weren’t on a boat, you’re having delusions,” the nurse evaluated, pulling a syringe out of his fanny-pack and approaching the black-haired boy. The impulsive warrior scoffed, and lunged forward, grasping the wrist of the hand and holding it steady. This guy wasn’t going to inject anything into him — especially not a sedative, which he had a sneaking suspicion was what the shot was filled with.

“It’s a mutually-exclusive expression,” Juno informed his counterpart, “Don’t we call the vehicle that traverses the galaxy a spaceship? I see no reason why seasick isn’t an applicable term — mainly because spacesick just sounds plain fucking stupid.”

Juno chuckled a bit — it did sound really idiotic, spacesick. He let go of the nurse’s hand, and smirked victoriously, turning to walk away. Unfortunately, the meek little man wasn’t about to let what was probably his first patient ever get the better of him. Seconds after spinning away from his adversary, Juno felt the cold metal of a needle sinking into the back of his neck, and slowly, his senses washed away from him, and he was out like a light, just one word escaping his lips before he’d lost the ability to speak altogether.

“Shit.”

~ + ~

Slowly, things began to return to focus.

Juno jolted upright as soon as he’d woken up — perhaps a bit too quickly, to be completely honest. A dizzying sensation attacked him, and he squeezed his eyes shut to attempt to maintain focus of his thoughts. After a few seconds, he remembered the events that had transpired just before he’d fallen unconscious, and Saiyan fury began to bubble in his veins.

White, fluorescent light filled his vision the second he opened his eyes, and after a couple of moments and an adjustment of his vision, he noticed that he was inside a small, makeshift hospital room.

The walls were whitewashed, like a hospital’s, but if he recalled right, most of the buildings on Namek were either a light grey or hospital white, both on the inside and on the outside. Forced to look for other signs of his location, he had spotted a tray of different drugs and medicines sitting on a small push-cart to his left, and that had given away his location.

That meant that the male nurse had been successful; he couldn’t specifically remember how — it must’ve been some sort of trickery; it didn’t seem likely he’d beaten Juno in a fight — but he knew that was the way he’d gotten in this predicament.

“Alright, soldier, vitals look clear,” a voice said from his right. Juno’s head whipped in the direction of the doctor’s analysis, and shot a glare that would kill if looks were weapons. “You don’t look to be as sick as Nurse McCoy thought you were, so I’m going to go ahead and let you go register, all right?” Narrowing his eyes, Juno slid off of the bed, and brushed past the doctor, going out the door without another word.

Nurse McCoy… ha, Juno simmered. Who did this guy think he was, the badass version of a Grey’s Anatomy slash Law and Order crossover character?

“Juno — uh, sir,” the doctor’s voice shouted from behind him. Juno spun around casually, looking at the medical officer with a quizzical expression. “I was just wondering if you’d registered at either of the locations, yet. Warriors, troops… you know.” The half-Saiyan’s puzzled expression almost gave away his answer.

“If I have, I haven’t been informed of it,” he replied.

“Good, good,” the doctor nodded, “Because I could actually use you here, if you’re interested.” Juno raised an eyebrow, interested, and allowed the doc to continue his proposal. “You see, there’s plenty of men and women out on the front lines — which means there’s plenty of men and women that are going to be wheeled in here, and to be honest, I’m not sure if my paramedics can get into the more hotly contested zones to pick up the injured folks before the enemy gets to them, and either captures them or finishes the job. Under any other chief medical officer, those guys might’ve been left to die, but I think that they’re salvageable; so I need stronger folk like you — I checked your power level, yes — to go in there and get them.”

The hybrid stood for a moment, silent. He mulled over the thought in his head — he’d always been on the front lines, and while he hadn’t been the most sucky soldier in his regiment the majority of the time, it had never really worked for his tastes. Perhaps working for this doctor, as sort of a fighting medic, for lack of a better term, was his calling… perhaps Nurse McCoy had had a (albeit undiscovered) purpose, and getting Juno to this place was the entire reason he’d had to go through being spacesick, and being sedated.

But all of that predestination crap was getting dreadfully overdramatic, and he didn’t want to feel hypocritical after the dramatization of the war that had already taken place in the foreboding ‘distress signal’ pipelined to different television screens across the galaxy. If nothing else valuable could be divulged from this, then, he would’ve turned and walked away, ‘defied fate’ and given up on this opportunity to go be a member of the gun-toting, hoo-rah army. But this was a new, intriguing job that he could try, and plus, it guaranteed that he’d be right in the middle of the action, just in the job description. It seemed like too exciting an offer to pass up, so Juno looked at the doctor, and smiled approvingly.

“I’ll do it, doc.”

“Oh, that’s absolutely outstanding!” the white-bearded surgeon cheered, almost dropping his clipboard in the excitement. “Your team — the first team of ‘militarized medics,’ as I like to call them — is waiting in the Medical Docking Bay. Go familiarize yourself with them; they’re a motley crew, but they’re exceptional at their jobs.”

“I’d settle for nothing less,” Juno nodded with a smile, and followed the doctor’s pointing finger down the hall. A slight nervousness made the hairs on the back of his neck tingle, but he knew he probably had nothing to worry about — his powers and techniques were unique, and they were useful, so he was quite sure he’d find his place amongst this ragtag band of fighters.

“Hey, dude with the tail!” a grizzly voice yelled; the half-Saiyan’s tail perked up at a mention, and its owner turned toward the source of the voice. A red, reptilian alien leaned against a ship, smoking a cigarette, and holding a shotgun in the other hand.

Next to him, a short, stubby purple alien nursed a can of soda before crumpling it up and tossing it aside. It was obvious that Juno was going to be the intellectual one in this group before he’d even reached them. After his initial observations were completed, he took several long strides, and reached the two alien warriors in a matter of fifteen seconds. The shotgun-toting alien was the first to speak; he seemed to be the owner of the grizzly voice, which just made him sound more badass than he already looked, thank you very much.

“I’m Boomstick,” he nodded, spitting the cigarette onto the ground and then squelching its fire with the stamp of his boot.

“Is that because of… uh, your big boomstick?” Juno asked with a chuckle, gesturing toward the shotgun.

“Don’t flirt with me, monkey boy,” Boomstick replied, painting a smirk on his crimson face and lifting the shotgun into a readied position. The purple alien, who was, again, considerably shorter than either of the two warriors, grumbled angrily.

“Oh, look, Boomstick’s got him a jokester friend he can flirt with,” he mumbled impatiently, “Anyway, I’m Rex.”

Juno nodded, smiling. “Appropriate.”

“How so?”

“I don’t actually know, it just seemed like the right thing to say,” Juno laughed, “But I’m Juno. I don’t have any big guns or a big mouth, but I’ve got big power. Like, abilities and all that shit.”

“Sounds like your mouth’s pretty damn big to me,” Rex smirked.

“Well, we’d better head toward our ship — the battle’s already begun,” Boomstick relegated the topic back to their duty. Juno frowned.

“Wait a hot damn second, there’s no chicks in this squad?” the lady-killer asked. Rex shook his head no, and the half-Saiyan cursed under his breath. It’d been a while since he’d worked with a fighting girl, and besides, he always worked better when there was someone to flirt with fighting alongside him. It was just sort of a motivating factor for him, that’s all. “Well, damn,” he said, “This is a frigging testosterone overload, how do they expect us to get anything done?”

“Well, there was supposed to be a girl, but she hasn’t shown up yet,” Rex mused, “So Boomstick and I figured she’d chickened out. But he’s right — we’d best head toward the hover-cars, see which one we’re assigned to. The war’s started, people are already dying, so we’ve got to get moving.”

The hybrid sighed — well, he supposed that the excitement of being a ‘militarized medic’ was a fair tradeoff for not having a hot girl to stare at while he fought. And, he thought, in times of need, he could always just reminisce about fighting alongside chicks such as Sophia, or Sage, or even that pink-haired vixen Victoria he’d met during that civil war.

He smiled, pleased with himself. He prided himself on his intelligence, and his ability to always find an efficient solution for whatever personal problem was currently plaguing him on the field of battle. A hell of a soldier, that Juno.]]>
“We’ve got to take you to the medical bay, sir,” the male nurse implored him, tightening his grip on the half-Saiyan’s arm. Juno’s scowl deepened, and he jerked away from the medic, panting heavily.

I’m not going to some damn med-bay.

The medic’s expression mimicked Juno’s; a frustrated frown. He bent his knees, and began to dig around inside the fanny-pack that was hanging off of his waist — Juno had to stifle a laugh, because he seemed to be having a rather tough time searching blindly for whatever it was he was searching for.

Of course, none of this was his fault — he had enough coherent thoughts to know that the pilot of the shuttle was to blame. He’d been through space before, and was very comfortable with the journey. But this pilot, whoever the hell they’d hired to fly this batch of recruits from Earth to Namek, obviously hadn’t aced his end-of-course exam when he was tested for his flying license. The turbulence had been absolutely ridiculous; even with his seat-belt on, Juno had been flung this way and that around his corner of the ship, and the result was a churning stomach.

One trip to the in-flight bathroom to puke a little, and they thought he had a terminal illness or something. It wasn’t that serious — and the more this encounter continued, with other recruits filing past them as if nothing was disturbing their sunny day, the more he began to think that this gender-bending male nurse was the only one who viewed the matter with even the slightest sense of urgency.

