Breaking Point

[25K Now!]

IC: October M. Brightbridge

 

A drawn sigh - soft and rueful, yet still as gentle as the faint touch of the holiest of saints - escaped quietly from between shining teeth, white as fresh snow on the first sunrise of Winter. The tips of her beatific smile quirked upwards with wistful bemusement, with her eyes (a luminesce, electrifying blue) crinkling serenely to meet it. When she allowed herself to speak, it was once more in a voice of dignity and presence, of an arresting gravitas, yet a sense ... a tinge of exasperated resignation ... it exudated from her.

 

"Without an adjutant ... the Huckebein cannot function."

 

Lush scarlet - graceful, effulgent - brushed back by delicate, thin fingers.

 

"There are not many pilots here in Panama available ... besides you, Private Koizumi."

[Atton Rand]

IC: Sgt. Maxwell took a few steps back. "What I just ordered?" She asked. "Corporal, I would assume you already know the importance of training."

 

She could hear one of the recruits laughing at the unexpected confrontation. The Sergeant walked toward her. "IS SOMETHING FUNNY, PRIVATE!"

 

"Ma'am! NO! MA'AM!" The recruit yelled in response, trying to hide her smile.

 

"I'm giving you exactly three seconds to wipe that disgusting grin off your face RIGHT NOW! ONE! TWO! THREE!"

 

The recruit struggled.

 

"WELL..."

 

"I'M TRYING!"

 

Maxwell reached toward the recruit, her hand forming a cup. "THEN CHOKE YOURSELF!"

 

The recruit reached for her neck.

 

"WITH MY HAND!"

 

The recruit reached for her hand.

 

"DON'T TOUCH ME YOU MISERABLE PIECE OF GARBAGE! NOW LEAN FORWARD AND CHOKE YOURSELF!"

 

The recruit bent over, leaning so that her neck landed in Maxwell's hand. She held it firm for a few seconds before pushing the recruit backwards, leaving her to regain her footing.

 

The Sergeant turned back towards the young woman who had rudely interrupted her training. "Now as for you, I can have you court martialled for this." She reached for the walkie talkie at her belt and turned it on.

 

"This is Sgt. Maxwell. I'm going to need some MPs to come by G barracks. I've got an uncooperative soldier who has just interrupted my training and assaulted a superior officer."

 

"Copy that, Sgt. Maxwell. MPs are on their way."

[Blessed Blade]

-==IC: Chloe==-

 

Something seemed to snap in Chloe's eyes, as she witnessed what had been happening. "... 'Training', huh..." The girl growled, as she ignored her nails digging into her palms. She slowly stepped forward while the drill sergeant was focused on her walkie-talkie. She suddenly swept her leg under Casey Maxwell's legs, and with a furious glint in her eyes, glared down at her.

 

"How can you even call this training? This isn't training, this is just pure and simple abuse. Choking someone? Forcing them to eat out of latrines? I'm even certain you did something else the other day that was just as despicable." Gone for the moment was the typical friendly mechanic. Here, Chloe was simply raging, so mad at how flippant and sadistic this 'instructor' was being, that she didn't even care whether or not things would go badly for her in the long run. "You're just as bad as our enemies. If not worse."

[Atton Rand]

IC: Sgt. Maxwell only needed a second to catch her breath before she got onto her feet.

 

"You're a mechanic, aren't you? You probably haven't seen much action. You should probably learn to distinguish military branches, because if you knew how you'd notice I was a green beret and you shouldn't be messing with me."

 

At that moment, the door swung open, a soldier charged in, pistol in hand. The words MP were written on her helmet in big letters. "STAND DOWN!" She yelled, gun pointed at the arrival.

 

"About time," Sgt. Maxwell muttered.

 

"Is this the one?" The MP asked.

 

"Yeah," Maxwell said. "This woman has physical assaulted me and interfered with the training of these recruits."

