Earth 2650 (Mech RP, IC ONLY)

[Epyon94]

It was almost 1100 hours and the sun rose slowly and lazily over the horizon as Aleksi looked out through the plas-steel windows. The Ice on the forward operations base would not begin to thaw for another few months.
"Perfect," He thought, "I've always loved the winter."
Then he turned to face the recruit standing across from him. "You have a question recruit?" He said his voice gruff and demanding obedience.
"No.. No sir." The recruit managed to reply.
"Good then, briefing is at 1200 hours, be there on time or don't come." He continued as he dissimissed to recruit.

Aleksi stood at the head of the briefing room, surveying the rough and tumble bunch of pilots and mechanics that had been assigned to him. He let the silence sink into every corner of the room before he began.
"My name is Kaptain Aleksi Kurchev, of the Arctic Wolves, 1st Battalion, Member of the Wolves Guard, but you will call me SIR unless I say otherwise. Like it or not, I am you commanding officer, for some reason our employer has seen fit to bless me with the job of breaking you fresh southerners in, and getting you used to Combat in a northern environment." He paused as he let his words sink into the Star assembled before him.
"Clearly they either underestimate my value on the battlefield, or they overestimate your worth to the cause. But regardless of that I will have no contradictions to my orders, and I will have this unit working as a team or you will die, in the arctic cold, trying. Am I Understood!?" He shouted to last part to get the required amount of emphasis.
After waiting for the response he continued. "I realize that we are, for the most part, members of different merc groups, but I don't expect that to be problem unless YOU make it one. Got it? Good. I also understand that you are all at varying levels of skill, and competence. I do Not Want You to Confuse those two. And before you 'nights get rowdy, I couldn't care less about the names of your fathers, nor of your families lineage. All I care about is your breaking point! And once again I will not tolerate any opposition to my command. Any opposition will be met with potentially lethal force, and believe me, no matter how long you have been piloting an AC, and no matter how good you think you are, there is always someone who has been doing it longer, and is better than you. Only team work will get us through this. And remember Winter is Coming!"
And with that Aleksi left the room leaving the pilots and mechanics to ponder what he said, and to converse amongst themselves.


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(OOC: Ok there's the intro post, I've I've cleared you then you can post other wise don't.
The Location is a Forward Base near Hudson's Bay, Your employer is Mechanus, and Don't worry the action will come soon.

People who have been cleared are as follows:
Vertex - Alexander (Jaxander), Reban Hareck (Anoiktos)
Artic Wolves - Alex (ForTheSwarm)
Knights Templar -John (Rifleman223), Cadia Moore (100thlurker))

[Anoiktos]

Reban looks at his erstwhile Captain with distaste, seeing in him all the arrogance of a warrior untempered, a man so caught up in his self-importance that he forgets to account for the strength of his enemies. This does not mean, he reflects, that the man is unskilled; merely that he is overconfident, and that his insistence - on pain of death - that his orders be neither questioned nor countermanded is likely to get him killed.

The dark-skinned man sits firmly beside his chair, content to let the buffoon finish his squawking, and examines the room, letting his peripheral vision do the work. The chairs themselves are a bit small for his larger frame, and they appear equally uncomfortable for the others, but Reban is content to continue his stretching exercises, paying cursory attention to the captain up front until he leaves.

His grey hair, by now almost as white as the snow outside, lays solemnly on his head, and as he stands, clearing the ceiling by little less than a meter, his eyes, chesnut points of dancing light, scan the room. He recognizes only one of the people here, and is unsure of the man's name; he saw him only occasionally during his first and only visit to the Vertex compound. He smiles, and moves towards the windows, contemplating the cold outside.

Reban has worked in the cold before; long ago, during the second mission he'd been on as a sergeant. His men had not reacted well to it, but they were not the hardy sort; they were not soldiers. Reban is both happy and saddened to see that those in this room, for the most part, lack their naiveté.

Recalling the captain's speech, he smiles inwardly, placing both hands on the sill, bracing himself on it as he forces himself not to be blinded by the glare. He stands, suddenly, opens the textured pack by his side and doffs a cold-suit, 'gifted' him by a fallen black-gate soldier. It still displays the marks of its previous owner, though they are worn, and the suit has a number of patches and improvements about it.

On the shoulder, a strange coat of arms has been sewn, with the deliberate care of a very patient man. It depicts a kite shield, a simple scale-like shape in a dark brown color that shows up well against the grey-white color of the suit itself. In its center is noticeable a design stitched from golden thread; it is a seed, and from it, stylistically drawn, grows a budding leaf.

This done, he turns to the others and smiles anew, his gaze meeting each of theirs, neither resentful nor afraid, but at peace with the world. He speaks, his voice a calm, confident whisper; it fills the room, and instead of choking it or bouncing off the walls, it simply floats downwards like the lightest of woolen blankets.

"Hi. I'm Aegis, pilot of the Implacable out there. As you might be able to tell, we've been through a bit, but I'd be ready to wager so've each of you. So our moody friend aside, I figure if we're meant to spend some time in training, we may as well make the most of it. Who're you people?"

[ForTheSwarm]

So we're all working for Mechanus with the Arctic Wolves?

Alex listened to the speech without paying too much attention. He had heard it enough times. After the captain left the room, he glanced around at his new comrades. Suddenly, a dark and tall man spoke. "Hi. I'm Aegis, pilot of the Implacable out there. As you might be able to tell, we've been through a bit, but I'd be ready to wager so've each of you. So our moody friend aside, I figure if we're meant to spend some time in training, we may as well make the most of it. Who're you people?" A short silence occured as everyone looked around to see who said it. Alex decided to break it by answering, "My name's Alex. Nice to meet you. How long have you been a pilot?"

[Rifleman223]

John stood up and looked at all the other pilots, he knew that they were all Armored Core pilots. John laughed for a minute. John worked in the cold for a while, but he didn't like it very much. John laughed once again as he thought for a minute about his tank.
" So, when do we head out? "
John thought for a minute and just glared at the other pilots again, he noticed that there were 2 tank pilots. He knew this because tank pilots were slightly more muscular than armored core pilots because they had to do more work. Tanks required more work and were becoming obsolete to Armored Cores.

[Jaxander]

"Alex, hm?" Alexander Squidar asked. "Fancy that. Alexander here, and I suppose I'll go by the long of it since you've already introduced yourself as the short." Alexander scans the faces about him, eyes falling for a second on the tank pilot. Eager to move, but he should be more aware of the changing times around him. Tanks will soon become a thing of the past, and he'd best learn the language of Cores.
"Alexander Squidar, although I'm certain you already knew that, didn't you?" Alexander says with a slight smile at Aegis. "Vertex, if I'm not mistaken. We didn't serve together, but we were there at the same time."

