[a / b / c / d / e / f / g / gif / h / hr / k / m / o / p / r / s / t / u / v / vg / w / wg] [i / ic] [r9k] [cm / hm / y] [3 / adv / an / cgl / ck / co / diy / fa / fit / hc / int / jp / lit / mlp / mu / n / po / pol / sci / soc / sp / tg / toy / trv / tv / vp / x] [rs] [status / ? / @] [Settings] [Home]
Settings   Home
/tg/ - Traditional Games

File: Cass2.png (363 KB, 1000x1000)
363 KB
363 KB PNG
Previous threads: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive.html?tags=Generation%20A
Twitter: HereticalLoveQ
Drink is on. Quest is go.

The year is 2033. A mere handful of years after the grip of war had at last subsided from this broken, alien world.

While their legacy lives on in what they left behind, mankind is no more. An age of monsters.

You, Sulla, being one of the few of your own species left. The Deadlands serving as an irradiated gravesite for most of the wolves. The rest remain scattered across the various lands, scraping out existences as raiders and cutthroats.

A life that had been your reality until you'd finally been brought in to head up a team of non government forces focused on offing crime lords and other vermin.

You've never been involved in very clean work. Today is no different.

The goat screaches in terror as the flesh crackles and chars on what remains of his left arm as the Ryu coughs out another jet of roaring orange flame.

Though you have to give the aging terrorist some credit with his SERE training. He hasn't talked much yet.

“All you have to do is tell me what I want to know, Billy. Just tell me what I want and all of this can end.” Seluth snarls as the flames subside.

Maqib Al-Zawari, better known as “Billy”, shudders and twitches on the floor of the small cinderblock building as his remaining good hand opens and closes wildly while he stares at the blackened skeletal remains of his other arm.

He'd already passed out numerous times, and when a bucket of ice water had ceased being effective at rousing him, a few shots of stimulants had kept him awake through the worst of it.

Only now does his babbling begin to make sense as his broken body continues to writhe on the dusty floor.

Seluth listens intently through it all, a pad of paper n one clawed hand as she scrawls down the choppy information. A location. Names. Times.
Damnit Papa, right as I'm heading to bed, fuck my timezone. Oh well I shall look forward to catching up on the thread.
When Billy finally stops talking and Seluth ceases to press him for anything further, she leaves you. Alone in the dim room with a quivering, dying old goat who has spoken his last.

While you'd never perhaps had your limbs incinerated in front of your own eyes, you had been through some... Enhanced interrogations after the war had finally ended. You know the pain and the terror and the wish that it would just end. Your own endeavor hadn't finished you. But this goat wasn't going to walk out of here no matter anything anyone might do.

A bullet through the head is more than he rightfully deserves.

But you grant him that small respite all the same.

When you do finally step back outside, returning your sidearm to its holster at your your side, you find nobody waiting for you.

Opening your visor, you breathe deep of the fresh air outside, though even as you walk briskly, you can't escape the smell of cooking meat. At least it isn't overly bothersome, though perhaps slightly unpleasant. An almost acidic, fatty smell that twinges your nostrils.

You're halfway back to your own modest quarters when a gruff, rumbling and low growl stops you in your tracks. A growl you'd recognize anywhere.

You had smelled him first, but decided to ignore it.

“That's a nice tin can you've got on, wolf. It would be a shame if someone crumpled it a bit.”

Turning your head just enough to look you spot him. A shaggy young werebear who closes the top of the PKM resting across his legs as he tosses an empty clear glass bottle aside and lurches to his feet with those tree trunk thick legs beneath him.

“You'll forgive my friend here, I hope.” An incubus raises his eyes just enough to look at you beneath that wide brim hat as his hand continues to run a whetstone over the long sword gripped tight in his other hand.

“He doesn't much like your kind.” The incubus smiles, “I don't much like your kind.”
Any updates on Z&W? It has been along time since you last ran it after all.
I agree with this sentiment.
File: 1318740384958.png (1.29 MB, 4655x4153)
1.29 MB
1.29 MB PNG
Papa-N your back!

You should give us a bit of heads up next time, if you can!
>Any updates on Z&W? It has been along time since you last ran it after all.
I've got a few pages written up of where I want to take it and I'm reading through old threads to make sure I'm not missing anything. It will get an ending.