[Blessed Blade]

-==IC: Chloe==-

 

"I'm a mechanic and Walker pilot. I've probably seen more actual action than you; especially with the battle the other day." She didn't react when the other soldier appeared, simply watching Maxwell with contempt.

[Krayzikk]

IC:

"Soldiers!" The word couldn't have been uttered at much more than a normal speaking voice, but the intonation was heavy with authority. It was backed by crisp, measured footsteps that carried the speaker into the room. Colonel Enfield did not introduce herself, nor otherwise announce her presence, but there was no need for her to. The commander of the base's likeness and voice were equally unmistakable. "Stand down, all of you."

 

Sharp green eyes moved from Casey to the MP and from the MP to Chloe, daring any of the three to move a single muscle. The Colonel was not a particularly tall woman but her assertive bearing lent a measure of intimidation that might otherwise be lacking. Though the scar, normally faint but unmistakable up close, crossing her right eye somehow made her visage seem fierce. Not that the severity in her gaze didn't already.

"I could hear the lot of you from the hallway. On my way back to the operations center. Which means that half the base can hear you without trying." The senior officer took a few more steps into the room, crossing her arms across her chest and regarding each of them silently a moment longer. Then she looked at the MP and pointed to the exit. "You're dismissed, officer. Now."

 

"Sergeant Maxwell, Corporal Antequil. I am displeased with you both." She looked first at Chloe. "Corporal Antequil, we cannot stand against those enemies if we turn against one another. Infighting helps only the Union. I overlook your actions once and only once, due to extenuating circumstances. This has been a very hard day. The next time disciplinary action will be swift, and I would advise against incurring it. We cannot afford to lose any pilots at the moment."

"Sergeant Maxwell." The Colonel turned, now, to fix the taller woman with a stern stare that bordered on withering. "If I did not have matters far exceeding the day to day operation of this base to attend to immediately, you and I would be having a very, very serious conversation. In fact we will be having it at a later date. For the moment you are relieved of your duties as these trainees' instructor. There will be no training today anyway. We are, after all, in a state of crisis. They will be more helpful in the hangar, we're short on hands as it is."

 

"The Corporal will be more helpful there, as well. You, Sergeant, can make yourself useful or stay out of the way." She turned her head once more, to implicitly include both soldiers. Her previously neutral tone dropped in pitch, softer but with a much more direct undercurrent of steel. "I am in charge of a base that has just suffered the worst attack the Federation has seen in eighty years. My right hand is in the ICU facing odds worse than that. I would not advise backtalk on today of all days, you two."

"Do I make myself clear?"

[Blessed Blade]

-==IC: Chloe==-

 

Chloe nodded in agreement, as that all made sense. "Understood." She nodded again. She knew better than try to push the issue; and knew that things seemed to be resolved enough here. She looked at the colonel apologetically, however, and stood still, waiting for a dismissal so she could get back to what she was intending to do before heading to the hangar.

[Atton Rand]

IC: The Sergeant stood at attention. She had a reputation for being hard on those beneath her, but even she knew better than to try and speak back to an officer at a time like this. She was hardly in the mood to speak up anyway.

 

"Understood, Colonel," She said as calmly as she could. "I'll report to the hangar immediately."

[The UltimoScorp]

OOC: Pretty sure 'being hard on' is underselling it....

 

IC Maigo:

 

She frowned, but it was clear her heart wasn't in it.

 

"If it means getting to be in a walker again....." She started, clearly trying her best to be agreeable.

 

"Then the pleasure is all mine, I suppose." She finished, extending a hand.

[Atton Rand]

OOC: Pretty sure 'being hard on' is underselling it....

 

OOC: Well, she is a soldier who has been affected by being in the military for a long time (not quite PTSD, but the kind of feeling where she keeps serving because it's all she really understands), plus she's a green beret working as a drill instructor. I would have thought being hard on recruits she was supposed to be training would be expected.