“I was a bit seasick,” the seer proclaimed, “Nothing to be worried about. Focus your efforts on someone who really needs them.”

“Sir, you weren’t on a boat, you’re having delusions,” the nurse evaluated, pulling a syringe out of his fanny-pack and approaching the black-haired boy. The impulsive warrior scoffed, and lunged forward, grasping the wrist of the hand and holding it steady. This guy wasn’t going to inject anything into him — especially not a sedative, which he had a sneaking suspicion was what the shot was filled with.

“It’s a mutually-exclusive expression,” Juno informed his counterpart, “Don’t we call the vehicle that traverses the galaxy a spaceship? I see no reason why seasick isn’t an applicable term — mainly because spacesick just sounds plain fucking stupid.”

Juno chuckled a bit — it did sound really idiotic, spacesick. He let go of the nurse’s hand, and smirked victoriously, turning to walk away. Unfortunately, the meek little man wasn’t about to let what was probably his first patient ever get the better of him. Seconds after spinning away from his adversary, Juno felt the cold metal of a needle sinking into the back of his neck, and slowly, his senses washed away from him, and he was out like a light, just one word escaping his lips before he’d lost the ability to speak altogether.

“Shit.”

~ + ~

Slowly, things began to return to focus.

Juno jolted upright as soon as he’d woken up — perhaps a bit too quickly, to be completely honest. A dizzying sensation attacked him, and he squeezed his eyes shut to attempt to maintain focus of his thoughts. After a few seconds, he remembered the events that had transpired just before he’d fallen unconscious, and Saiyan fury began to bubble in his veins.

White, fluorescent light filled his vision the second he opened his eyes, and after a couple of moments and an adjustment of his vision, he noticed that he was inside a small, makeshift hospital room.

The walls were whitewashed, like a hospital’s, but if he recalled right, most of the buildings on Namek were either a light grey or hospital white, both on the inside and on the outside. Forced to look for other signs of his location, he had spotted a tray of different drugs and medicines sitting on a small push-cart to his left, and that had given away his location.

That meant that the male nurse had been successful; he couldn’t specifically remember how — it must’ve been some sort of trickery; it didn’t seem likely he’d beaten Juno in a fight — but he knew that was the way he’d gotten in this predicament.

“Alright, soldier, vitals look clear,” a voice said from his right. Juno’s head whipped in the direction of the doctor’s analysis, and shot a glare that would kill if looks were weapons. “You don’t look to be as sick as Nurse McCoy thought you were, so I’m going to go ahead and let you go register, all right?” Narrowing his eyes, Juno slid off of the bed, and brushed past the doctor, going out the door without another word.

Nurse McCoy… ha, Juno simmered. Who did this guy think he was, the badass version of a Grey’s Anatomy slash Law and Order crossover character?

“Juno — uh, sir,” the doctor’s voice shouted from behind him. Juno spun around casually, looking at the medical officer with a quizzical expression. “I was just wondering if you’d registered at either of the locations, yet. Warriors, troops… you know.” The half-Saiyan’s puzzled expression almost gave away his answer.

“If I have, I haven’t been informed of it,” he replied.

“Good, good,” the doctor nodded, “Because I could actually use you here, if you’re interested.” Juno raised an eyebrow, interested, and allowed the doc to continue his proposal. “You see, there’s plenty of men and women out on the front lines — which means there’s plenty of men and women that are going to be wheeled in here, and to be honest, I’m not sure if my paramedics can get into the more hotly contested zones to pick up the injured folks before the enemy gets to them, and either captures them or finishes the job. Under any other chief medical officer, those guys might’ve been left to die, but I think that they’re salvageable; so I need stronger folk like you — I checked your power level, yes — to go in there and get them.”

The hybrid stood for a moment, silent. He mulled over the thought in his head — he’d always been on the front lines, and while he hadn’t been the most sucky soldier in his regiment the majority of the time, it had never really worked for his tastes. Perhaps working for this doctor, as sort of a fighting medic, for lack of a better term, was his calling… perhaps Nurse McCoy had had a (albeit undiscovered) purpose, and getting Juno to this place was the entire reason he’d had to go through being spacesick, and being sedated.

But all of that predestination crap was getting dreadfully overdramatic, and he didn’t want to feel hypocritical after the dramatization of the war that had already taken place in the foreboding ‘distress signal’ pipelined to different television screens across the galaxy. If nothing else valuable could be divulged from this, then, he would’ve turned and walked away, ‘defied fate’ and given up on this opportunity to go be a member of the gun-toting, hoo-rah army. But this was a new, intriguing job that he could try, and plus, it guaranteed that he’d be right in the middle of the action, just in the job description. It seemed like too exciting an offer to pass up, so Juno looked at the doctor, and smiled approvingly.

“I’ll do it, doc.”

“Oh, that’s absolutely outstanding!” the white-bearded surgeon cheered, almost dropping his clipboard in the excitement. “Your team — the first team of ‘militarized medics,’ as I like to call them — is waiting in the Medical Docking Bay. Go familiarize yourself with them; they’re a motley crew, but they’re exceptional at their jobs.”

“I’d settle for nothing less,” Juno nodded with a smile, and followed the doctor’s pointing finger down the hall. A slight nervousness made the hairs on the back of his neck tingle, but he knew he probably had nothing to worry about — his powers and techniques were unique, and they were useful, so he was quite sure he’d find his place amongst this ragtag band of fighters.

“Hey, dude with the tail!” a grizzly voice yelled; the half-Saiyan’s tail perked up at a mention, and its owner turned toward the source of the voice. A red, reptilian alien leaned against a ship, smoking a cigarette, and holding a shotgun in the other hand.

Next to him, a short, stubby purple alien nursed a can of soda before crumpling it up and tossing it aside. It was obvious that Juno was going to be the intellectual one in this group before he’d even reached them. After his initial observations were completed, he took several long strides, and reached the two alien warriors in a matter of fifteen seconds. The shotgun-toting alien was the first to speak; he seemed to be the owner of the grizzly voice, which just made him sound more badass than he already looked, thank you very much.

“I’m Boomstick,” he nodded, spitting the cigarette onto the ground and then squelching its fire with the stamp of his boot.

“Is that because of… uh, your big boomstick?” Juno asked with a chuckle, gesturing toward the shotgun.

“Don’t flirt with me, monkey boy,” Boomstick replied, painting a smirk on his crimson face and lifting the shotgun into a readied position. The purple alien, who was, again, considerably shorter than either of the two warriors, grumbled angrily.

“Oh, look, Boomstick’s got him a jokester friend he can flirt with,” he mumbled impatiently, “Anyway, I’m Rex.”

Juno nodded, smiling. “Appropriate.”

“How so?”

“I don’t actually know, it just seemed like the right thing to say,” Juno laughed, “But I’m Juno. I don’t have any big guns or a big mouth, but I’ve got big power. Like, abilities and all that shit.”

“Sounds like your mouth’s pretty damn big to me,” Rex smirked.

“Well, we’d better head toward our ship — the battle’s already begun,” Boomstick relegated the topic back to their duty. Juno frowned.

“Wait a hot damn second, there’s no chicks in this squad?” the lady-killer asked. Rex shook his head no, and the half-Saiyan cursed under his breath. It’d been a while since he’d worked with a fighting girl, and besides, he always worked better when there was someone to flirt with fighting alongside him. It was just sort of a motivating factor for him, that’s all. “Well, damn,” he said, “This is a frigging testosterone overload, how do they expect us to get anything done?”

“Well, there was supposed to be a girl, but she hasn’t shown up yet,” Rex mused, “So Boomstick and I figured she’d chickened out. But he’s right — we’d best head toward the hover-cars, see which one we’re assigned to. The war’s started, people are already dying, so we’ve got to get moving.”

The hybrid sighed — well, he supposed that the excitement of being a ‘militarized medic’ was a fair tradeoff for not having a hot girl to stare at while he fought. And, he thought, in times of need, he could always just reminisce about fighting alongside chicks such as Sophia, or Sage, or even that pink-haired vixen Victoria he’d met during that civil war.

He smiled, pleased with himself. He prided himself on his intelligence, and his ability to always find an efficient solution for whatever personal problem was currently plaguing him on the field of battle. A hell of a soldier, that Juno.]]> <![CDATA[[Namek] Defense of the Ancients]]> http://alex.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=16196 Sat, 08 Jan 2011 11:06:30 +0000 Kaden]]> http://alex.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=16196
“Well you know me.”

The hustle and bustle of the Namekian starport was appropriate given the gravity of the situation. As Kaden cast his gaze around the shifting crowds, he wondered why the invasion had no hit him harder. Both he and Sophia had signed up on Earth and had shortly been shipped off and in all the time spent between then and setting foot on Namek, Kaden had not really questioned his participation in fighting off an invasion.

It struck him as odd, given the frustration that lesser events had given him. There were some serious doubts that still floated through the recesses of his mind from Friend or Foe and being captured by Gamer, but none of that seemed to be factoring into his enrolling in a resistance. As he cast a glance to the girl at his side, he couldn’t help but think she were the reason. She always seemed to make their situation seem bright

With that thought in mind, Kaden couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt for selfishly saying they should travel to Namek. He still had business on the planet and though he was willing to take both of them to another planet in pursuit of that, he hadn’t actually said anything to Sophia about it. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the girl, he was simply too unsure of it to start talking to other people about it.