I no joke dreamed I started this thread and woke up and realized it was already time to get it going. I'm finally off fourteen hour rotations so my internal clock is a bit fucked at the moment.
You eye the pair warily. The sword wouldn't do much more than scratch the already patchy finish of your armor and the PKM would only punch through the soft armor beneath your plates, but you can't brush off the physicality of the wearbear himself. Even in your DIRE suit, getting your limbs twisted off is a very real possibility.

They may not always be the smartest or the fastest or the soberest, but you've seen more than one wearbear and have learned a healthy respect for such raw power in your time fighting against their kind.

Your 4ga shotgun might be a beast in itself, but you've personally witnessed a werebear shrug off a chest full of flechettes long enough to crush a fellow DIRE inside their own suit before expiring.

[ ] Placate. You aren't here to brawl.

[ ] Challenge. Werebear or no, two on one is nothing.

[ ] Stand your ground. Call their bluff, they aren't about to try anything stupid.

[ ] Other
>[ ] Stand your ground. Call their bluff, they aren't about to try anything stupid.

Mercs probably testing things with the newcomer. Racial prejudice is just the excuse. Or they're drunk (fucking bears).
>[ ]Other
>You would be surprised how ofter this conversation comes up.
>[ ] Stand your ground. Call their bluff, they aren't about to try anything stupid.

A werebear and an incubus. Huh.
often, fucking auto-correct.
>In time for my first Papa-N thread
>Have to get up for early shift tomorrow

Never before have I felt such joy and such sorrow at the same time. Living in the UK truly is hell.

>Stand your ground

And is that fucking Bill and Ivan?
>And is that fucking Bill and Ivan?
Wondering that myself. If they are... Where's Bats and Fluffy?

I thought this was a prequel to Gen A. If so, I doubt we'll be seeing them. IF that's Bill and Ivan.
I'm almost sure of this, but the prequel one is the viking one. This one is like a year or so after the events of Iceman. Papa-N will need to jump in on this to say for sure.

Just checked the archives. Yeah, Iceman was listed as 2032, my mistake. All things considered I'd bet against this being Ivan and Bill, then. I can't imagine they'd be allowed into merc work away from their 'keepers' unless something drastic happened.
Eying the pair you scrape two of your canines together and make no move to turn and run. While DIRE may be above and beyond the other average wolves, you aren't without your pride.

Two against one at this range and with the armaments they have, you have no doubts you could bury them.

“You'd be surprised how often this conversation comes up. Though usually the offenders bring more than a popgun and a toothpick.”

“Popgun, eh? Is quite a big popgun.” The werebear hefts the PKM to a one handed low ready, the muzzle ready to spring up level and blazing at any moment.

The others around you in the camp have gone silent at the sudden level of intensity as they watch. More even begin to gather, enticed over by the sudden commotion, watching this all unfold.

“Come on, dog. Make first move.” The werebear growls and you can smell the alcohol wafting on his breath.

The incubus however seems slightly less certain, though rises nevertheless as he drops the stone in his offhand and grips the sword uncertainly.

It's the werebear who moves first, completely ignoring the machinegun in his hand as he charges, barreling at you head-on as the fur sprouts and his transformed muzzle snarls, baring long yellow teeth in those heavy jaws.

You duck the first blow, though the claws scrape across the top of your helmet all the same, and the inertia of the strike carries the werebear over you. With a quick shove you're into his body with your shoulder and using his inertia, let him go sailing on over you.

Still completely unperturbed, he turns for another go, frothing and snarling, heavy clawed paw the size of your head raised on high.

Though when he charges again...

Almost comically the bear completely loses his footing on the fresh patch of ice beneath him. Spinning completely about face once his eyes go wide as he slides. You step aside to let him go careening past you where he stumbles but manages to retain his footing enough to stay standing.
Unless Iceman 'runs' this little Merc company. And by run, I mean drown under a sea of paper work so who knows~
Rolled 3 (1d20)

“Ivan! Enough!” A new voice berates as it comes barreling in to throw itself onto the werebear.

They go down in a thrashing tangle of thick fur limbs and plate carrier as the entirety of the camp now stands watching.

“What are you thinking, man?! C'mon, have a bit of sense for me! What the shit would I tell Essa if you got pumped full of holes!?” The newcomer shouts as he barely manages to cling to one thick arm of the struggling werebear.