[SolidSamurai]

OOC: Miles allowed in yet? If not then, sigh... tell me what needs to happen.
Still haven't gotten a PM either.

[100thlurker]

The manufacturers of the Bolo line of Super Heavy main battle tank were a folk who knew the concept of walking battle machines to be silly and childish. Yet, tanks were slowly being phased out of the arena of combat, being relegated as cannon fodder for the shinier warmachines. Unwilling to let the modern battlefield turn into a fethpit, these engineers quickly dissected the success of the Armored Core concept.

1.) Armored Cores used exceptionally modular construction. This allowed for repairs (as long as the availability of spare parts was adequate) to be done at a quicker pace, and express field modifications if the need arised. Construction speeds were quickened 13% over the traditional system, with the design process extended by 30%. It was found that modular exchange of parts was not what it was touted as. Most pilots never changed their weapons systems at all. The greater advantage was the faster construction time and repair function afforded by modular construction.
2.) The Armored Core piloting system allowed for one man to command his machine with about as much effort as it took to wear a business suit. Because of this, a single person could control a war machine that would require the bridge crew of a late 1900 battleship. This was considered the greatest part of the Armored Core’s success. It could take thousands of dollars to train a terrible crew for a simple main Battletank (never mind a super heavy), when for a smidgen of that cost, one could train and Armored Core pilot to excellent condition.
3.) While this was a double edged sword, Armored Cores were an imposing presence on the battlefield due to their height.

While these advantages were great, the failures of Armored Cores were legion. The engineers of the Bolo line of Super Heavy Battle Tank quickly went to work on what would be the first Bolo. It incorporated all of the features of the Armored Core design that were advantageous. Modular construction was faceted into the design process. The greatest success came in the piloting system, with only two hours extra time, a Super Heavy main battle tank pilot could be trained to excellently use their war machine. And if one considered a snorting, roaring, smoke-bellowing mountain of guns and missiles to be “unimpressive” then the said person needed a psychiatrist. So Cadia restrained a sneer at the Armored Core pilots. It would soon be them that would become obsolete in modern warfare. All it would take was time for manufactures to take a reality check. It was not arrogance, merely common sense.

He turned his musings to his current situation. Had he been sent here by the Knights Templar to remove his opposition from their government? The idea left a bad taste in his mouth, and while plausible, he instantly dismissed it. No matter how loudly he could protest, it would not sway their dangerous course to destruction. Not physical destruction, but the destruction of the Knights Templar as a beacon of light in a darkening world. They would become the darkness, joined by the hip to the chaos and incessant squabbling of the successor nations. A terrible end to the Knights Templar.

While he thought, his forebrain was constantly at full situational awareness. It could very well be the mythical sixth sense that Armored Core pilots seemed to gain after interfacing with an Armored Core’s operating system, the one that lay in the heart of his Bolo.

He started labeling and cataloguing the other men assembled in this room. His eyes constantly returned to Reban Hareck. His mind sang shrilly with warning. The man was far more dangerous than anybody else in the room. He was totally devoted to his morals and dreams, a man for whom money was merely a means to an end. This Hareck did not care to let his dreams suffer at the hands of people who were to bound to nations and doctrines. He was what he could be, but he was too bound by habit, obedience, and a lack of true bravery to see it through.

Terribly dangerous.

He finally managed to turn his eyes to the rest of the men. With what information he had, he quickly dismissed the majority as a true threat compared to that Reban. Only the Sergeant had the possibility of matching him, but he was crippled by arrogance and the same faults that kept him bound to the Knights Templar. He rose to his feet. His brown eyes calmly roamed the assembly before him, as he had made most of his preliminary judgment without the benefit of turning his head. He continued to keep his strict discipline intact. He did not know most of these men, and if something went wrong it would be his fault for being lax in a potentially dangerous place. His regulation long coat rustled slightly as he rose.

“My name is Cadia Moore,” he said with a slight rasp (an artifact of the day when his atmosphere scrubbers had failed to clean out some poisonous gas that his foe had bombarded them with). “I am Cadia Moore of the Knights Templar, Order of the Chrome Horse of Blood, Sergeant of the Tenth Lance of God. It will be a pleasure to serve with thee.” He gripped his ceremonial saber tightly, and bowed at the waist. “I pray that we will bear naught but good will to each other,” he finished as he stared at Reban Hareck.

[Rifleman223]

John Glared at the other Knights Templar pilot, he decided to make the introduction to him.
He walked up to him with a smirk on the face.
" Knights Templar? I' m John Richard, Captain of the Twenty Ninth Sword of God. Who might you be my good sir? "
John didn't like the fact that everyone else but him and Cadia were the only Tank Pilots around.

Tanks were always his favorite, easier to build and maintain, but harder to repair. Half of the Knights Templar were tank pilots anyways. The Phoenix Class Main Heavy Battle Tank were the main use till the Super Heavy Tanks arrived.

[100thlurker]

For a split second, Cadia’s eyes narrowed with distaste, and confusion, at the younger Knights Templar’s speech craft. He dismissed the thought regarding the youngster’s skill with the tongue, the boy would probably temper with age. After another split second of eternity, Cadia rasped, “There must be some misprision upon my part. I could not have interpreted thee correctly. Surely, I did say mine origin earlier, did I not?”

He paused.

“Young neophyte, perhaps you seek a more detailed description of me?”

[ForTheSwarm]

Alex spoke rather bluntly to Alexander. "That tank pilot seems so full of himself. And I really wonder if he learned all his English from the 12th century.", he whispered.
Addressing the whole group, he asked, "What do you think our first mission will be?"

[Rifleman223]

John glared at the Knight, and replied.
" Let me speak in my native tongue, I was trying to make a introduction to you. No need to disrespect me. " He tightened his fist and glared at him. " I will take my leave. "
John turned around quickly and prepared to walk, but he faced towards the Knight and punched him across the face.

" Don't ever call me that ever again. "
John walked away glaring at the other pilots, which were glaring at him. He never liked the 12th Century talk around here anyways.

[Epyon94]

Orsus watched the exchange between the two knights members. Upon seeing the fight he jumped up and ran between the two tank pilots.
"Hey you two." He yelled, "There's no reason for a fight, unless your working of the other side!" He watched the pilot called John give him a dismissive glare.
"Sorry, man" Orsus said as he turned to the pilot who had been on the recieving end of the punch. "I guess he's alittle touchy. Best leave him alone I suppose."
Extending a hand out to the pilot he continued "So your a tank pilot, eh? Well I guess I'm as close to a tank pilot as you can get. My AC's the big one, 4 legs, 'The Black Dragoon', by call sign. You seem like a stand up guy, and I hope that we get a chance to fight together. Oh I'm Orsus by the way."

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[OOC: This is my actual character, Orsus Karchev, he's a quad pilot.]