“Any idea what we’re supposed to do now?” Kaden asked his partner as his mind continued its endless internal monologue.

“I guess we… report for duty? That’s a thing, right?” Sophia scanned the spaceport, looking for something to magically tell them where they needed to be. Fortunately, she found it. “How about we start over there?”

“You mean the big sign that says ‘recruits this way’? Genius.”

“Well… wait. Maybe we go that way?”

Frowning, Sophia pointed to another sign that instructed any recruits with combat experience to go in another direction. A third and fourth sign took “warriors” and “troops” in more directions. As the duo strolled towards the exit of the spaceport, they encountered more and more signs, all of which seemed to say something different. Finally Sophia spotted a large “information” sign. Tugged on Kaden, she directed him towards a desk with a dozen uniformed attendants answering questions and handing out pamphlets.

“We don’t need information,” the courier countered. “Let’s just go be warriors. That sounds way better than being a ‘troop.’”

“Don’t want to stop and ask for directions? Really?” The ex-priestess shook her head and clicked her tongue. “I wasn’t expecting you to be so cliché.”

Mouth agape, Kaden searched for an appropriate response. When none came, he simply shut his mouth, shot the girl a mock glare, and made his way to the information desk. There was a bit of a line, but it moved quickly with most of the attendants simply pointing someone towards one of the various signs throughout the area. When Kaden and Sophia’s turn arrived, they found themselves being attended to by a diminutive, yet powerfully built human man.

“What do you need?” he started.

“Information, actually,” the courier tried to be amiable, but it didn’t play.

“Great. A smartass. What information do you need?”

“Well… we’re not really sure where we’re supposed to go,” Kaden clarified, indicating himself and Sophia as he spoke.

“Are you stupid? There are signs everywhere. Next!”

“Ah… I…” Kaden tried to collect his thoughts as the person behind him tried to step forward from the line. The courier continued speaking before he could be pushed aside. “The signs. Right. That’s kind of the problem.”

“Reading’s your problem? Can’t help you there, son. And I thought I said next.”

“No!” Slamming his hand on the information desk, Kaden fought the urge to raise his voice. The sound of Sophia’s stifled laughter behind him didn’t help. “Look. We need… there are a lot of signs and none of them are particularly helpful. We don’t know if we’re ‘warriors’ or ‘recruits’ or ‘troops’ or… whatever else you may have signs for.”

“The hell didn’t you just say so?” Shaking his head, the small man pulled a scouter from under the desk and fastened it to his head. He quickly inspected Sophia, then Kaden. The courier had to stop himself from grinning too broadly when the little man rechecked his powerlevel twice. “Well… it looks like you two are warriors. Follow the signs.”

“Thank you,” Kaden nodded and proceeded to walk away as quickly as possible. “There,” he turned to Sophia once they were out of earshot from the information desk. “I asked for directions. Happy?” Instead of responding, the girl simply stifled another laugh at his expense.

As the two of them followed the indicated direction, Kaden couldn’t help but read aloud a pamphlet he had grabbed from the information desk. The Namekians, it seemed, were a long-lived species that were generally peaceful. They naturally stayed in small villages, working the land and living with nature. The pamphlet called those who were able to help defend these peaceful aliens, some whom had been alive longer than humans could even imagine.

“Welcome to the militia.”]]>
“Well you know me.”

The hustle and bustle of the Namekian starport was appropriate given the gravity of the situation. As Kaden cast his gaze around the shifting crowds, he wondered why the invasion had no hit him harder. Both he and Sophia had signed up on Earth and had shortly been shipped off and in all the time spent between then and setting foot on Namek, Kaden had not really questioned his participation in fighting off an invasion.

It struck him as odd, given the frustration that lesser events had given him. There were some serious doubts that still floated through the recesses of his mind from Friend or Foe and being captured by Gamer, but none of that seemed to be factoring into his enrolling in a resistance. As he cast a glance to the girl at his side, he couldn’t help but think she were the reason. She always seemed to make their situation seem bright

With that thought in mind, Kaden couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt for selfishly saying they should travel to Namek. He still had business on the planet and though he was willing to take both of them to another planet in pursuit of that, he hadn’t actually said anything to Sophia about it. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the girl, he was simply too unsure of it to start talking to other people about it.

“Any idea what we’re supposed to do now?” Kaden asked his partner as his mind continued its endless internal monologue.

“I guess we… report for duty? That’s a thing, right?” Sophia scanned the spaceport, looking for something to magically tell them where they needed to be. Fortunately, she found it. “How about we start over there?”

“You mean the big sign that says ‘recruits this way’? Genius.”

“Well… wait. Maybe we go that way?”

Frowning, Sophia pointed to another sign that instructed any recruits with combat experience to go in another direction. A third and fourth sign took “warriors” and “troops” in more directions. As the duo strolled towards the exit of the spaceport, they encountered more and more signs, all of which seemed to say something different. Finally Sophia spotted a large “information” sign. Tugged on Kaden, she directed him towards a desk with a dozen uniformed attendants answering questions and handing out pamphlets.

“We don’t need information,” the courier countered. “Let’s just go be warriors. That sounds way better than being a ‘troop.’”

“Don’t want to stop and ask for directions? Really?” The ex-priestess shook her head and clicked her tongue. “I wasn’t expecting you to be so cliché.”

Mouth agape, Kaden searched for an appropriate response. When none came, he simply shut his mouth, shot the girl a mock glare, and made his way to the information desk. There was a bit of a line, but it moved quickly with most of the attendants simply pointing someone towards one of the various signs throughout the area. When Kaden and Sophia’s turn arrived, they found themselves being attended to by a diminutive, yet powerfully built human man.

“What do you need?” he started.

“Information, actually,” the courier tried to be amiable, but it didn’t play.

“Great. A smartass. What information do you need?”

“Well… we’re not really sure where we’re supposed to go,” Kaden clarified, indicating himself and Sophia as he spoke.

“Are you stupid? There are signs everywhere. Next!”

“Ah… I…” Kaden tried to collect his thoughts as the person behind him tried to step forward from the line. The courier continued speaking before he could be pushed aside. “The signs. Right. That’s kind of the problem.”

“Reading’s your problem? Can’t help you there, son. And I thought I said next.”

“No!” Slamming his hand on the information desk, Kaden fought the urge to raise his voice. The sound of Sophia’s stifled laughter behind him didn’t help. “Look. We need… there are a lot of signs and none of them are particularly helpful. We don’t know if we’re ‘warriors’ or ‘recruits’ or ‘troops’ or… whatever else you may have signs for.”

“The hell didn’t you just say so?” Shaking his head, the small man pulled a scouter from under the desk and fastened it to his head. He quickly inspected Sophia, then Kaden. The courier had to stop himself from grinning too broadly when the little man rechecked his powerlevel twice. “Well… it looks like you two are warriors. Follow the signs.”

“Thank you,” Kaden nodded and proceeded to walk away as quickly as possible. “There,” he turned to Sophia once they were out of earshot from the information desk. “I asked for directions. Happy?” Instead of responding, the girl simply stifled another laugh at his expense.

As the two of them followed the indicated direction, Kaden couldn’t help but read aloud a pamphlet he had grabbed from the information desk. The Namekians, it seemed, were a long-lived species that were generally peaceful. They naturally stayed in small villages, working the land and living with nature. The pamphlet called those who were able to help defend these peaceful aliens, some whom had been alive longer than humans could even imagine.

“Welcome to the militia.”]]> <![CDATA[[M][Earth] Of the People]]> http://alex.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=16195 Sat, 08 Jan 2011 09:38:39 +0000 Sigfried Hunin]]> http://alex.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=16195 could do and more what she couldn’t.

In the hands of a clever orator a young, pretty face could bring nations to their knees and pull them apart, stripping the populace of reason and all notions of self. If Victoria did all that was asked of her, which portended of little but to stand there looking pretty and spout out a few prefabricated lines, Roy’s message would spread like wild fire. In politics is it worst to be a scholar, better to be a fool, and best to be beautiful.

He slid the tip of his finger over the smooth surface of the fork’s lower edge. He pressed his hand into it before peeling it up and away from the tacky checkered tablecloth. That’s what those old plastic ones did with age, they began to cling to your dishes and silverware. It reminded him of home. He strained for a moment, trying to recall home, the old street names, his friends. Roy’s brow furrowed for a moment but he was quickly called back from the moment by that sweet malaises voice.

“Mr… I mean, um, Roy?” Victoria cocked her head to the side like a lost puppy. “Is everything alright?”

The feather-haired man thrust forth another wide grin and ran his hands flat over the table. “Oh, what? Me? Yes, fine, fine. I’m fine.” He diverted his eyes down and nodded once again. “But back to business, right?” He cleared his throat and readjusted himself in his seat. “Well, I was going to try and pull together a rally next week, if you would like to join me as a guest speaker?”

She stared out at him for a moment before diverting her eyes. Something in her swelled with a flicker of fear. Perhaps the public eye. Maybe she was just shy. Whatever it was though, it was there. A glimmer of terror. “Well, um, I dunno…” Her voice trailed off as she plucked at her triple stack of syrup soaked carb.