 

 

IC: The Sergeant stepped out of the barracks. As she worked her way to the hangar, a few memories flooded through her mind. She could barely remember the last time she had been sent on a mission. Probably a few months ago. There was that one moment when she was recruited for a special mission, only for the officers to pull the plug at the last minute. Now she at least had something to keep her mind occupied, something which did not involve taking out her frustrations on recruits or getting drunk.

 

As she approached the hangar, she saw plenty of activity going on. Mechs were being repaired and armed. Other men and women were busy applying their gear. She moved toward a shelf on which the equipment had been laid out. Sgt. Maxwell began putting on her vest, before moving towards the rack of guns. An assault rifle was her first choice, and she was quick to grab several magazines which she slid into her pockets. She also grabbed a backpack, taking a set of night vision goggles and grabbing a bottle. She moved towards a sink and began to fill it with water.

 

The Sergeant looked around. Preparing herself was hardly an issue. Now she needed to find out where she was needed.

[shadow pridak money gang]

IC:

 

"Know what we need to find time for while you're here?"

 

-Tyler

[Atton Rand]

OOC: There hasn't been much going on in the past few days. That shouldn't be too surprising. I've been struggling to manage exams myself, I wouldn't be surprised if it's also a busy time for some of the others around here.

 

Anyway...

 

IC: The Sergeant looked around. She could see plenty of soldiers readying themselves for action. She had only been told to report to the hangar, not assigned to any platoon. The best thing she could do was to find someone who needed an extra hand.

 

OOC: Sgt. Maxwell is open to interaction. I could assign her to something myself, but this seemed like a good opportunity to work with some other players.

[Krayzikk]

IC:

"What?"

IC:

 

"You are dismissed, Ms. Antequil." The Colonel said, turning slightly and beginning to leave the way she had entered. "I must return to my duties. As do you."

[shadow pridak money gang]

IC:

 

"I'm gonna have to take you for a joyride in Munequita."

 

-Tyler

[Krayzikk]

IC:

"That would be excellent."

 

GM IC:

"Olympic's captain is here? Good, get him to Ops as soon as you can. Colonel'll want to talk to him." Lieutenant Noah was speaking into her earpiece at rapid-fire speeds, almost literally juggling reports and data pads, while she struggled to process the sheer torrent of stimuli coming her way. Orders needed to be given to a dozen different departments, handled by a dozen and a half separate people, and dozens of reports needed to be flagged for the Colonel's review. And with the Major hospitalized, the Colonel busy with the Federation brass and McKinley's de- injury, all of that came down to one woman and her staff.

 

Lieutenant Noah, ranking officer in the Ops center, and acting commander of the Walker Division.

 

Not an experience she ever, ever wanted to repeat. Still, she was at least mostly holding her own. The flow slowed just a little after the first half hour, once people knew what to do instead of just who to ask. That didn't make it any less draining, once it all began to sink in. Reports on civilian casualties were pending, as were damage reports to the city, but she was praying that someone else was on duty when they came in. What she had was enough to make her stomach sink. Seventeen Walkers destroyed, several more seriously damaged, and only one or two fielded machines returning undamaged. Casualty numbers were higher than that. Raptor pilots were almost completely wiped out, and multiple pilots from every squadron were KIA or else unaccounted for. McKinley was in critical condition, along with a number of others, and there had even been losses to the standard infantry thanks to the non-Federation state troops.

 

Given the attack, it could have been worse. But that didn't make it better. And once the bombshell memo crossed her desk, she felt herself need (and take) a few genuine, deep breaths. She snapped her fingers to get the attention of one of her fellow Ops center officers, gesturing for them to copy the materials on her desk before she keyed her headset to the base's broadcast frequency. 

 

"This is Lieutenant Noah. Orders from the top are to stay on alert. This attack was not an isolated incident. Five other attacks have been reported on the five other mass driver cities." Another deep breath. "Reports are still unclear, but the others may have been more successful. Priority is repair of Walkers, until we know more."

"The Colonel will issue a comprehensive statement later. Noah out."