[ForTheSwarm]

OH BURN! Epyon, is the Black Dragoon a reference to the Protoss unit Dragoon? And are you going to post your character sheet?

[Jaxander]

Alexander stood silent, regarding Alex with recognition but had deliberatly not made any comment himself concerning Cadia's dialect. He figured it wouldn't be a good idea to get on anyone's bad sides, at least not this early on, even though some had already jumped to that opportunity. They would more than likely be working together for a while, and so he would simply learn everyone's personalities as best he could. Get an idea for how they handle themselves, and, most likely, how they handle their mechs.

[100thlurker]

Cadia tried not to let his particular amusement with the young neophyte show. As it was, one of his eyebrows rose slightly. The punch had the markings of slight sloppiness, but youthful strength always had a quality of its own. He had had to bend slightly at the knees in order to take the impact.

The younger templar could be a soft spot in combat however. If he was so rash as to strike a battle brother, how would he react if given orders in a combat situation? It could merely be that it was youth that clouded his judgment, untempered by greater experience. Most soldiers, especially pilots of large war machines, were like such at their first outings. If that was the case, than the boy would become an excellent knight. That was of course, as long as his passion was correctly channeled, though he might not be the brightest spear in the rack. Or, it could be deeper anger or rage bottled up within him. The first would disappear with time. The second however…Suddenly his amusement turned into horror

Damnation, he did not want to have to fight alongside another warrior whom killed out of revenge. It was dangerous to not only the pilot in question, but to those who fought alongside him. How could the neophyte build comradeship and trust with his brothers in arms when he was not even listening to the same tune? The issue had to be resolved soon, or it might end up killing them too.

He chuckled hoarsely as his black humor struck; the neophyte would assuredly make life interesting.

"Hey you two." A man yelled, "There's no reason for a fight, unless your working of the other side!" He watched the pilot called John give him a dismissive glare.
"Sorry, man" Orsus said as he turned to the pilot who had been on the recieving end of the punch. "I guess he's a little touchy. Best leave him alone I suppose."
Extending a hand out to the pilot he continued "So your a tank pilot, eh? Well I guess I'm as close to a tank pilot as you can get. My AC's the big one, 4 legs, 'The Black Dragoon', by call sign. You seem like a stand up guy, and I hope that we get a chance to fight together. Oh I'm Orsus by the way."

Cadia smiled warmly and shook the other pilot’s arm sharply. “If I would muster an assumption his past does cast a shadow upon him,” he answered. “Bitterness gnaws his very soul. And revenge, let us not forget revenge, hm?”

He shook his head. “Forgive an old veteran of his musings. Thou do seem like a man with good fibre upon his heart. Well, Orsus, I must say that it is good to meet with thee. Mine machine is that mountain of guns and missiles over there, it has been a faithful steed.”

[Anoiktos]

As Cadia introduces himself, Reban nods thoughfully; he has heard his dialect before, amongst the politicians and 'lords' of Neonia after the Pendragon's ascension, though he was never quite clear on its purpose. A flurry of other thoughts and ideas pass through his mind, recollections of the Templar he worked with in the past, their creed and idealism, but before he can comment, another of the Templar interrupts, and the two begin fighting, apparently intent on out-blustering each other.

Reban is not particularly interested in watching two Templar fight each other over nothing, but something in the deliberate way that the elder Cadia goads the younger unnerves him; he has seen that sort of tempered judgment before, and the Templar's willingness to use it so callously does not suit him.

A more reasonably soft-spoken man - Orsus - seems genuinely interested in the goings-on, and cheerful enough to bother trying to calm the templars' argument, but Reban notes that he chooses to do so after one of them had already motioned to leave.

"I find it doesn't really matter how you speak, so long as people can understand you. Nice to meet you, Alex and Alexander. And no, I can't say I knew you beforehand; I joined Vertex slightly after you did. Been otherwise retired for some time now." He winks playfully, and nods thoughtfully towards Alex: "I figure the best way to answer that kind of question, Alex, is to say it really doesn't matter how long you've been a pilot, only how good you are. And I'd say I'm fairly good. Decent, even." With that, he turns his attention to the elder Templar, seeing as the younger one appears to have left the room.

"Nice to meet you, Sergeant Moore. And as for your prayer, well, I wouldn't have it any other way. Sorry about our comrade there, though. I've seen quite a few hotheads, but not too many who'd strike an elder officer with so little provocation. Still, he'll turn out all right in the end - though it may be as a pile of scrap. You win some, you lose some, as it were." He mentions nothing about Cadia's actions, still smiling broadly.

"I figure Orsus here's hit the nail on the head. Or the bolt with a wrench; you guys ever nailed a house together? Hard work, but I figure it's good for the soul to know you live in a place you built yourself. And that's what we've got going here; a fine group of men - some with their differences - that we've got to build into a team, so when the mission comes in, we're ready to roll." He grins, turning about to face the various mechs and tanks assembled below;

"It's funny; In my youth, Tanks were all I ever saw; my AC and I were one of a handful in a wide battlefield. And now, years later, I find tanks are coming back into style. Ain't the world a crazy place?"

[ForTheSwarm]

"It sure is. I've seen lots of technology changes in just the six years I've served in the Arctic Wolves. I just have to wonder what's gonna come next." Changing the subject, Alex asked, "What do you think our first mission will be?"

[Anoiktos]

Reban glances towards Alex; something in the man's tone causes him to grin bemusedly, and he chuckles softly. He looks about, outside and in, nodding towards each of the people in the room.

"Hm. You asked that earlier, didn't you. I suppose it's a fair question, though I've no idea why you'd ask me. Hmmm. Well, he probably has four things in mind. First, making us shape up as a team. Second, scaring the bejeesus out of us. Third, getting us used to working in this environment, and fourth, making himself look good. So while I've no real idea what orders he's been given, and so I'll probably be wrong if I guess anything specific, I'd say we're going for a nice long hike that's likely to be interrupted by some not-quite-unexpected action, which probably won't go quite as he planned unless he's as good as he thinks he is. Meanwhile, we'll have to mop up whatever unexpected variables come into play." Reban's smile manages, somehow, not to twist into a smirk as he speaks, and he plops calmly down into a chair, glancing upwards.

"Well, or of course we have a nice bor-er, instructive set of training missions without any real purpose to 'em, or we get sent into combat for no good reason before even being briefed. This is war, not snakes and ladders, despite persistent military thinking to the contrary. If anything works out as planned, that's because someone on the other side screwed up."

[100thlurker]

Something dragged at Cadia’s mind. The boy, his mind constantly returned to the neophyte. This could have drastic consequences for all involved if he did not solve it. How had it happened?