“Here, I’ll make it easy on you. I’ll do the talking, and we can set you up with a few things to say, if you’re alright with that that is, and then you don’t have to worry about being nervous, right?” He punctuated his offer by leaning across the table and softly laying his hand on hers.

After a long moment of staring down at the contact, she allowed her gaze to flicker back up to the man in front of her. Such a strange girl. He clenched his fingers gently, like a caring spouce might in a moment of hardship. Might want to keep some of her stranger parts out of the equasion.. His eyes locked with hers and he allowed his sincerity to bubble forth and flow out of them. Cue cards might be best. “So what do you think?” His voice was soft, lilting gently between the ticks of the clock. But damn if that face doesn’t sell.

A dim shade of rose spread across her cheeks and she bobbed her head gently almost as though she had been hypnotized.. “I can’t promise anything with my work, but I’ll try my best.”

Suddenly withdrawing his hand Roy spread his arms wide and once again flashed his teeth. “Fantastic! Well, we have each other’s numbers right?” He shuffled around in his seat a moment before stopping and looking out across at her. “Oh wait, I don’t have yours do I?” It was a trick he had learned in college. It was a dirty, underhanded trick that could be used so many times over.
“Ah…” she pinched her eyebrows together and reached into a pocket carefully. “No, I guess you don’t!” She tacked on another arbitrary giggle. Her tiny bouts of laughter would either drive Roy insane or to bed with her, but neither one was particularly of use for his agendas. He tried to avert his attention from the tiny breast pocket as she fiddled around with it, inadvertently jamming her hand into her own breast. She would never see it, but he had curled the napkin in his lap into a tiny ball. A tiny bead of sweat coalesced on his forehead and it was all he could do but bite his lip. Finally those thin, ginger fingers retrieved a thin scrap of paper and lay it out on the table in front of her. Grabbing a pen she clicked it open and slowly rolled the tip over the breadth of her tongue.

“Anything else I can get for ya?” The dignified Mr. Munin jumped slightly as the waitress stepped out beside him, toting a small order sheet and an irate expression her face. She tapped the pen against the paper and pursed her lips impatiently.

“Ah no thatnk you for now…” He searched her uniform for a name tag. “Ah… Beth! No thanks Beth.” He nodded to the aged waitress and she looked over to the young pink haired girl across from him.

“Anything for your date?” Her voice was dry, like she had choked on a packet of Rock Pops.

Roy glanced nervously over to Victoria. “Oh no! No, we’re not on a da-“

“No thank you.” She smiled and nodded to the waitress, indicating she wanted her to go away now. He pressed her hands into her lap as she watched the server walk away, not breaking eye contact until she was safely in the kitchen.

She pushed the tiny white scrap over the table to Roy with her middle finger. “There you go!”

Roy took it up and read I over once, checking for all seven digits. “All right! I’ll call you with the details alright?” He glanced around the room shortly and slowly leaned in over the table. He swallowed once and left his tone quiet. “So, you live alo-“

Beth slammed down the ticket on the table as she coughed loudly. She gave Roy a stern sideways look as though to ask, “What are you doing, boy?” He narrowed his eyes at her and snatched the bill up quickly. “Thank you,” he said with as little venom as possible.

The bill read a measly six zenni for the meal, but on the tip line a red pen had marked: “Here’s a tip: Date women your own age! Big Grin –Your Friendly Chef” Roy sneered and left a credit chip on top of the paper before standing up.

He extended his hand to meet Victoria’s and he nodded firmly as she took it up. “Well, it was a pleasure having breakfast with you. I’ll see you soon?”

“Oh yes, you certainly will be seeing a lot of me.” She tilted her head to the side innocently.

--=~*/| o |\*~=--

“FUCK YO COUUUUCH!” Hati screamed as he jumped to his feet and pointed at the flat screen television that they had fitted into the dingy basement abode they had made for themselves. He held the controller over his head and pumped his fists in the air dramatically. “What, oh yeah, suck that noise, BITCH!”

Skoll stared at him stoically, an expression tinged by irritation, before pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. He calmly set the controller down on the floor in front of him and reclined into his seat. Grabbing his book he cracked it open once again and began to read. “Yeah, good game man. Play again some time.”

Hati jumped around the chair humping the air and slapping an invisible ass as he did so. “Ugh! Ugh! Take it!”

Skoll simply rolled his eyes and flipped the page. “Mhmmmm…”

Sigfried suddenly erupted into the front door and huffed, tossing his skull cap onto the couch to his side. He flicked the door shut behind him and let it slam as he skulked over to the couch and fell face first down upon it. “Hrrrnnghhhh.” The other two practically ignored him until Skoll turned to him and lifted an eyebrow.

“Did he not want to go to prom with you?”

Sigfried produced a pillow and hurled it across the room into his mocker. “I just hate him sooo muuuch.” He crawled onto his forearms and glared across the room. “So much man. He’s falling for this freaking broad, I know it. I can see it in his stupid eyes man.”

Skoll shook his head and returned to his book. “You saw that, huh?”

“Fuck yeah I saw it! He’s gonna jack everything up cause he goes all puppy eyed over some stupid pink haired bimbo with a three inch skirt.” Finally writhing a seated position he let out a long exasperated breath. “Why can’t he be asexual? Why?”

“You know he’s better at all that then we are. We just gotta let him work. He knows what he’s doing.”

Hati chimed in. “Yeah, and you might actually, you know, get some.”

“Shut the fuck up, Hati.” Sigfried was not in the mood for any Hati’s bullshit at the moment.

Hati reared up mockingly. “Ohhh, sorry man.” He stepped over to the fridge and cracked it open, rummaging around. “Yo, you want any lunch? Some glucose might balance your blood sugar and make you a little less bitchy.”

Sigfried shook his head. “Yeah, yeah that would be great.” He gestured in his friend’s direction. “Sorry man, I’m just freaking exhausted. Getting one fourth sleep of what I normally do really piles the stress on.”

“Well if you’d stop being so paranoid we’d all be able to go to sleep and it wouldn’t be such a problem.” Skoll cast a cruel glance at Hati in response to his statement.

“That would be stupid. Besides, it helps the illusion of it all.”

Hati hacked to clear his throat as he planted the frying pan on the electric oven and turned it on. “Yeah but we could go in shifts or something. Give you a rest. I mean, two out of three asleep isn’t as bad as one out of three, right?”

Sigfried nodded. “Yeah that’ll work. I just can’t do one out of four. Having Roy around is like a full time job man. It’s so fuckign stressful trying to manage him.” He dropped his hands to his sides and gawked at Hati. “Get this dude. So at the freaking restaurant, whatever it’s called. Ahhhhh… Tony’s? Yeah, Tony’s. Yeah well he was about to make a move on her dude! Can you believe that?”

“Got to get it somewhere man. Might as well be young and stupid.” He flipped the egg he had been cooking and sprinked bits of diced lunch meat over it. “Yo you want Chicken Sauce?” Sigfried nodded in approval just as Hati sprayed a thick line of spicy sauce over the omelet.

Skoll closed his book and leaned forward. “Well, all that aside, are you two ready for tonight? It’s gonna be hectic. Is everything in place?”

Sigfried nodded, accepting the hot plate from Hati. “Yeah, everything’s set up. The stuff is in place, I’ve got some good images of the aliens. They’re like... funny looking humans in crap clothes so it shouldn’t be hard.” Stuffing his face with hot egg action he looked to Hati. “You?”

“Yeah, all the wiring is in place thanks to the interwebz.” He kicked back and turned his laptop around to display a “How To” site with several images of complex circuitry and wires. “I even tested the shit. It’s good to go man.”

Sigfried grinned, bits of bargain meat and yellow egg in his mouth. “Sweet! What about you Mr. Skoll?”

Skoll nodded sternly. “Yes, everything seems to be set. So long as Roy doesn’t get wise there shouldn’t be a hitch. He’s so caught up in his evangelism as it is I can’t imagine he’d be any the wiser.”

“Fan. Fucking. Tastic.”

-Three Days Later-

“Here today we see the fifth and final personnel ship landing here, on Mercy.” The reporter’s image flickered in and out, the live stream momentarily interrupted by the violent interference that Mercy’s sand blasted terrain offered. “Each holds approximately one thousand volunteer militia collected from Earth and other colonies here to fight for the safety and protection of their home world.” A massive ship, long and sleek slowly lowered itself to the ground as repulsors leveled the landing out. “Who knows the threat that they have come here to face, but surely you know that each and every one of them are preparing for a harrowing descent into the Hell of war.”

The man now began to walk forward against the onslaught of dust, sand and debris that the ship kicked up as he approached the landing dock. “Enemy forces have been noted within the area, though our current sources do not have any leads on how they have been landing planetside or navigating the terrain.” A quick image of a yellow-clad pseudo-human blotted out the live scene but the man continued to speak over it. “Thus far, we have not identified the invaders and they speak a language not native to any known within the universe. We do however know that they cannot make the sound of ‘shh’ and so it has become the hailing mark of all organized fighting forces.”

Standing triumphantly in front of the huddled, confused masses of willing participants that flowed from the mighty craft, the reporter concluded his tale dryly. “Who knows what these days might bring, but CNN is here to report.”

Sigfried sat alone in the living room, the light of the screen the only illumination. He grabbed the clicker and depressed the power button, leaving him in the black. A sudden shimmer of light arose from his chest and shone brightly. “Aint no rest for the wicked” He chuckled to himself softly.