“Is personal!” The werebear retorts, though his movements begin to slow.

“Yeah I get it! But seriously dude do you not understand how hard it was for me to get out of the house? You can't understand the insanity of a preggers until you knock that batgirl up yourself! She's on a completely different level now! She wants me to... Ree-eehud or something! Do you know what I see when I look at letters? Nothing! I fall asleep!” The frost shouts until finally the werebear's struggling slows to a stop.

You watch the quizzical sight, quite unsure of what if anything to do as the pair go rolling across the ground.

“I can't go back to that, man! I can't take any more books and lectures and math! This is my one chance to go OPERATE so don't fuck this up for me!”

The werebear grunts and groans and almost manages to raise the PKM toward you before the incubus dives and latches onto his arm, weighting it down just enough to keep the barrel of the machinegun from flagging you.

The frost now has the werebear in a headlock, though you surmise that it wouldn't take much effort for the werebear to simply toss aside the frost, he makes no move to do so. Instead both of them finally stop struggling and lay there for a few moments in the dirty ice beneath.

So wrapped up in the spectacle of it all are you that, though you notice as a kitsune comes up to stand alongside you, you make no motion to glance over.

“What the hell are you all doing?” She asks, scowling down at the mess in front of her.
File: yes.gif (355 KB, 500x281)
355 KB
355 KB GIF
The old crew is back in action!
File: ie6ucJNQfbKPa.gif (5.12 MB, 384x216)
5.12 MB
5.12 MB GIF
>The entire cast of Gen A makes an appearance
File: BUENO.png (189 KB, 849x432)
189 KB
189 KB PNG
“Oh...” The incubus looks up, clearly straining against the powerful bear limb beneath him, “Hey babe.”

“Wha!!!” The black haired kitsune goes flush as she jumps at the word, “D-don't call me that here!”

“C'mon, Ivan! Why don't we all just settle the flying fuck down and discuss this like men!? With cigarettes and vodka and strippers!”

“We have strippers here?” An onlooker gazes around.

“Well, we have a kitsune...” The frost strains to careen his head around to look toward the kitsune.

Who has a glowing orb of blue flames hovering above a palm.

“It was a joke, Tomoe! A joke!” The frost pleads, before a screeching, grating static comes from the headset barely clinging to his ear.

“Erik!? What's going on!?”

“N-nothing! It's all fine! We're all fine here, honey! How are you?” The frost manages to conceal his fast breathing from all the struggle.

So entranced by everything are you that you're only vaguely aware of Kukri suddenly standing next to you, tilting her head as she watches.

“Friends of yours?” She raises an eyebrow toward you.

“I don't know any of these people.” You relinquish the grip on your holstered sidearm, feeling that any danger has since passed.

“Oh, Erik! Right on time!” The Commander sounds quite happy to see the man, though also seems to take no notice of the current situation as he steps through the throng of onlookers and bends at the waist to give the frost a quick handshake.

“Commander, good to see you. Dad sends his regards. He'd have come personally but uh... Personal matters.” The frost half smiles and half grimaces.

“He got drunk and crashed their plane. Again. For like the fifth time now. His father is fixing it up with his father in law.” Tomoe, the kitsune, fills in the details.
With the hustle and bustle and introductions, you aren't quite sure how you find yourself seated at a table with a shot glass in front of you, in the mess room of the temporary Alpha team encampment. But nevertheless you take a quick sniff of the clear liquid in front of you before downing it in one gulp.

The werebear still eyes you like one might eye an improperly seated cartridge in a belt of ammunition, but he doesn't make a move to tackle you. An improvement, you think.

Seated to your left is the short succucore, Kukri, her head nodding slightly as her half lidded eyes seem quite fixated on the shot glass clutched in both of her hands.

The frost whom you now know as Erik is laughing along with the Commander as if the two had known each other forever as the incubus, Bill, recalls some story completely alien to you. Though you pick up bits and pieces, you quickly discern that you were on the other side of that particular battlefield.

A small head thunks into the side of your armor as Kukri finally goes down for the count, breathing quietly with a rather lost look on her sleeping face, still clutching the shot glass.

“Ahh...” Mara sighs before pulling the snoozing manticore/succubus back to rest against her own meager chest. “She never could handle her alcohol.”