The young knight had said nothing terribly wrong; he had merely not heard him…

This meant he was the instigator of the difficulties. He winced mentally. Had he been spending too much time amongst the upper circle? Constantly arguing with the path of the Knights Templar until his every word became an attack, or an insidious attempt at gaining an ally? The old knight mulled over the thought. If that was the case, then this assignment could very well be a blessing for him. Cadia shivered slightly. Ah but that this were not the case! That the knights were not slowly falling, falling, till there was no one between chaos and darkness! That what was left of the old guard would not have to fight with their battle brothers, in spirit if not in battle, were not reality!

He would have to find the boy, and soon. He had made himself the foe here.

That Reban Hareck spoke and Cadia shivered, had the man seen what he had just seen himself? He continued when one of the other pilots asked something or the other.

"Well, or of course we have a nice bor-er, instructive set of training missions without any real purpose to 'em, or we get sent into combat for no good reason before even being briefed. This is war, not snakes and ladders, despite persistent military thinking to the contrary. If anything works out as planned, that's because someone on the other side screwed up."

Cadia shook his head. “Alas, if war is not like, ah, dueling. War is forcing the foe away from the mortal coil in the way the butcher slaughters. As quickly as possible, as hard as possible, and with as little risk to himself as possible. War excludes the voice of Order. Through force, does one make his view superior from that of his foe. From this standpoint, Might makes Right. After all, only the victor writes the manuscript. Even if, of course, blood is the ink the politician must use.”

He paused.

“Excuse me, I must take my leave. Amends must be forged with the neophyte,” he rasped, “Presuming, of course, that I can find him, and he does not challenge me upon our honour.” He chuckled at that and strode out of the room.

[Anoiktos]

Reban nods to the Sergeant as he leaves, standing long enough to perform a rather adept bow in the rather unusual style of the Templar.

"It's always a good thing to see people strive for mutual understanding." He turns, scratching the stubble on his chin in thought; "And I think he's right; War is, a lot of the time, excused by the victor as righteous struggle. Of course, any transaction of blood is still a transaction, and I always wonder who, exactly, is profiting from the crime. Certainly not the dead, and, I think I can say from personal experience, not the killer. Except in a crude sense. I keep wondering - just who did fire those missiles, at the start of the war? And why? Can't help but feeling someone out there's pulling our legs." He sighs, and the twinkle in his eyes seems out of place, much like the rest of him; an apparently war-deriding man who smiles at the thought of being manipulated and voluntarily joins a mercenary corps.

"Of course", he winks, "There's always the thrill of battle. I'll drink to that."

[Jaxander]

"And not much can top that, can it?"Alexander asks Reban. "The idea that you are in command of hundreds of tons of armor and arms, thunder and power. War may not be like dueling, in all respects, but war with the Armored Cores is very much like a duel. Keep up the punches until you find the weakness, or until he makes his mistake."

He takes a seat beside Reban. "There's a lot of work inside each AC that goes unnoticed. They keep eyes on their heat meters and targeting systems, but they forget to factor in recoil compensation, weapons cooldowns, jointed armor plates, or even the fact that the old glass-style cockpits are just as much of a drawback as the computer-guided HUDs in the fully-enclosed ones."

Leaning back in his chair, he looks sidelong out the window, at the Sting Ray below. Black and a pale blue in color, it is a light urban mech, and he takes his pride in it. "Keep it light. That's my own rule. Everyone packs on the weapons and the gear and the armor. Everyone expects AC's to be slow. The faster you are, the more of an advantage you have." He nods to Reban. "Just like dueling," he says with a grin.

[Anoiktos]

Reban seems momentarily lost in some kind of reverie as Alexander waxes lyrical about AC command, but by the end of the man's description, he seems more unnerved than anything else. Uncharacteristically so.

"Yes. Something like that. Except that it's difficult to protect those near you if your only defense is to leap out of the way. I personally prefer a good mix of speed and staying power, but that may be because my reflexes just aren't what they used to be." His expression appears to do a backflip, as he smacks his hands together and rubs them cheerfully. "So then. I'm not really sure what our fearless leader intended us to do here, but I suppose we're all in the same boat. Anything you guys think we should know about you? Any questions you guys care to ask? I doubt any one of us'll be able to answer anything, but between each of us, we should be able to figure out most things."

[Jaxander]

"A life of war has taught me that it is impossible to win without casualties, so those incapable of their own protection are already in over their heads," was what Alexander would've retorted with. The words of Reban stung him deep, as if he was mocking Alexander for a loss which he most assuredly had no idea about, but Alexander kept his cool, taking a deep breath and reminding himself to keep friends here, not spark conflict, as the boy had done.

[ForTheSwarm]

Alex quietly listened to Raben's and Alexander's conversation. Then, after Raben asked everyone if they any questions, Alex piped up.

"Well, I suppose it would be good to know each other's general battle tactics. I myself am usually not on the front of the battle lines, due to my lucky specialty of sniping, but if we want to work together as a team, knowing everyone else's tactics would be helpful, to say the least."

[Anoiktos]

Reban scratches his head lightly, obviously unnerved by something about Alexander's calm, level expression. He seems, however, to put whatever concerns he has on the back burner as he replies to Alex's suggestion:

"I try to keep myself mobile enough to be able to fit most roles, though I'm not one for close combat, I suppose. Hm." He draws the nail of his index finger down the length of the opposite forearm, leaving a whitened mark.

"I suppose, Alexander, that I should clarify. I've piloted a number of AC's in my time, from light to tank, and done some infantry work on the side. I helped out as a medic a few times when my mech was under repairs. And perhaps I'm just projecting my fears on you unfairly - I know well enough what a burden that can be - but one of the worst things I ever saw was a rookie pilot, barely out of training, who lasted about ten seconds out in the open. He was in my company - told me about his wife, little girl on the way, and he'd joined up to protect them. And then he was dead, and I found myself wondering why." He shrugs somewhat impassively.

"Now, at first, I told myself that that was war. People die now even as they did back then, but the whole truth of it is that few men are islands; like as not, every man I gunned down had a family, people who cared for him. And sooner or later, I got to the point where I couldn't just ignore it; I couldn't just let it go. After that, I lit a candle for each of them, 'till I ran out of candles, and now I just keep count in my heart." Reban looks glum now, his eyes, before so brilliant, appear as sour as vinegar, and his voice grows hoarse.

"By the time I'd had my own family, the ache was gone; I had other things to worry about. You ever seen a little tyke look into your eyes, wide open? Stare at you like you were all the world had to give? People say it can break your heart, but it mended mine, and for the first time since the war, I felt alive." He looks up at Alexander, and gone is the happiness of before, or the confidence; Reban looks like nothing so much as a haggard old man, filled with guilt. "Now they're gone, and the ache is back; I joined up because hell - what else do I know how to do? Spent my whole life killin' people, and I'm still here - so I figure I'd best pay back the chance I had by makin' sure you all get that chance, too."