--=~*/| o |\*~=--

Roy Munin stood on a real podium now, a large gathering of individuals gathered just outside of the Mayor’s Office. His heart swelled with nervousness, wringing his hands into themselves as he paced back and forth, practicing his words over and over in his head. Victoria stood only a few feet away staring on to him.

“I’m sure it’ll all be fine.” She reassured him from afar, her words oddly distant. She wasn’t used to being kind in that way, Roy figured.

“Yeah! It’ll be great! I’m glad we managed to get such a big crowd from just some flyers and a little radio add… Your voice must really add to the commercial, huh?” He offered a nervous smile before he straitened his back and cracked his neck. “This is what I was born for.” He repeated his mantra that he had coined in his early debate days. Eerie how true the statement was, though he didn’t know it.

Victoria smoothed her elegant black dress, the several floral layers of the outfit cute but oddly fitting for the event. “Are you ready? It’s about time.” She urged him on, taking on the roll of his “assistant” while Sigfried was away. Now that I think of it where is Sigfri- Victoria nodded to him as he approached the stage. “Ready?”

“I was born ready.” He winked at the young lady and stepped out into the blinding light of a crowd of attentive faces. A few camera crews had made their way there and a lone news paper photographer. He had stirred up a lot of people since he had begun his campaign here in Central City and apparently his avalanche was only gaining snow. He saw a few skeptics, well, more than a few. The important thing was that they had come though. That meant that his ideas had enough worth to listen to. This might be the moment he made history.

--=~*/| o |\*~=--

Skoll finished attaching a few plugs with black leather gloves. Grunting as he forced a final rig into its socket he gave it a soft tug to ensure that it was secure. Rolling onto his back he slowly shuffled his way out from under the massive appliance. Thirteen minutes seemed appropriate to him, and so he coded in the numbers and began to walk away.

The neck-biting winds of the rooftop cut into him as he made his way for the roof access exit. He grasped the handle and tugged it open and began to tumble each foot in front of the other as he descended the stairwell.

He hoped that thirteen minutes was enough for him to get clear of the damn thing. Nobody likes radiation poisoning.

--=~*/| o |\*~=--

Hati bobbed his head slowly to the tune of his high BPM techno as he strode down the street. Out the corner of his eye he saw the massive group of people that had amassed for the rally a few blocks down. He began to stride quickly towards the gaggle but it sounded as though Roy had already started his speech.

Now, technically that meant he had no idea how long it would be to the drop but he knew he would be able to figure it out. “See? Who needs directions. Fuck Map Quest.”

--=~*/| o |\*~=--

The pigeon swooped and fluttered quicker than most people would have liked to give it credit for. They’re the rats of the sky alright, but they’re the fast rats of the sky. It navigated the streets with a horrific photographic memory that allowed them to remember where to drop of messages and raise their tiny disgusting young. In a final flourish it perched upon the peak of the office, peering down upon the crowd gathered below. If pigeons gave a crap about people, it might have been worried about how close they were to the building.

--=~*/| o |\*~=--

“… ignore this intergalactic threat any longer than we already have! We’ve seen what they’re capable of and it’s only a matter of time before they show up here, on our soil, and take us by surprise. How many times has the government lead us astray? How many wars have they lead and lost here on Earth? I’m not one to say I know anything about warfare. I’m not a general. But I do have some common sense in my head. I think you all do too. Do you really think that the alien threat is going to stop out there?”

He turned to the side of the stage and gestured to Victoria calmly. “Here to help me illustrate my poi-“

The counter expired.

A young man pointed and screamed.

An alien stood proudly on the roof, overlooking the rally.

The creature pointed out over the screaming hordes of onlookers as they fled. They glanced back at what seemed to be a human who’s face… who’s face was inhuman. His right foot was propped on the ledge of the structure as he screamed some unknown profanity or declaration of war. It was all gibberish to the people below anyways. Mothers grasped at children and fathers shielded sons. Roy turned and looked as the creature oddly glowed from behind, an eerie radiation emanating from what seemed to be an alien craft perched behind him. “What in the mother of God?”

With a malevolent cackle the being Leapt up into the air and cast both hands down at the base of the structure before disappearing behind the side of building.

KRAKA-KOOOM!!

Suddenly the lower floor disappeared in a wall of flame and force that pushed the trusses out from beneath the upper floors. With a deafening crack the office began to tip to its side as a chorus of screams filled the air.]]> could do and more what she couldn’t.

In the hands of a clever orator a young, pretty face could bring nations to their knees and pull them apart, stripping the populace of reason and all notions of self. If Victoria did all that was asked of her, which portended of little but to stand there looking pretty and spout out a few prefabricated lines, Roy’s message would spread like wild fire. In politics is it worst to be a scholar, better to be a fool, and best to be beautiful.

He slid the tip of his finger over the smooth surface of the fork’s lower edge. He pressed his hand into it before peeling it up and away from the tacky checkered tablecloth. That’s what those old plastic ones did with age, they began to cling to your dishes and silverware. It reminded him of home. He strained for a moment, trying to recall home, the old street names, his friends. Roy’s brow furrowed for a moment but he was quickly called back from the moment by that sweet malaises voice.

“Mr… I mean, um, Roy?” Victoria cocked her head to the side like a lost puppy. “Is everything alright?”

The feather-haired man thrust forth another wide grin and ran his hands flat over the table. “Oh, what? Me? Yes, fine, fine. I’m fine.” He diverted his eyes down and nodded once again. “But back to business, right?” He cleared his throat and readjusted himself in his seat. “Well, I was going to try and pull together a rally next week, if you would like to join me as a guest speaker?”

She stared out at him for a moment before diverting her eyes. Something in her swelled with a flicker of fear. Perhaps the public eye. Maybe she was just shy. Whatever it was though, it was there. A glimmer of terror. “Well, um, I dunno…” Her voice trailed off as she plucked at her triple stack of syrup soaked carb.

“Here, I’ll make it easy on you. I’ll do the talking, and we can set you up with a few things to say, if you’re alright with that that is, and then you don’t have to worry about being nervous, right?” He punctuated his offer by leaning across the table and softly laying his hand on hers.

After a long moment of staring down at the contact, she allowed her gaze to flicker back up to the man in front of her. Such a strange girl. He clenched his fingers gently, like a caring spouce might in a moment of hardship. Might want to keep some of her stranger parts out of the equasion.. His eyes locked with hers and he allowed his sincerity to bubble forth and flow out of them. Cue cards might be best. “So what do you think?” His voice was soft, lilting gently between the ticks of the clock. But damn if that face doesn’t sell.

A dim shade of rose spread across her cheeks and she bobbed her head gently almost as though she had been hypnotized.. “I can’t promise anything with my work, but I’ll try my best.”

Suddenly withdrawing his hand Roy spread his arms wide and once again flashed his teeth. “Fantastic! Well, we have each other’s numbers right?” He shuffled around in his seat a moment before stopping and looking out across at her. “Oh wait, I don’t have yours do I?” It was a trick he had learned in college. It was a dirty, underhanded trick that could be used so many times over.
“Ah…” she pinched her eyebrows together and reached into a pocket carefully. “No, I guess you don’t!” She tacked on another arbitrary giggle. Her tiny bouts of laughter would either drive Roy insane or to bed with her, but neither one was particularly of use for his agendas. He tried to avert his attention from the tiny breast pocket as she fiddled around with it, inadvertently jamming her hand into her own breast. She would never see it, but he had curled the napkin in his lap into a tiny ball. A tiny bead of sweat coalesced on his forehead and it was all he could do but bite his lip. Finally those thin, ginger fingers retrieved a thin scrap of paper and lay it out on the table in front of her. Grabbing a pen she clicked it open and slowly rolled the tip over the breadth of her tongue.

“Anything else I can get for ya?” The dignified Mr. Munin jumped slightly as the waitress stepped out beside him, toting a small order sheet and an irate expression her face. She tapped the pen against the paper and pursed her lips impatiently.

“Ah no thatnk you for now…” He searched her uniform for a name tag. “Ah… Beth! No thanks Beth.” He nodded to the aged waitress and she looked over to the young pink haired girl across from him.

“Anything for your date?” Her voice was dry, like she had choked on a packet of Rock Pops.

Roy glanced nervously over to Victoria. “Oh no! No, we’re not on a da-“

“No thank you.” She smiled and nodded to the waitress, indicating she wanted her to go away now. He pressed her hands into her lap as she watched the server walk away, not breaking eye contact until she was safely in the kitchen.

She pushed the tiny white scrap over the table to Roy with her middle finger. “There you go!”

Roy took it up and read I over once, checking for all seven digits. “All right! I’ll call you with the details alright?” He glanced around the room shortly and slowly leaned in over the table. He swallowed once and left his tone quiet. “So, you live alo-“

Beth slammed down the ticket on the table as she coughed loudly. She gave Roy a stern sideways look as though to ask, “What are you doing, boy?” He narrowed his eyes at her and snatched the bill up quickly. “Thank you,” he said with as little venom as possible.

The bill read a measly six zenni for the meal, but on the tip line a red pen had marked: “Here’s a tip: Date women your own age! Big Grin –Your Friendly Chef” Roy sneered and left a credit chip on top of the paper before standing up.