While the arachne excuses herself with the smaller girl slung over her shoulder, the werebear pours yet another shot into the glass in front of you, eyes completely fixed on your own as though testing you.

[ ] Shot for shot, no werebear scares you

[ ] Transformed, he outweighs you even in your armor, don't test his tolerance, bow out gracefully

[ ] See if you can get into the conversation so you don't have to keep downing shots

[ ] Other
>[ ] Shot for shot, no werebear scares you
>Shot for shot, no werebear scares you

>[x] Shot for shot, no werebear scares you
>[ ] See if you can get into the conversation so you don't have to keep downing shots
Without hesitation you down yet another glass of the clear, burning liquid. You're no newcomer to alcohol, and the vodka is certainly high class. Moreover, you've never been one to back down from a challenge in you life. If this werebear wants to test you, you're not going to embarrass yourself by ducking out early.

“So that's when I pissed in the canteen!” Erik bangs the glass against the table he's laughing so vigerously.

You pay it no mind as you down another shot, locked on to the werebear across from you as he does the same.

Already, though, you can feel the drink taking hold. You've long since turned off the warning systems in your armor which had been blaring about blood toxins while attempting to administer antidote. The suit's treatment at this point quite unwelcome.

Even the Commander, stout and strong, seems to have let the alcohol go to his head as he excuses himself from the table to go flirt around with a few alarunes from a support unit. You watch him stumbling slightly, though he still retains an air of leadership somehow.

Erik leans back hard in his chair, clearly inebriated, and sighs heavily as he sinks lower against the plastic.

“You guys have no idea how much I've missed this. I've been so fucking...” The frost's head tilts slightly and you realize he's quite out. If you hadn't, the heavy snoring certainly would have confirmed it.

“Tailllsss...” The incubus slurrs as he more or less molests the kitsune's fluffyness as she struggles against his advances to little avail.

“N... *hic* No.... Cut it out... Hehehe...” She pushes at him lightly but you can tell the struggle isn't real.

“Wolf.” The werebear, Ivan, plunks another full bottle down on the table in front of you, “Leave these lovebirds, we go drink.”
Without a moments hesitation you snatch the bottle off the table and rise from your seat. Either you're more sober than you'd thought or your armor does a good enough job stabilizing you, but you don't so much as shuffle as you step out into the fresh night air with the werebear at your heels.

The two of you each take a log seat near a crackling though abandoned fire pit as you unscrew the cap of the bottle and carefully fill the glass that the werebear extends. Easily twice the volume of your own, though you pay that no mind.

Nearly simultaneously the two of you toss the liquid back and feel the burn in your chests before the werebear leans forward with a heavy sigh.

“Apologize for earlier, friend. Was not right.”

“No need,” You shake your head and blink heavy lids, “I get it.”

“Nyet. Was not your fault. Wolves kill many of mine. Mikhail, Sergei... My older brothers, both strong, both gone.”

Before the moment can turn awkward, you raise your own glass instead.

“To Sergei and Mikhail.”

The werebear pauses for a moment, but raises his glass along with your own.

Two shots of vodka splash against the dirt underneath.

For several long minutes there is only silence as you contemplate the stars above as Ivan stares into the glass clutched in his thick meaty hands.

“No family of your own?”

“No.” You answer, lowering your gaze from the heavens, “The DIRE program didn't take anyone with a family. Too high of a casualty rate.”

Ivan nods slowly as though contemplating those words, spinning the empty glass between two large palms.

“And a love?” He asks, stopping the spinning and looking up. “Even bears have sweethearts.”

You blink but shake your head, “Once.”

The mood is cut short by the rather abrupt and shrill shriek that blasts out from a nearby tent, completely killing the somberness.

“N-no! Bill! Stop I'm going to..... Ahhhhh!!!”
>“N-no! Bill! Stop I'm going to..... Ahhhhh!!!”
God damn incubus.
Ivan snorts even as he downs the remainder of the bottle right from the neck before chucking it aside, and you can't help but chuckle.

“Love, no?” The werebear smirks, before hoisting himself back standing.

“Love.” You reply, setting your glass down in the grass at your feet.

Ivan doesn't move for several long moments, standing there under the glow of the moon above, though he doesn't turn back toward you.