He smiles, but there are tears in his eyes.

"So I tell you - I will do my best to make sure whatever we're sent to do, we succeed. And if by doing so, we can end this war, and you all can walk away whole, I'll be all the happier for it. And if you hate me for being patronizing, or for telling you a story you can't or don't want to understand, or for bein' a bleedin' heart old man, then I can accept that. Been accepting it ever since my son turned fourteen. Just don't expect me not to do the very best I can."

With that, he completes another of those strange mental backflips, smiling broadly as though he hadn't been making one of the most hypocritical speeches a mercenary could ever make, and asks:

"So; what's your preference, Alexander? Light scout and reconaissance?"

[Epyon94]

Orsus' attention faded in and out of the conversation, until he heard them start to talk about tactics.

"Well, I suppose it would be good to know each other's general battle tactics. I myself am usually not on the front of the battle lines, due to my lucky specialty of sniping, but if we want to work together as a team, knowing everyone else's tactics would be helpful, to say the least." Alex said

"Well," Orsus replied, "I guess I'm teaming up with you, The Black Dragoon, was built for firepower. I'm sure you know what twin PPCs can do, so I'm not going to explain it." He paused, wondering exactly how much he should reveal about his AC, luckily Reban had just finished another of his almost hypocritical speaches. Orsus quickly walked over, and put a hand on the old man's shoulder.

"Hey there, we've all seen some bad stuff. This is war, and the sooner it ends the better. Don't beat yourself up about things that could have happened, man. Or you'll just end up all torn up inside and unable to help those in need." Orsus said, his hand still resting on Reban's shoulder.

[SolidSamurai]

Miles, who'd been listening in on the group earlier and had remained as little more than a shadow, like an AC with an auxiliary camo-mod cloak adjusted to light waves, suddenly cut in, "Are we going somewhere with this... this conversation? In my personal belief, a time like this would be better spent meditating. S'always good meditating... prepared for war... n'shit like that..." His speech cut into slurred muttering and he faded away once more into the background, as if he was attempting to avoid social feedback.

[ForTheSwarm]

"Well, Reban, my AC is suited for quite a few roles, being perfect at none of course, but the one I'd say I'm best at would be hit-and-run. I've had a lot of experience with it serving in the Blizzard Squadron, which specializes in H&R in case you don't know. It's pretty elite, actually, the only reason I got in is because most AC pilots focus on heavy fighting." Chuckling, he continues. "But I can do OK in other positions. My AC isn't very specialized."

[SolidSamurai]

"My AC is suited for taking damage, and shooting whatever it sees," Miles cut in again, but then his mouth clamped shut and he stopped talking altogether, mentally bracing from any possible social feedback.

Miles was a computer whizz, but his brilliance and awareness had also netted him a job as a pilot. His parents had peer pressured him. His dad, a dreamer, told him to defend the ideologies of his Canadian heritage (liberal inclusion) and German ancestors (devotion to a cause) before him.... and so he obeyed.

Despite his timid nature, he certainly didn't look too timid from afar. The 21 year old kid worked out, a lot. The people he'd met among joining the tank legion often visited the gym on off days (and sometimes on days). He'd made a few friends, but remained anonymous in larger groups.

Upon aquiring mortgage for his own mech, he'd modded it with arms, turning the war machine into an awkward assortment of what could only be denoted as mecha and tank, apparently with-holding the belief that it could hold more armor that way. The nickname 'rhino' was in relation to his AC, not him. Soon enough, the name rebounded off the souless killing machine itself, now referring more to his skill as a pilot. He played the field like an honest rhino. In all simulations. And on the practice ground itself.

OOC: Tag, anyone.

[Rifleman223]

People started to glare, as John started to pace. Constant memories and thoughts raced through his head at a fast pace. He shaped his hand into a fist. He paced even faster and faster.
John started to laugh, everyone glared at him again, some called him crazy. Some horrible things went through his thoughts that time, he wanted to hunt his enemies down and gut them. He definitely hated the damn Knights from the Templar, they think their all invincible and stuff.
" Damn, knights..."
He hated the fools who tried to mock him. He hated the way the Knights talked, he hated everything about the Knights, he was in it just because they protected him through the years.

[Jaxander]

"So; what's your preference, Alexander? Light scout and reconaissance?"

"I can do recon easily enough, but my specialty is light urban support and hit-and-run tactics. Sting Ray's got some kick to her, despite the fact that she been majorly down-sized. I've sold a lot of the parts off of her in the past four years or so. However, I'm constantly on the look out for scrap and upgrades. Plus I'm working on my own customization as well, something that would solidify, well, let's call it urban superiority."

[SolidSamurai]

Miles noticed John then.

Completely forgoing all aware to tentativeness, he moved closer to the more slender man.

"Meditate, comrade. S'always, good to prepare for war in that fashion?" It came out awkwardly, like a question and the quiet method in which he spoke may have been hard to understand, had anyone not tried to listen.

Instead of showing so much stress. At least I think you're showing stress. Are you?

Suddenly, Miles felt a rush in his head, and his vision became outlined by some sort of a pure milky white.

What the hell am I feeling?

Only in it because they f***in' protected me and family all these long years... knights. KNIGHTS!!!!

Miles was suddenly more confused then ever.

So, naturally, he sat down again. Too nervous to share this sudden feeling, or emotion with anyone. He'd need more meditation, it seemed.

[Rifleman223]

John looked at Miles.
" How am i supposed to concentrate with this s*** going through my mind damn-it. "
He swore for another minute and glared at the other knight.
" Let the games begin i guess. " He said.
Things went through his mind all through the day, maybe the cause was PTSS(Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome). Not many tank pilots of this century were diagnosed with this syndrome, only the ones who were affected at a very young age. Hallucinations would appear out of nowhere in John's head and just make him go crazy. John started to laugh again, out of nowhere turning back to Miles.

[SolidSamurai]

OOC: Disregard what I said earlier about PTSS.

Miles seemed to have slid far away from John by the time John finally finished his own dark musings to look at him once more.

Is he laughing at me?

The strange feelings in Miles head had disappeared.

[SolidSamurai]

OOC: I may totally be a humble advocate of patience, but this is a little much.

If anyone is still interested, post please.

[Jaxander]

Alexander stood outside, wrapped in a thick overcoat and a scarf pulled over his face. His engineering goggles, as usual, were resting on his forehead, and he looked up at Sting Ray quietly.

He had left the group up in the meeting room nearly fifteen minutes ago to come down and admire his mech, if not modify her a bit more as well. The air outside was cold, and it would only get colder as dusk went down to night, but he thought he had seen a repair and refit garage somewhere around the corner of the structure.

Sting Ray was small compared to other mechs, even other light mechs. Alexander wanted her as light as he could make her, and still holding some decent weapons. He, at six feet, stood about as tall as her calf, whereas he only came up to the ankle of other, biped mechs.