He extended his hand to meet Victoria’s and he nodded firmly as she took it up. “Well, it was a pleasure having breakfast with you. I’ll see you soon?”

“Oh yes, you certainly will be seeing a lot of me.” She tilted her head to the side innocently.

--=~*/| o |\*~=--

“FUCK YO COUUUUCH!” Hati screamed as he jumped to his feet and pointed at the flat screen television that they had fitted into the dingy basement abode they had made for themselves. He held the controller over his head and pumped his fists in the air dramatically. “What, oh yeah, suck that noise, BITCH!”

Skoll stared at him stoically, an expression tinged by irritation, before pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. He calmly set the controller down on the floor in front of him and reclined into his seat. Grabbing his book he cracked it open once again and began to read. “Yeah, good game man. Play again some time.”

Hati jumped around the chair humping the air and slapping an invisible ass as he did so. “Ugh! Ugh! Take it!”

Skoll simply rolled his eyes and flipped the page. “Mhmmmm…”

Sigfried suddenly erupted into the front door and huffed, tossing his skull cap onto the couch to his side. He flicked the door shut behind him and let it slam as he skulked over to the couch and fell face first down upon it. “Hrrrnnghhhh.” The other two practically ignored him until Skoll turned to him and lifted an eyebrow.

“Did he not want to go to prom with you?”

Sigfried produced a pillow and hurled it across the room into his mocker. “I just hate him sooo muuuch.” He crawled onto his forearms and glared across the room. “So much man. He’s falling for this freaking broad, I know it. I can see it in his stupid eyes man.”

Skoll shook his head and returned to his book. “You saw that, huh?”

“Fuck yeah I saw it! He’s gonna jack everything up cause he goes all puppy eyed over some stupid pink haired bimbo with a three inch skirt.” Finally writhing a seated position he let out a long exasperated breath. “Why can’t he be asexual? Why?”

“You know he’s better at all that then we are. We just gotta let him work. He knows what he’s doing.”

Hati chimed in. “Yeah, and you might actually, you know, get some.”

“Shut the fuck up, Hati.” Sigfried was not in the mood for any Hati’s bullshit at the moment.

Hati reared up mockingly. “Ohhh, sorry man.” He stepped over to the fridge and cracked it open, rummaging around. “Yo, you want any lunch? Some glucose might balance your blood sugar and make you a little less bitchy.”

Sigfried shook his head. “Yeah, yeah that would be great.” He gestured in his friend’s direction. “Sorry man, I’m just freaking exhausted. Getting one fourth sleep of what I normally do really piles the stress on.”

“Well if you’d stop being so paranoid we’d all be able to go to sleep and it wouldn’t be such a problem.” Skoll cast a cruel glance at Hati in response to his statement.

“That would be stupid. Besides, it helps the illusion of it all.”

Hati hacked to clear his throat as he planted the frying pan on the electric oven and turned it on. “Yeah but we could go in shifts or something. Give you a rest. I mean, two out of three asleep isn’t as bad as one out of three, right?”

Sigfried nodded. “Yeah that’ll work. I just can’t do one out of four. Having Roy around is like a full time job man. It’s so fuckign stressful trying to manage him.” He dropped his hands to his sides and gawked at Hati. “Get this dude. So at the freaking restaurant, whatever it’s called. Ahhhhh… Tony’s? Yeah, Tony’s. Yeah well he was about to make a move on her dude! Can you believe that?”

“Got to get it somewhere man. Might as well be young and stupid.” He flipped the egg he had been cooking and sprinked bits of diced lunch meat over it. “Yo you want Chicken Sauce?” Sigfried nodded in approval just as Hati sprayed a thick line of spicy sauce over the omelet.

Skoll closed his book and leaned forward. “Well, all that aside, are you two ready for tonight? It’s gonna be hectic. Is everything in place?”

Sigfried nodded, accepting the hot plate from Hati. “Yeah, everything’s set up. The stuff is in place, I’ve got some good images of the aliens. They’re like... funny looking humans in crap clothes so it shouldn’t be hard.” Stuffing his face with hot egg action he looked to Hati. “You?”

“Yeah, all the wiring is in place thanks to the interwebz.” He kicked back and turned his laptop around to display a “How To” site with several images of complex circuitry and wires. “I even tested the shit. It’s good to go man.”

Sigfried grinned, bits of bargain meat and yellow egg in his mouth. “Sweet! What about you Mr. Skoll?”

Skoll nodded sternly. “Yes, everything seems to be set. So long as Roy doesn’t get wise there shouldn’t be a hitch. He’s so caught up in his evangelism as it is I can’t imagine he’d be any the wiser.”

“Fan. Fucking. Tastic.”

-Three Days Later-

“Here today we see the fifth and final personnel ship landing here, on Mercy.” The reporter’s image flickered in and out, the live stream momentarily interrupted by the violent interference that Mercy’s sand blasted terrain offered. “Each holds approximately one thousand volunteer militia collected from Earth and other colonies here to fight for the safety and protection of their home world.” A massive ship, long and sleek slowly lowered itself to the ground as repulsors leveled the landing out. “Who knows the threat that they have come here to face, but surely you know that each and every one of them are preparing for a harrowing descent into the Hell of war.”

The man now began to walk forward against the onslaught of dust, sand and debris that the ship kicked up as he approached the landing dock. “Enemy forces have been noted within the area, though our current sources do not have any leads on how they have been landing planetside or navigating the terrain.” A quick image of a yellow-clad pseudo-human blotted out the live scene but the man continued to speak over it. “Thus far, we have not identified the invaders and they speak a language not native to any known within the universe. We do however know that they cannot make the sound of ‘shh’ and so it has become the hailing mark of all organized fighting forces.”

Standing triumphantly in front of the huddled, confused masses of willing participants that flowed from the mighty craft, the reporter concluded his tale dryly. “Who knows what these days might bring, but CNN is here to report.”

Sigfried sat alone in the living room, the light of the screen the only illumination. He grabbed the clicker and depressed the power button, leaving him in the black. A sudden shimmer of light arose from his chest and shone brightly. “Aint no rest for the wicked” He chuckled to himself softly.

--=~*/| o |\*~=--

Roy Munin stood on a real podium now, a large gathering of individuals gathered just outside of the Mayor’s Office. His heart swelled with nervousness, wringing his hands into themselves as he paced back and forth, practicing his words over and over in his head. Victoria stood only a few feet away staring on to him.

“I’m sure it’ll all be fine.” She reassured him from afar, her words oddly distant. She wasn’t used to being kind in that way, Roy figured.

“Yeah! It’ll be great! I’m glad we managed to get such a big crowd from just some flyers and a little radio add… Your voice must really add to the commercial, huh?” He offered a nervous smile before he straitened his back and cracked his neck. “This is what I was born for.” He repeated his mantra that he had coined in his early debate days. Eerie how true the statement was, though he didn’t know it.

Victoria smoothed her elegant black dress, the several floral layers of the outfit cute but oddly fitting for the event. “Are you ready? It’s about time.” She urged him on, taking on the roll of his “assistant” while Sigfried was away. Now that I think of it where is Sigfri- Victoria nodded to him as he approached the stage. “Ready?”

“I was born ready.” He winked at the young lady and stepped out into the blinding light of a crowd of attentive faces. A few camera crews had made their way there and a lone news paper photographer. He had stirred up a lot of people since he had begun his campaign here in Central City and apparently his avalanche was only gaining snow. He saw a few skeptics, well, more than a few. The important thing was that they had come though. That meant that his ideas had enough worth to listen to. This might be the moment he made history.

--=~*/| o |\*~=--

Skoll finished attaching a few plugs with black leather gloves. Grunting as he forced a final rig into its socket he gave it a soft tug to ensure that it was secure. Rolling onto his back he slowly shuffled his way out from under the massive appliance. Thirteen minutes seemed appropriate to him, and so he coded in the numbers and began to walk away.

The neck-biting winds of the rooftop cut into him as he made his way for the roof access exit. He grasped the handle and tugged it open and began to tumble each foot in front of the other as he descended the stairwell.

He hoped that thirteen minutes was enough for him to get clear of the damn thing. Nobody likes radiation poisoning.

--=~*/| o |\*~=--

Hati bobbed his head slowly to the tune of his high BPM techno as he strode down the street. Out the corner of his eye he saw the massive group of people that had amassed for the rally a few blocks down. He began to stride quickly towards the gaggle but it sounded as though Roy had already started his speech.

Now, technically that meant he had no idea how long it would be to the drop but he knew he would be able to figure it out. “See? Who needs directions. Fuck Map Quest.”

--=~*/| o |\*~=--

The pigeon swooped and fluttered quicker than most people would have liked to give it credit for. They’re the rats of the sky alright, but they’re the fast rats of the sky. It navigated the streets with a horrific photographic memory that allowed them to remember where to drop of messages and raise their tiny disgusting young. In a final flourish it perched upon the peak of the office, peering down upon the crowd gathered below. If pigeons gave a crap about people, it might have been worried about how close they were to the building.

--=~*/| o |\*~=--

“… ignore this intergalactic threat any longer than we already have! We’ve seen what they’re capable of and it’s only a matter of time before they show up here, on our soil, and take us by surprise. How many times has the government lead us astray? How many wars have they lead and lost here on Earth? I’m not one to say I know anything about warfare. I’m not a general. But I do have some common sense in my head. I think you all do too. Do you really think that the alien threat is going to stop out there?”