“We will be fighting soon, comrade. Show me the warrior that my brothers died to. Show me that strength.”

You stare at the wide back of the werebear who doesn't so much as sway despite the drinking.

“I lost more than one to your kind, if that's any small consolation. Warriors all.”

“Warriors all” Ivan echos, before trodding off into the darkness.

[ ] You're plastered, stumble back to your bunk.

[ ] Is that Kukri you smell? Her tent? Danger level: Low

[ ] Even from here you can smell the threads of Mara's webbing. Danger level: Medium

[ ] Is that chili? Danger level: High
>[ ] You're plastered, stumble back to your bunk.
>[x] Is that Kukri you smell? Her tent? Danger level: Low
>[x] Is that Kukri you smell? Her tent? Danger level: Low
Despite your training and all of your stamina, you're quite spent. Blame it on the booze or the tiredness at everything new, it doesn't change that fact.

A super soldier in tough armor you may well be, but when you shed the rigid plates and the heavy soft armor and the shells adorning it, you're just as soft and fleshy underneath as anyone else.

You aren't entirely sure what draws you into Kukri's tent, even as you stumble inside. The smell? The only familiarity of this place? It could just be you being a drunk fool. Even you aren't sure by now.

You can make out her soft form the moment you push aside the flaps of the doorway as you duck inside. Her naked body laying atop the basic cot as she lays on her chest, eyes turned toward you as you enter the dim canvas enclosure.

Even through the dense fabric, there's enough light for you to fully discern the bare flesh in front of you as something primal wells inside your chest and loins.

“Sulla?” She murmurs, her left hand hanging off the cot brushing against the soft grass comprising the floor beneath.

The girl sits up slightly, arcing her back to stretch as she does so.

“Do you need help getting that off?” She asks quietly.

Vision swimming slightly, you nod, and then nod again.

Despite yourself, you relinquish yourself as the girl rises to help strip you of the heavy DIRE suit. You do what you can and direct her to the rest of it as snaps and locks come undone to reveal more and more of your undersuit beneath.

After several long moments you're left nearly bare before Kukri slowly unzips the front of the undersuit, revealing your scarred, pale skin beneath.

Marks left from bullets and shrapnel and torture. A horribly knotted body of muscle and skin that you prefer not to look at yourself.

Instead, you remain fixated on the smooth body and tight breasts of the succucore as she helps you out of your undersuit.
“I'm...” You start, but she places a small hand over your mouth to stifle whatever it is you might have said.

“Do you wear that armor to cover all of this up?” Kukri asks as she runs a finger across one particularly large scar that ripples from you collarbone down to your right pectoral.

Though without waiting for an answer she pulls at you until all at once you're straddled atop her on that olive green canvas cot with its basic sheets in piles at its foot.

“This... Is a mistake?” You offer, but the girl shakes her head as that thin tail of hers coils around your thigh and draws you closer to her hot form beneath.

“We might live forever. We might die tomorrow. Life is mistakes.” Kukri breathes before wrapping both arms around your back to pull you closer.

Relinquishing control of yourself now, you let her guide you inside and feel the closeness between your bodies. Your own self gone as you light the primal take over and ravish the soft form beneath.

Though as much as you thrust and suck and bite, it all feels entirely alien. Satisfying to the wolf, but empty and foreign to Sulla.

You're only vaguely aware of her rapid breathing by the time you finally slide off to rest alongside her, though you keep her wrapped in both of your heavily muscled arms.

How long goes by before sleep finally catches you, you're unable to say.

But when it does, the dreams follow.
[October 25, 2025]
[Southern Front]
[Operation: Cross Counter]
[DIRE Team “Timber”]

Beneath the tough rubberized soles of your armored boots, there is only mud and standing, murky water. With every blast of artillery the small pools shake and dance. Mud gives way to only more mud as it fills the sky with every fresh crater. With every step, swarming masses of flies take to the air, revealing their macabre fare for only moments before the black mass descends again.

For three solid days it has been raining, the monsoon sweeping across the entire landmass, according to your HOWLnet radar map. For three days that swirling mass of red has just lurked, as though the land itself sought to drown away all that plagued it.

For these three days, your world has been made of hellfire.