[Atton Rand]

OOC: Wow, activity really has been slow on this board for a while. Probably just everyone's busy with school-related issues. Anyway, I should probably post something.

 

IC: The Sergeant made her way carefully towards Ops, armed and ready for action. She got there just in time to hear a discussion among the officers. Evidently, a lot of walkers had been lost recently. Carefully she made her way in and approached the person who seemed to be in command.

 

"Sergeant Casey Maxwell reporting," she said. "I was instructed to make myself useful. Just tell me where I'm needed."

[25K Now!]

IC: October M. Brightbridge

 

"I hope we work well together."

 

A soft (yet callused as expected of one who piloted such a titanic machine) hand grasped that of Maigo Koizumi's, reciprocating the greeting with a silky touch.

 

"Would you like to see the Huckebein?" she asked, her beautiful, lilting tones music to any ear.

Edited April 23, 2016 by Selfdestructive Workaholic

[shadow pridak money gang]

IC:

 

Since the dawn of their lives as the personal fists of Liberator's twin captains, none of the elites of Meteor and Akai Teams had learned to expect anything too out of the ordinary from each other, their commanders, or the Ark Union. They were largely left alone when the Union's first six Insurrection-class battleships had left the shipyards of New Berlin and started the lonely voyage to Earth - both by Union brass and by the crew who know it would be them who struck the first blows on the city of Horizon. They were spoken about in hushed whispers, if at all, and that was to say nothing of the aura surrounding the rumors that Liberator was unique even amongst the Union forces - the quiet murmurs of gossip that spoke of the next generation of Union Walkers being onboard their ship, awaiting testing in the field at Horizon. Whether that was true or not was classified to ten souls in the Union's war fleet, all of whom were warned by High Command that if a word of sensitive information was breathed across the fleet, the leak could only have come from Liberator. It was an effective way to place a gag order.  

 

At Horizon, the crew of Liberator and the people of Earth had seen the truth of it for themselves - known what was down the pipeline for the Union, watched in awe at the the nimble, fearsome Dea Tacita that carved up clever veteran jockeys like butter. And that was to say nothing of the prototype gathering dust in their Walker bay right now, the Ark Union's nuclear deterrent, Monet's...Monet's...

 

It sent Eastwood Evans a-quiverin' just thinking about his spunky little Sophie behind the wheel of it.

 

Anyway, with all that silence and bad juju about, it had given Meteor and Akai plenty of time to bond. They had spent the deployment leading up to this morning's disastrous attack on Horizon together in this rec room more often than not, and it had been affectionately christened "MELTING POT" by Sancho Stromboli for the eight personalities that, even if galaxies apart in temperament and social prowess, came together to hang out and kill time before they made history. East missed Sancho. The only other man with joie de vivre even approaching his on either squad, Sancho was currently waiting outside Jackson's quarters for the reaming of a lifetime for losing his Behemoth. The clone, Serenade, would've been right beside him, but...

 

Goddamn. Poor fella. 

 

That morose atmosphere hung over the entire MELTING POT, even as Akai tried to play foosball with the same enthusiasm they'd had before the shattered remains of Meteor walked in. For fun, they'd tried tuning into the briefing, but the PA system didn't really capture the full beauty of Sophie Monet ripping into some general or admiral's throat with her bare teeth and scampering down the bridge on all fours to bring it to Jackson.

 

"What's she saying, Sanj?" East asked, even as Nat Cole beside him managed to pull a last minute deflection of what should have been the running back's ninth point. Sanjay Hans, standing at the foot of the table by Nat's goal, tuned his earpiece slightly.

 

"She's speaking too fast," said the handsome young engineer. "She's saying...you worthless sponges, wait until I set your...doghouse on fire?"

 

"You incompetent ######s," Acheri Solomon said mutely, kicked up on the couch and staring into her knees. "You could have killed us all."