With a great sigh, he tromped through the snow to her left leg and climbed up the ladder to the cockpit. He sat inside, closed the glass hatch, and started her up.

Generator powered on.
MECH STATUS: 15%
Heat output set to +30%.
Full power to modular mobilization systems.
MECH STATUS: 62%
Reroute all weaponry power to generator and MMS.
Power down Cockpit hud. Reroute Cockpit power to generator and core nodes.
MECH STATUS: 100%
MECH READY AND ACTIVE.

That was another thing about having a light Core. She'd start up faster than anything else. With a small body and less attatchments, power didn't take nearly as long to get to the correct nodes.

With a shudder that slightly rocked the snowfall off of her shoulders, Sting Ray's legs geared up, the core humming with it's heat. In no time, the mech was ready for movement, even in this cold. Alexander drove her out of his spot in line, and turned left to face down the canyon of steel and weapons. Sting Ray was definately smaller than the other mechs, but he never felt more comfortable than in this cockpit. No other mech would compare to her in his eyes.

The thudding of her pods was a dull sound in the quiet, windy evening, and he maneuvered her around to the Refit Station. The shudder door was lifted open, and Alexander pulled Sting Ray up to the Check-In box. The Arctic Wolves rep who stood there laughed a bit when he saw the small core. The box was designed to be accessible for all mechs, so it was nearly fifteen feet above Alexander's eye level. With a hiss and an emission of air as the cockpit pressurized, the glass hatch lifted open.

"Looks like you need a refit," the guard hollered down to Alexander.

Alexander smirked because the gaurd didn't realize how right he was. "You have no idea."

"And what sort of refits you planning on?"

"I'll need the standard jump jet crew, but leave your crew captain in his office. I know more than enough to lead them myself." Alexander said with a grin.

The guard's mouth twisted with skepticism. "You do realize that our Refit Crew Captains are certified Mech Techs?"

Alexander nodded. "So am I," he said calmly. "All I need is the Jump Jet crew and two sets of +AA Grade Standard Mount Jets, Powerall brand, if you've got it."

The guard's eyes widened. "What the hell do you need two sets of +AA Grade Powerall Jets for?"

Alexander smirked. "You got them or no?"

"We've got plenty of +AA Grades, I'd have to check and see if there's still two Powerall's, though. And I will need your account code."

Alexander leaned back into his mech's cockpit and tapped a few buttons on the left side of his seat. That sent the transmission to the Guard's Check-In box for Alexander's Credit Account, and the costs for the crew and the two jets would be deducted automatically. After a few minutes, the guard looked down to Alexander. "Alright, take bay 2D. And you're in luck. Just had a shipment of Poweralls last week. I'll have the crew bring it up and wait for you in your bay."

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

The Sting Ray hung in bay 2D, second level of the garage, reserved for jump jet and MMS refits. It was nearly impossible to refit the Modular legs and do leg attatchments while the mech was standing on the ground. When you have that much tonnage on top of it, the legs won't budge. But life the thing up into the air with the Magnetic Arms, and it suddenly becomes easily accessible from a second-level garage bay.

"You want us to do what?" The head tech asked Alexander.

Alexander pointed at the blueprint again, scribbled over in countless places as he had made his changes.

"You really want to waste a full set of +AA's on this?" Another tech asked him.

"Look, their the only ones that have enough base fuel to do what I want to do. Now, you've been paid. Start working on retarding the output of one of those jet sets, and you two start mounting the others on the thigh mounts. If we can get her done within a few hours, I'll buy you all a couple of rounds."

Alexander stood back and watched the crew go to work, two of them walking out to the movable catwalks and begin prepping the thigh mounts for jet attatchment, and the other three beginning to open up the other pair of +AA Grades to see if they could slow the output of the jets.

Alexander knew it was a long shot, but if he could pull it off, Sting Ray would become a name known to all.
[TAG: ANYONE!]

[Rifleman223]

John's tank started up randomly, the H.U.D screen shown the status of the tank. The Phoenix a tank full of revenge, fueled for revenge.

Engine Status:
Fuel: 100% Full
Integrity: 100%
Weapons Status:
Main Cannon 1 - 300 MM: 100%
Ammo: AP Rounds, Explosive Rounds - Full
Main Cannon 2 - 300 MM: 100%
Ammo: AP Rounds, Explosive Rounds - Full
Machine Gun - 200 MM: 100%
Ammo: Incendinary Rounds - 100%
Machine Gun - 200 MM: 100%
Hull:
Front Armor - 100%
Left Side Armor - 100%
Right Side Armor - 100%
Rear Armor - 100%
Beginning software check.

The engine roared as it pushed fuel through its compartments. It was a beast indeed. The tank was a strong opponent, except to its predecessor tanks built after it.

John glared at the other pilots as he fastened his pilot gloves and sprinted outside, the others wondered what he was doing. John jumped on his tank hull and hugged as if he loved it.
" Baby, you kept me safe for years, now its time for revenge. "
Thirst for blood overcame, John as he tightened his fist. He climbed in his pilot seat and grabbed hold of his pistol in the weapon rack next to him. Quickly he rolled out, the H.U.D telling him where to go to meet up with the airship.
" Enabling auto-pilot. Computer you know where to go. " He laid back in his chair and the tank pushed its engine to the max, it was faster than its newer versions of the tank. A roaring 50 MPH was faster than any tank, and its range was alright.

[SolidSamurai]

OOC: Probably would be nice to keep the OOC thread open just so I can remember my own statistics. ;)

IC:

Nervously, Miles made his way to the Iron Hide. A tank with plenty of armor. The downset was that it could barely move. And stripping it to make any worthwhile modifications could take weeks without the proper machinery.

"Ah, Miles is here. Time to go to work boys."

"Yep, you said it."

Miles barely communicated with his crew of techs but they'd grown used to it over the years.

Recently, the tank hybrid was already in decent condition and so all that really made sense was to power wash the external, soap the internal open areas and apply yet another layer of 'heavy disaster proof', or HDP chemical paint mixture. Organic oil, specially ordered by Miles himself and shipped from a factory close to a farm hundreds of klicks away, had already circumvented itself through the various internal tubes that helped keep the hybrid working in order.

Poking his head out from the open cockpit, in full uniform and a small MP webbed to his waist, he spoke, "It's war, guys. I'll... I'll try to be back."

This drew quizzical looks from the technicians on Miles reserved strip, but nevertheless, they saluted and continued going about their duties.

"Man, I don't even know if I'll feel anything if we lose our pilot out there. And he's been boss for little over a year now..."

"Boss is a kid. Doesn't acknowledge the presence of others all that much. No big deal, dude."

"Figures, considering he hasn't even got a girlfriend, despite the field he's into."