He turned to the side of the stage and gestured to Victoria calmly. “Here to help me illustrate my poi-“

The counter expired.

A young man pointed and screamed.

An alien stood proudly on the roof, overlooking the rally.

The creature pointed out over the screaming hordes of onlookers as they fled. They glanced back at what seemed to be a human who’s face… who’s face was inhuman. His right foot was propped on the ledge of the structure as he screamed some unknown profanity or declaration of war. It was all gibberish to the people below anyways. Mothers grasped at children and fathers shielded sons. Roy turned and looked as the creature oddly glowed from behind, an eerie radiation emanating from what seemed to be an alien craft perched behind him. “What in the mother of God?”

With a malevolent cackle the being Leapt up into the air and cast both hands down at the base of the structure before disappearing behind the side of building.

KRAKA-KOOOM!!

Suddenly the lower floor disappeared in a wall of flame and force that pushed the trusses out from beneath the upper floors. With a deafening crack the office began to tip to its side as a chorus of screams filled the air.]]> <![CDATA[[Namek] The Choice]]> http://alex.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=16190 Fri, 07 Jan 2011 23:02:18 +0000 Mal Nova]]> http://alex.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=16190
The Jade Fiend, knew all to well that he demonstrated many properties and characteristics as the Emerald Warrior. He was the only reproduction that Retane had ever made, and had named him after his singular spawn, Respawne. He had met his father many times and knew that if trouble was predicted that he wouldn't be to far away. Enroshia did say that he knew Mercy was mobilizing, but hadn't mentioned the Namek's father at all, though. Of course, he personally hoped that

Retane; The Dark Hunter, and Maleficus Nova; The New Evil, The Predator, were completely different, though they had so many similarities. Retane, was obviously the stronger of the two, via experience and strength, but Nova knew all about his father, and was still discovering himself. He had found himself more deadly then his father in some situations, but lacking in others. Still, he planned to perfect himself.

Ironic how it was though, that another invasion had come, and he again had a chance to become something. His name could become greater then even the Emerald Warrior's here. But Retane had to wonder, was that his intent? To become famous? His father had become as The Dar kHunter, and more famous as Retane after his alter ego was exposed. What outcome did the Imperfect Namekian want from this war?

The Dark Orange cloaked warrior was approached by an Icer, quite similar to Cold Steel. The only difference was he looked slightly younger and shorter. In his hand was a device in which most likely held information, "Gelidus told me to expect you. He said to inform you that for the moment you will be placed among a troop , that holds a mixture of Nameks and others. You are under the command of General Gothric, and more specifically, Captian Frez. You're troop has already been dispatched to meet the oncoming threat. Captain Frez said that if you were as good as Gelidus said, that you'd have no problem catching up."

The Changeling, handed Male Nova and Tamsin a few capsules, "These are your communicators and supplies you may need. Gelidus said he assumes you both lost yours since neither have checked in."

The Jade Fiend and the Servus Maid listened as the Arbirer Employment Agent spoke, but Mal, seemed a bit concerned. He had still had not heard about the Saiyan's and knew nothing of the enemy. His lips moved quickly, but no emotion came from them though, as he asked about the Tailed warriors, along with a description of the enemy.

"I have no actual answer about the Saiyan's but I can ask Gelidus and have him relay the information about it to you", The relative of Cold Steel spoke. "As for what the enemy looks like, they wear yellow and a uniformed structured system of rank. They also look near humanoid but one that has seen a human can tell the difference."

Nova nodded and since he hadn't been given a specific mission he figured his most important job was to meet up with his unit and go from there. Though, working with a unit of pathetic militia didn't seem as though it would be to enticing. He pressed one of the capsules he had received and placed the others in a pockets on a vest hidden beneath his cloak. The capsule produced a wrist band, as well as an ear piece that would allow him to link up with his unit and give Gelidus a chance to link up with him later.

Tamsin seemed to follow suit, but as she did, she paused catching something, "For the moment placed in a troop?" It was obvious that Gelidus was known to have more pull then just this, and he never seem to like having his men put in positions they couldn't handle, nor give them something that was much lesser then it was their position.

The brown and pearl warrior smiled, "He has already assembled your own unit of warrior Namekians and Mystic's but, the port positions they used, are on the opposite side of the planet. They are en route now in a caravan using stealth technology, but can't hurry because they'd have to stop at a base for refueling. Gelidus doesn't want to risk them running out of fuel and all near by bases being overtaken or running ouit of fuel"

Nova nodded as he snapped the band around his wrist and turned to head in the direction his unit was.

-----------------

Deep in warfare, in air and around the edge of a wooded area as well as deeper in the forest, was his assigned unit. Nova, paused for a few moments as he caught sight of it all. After a quick analysis, it seemed that t was two units on four or five. His unit and a fellow unit were outnumbered in the area.

Nova hadn't spoken to Tamsin since they had come back in contact with each other, and for now, until he could find the words to say to her he would keep it that way. He pulled his hood lower upon his face, but opened up his ears, more then he would usually allow.

A mixture of languages, common tongue and one that was alien mixed in screams and commands. Above the wooded area, in a fight, with two others, was a gray robed Namekian. Near the ground, laying allied troops down was another. Destruction also seemed to come from within the forest, but it also confused the Namekian. Their divide and conquer method was obvious, but to his knowledge the area they fought in was nothing more then a waste.

The Fiend, had little more chance to think about it for the moment, though, when a rapid fire of energy from a blaster headed his way. Tamsin dove one way, while the Namekian dove the other way. Thinking fast, the Predator vanished from view as he tapped into his inner powers. He took to the air, quickly, finding himself behind the small air squad and with a low growl, he reappeared.

The growl and reappearance was due to the fact that though he had vanished and some seemed confused, the majority focused on the Maid. It was almost Anger that he felt, at their tactics, but he knew it was more intelligent then not doing so. But they didn't have anyone watching their rear. And for that, he would fuck them there.

Suzaku had seen her master reappear behind their foes, and dodged, dashed, and leapt in an erratic pattern to keep their fire aimed at her and avoid getting hit. It would prove hard, though as their accuracy and predictions seemed nearly accurate and precise. But she didn't think on her movements, she just moved. She knew that thinking would allow herself to create a pattern and she would cause her to get shot.

Maleficus noticed it all as wlel, though there was always that slight link that allowed the two to understand one another, and with a louder growl that caused confusion in the group. With a Large swoop, and an extension of his power, the Fiend grabbed at the one in front, with his wicked Outreach and sent the rest to the ground, near each other. The one that he had grabbed with his large unseen appendage, struggled to get free and barked off words in an unknown language.

Mal Nova, his face shadowed by his cloak, raised his other arm, an orb of energy gathering in his palm. He watched though, noticing the differences of an earthling and this new alien. His constant yakking helped give it away. Their tongues were more square like, then the usual 'U' shape, but then again, as he looked to near immobilized fallen comrades, they all seemed to have a slightly wider space between their eyes and a repetitive near squared forehead.

He noted it to his memory band, and let a sneer show. He aimed the spare arm at the recuperating ones and fires a large wave at them. The constant screaming foe stopped for a moment as he watched the blast, and heard their dying screams, unable to see it though, because of the clouded area.]]>
The Jade Fiend, knew all to well that he demonstrated many properties and characteristics as the Emerald Warrior. He was the only reproduction that Retane had ever made, and had named him after his singular spawn, Respawne. He had met his father many times and knew that if trouble was predicted that he wouldn't be to far away. Enroshia did say that he knew Mercy was mobilizing, but hadn't mentioned the Namek's father at all, though. Of course, he personally hoped that

Retane; The Dark Hunter, and Maleficus Nova; The New Evil, The Predator, were completely different, though they had so many similarities. Retane, was obviously the stronger of the two, via experience and strength, but Nova knew all about his father, and was still discovering himself. He had found himself more deadly then his father in some situations, but lacking in others. Still, he planned to perfect himself.

Ironic how it was though, that another invasion had come, and he again had a chance to become something. His name could become greater then even the Emerald Warrior's here. But Retane had to wonder, was that his intent? To become famous? His father had become as The Dar kHunter, and more famous as Retane after his alter ego was exposed. What outcome did the Imperfect Namekian want from this war?

The Dark Orange cloaked warrior was approached by an Icer, quite similar to Cold Steel. The only difference was he looked slightly younger and shorter. In his hand was a device in which most likely held information, "Gelidus told me to expect you. He said to inform you that for the moment you will be placed among a troop , that holds a mixture of Nameks and others. You are under the command of General Gothric, and more specifically, Captian Frez. You're troop has already been dispatched to meet the oncoming threat. Captain Frez said that if you were as good as Gelidus said, that you'd have no problem catching up."

The Changeling, handed Male Nova and Tamsin a few capsules, "These are your communicators and supplies you may need. Gelidus said he assumes you both lost yours since neither have checked in."

The Jade Fiend and the Servus Maid listened as the Arbirer Employment Agent spoke, but Mal, seemed a bit concerned. He had still had not heard about the Saiyan's and knew nothing of the enemy. His lips moved quickly, but no emotion came from them though, as he asked about the Tailed warriors, along with a description of the enemy.