 

Eastwood took the Meteor jockey's word for it. Acheri was Monet's best friend, he knew; though she had a large spot in that savage French heart of hers for "her boys," it was Acheri who went drinking with her, Acheri who translated her commands to Meteor in training exercises, Acheri who harmonized during French renditions of "Crazy Little Thing Called Love" (Monet's karaoke standard) on shore leave. If she said that the French meant something, the French usually meant something.

 

Even if it half-seemed like Acheri wasn't just translating Monet's thoughts.

 

"High Command is done with them." Sanjay broke Eastwood out of his pensive thoughts. "It sounds like Jackson's on his way to talk to Private Pastry. Monet's on her way here. Maybe she'll have some good news for us."

 

Eastwood scored a goal, but it didn't feel right. Nat had hardly even defended it. Probably too distracted - his eyes were on Acheri, and Kite perched on top of the sofa staring out the rec room's viewport. He hadn't said a word in hours.

 

"Good being...relative," the engineer finished awkwardly.

 

East didn't feel like playing anymore. He plucked the foosball from Nat's goal and sat down on a free loveseat, bouncing his toy joylessly.

 

IC:

 

"I..."

 

There's no way this reunion can just be happy, huh.

 

"...I guess that might have to wait for later."

 

-Tyler

Edited April 23, 2016 by Costa Vespula

[25K Now!]

IC: Christoph Lockheed

 

Christoph's virtual machine boosted around Opera Square, moving onto the Qasr al-Nil Bridge from the western exit. It was a large bridge, one that was almost two kilometres long. It was a large, open space that nullified most of the advantages his subordinate could boast with long-ranged weaponry. That however, was not a certainty. Benjamin was a talented pilot, far better than he was, and if he knew the younger man well enough, then it was likely that his prediction of how the battle would begin would not come to pass.

 

He slowed the machine down just several metres back from the direct middle of the bridge, lifting his shield up into a defensive position. Would Ben attack from across the bridge? Or ... he scanned the area. There were a decent amount of buildings on the eastern side of the bridge, albeit still far away enough to weaken sniping tactics a smidge. Would his subordinate attack from there? He was not particularly sure.

 

It did not matter.

 

His Warrior-type readied itself.

 

Let Benjamin come.

[Krayzikk]

IC:

"It'll be okay. We'll have plenty of time." The Japanese pilot gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Soon."

 

IC:

 

As expected, Test Team's leader made his way onto the bridge. Benjamin would have wished for Vernichten's enhanced DMR functionality, because truthfully Christoph had managed to position himself at the edge of the weapon's effective range. Vernichten could make the shot. This Scout would remain to be seen. Still, he was technically within range and he did not seem to have spotted the Scout on its way to cover. The German's breath slowed, as he fixed his sights squarely on the Warrior's upper torso. It was the optimal target; broadest portion of the machine, therefore the most forgiving when it came to a trajectory's margin of error.

 

He would have liked to hit the cranial unit, take out its sensors. But he was unlikely to make a shot quite so precise with this weapon. And he only really had one shot at this ambush, before Christoph wised up and worked to further reduce his chances to strike at range.

 

It was critical that he make the most of this.

 

... Perhaps he was thinking of this in the wrong terms.

 

Adjusting his aim a little, he shifted the sights to the Warrior's center mass. He eased the weapon's tip up a few degrees, pulling the trigger at the same moment. Two shots rang out in quick succession, one at center mass, and one shifted up just a little higher at the head. They might connect, if he was lucky, but they were step one. With the diagonal nature of his strike, if Christoph wanted to get out of the line of fire he wouldn't have much room laterally. Back was his only real choice, unless he wanted to get further into Benjamin's range.

 

So the moment the second shot was away he shifted the sights a meter or two further back on the bridge, and fired off a quick volley of three shots. Not as precise, due to limitations of range and time, but they didn't need to be. They were there to catch his Captain if he tried to move back. Not that he waited to see the result; once they were away, he moved away from his current cover, back up the coast further towards another building.

 

Hit and run seemed the best option.