"Right, dude. As if that matters when you're not looking to settle down. Just shut up, and go help someone else at one of those other strips."

"You're planning on waiting 'til you settle down... ?!"

"Christ, I mean it soldier."

"Whatever... I guess it's good to avoid bonding with the boss these days. I mean, they're your boss and all. Not like I'd really wanna be that keen with you higher ups..." And with that, the muttering technician drifted away to some other task.

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

Inside his cockpit, Miles had descended into an apt modem of concentration. He ran a solo diagnostic. And then he booted up the pilot's interface: A hologram that could switch between two and three dimensions as well as even display a '4 dimensional' map of elevation levels like a skyscraper without walls, after extensive mem-mapping of a specific area (which could be assisted by camera drones that Miles had not bothered to prepare). If things really went in the rough, he could switch visuals to 'windshield' modum, which provided crystal clear video of what was directly in front of him, complete with precisely calculated peripheries; as if he were peering out towards the blank sky without any sort AC covering.

He'd learned how to pilot mechs long ago. However, his pride went into the tank, specifically a neat combination of the two.

A quick prompt jump started the jets for take off and tuned up voc comm channels for all units, listening intently for orders and intel.

When it came to maneuvering, he was planning on jump jetting to stable ground away from strip traffic and then simply driving from there.

[Jaxander]

Alexander had his goggles over his eyes as he pushed one of the mech techs out of the way and mounted the second, and now modified, +AA Grade jump jet to Sting Ray's ankle. Even from inside the Refit Station, he heard the sound of other mechs starting up, and he glanced over his shoulder breifly to get a glimpse of who was leaving and for where.

Sure enough, the two tank pilots had found their respective vehicles and were on the move. He didn't know where to, or what for. Probably to settle some Tank duel. The loser'd be forced to accept that Cores are superior.

Alexander smirked at the idea, and then another thought came to him. Did he miss orders? Was he too eager to make his final modifications that he wasn't present when orders were given to the pilots? No, couldn't be. There'd be more than just the tankers out and about then. He quietly went back to work.

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

"So what the hell do you think this guy's doing?" One of the Jet Crew asked the head tech.

"Hard to say. Why would he retard the output of one of the sets so that they don't exceed 5% maximum output? What would that do?"

The first technician studied Alexander carefully, watching him mount the Poweralls. He noticed that they weren't being mounted in an ordinary fashion. "Damn him, does he know what he's doing?"

The tech jogged along the catwalk, feet clanging on the metal grate. He came to Alexander, who was busy at work, sparks flying from his mech's ankle.

"Hey! Hey, Alex! You're doing it wrong!" The tech said.

Alex stopped working, lifted his googles and turned to face the tech. "What?"

"You're doing it wrong! The way you're mounting those jets, they're pointing backwards. They'd push your mech face first in the ground."

Alexander smirked, put his goggles back over his eyes, and went back to work.

The tech returned to stand beside his crewmate. "That guy's either suicidal or insane."

"Or brilliant." The second one said.

"What? What's so smart about that?"

"I think I've figured out what he's trying to do," the second tech said. "And if I'm right, he's going to reinvent mechs in urban warfare."

[Rifleman223]

The airship took off, John glared at the engineers working on the tank.
" What the hell... Load it up with AP and Explosive rounds only. " He turned to the other one who opened up the engine compartment. He tried to pull something out.
" Don't touch that! " John yelled.
" Why? It's a CPU unit why is it in a tank?"
" Cause, it just is, now leave it alone. " John replied

John glared at the cannon for a second.
" Hook up another heat sink to those cannons. I' m gonna need it. "
John turned to the other engineer moving the shells.
" Take it easy on those. " John laughed as he struggled.

The tank looked mean with a machine gun attached to the sides of the massive turret. While the massive turret carried 2 heavy anti tank/anti infantry 300MM cannons, firing AP rounds and Explosive rounds, but the even more deadly part of the tank was what lied inside the engine, if the tank was heavily damaged and shut down, the systems inside would fry from a electric surge.
suffer a massive electric surge and sh

[SolidSamurai]

Iron Hide 2.0 HUD UI
Section: Input Manifest
Subsection: AC Diagnostic

Core: Heavy
Cock: Sniper
FCS: Ballistic
Armor: Hardened
Generator: Heavy
Arms: Heavy
Legs: Treads
Condition Summary: Undamaged

Subsection: Weapons Diagnostic

Weapons:
Two 300mm Cannon
Two 180mm ARs (mounted on arms and torso/front panels, etc.)
Ammo: 300mm/180mm rounds
Condition Summary: Undamaged

Heat Output: 8/round (ARs), 8/round average/22 every second round (cannons)
Total (on full attack): 8/round (or 24/every second round)
Heat Input: 0/54

Subsection: Appliances/Accessories

Add Ons:
- Extra Armor: Hardened
- Jump Jets
- Extra Ammo (180mm)
- Night Vision
- ECM
- Extra Heatsink
- Self-detonation
- Advanced OS
Condition Summary: Undamaged
--------------

Miles steadily exhaled. Now idle on the open tundra and... just a few klicks from a frozen lake it looked like, he preferred to wait comfortably inside his machine.

[Anoiktos]

"Pop it, Ayp" Reban says, offhandedly, as he approaches the Implacable. He watches a few of the other mechs and both tanks begin moving, and as the tanks roll off, the odd, layered architecture of the Implacable springs outwards, neatly extruding a ladder from its heat-resistant interior. Heating doesn't appear to be a problem for this mech; its multiple laser batteries and shield generator both hook into the great number of heatsinks that dominate its frame, neatly layered near the cockpit, and various tubes and wires are visible within, apparently coating them as they trail off to other locations. Aegis steps inside, placing his arms out as the machine embraces him, closing softly around his body as naked wires give way to a smooth, armored backside.


Reban whistles a few tunes into his com; short, biting ditties, as the cam-based HUD activates, showing him diagnostics of the outside; something in the way he whistles seems to command the visuals, as soon enough the HUD settles into a hybrid of modes, outlining strong signatures in infared and unusual X-ray emissions while retaining seminormal visibility and tracking movement. With a sharp note, he locks the machines of his allies into the tracking grid, and the weapons in each hand whir to life, performing basic maintenance. Each of his fingers recieves a faint twinge as each system sends back its status, and he pushes out a few more faint commands, moving his fingers in a practiced manner. Then he cracks open the 'radio' (though optical lines using slowed light are more precise and thus more common), searching for broadcasts using the particularly well-tuned sensory equipment of his cockpit. Whatever feedback he gets, he nods understandingly and then spots a message to Alexander's rather intriguingly modified mech - the only one in easy range for a secure quicktransfer.

"Good Bird you have there. Solid design, for a light. And I'd almost use the boosters the reverse from the way you seem to be planning; few mechs can take a blast of jetfire to the front without losing some stability - or at least heating up the core substantially."