"I have no actual answer about the Saiyan's but I can ask Gelidus and have him relay the information about it to you", The relative of Cold Steel spoke. "As for what the enemy looks like, they wear yellow and a uniformed structured system of rank. They also look near humanoid but one that has seen a human can tell the difference."

Nova nodded and since he hadn't been given a specific mission he figured his most important job was to meet up with his unit and go from there. Though, working with a unit of pathetic militia didn't seem as though it would be to enticing. He pressed one of the capsules he had received and placed the others in a pockets on a vest hidden beneath his cloak. The capsule produced a wrist band, as well as an ear piece that would allow him to link up with his unit and give Gelidus a chance to link up with him later.

Tamsin seemed to follow suit, but as she did, she paused catching something, "For the moment placed in a troop?" It was obvious that Gelidus was known to have more pull then just this, and he never seem to like having his men put in positions they couldn't handle, nor give them something that was much lesser then it was their position.

The brown and pearl warrior smiled, "He has already assembled your own unit of warrior Namekians and Mystic's but, the port positions they used, are on the opposite side of the planet. They are en route now in a caravan using stealth technology, but can't hurry because they'd have to stop at a base for refueling. Gelidus doesn't want to risk them running out of fuel and all near by bases being overtaken or running ouit of fuel"

Nova nodded as he snapped the band around his wrist and turned to head in the direction his unit was.

-----------------

Deep in warfare, in air and around the edge of a wooded area as well as deeper in the forest, was his assigned unit. Nova, paused for a few moments as he caught sight of it all. After a quick analysis, it seemed that t was two units on four or five. His unit and a fellow unit were outnumbered in the area.

Nova hadn't spoken to Tamsin since they had come back in contact with each other, and for now, until he could find the words to say to her he would keep it that way. He pulled his hood lower upon his face, but opened up his ears, more then he would usually allow.

A mixture of languages, common tongue and one that was alien mixed in screams and commands. Above the wooded area, in a fight, with two others, was a gray robed Namekian. Near the ground, laying allied troops down was another. Destruction also seemed to come from within the forest, but it also confused the Namekian. Their divide and conquer method was obvious, but to his knowledge the area they fought in was nothing more then a waste.

The Fiend, had little more chance to think about it for the moment, though, when a rapid fire of energy from a blaster headed his way. Tamsin dove one way, while the Namekian dove the other way. Thinking fast, the Predator vanished from view as he tapped into his inner powers. He took to the air, quickly, finding himself behind the small air squad and with a low growl, he reappeared.

The growl and reappearance was due to the fact that though he had vanished and some seemed confused, the majority focused on the Maid. It was almost Anger that he felt, at their tactics, but he knew it was more intelligent then not doing so. But they didn't have anyone watching their rear. And for that, he would fuck them there.

Suzaku had seen her master reappear behind their foes, and dodged, dashed, and leapt in an erratic pattern to keep their fire aimed at her and avoid getting hit. It would prove hard, though as their accuracy and predictions seemed nearly accurate and precise. But she didn't think on her movements, she just moved. She knew that thinking would allow herself to create a pattern and she would cause her to get shot.

Maleficus noticed it all as wlel, though there was always that slight link that allowed the two to understand one another, and with a louder growl that caused confusion in the group. With a Large swoop, and an extension of his power, the Fiend grabbed at the one in front, with his wicked Outreach and sent the rest to the ground, near each other. The one that he had grabbed with his large unseen appendage, struggled to get free and barked off words in an unknown language.

Mal Nova, his face shadowed by his cloak, raised his other arm, an orb of energy gathering in his palm. He watched though, noticing the differences of an earthling and this new alien. His constant yakking helped give it away. Their tongues were more square like, then the usual 'U' shape, but then again, as he looked to near immobilized fallen comrades, they all seemed to have a slightly wider space between their eyes and a repetitive near squared forehead.

He noted it to his memory band, and let a sneer show. He aimed the spare arm at the recuperating ones and fires a large wave at them. The constant screaming foe stopped for a moment as he watched the blast, and heard their dying screams, unable to see it though, because of the clouded area.]]> <![CDATA[Arrival]]> http://alex.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=16189 Fri, 07 Jan 2011 19:40:45 +0000 Chubbs Story Account]]> http://alex.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=16189
Reinforcements arrive continuously, but they will eventually run out, and in the uncertainty and chaos, it is impossible to tell how the flow of combat is shifting; whether toward victory or otherwise.

The central Militia base is built around the only (ground) exit from the spaceport, with numerous desks to log, funnel through, and divvy up arrivals. The organization, though slipshod, is nevertheless impressive, with signs indicating, in large letters (in multiple languages), where each are supposed to go: this way for those with combat experience, that way for all others; this way for warriors, that way for troops.

The organizing process assigns individuals to a particular regiment, which is associated (at least, for a particular time) with a particular front. A pamphlet is distributed at the end, indicating everything that is known about the invaders. It is short.

A picture on the front indicates a general humanoid; by all appearances, an Earthling, though something about the face is off. It is difficult to say what, exactly, and for those not familiar with Earthlings at all, they difference may be unnoticeable.

==================

Our enemy is organized.

Our enemy wears yellow.

Our enemy is divided into two classes: the warrior (whose armor varies, and who is extremely dangerous), and the troop (whose armor is standard). The hierarchy, as best as can be told, is that every warrior leads an army.

It has been impossible to decipher their communications, and the language they use on the battlefield is alien, but shares certain features. We are working on a translator for the elements of the language, to be integrated in your scouters.

They capture warriors who are defeated, but yet survive.

They do not capture troops, nor do they kill them.

Their tactics are unlike anything we have ever seen, and, though participating in the fundamentals of our military knowledge, nevertheless operate erratically. Orders given by your Generals may seem incorrect for this very reason; follow them.

The Enemy, we have found, are largely unable to pronounce the Earthling 'sh' sound. We have thus adopted 'Shibboleth' as a password. The difference is slight, but it is there.

==================

From here, recruits are whisked away to the respective bases of their regiments, while some free spirits escape off into the distance, in search of opportunity. They aren't pursued.

[[This topic indicates the general state of things on the respective planets. The Militia is the primary form through which combat in this saga will take place. You are welcome, indeed, to act as an independent agent, though (as is natural), it will be difficult indeed to make an impact upon war without participating, at least nominally, in an army.

For those persons who posted in A Call to Arms, now is the time to indicate your arrival on the planet. Please do so in a new thread, created according to the form mentioned in the General Info thread.

For those persons who did not post in A Call to Arms, but nevertheless wish to join the saga, make your first post here (indicating your character's discovery of the war, resolution to participate in the war, boarding of the ship, etc.), and then create a new thread for your participation in the saga, according to the form mentioned in the General Info thread.

Any questions, just ask.]]]]>
Reinforcements arrive continuously, but they will eventually run out, and in the uncertainty and chaos, it is impossible to tell how the flow of combat is shifting; whether toward victory or otherwise.

The central Militia base is built around the only (ground) exit from the spaceport, with numerous desks to log, funnel through, and divvy up arrivals. The organization, though slipshod, is nevertheless impressive, with signs indicating, in large letters (in multiple languages), where each are supposed to go: this way for those with combat experience, that way for all others; this way for warriors, that way for troops.

The organizing process assigns individuals to a particular regiment, which is associated (at least, for a particular time) with a particular front. A pamphlet is distributed at the end, indicating everything that is known about the invaders. It is short.

A picture on the front indicates a general humanoid; by all appearances, an Earthling, though something about the face is off. It is difficult to say what, exactly, and for those not familiar with Earthlings at all, they difference may be unnoticeable.

==================

Our enemy is organized.

Our enemy wears yellow.

Our enemy is divided into two classes: the warrior (whose armor varies, and who is extremely dangerous), and the troop (whose armor is standard). The hierarchy, as best as can be told, is that every warrior leads an army.

It has been impossible to decipher their communications, and the language they use on the battlefield is alien, but shares certain features. We are working on a translator for the elements of the language, to be integrated in your scouters.

They capture warriors who are defeated, but yet survive.

They do not capture troops, nor do they kill them.

Their tactics are unlike anything we have ever seen, and, though participating in the fundamentals of our military knowledge, nevertheless operate erratically. Orders given by your Generals may seem incorrect for this very reason; follow them.

The Enemy, we have found, are largely unable to pronounce the Earthling 'sh' sound. We have thus adopted 'Shibboleth' as a password. The difference is slight, but it is there.

==================

From here, recruits are whisked away to the respective bases of their regiments, while some free spirits escape off into the distance, in search of opportunity. They aren't pursued.

[[This topic indicates the general state of things on the respective planets. The Militia is the primary form through which combat in this saga will take place. You are welcome, indeed, to act as an independent agent, though (as is natural), it will be difficult indeed to make an impact upon war without participating, at least nominally, in an army.

For those persons who posted in A Call to Arms, now is the time to indicate your arrival on the planet. Please do so in a new thread, created according to the form mentioned in the General Info thread.

For those persons who did not post in A Call to Arms, but nevertheless wish to join the saga, make your first post here (indicating your character's discovery of the war, resolution to participate in the war, boarding of the ship, etc.), and then create a new thread for your participation in the saga, according to the form mentioned in the General Info thread.

Any questions, just ask.]]]]>