 

IC:

 

"At this point, the hangar." Lieutenant Noah said to the sergeant, not really looking up from the frenzy of activity her hands carried out on the desk in front of her. "R&D is working on pulling the scrap off the battlefield for research, the mechanics might need a pair of hands, or maybe the pilots."

"Or, get down to the base entrance to meet the Olympic's bridge crew. The ship just got towed to the shipyards, we're bringing the bridge crew here for debriefing and strategy."

[The UltimoScorp]

IC Maigo Koizumi:

 

How does she keep her hands so soft???!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

The softness of Brightbridge's hands was irritating. The vanity it showed! And her stupid polite facade! Ugh!

 

Doing her best(and failing spectacularly) to hide a sullen look, she responded in kind, "I suppose I should."

[Atton Rand]

IC: "Understood," The Sergeant replied. She began to make her way back towards the hangar.

[25K Now!]

IC: October M. Brightbridge

 

A gentle zephyr, beautifully breezing from the satchel of great Boreas himself, travelled between the impossible expanse that separated Maigo Koizumi from the saint of effulgent crimson as soft, ethereal fingers pulled free with the delicacy of wispy white clouds, and as the figure rotated away, the warm, soothing glow of a beatific smile leaving the smaller woman behind. Aquamarine orbs, a very manifestation of great ocean waves, gazed upon the hangar bay with an intensity unmatched by even a Seraph.

 

"Let us proceed then, Private Koizumi," was the refined intonation that breathlessly escaped lush lips. "The Huckebein is waiting."

 

Dignified strides began to carry her effulgent form towards the destination.

, exotic and mellifluent, exuded from a powerful, refined throat, the dulcet tones of her humming filling the air with a quiet elegance.

 

"By the way," was the only interruption, crooned words as soft as Zayton satin, "I take care to moisturise."

Edited April 24, 2016 by Selfdestructive Workaholic

[Atton Rand]

IC: As the Sergeant made her way towards the hangar, she found she was surprised to hear what sounded like humming. Probably someone trying to sound elegant. She groaned as she listened to the noise and approached its source. There were two others there, one of whom seemed very small, below regulation height. Apparently, dwarves were now being accepted into service. What bothered her now, however, was the humming. She just approached the two.

 

"HEY!" She yelled. "Would you two be kind enough to shut up! Don't you know there's a war going on outside?"

[25K Now!]

IC: October M. Brightbridge

 

The melodious tones of an angelic choir halted as glittering beautiful blue turned to face Casey Maxwell. A flash of a smile, gently incandescent much like Selene's light, flickered across her delicate, saintly features, beguiling in its elegance and pulchritude. No matter the inherent harshness of the sergeant's words, it barely affected the radiance of the woman known as October M. Brightbridge.

 

"Of course." Euphonious tones, each and every note in perfect harmony, emerged from between her dazzling white teeth. "I do fail, however, to see how ..."

 

A striking whistle, a dulcet rendition of the East German national anthem's first four bars.

 

"... my humming has any relation to it."

Edited April 24, 2016 by Selfdestructive Workaholic

[Atton Rand]

IC: "The army needs soldiers," the Sergeant replied. "We don't need people who just sit around humming when there's work to be done!"

[25K Now!]

IC: October M. Brightbridge

 

A flourish of a pale left hand, controlled yet graceful, like the baton of a heavenly conductor.

 

"Would you need somebody who is ... walking instead?" she asked, her lilting voice, soft and song-like, flicking upwards in question.

Edited April 24, 2016 by Selfdestructive Workaholic

[Atton Rand]

IC: "Okay, I guess you're not going to be taking this seriously. When I get back I'm going to have to report you two."

 

With that, the Sergeant turned and began to work her way back towards the hangar. She was already agitated enough, she didn't need these fools making things worse. Then there was the whole issue of the colonel who wanted her removed from the training program. She knew her methods were hardly popular, but she was doing military training so it was expected to be hard on recruits. Now she was dismissed for doing her job. For now, though, the Sergeant focused on trying to push her own frustrations into the back of her mind and focus on what was going on right now. The Lieutenant had mentioned teams recovering scrap metal from the field; not the most interesting job but at least it meant getting out of the base for a while. Besides, the field was dangerous and someone with her experience would be very useful to a recovery team.