The Implacable stands, swirling around on one leg as Aegis makes a few arm and leg motions inside the cockpit.

"Aegis to Command. Implacable is good to go. Weapon heat's on minimum, gyroscope on full. Awaiting orders."

[Jaxander]

The shutter to the Refit station lifted open slowly and the Sting Ray lumbered outside, onto the snow once again. The tech crews from inside the station gathered at the threshold of the garage, eager to see if Alexander's strange and crazy idea would work, and what exactly it would do.

He saw more motion now, the other mechs warming up and the tanks rolling about. One mech danced around a bit, fairly limber, especially for a larger Core. Soon enough he got word of an incoming transmition, although his computer couldn't mark the source. He saw the red light flashing on the limber mech's torso, marking it's radio-use, and he flagged that as the sender of this transmission on his HUD.

It was Reban of the Implacable. He spoke to Alexander with amusement and a sense of guidance. As if Alexander was in need of it.

"Good Bird you have there. Solid design, for a light. And I'd almost use the boosters the reverse from the way you seem to be planning; few mechs can take a blast of jetfire to the front without losing some stability - or at least heating up the core substantially."

Alexander smirked again, not out of any cocky nature, but more because he was ready to wow Reban. "Well, stick around and see if you're right. My heat sinks are pretty well off, and the force output of the second, 'reverse' set of jets has been impaired enough for what I'm planning."

Sting Ray turned about to face a section of open tundra and light, snow-covered evergreens. The evening was turning to night, and the lights from the garage roof as well as his own Mech's shoulderlamps illuminated the white ground ahead.

Adjusting light main light angle: +25 degrees

His shoulderlamps lifted a bit, shining on the ground further in front of Sting Ray, as well as the trees and snow covered hills about seventy yards ahead.

Warming unknown ankle attatchments.

He glanced at his lower HUD, seeing his modified ankle jets flashing grey on his mech's small wireframe, indicating that the mech's operating system recognized that an attatchment was there, but didn't know what kind of attatchment it was. Cores were only outfitted to hold one set of Jump Jets. The set that was applied first, the fixed, standard downward ones, glowed a soft neon blue on his wireframe. The second, altered pair, weren't identified.

"Sting Ray, mark unknown ankle attatchments: +AAC Mod Jets," he ordered.

Unkown ankle attatchments marked: +AA-Custom: Mod Jets.
+AAC Mod Jets warming: 50%
Establishing original power routes.
Minimize heating power: -50%
+AAC Mod Jets warming: 100%
+AAC Mod Jets ready.

"Sting Ray, enlarge heat display."

Heat Display enlarged.
General Mech Heating: 45%
Internal Cockpit Heating: 30%
+AAC Mod Jets Heating: 100%
+AA Jump Jets Heating: 100%
All systems are go.

Alexander looked out the right side of his cockpit, and saw the mena nd women of the tech crews watching in anticipation. Glancing out the left side, he saw the Implacable standing atop the small hill that led down into the Refit Station. Looking straight ahead and gritting his teeth, he concentrated on the main Mech road out of the Refit Station that led towards the rest of the Arctic Wolves' facility. It was wide enough to sport two mechs walking abreast, so he had plenty of room, especially for Sting Ray.

"Sting Ray, execute video recording system."

Video recording system executed.
Video record: Pilot's Headset
Video record: External Forward-Mounting Camera

"Okay, this is Alexander, builder and pilot of the Sting Ray," he said into his mic, which broadcast his voice over general radio waves as well as into the recording system. "Recently bought and mounted two pairs of +AA Grade Powerall Ankle-mouted Jump Jets to the Sting Ray. First pair of Jump Jets are standard issue, unchanged. Second set has been modified to impair force output to 5% total output. Possibilities for later alterations include mounting the +AA Customs on rotatable mounting expos. Such decisions will be made based upon current testing results."

Alexander took a deep breath, and tried to steady his voice, which was laced with anxiety and excitement. "Preparing to commence initial test of dual use, +AA Poweralls and +AA Customs. This is a recording of the first test. Engaging +AACs...now."

Gripping his controls that were placed down by his waist, he turned a small dial on the left-hand stick. He made extra careful to turn the dial slowly. As the dial turned under his thumb, the +AACs burned to life. They ignited and then slowly raised their burn. He watched the heat output and felt the Mech shudder as it exerted the force straight into the ground below.

Keeping his eyes on the heat output display of the +AACs, Alexander saw it rise up to 150%, equalling a 45% burn of the full +AA capability. Basically, his jets were putting out extra heat and force at a less than half of the full propulsion rate. Alexander laughed into his mic with excitement as he felt Sting Ray lift off the ground.

But it didn't shoot off, as with normal jump jets. Instead, it lifted slowly, and hovered about twenty feet from the ground. Snow melted beneath it, and dirt was blown every which way. He heard the tech crews' collected amazement and smiled at it.

"Preparing to engage standard +AAs."

On his right-hand control, he flipped open a small plastic hatch that sat over the red Jump Jet button. His thumb rested on the button carefully, but did not apply pressure.

"Engaging standard +AAs...now."

He pressed his thumb down, and heard the standard Poweralls burn up to full blast.

The blast fired straight backwards, and Sting Ray launched forward with intense speed, keeping just off the ground. It literally flew down the road for nearly a half of a mile before the Poweralls cut. The trees whipped about as the multi-ton mass of metal shot past. When the standards cut their burn, Sting Ray fell, the +AACs now turned off. It fell the 20 feet to the ground, and the whole thing shuddered and settled.

Alexander sat inside his cockpit, dumbfounded into silence. Eventually, though, the radiowaves were filled with his laughter. He had pulled it off. He had used a controlled jump jet to push Sting Ray in a straight direction parallel to the ground instead of jumping straight up like other Jump Jet mechs. The implications for close-quarters fighting were literally limitless.

Then his heat output overlay blinked red multiple times. His overall mech heat output had reach 235%, and the core began to shut down everything save for his internal HUD.

"Test results: positive. Conclusions: fortify leg hull and full body shock absorbers, mount +AACs on rotatable mounting expos, and lock-in +AACs engaged settings to 45% Burn and 150% Heating....oh, and add more heat sinks."

[SolidSamurai]

Miles peered over the horizon at what appeared to be a cold dustbowl. He knew it was impossible to see anything, so he switched visuals to infrared.

A whole ton of heat. Still useless. He switched to magnetometric spectroscopy married with a little blue night vision aid. He caught a signal down slope a few miles out.

Wow, how did that guy... ? Okay, wow. He'd never seen anyone fly that far and that fast in all of his short career in piloting. Which didn't account for much. But nonetheless, what was the word for an engine performance of that extent? Bad ass, he believed. He likened to it.