[Blessed Blade]

-==IC: Chloe==-

 

After having gathered the stuff she needed, the engineer had gone back to the hangar. As of now, she was working on a particularly tricky bolt, that was making the repair of one Walker rather difficult. "Come on, I know this can't be -that- hard..." Chloe mumbled under her breath, as she pushed her weight against the object. It came loose finally, with a yelp from the girl. She dropped her wrench, and recoiled back with a string of curses, as she instinctively gripped her left hand. After a quick inspection, she noticed it had been sliced a bit; not too deep luckily, but deep enough that it would be a little bit of a pain at the moment.

 

With a quick glance at the offending, very small piece of metal, she withdrew with a slightly grumpy look to patch up her hand quickly. The girl seemed lost in thought, as she mechanically disinfected and bandaged her hand. She felt... 'off' somehow. Chloe shook her hand, as she cut off the end of the bandage, and then finished tying it up, testing her hand after. Even with this setback, she needed to get back to work.

[shadow pridak money gang]

IC:

 

"Oooooof," rang out a sympathetic wince, approaching from down the hangar. The two pilots that accompanied it followed the retreating Maxwell with their eyes - one surprised, one chagrined. Nadia Lorena White, perennially chagrined, gave October (h o t  h o t ayane she's  h  o  t) a rueful smile.

 

"First day on base, and she's already Cased the joint. Sorry about that; we're really not all like her. This is Lance Corporal Inoue Ayane, Federation Eastern Division. I'm Lance Corporal Nadia White - you can call me Lauren though. I'm this base's Raptor division at the moment."

 

-Tyler

[Atton Rand]

IC: The Sergeant ignored the stares from some of the other soldiers. It didn't matter too much. The base crew no doubt already knew her reputation, the others likely recognized her from service records. In the meantime, she just focused on her immediate task; finding a mission. She saw an officer giving out orders and approached.

 

"Sergeant Maxwell. I was told to report to the hangar to assist in recovery operations."

 

OOC: I'm assuming there is some kind of C.O. at the hangar, right?

[The UltimoScorp]

IC Maigo:

 

"Report us for what, exactly?!" She shouted at the retreating figure of Casey.

 

Not because she was enjoying the humming or anything. 

 

No, that would be ridiculous.

[25K Now!]

IC: October M. Brightbridge

 

An outtake of breath, inaudible but for the slightest movements of the woman's full lips, the drawn sigh almost zephyr-like and tinged with exiguous exasperation. She reached up with delicate, pale fingers, brushing back at effulgent, scarlet locks, the silky tresses falling away like a beautiful angel descending from the starry heavens.

 

"My chances of a stressless integration have been ... reduced, it appears," was her rueful utterance, each and every word pronounced with a melody equal to that of the Host's choir.

 

Brilliant aquamarine globes fixated themselves upon the approaching pair of Nadia Lorena and Inoue Ayane, eyelashes, beautifully set, flickering with grace in acknowledgement of their presence.

 

"Oberstabsgefreiter October M. Brightbridge," she rejoined, her tone flowing and pleasurable in every sound. "Federation Lunar Division - Copernicus. It is an honour to meet you."

[Krayzikk]

IC:

 

"Actually, Sergeant," The hangar's overseer said, scrolling quickly through a report on his console with a swipe of his fingers. He looked up a moment later, pointing in the direction of the simulators across the hangar, in an attached room to the side of the main floor. "According to this, a transfer order went through a few minutes ago. Colonel authorized it herself. R&D needs a bigger Test Team to prepare for the war, and Specialist Harken is transferring to Walker duty. You'll be taking his share of the workload. You've been transferred to Test Team 4 under Captain Lockheed until further notice."

 

"He's over there, with Lance Corporal Armbruster. The simulator session in progress. Feel free to sit in or use the in-build comms, but I don't think I'd disturb them too much."

 

IC:

 

"I wouldn't worry about Sergeant Maxwell." Ayane began, giving a slight bow when Lauren introduced her, and then holding out a hand for the two pilots to shake. "This is my first time seeing her, but Lauren has mentioned her to me before. She seems to be a..."

 

At this, the Japanese pilot paused and selected her words carefully. "Difficult woman to get along with. The rest do not seem to be as unfriendly, in my experience."

"I only just arrived myself."

Edited April 25, 2016 by It's A Gundam MkII

[Atton Rand]

IC: "Understood," The Sergeant replied, though not without some frustrations. It was looking like she wouldn't be going out after all. Still, at least she had something to do.

 

She began to make her way in the direction pointed out by the C.O. and approached the test team. "Sergeant Maxwell," she said as she approached. "I've been assigned to this team."

[25K Now!]

IC: October M. Brightbridge

 

Ayane's handshake was met by the dainty, soft touch of callused hands, carefully moisturised as to be as gentle as even the most diaphanous of silky fabrics. Yet the grip was insinuative of great phlegm, of a refined confidence that wisped through fingers that reaffirmed the warmth of the sun itself.

 

"I have encountered similar fellows in the past," was the satin-like reply, melodious and flowing.

 

IC: Christoph Lockheed

 

The two shots pierced the air.

 

Having already placed himself in a defensive position, it was easy for Christoph to raise his Warrior-type's large shield in response, rapidly stepping back as the first bullet pinged off the steel surface of the shield, and as the second shot whizzed past him, skimming the side of his cranial unit, doing little damage but distorting the sensor feed for the tiniest of split seconds. A split second that nearly cost him, with the first of his subordinate's suppression shots hitting his weapon arm, with the next two only barely blocked by his shield once more. Smart. Ben had essentially taken control of where he was allowed to move, and profited off that.

 

The captain smiled. First blood had gone to his subordinate, even though the damage was quite minimal. However, that had also provided him with Ben's possible location. His virtual machine glanced to the north-east of his position. One of those tall buildings must have been obscuring the sniper archetype. Not that the younger man would have stayed there. If he was in Ben's shoes, then he would have already been moving. Finding a different set of cover. Delivering blows onto his Warrior without being seen.

 

He moved his Warrior backwards, shield upraised. Ben was somewhere on the eastern banks of the river. Him retreating kept Ben from entering effective range, hence as long as he stayed back, the other man could not exactly reach him. That was not the only possibility, however. Given the presence of the 6th of October Bridge not too far to the north, Lance Corporal Armbruster could easily cross that to engage him.

 

The decision then, was whether to retreat into the urban areas and do combat with Ben in such a manner, relying on the cover of buildings to avoid being sniped, or whether to find another open space that would also reduce the effectiveness of the younger man's sniping prowess?

 

Whatever plans he was making, the sudden intrusion of Casey Maxwell's voice put a stop to that.

 

"Simulation pause," he said, watching as the world froze. "Apologies, Armbruster, but we can finish this later."

 

He removed himself from the simulator's cockpit, taking in the sensations of the real world he now observed. The lights seemed dimmer than he had thought, but that was likely him reorientating himself to the environment of the Federation base.

 

"Sergeant Maxwell, is it?" he spoke, rising from his seated position to approach the aforementioned woman. "Captain Christoph Lockheed, Arsenal Walker Original Line Development Test Team 4."

[Atton Rand]

IC: "Yes sir," The Sergeant replied. "I was told I would be filling in for Specialist Harken."

[25K Now!]

IC: Christoph Lockheed

 

"Have you had any experience with giant robots, Sergeant?"

[Atton Rand]

IC: "I worked in special forces," The Sergeant explained. "I've taken a few down."

[25K Now!]

IC: Christoph Lockheed

 

"On foot?"