Despite your eyes being wide open, taking in all around you, your mind is exhausted. Sleep an enticing, wondrous proposition as impossible as anything could be. Even without the cocktail of synthetic combat stimulants steadily pumping through your system, the battle alone would be enough to force you awake.

Bacchus grunts as a round skips off his side, turns, and depresses the trigger on his heavy machinegun. Links and brass spew from its ejection port before disappearing into the dangerously soft ground beneath.

A wearbear crashes down into the mud, wet fur already slick with it. His blood mixes with the puddles as his body thrashes violently for several moments, before slowing to a familiar stillness. It is only a brief few seconds before the hungry insects are upon him.

“Motherfucker!” Bacchus snarls, pumping a few more rounds into the limp corpse before an armored fist clamps around the barrel of his gun and jerks it downward.

“That's enough, Timber Two. Save those rounds for something that matters.” Timber One keeps his hold on the gun until Bacchus finally responds with a curt nod. Though he does jerk his weapon free nevertheless.
He'd already saved you once, your leader, Timber One. Shoved you off your feet just in time to avoid a shot from a recoilless rifle that had threatened to punch a hole in your back.

Hadrian, you'd learned was his name. Four years your senior but only eleven months with a DIRE team himself. His own original squad having been mostly wiped out and its remaining members split up to form new teams under their leadership. If scuttlebutt could be believed, an occurrence growing only more and more common.

You were inclined to take it at face value. You weren't blind and could already make your own predictions on what you'd seen and done.

The war wasn't going well. Not for the wolves.

While the fresh offensive had been crippling to the FU as a whole, it hadn't been a deathblow. What had started out as a gleaming example of wolf military prowess has slowed to a gruesome blow for blow brawl. The mainline infantry of both sides digging in, moving up artillery, and fighting for mere feet of ground.

Everyone had known that wasn't a good sign. That it was a repetition of wars past. But the tools to break the stalemate were too few and far between for either side. What tanks had remained from the old world quickly ended up wrecked, and the new wolf armor simply lacked the production numbers.

“Don't you just love the mud, puppy?” The now familiar voice of Timber 3 laughs through the comms, her voice as bright as ever, despite the complete lack of rest.

You gaze over to the lithe armored figure of Cass as she slugs through the trenches like the rest of you, only smaller.

You've quickly learned that despite her smaller size compared to the rest of Timber team, she's not an iota less deadly than even Hadrian. The 4ga MKII shotgun clutched in her hands has seen more than its fair share of destruction.
Even her body seemed a precise, finely tuned weapon. Where you and Bacchus were brawny toe to toe brawlers, she was a flitting dance of death. A venerable whirlwind with a shotgun and a knife and two armored fists. Death on two plate-clad feet.

By the time that Timber team arrives at the FOB of the wolf forces, you're all equally spent, exhausted, and equally unable to so much as begin to rest. The combat drugs swirling through your systems taking quite a while to even begin to fade.

“Heads up, Timber team. We're all tired, I know, but we can't show that. The rest of these guys need to see us, and they need to see us as the elites. If we look battleworn, they'll feel battleworn. We're the rock, so act like it.” Hadrian orders.

Thus, as you enter the camp, the entirety of Timber team keep their heads held high and keep an air of eliteness about themselves. Ignoring the wondrous stares of the wolf grunts as you make your way through the camp, as though nothing could so much as slow a DIRE.

A farce, to be sure. None of you are anything better than exhausted. But for whatever its worth, the small trickle of morale, the wolves see you as impermeable. Above the battle weariness and the exhaustion, above the slogging inch for inch fight all around this place.

No matter how tired, no matter how spent, you at least have to act aloof. Which you do, and you can almost feel the relief as the standard troops watch you trod through their ranks.

Hadrian makes his way off toward command, likely to debrief and get new insights as to the position of the front forces. DIRE might make their own missions, but the teams do their best to compliment the standard wolf forces in any way they can.
Bacchus, ever the glutton, takes an entire leg of wild hog to himself as he feasts while sitting upon the barren ground. He rips into the meat savagely, though never takes his hand off the grip of his machinegun even as he devours. The standard wolf forces watch curiously, but make no motion to even attempt to speak to what they must perceive as supersoldiers.

“Bacchus is stuffing his face and Hadrian is off pretending to be made of steel. Looks like it's just you and me, puppy.” Cass's visor flips up, revealing her bright blue eyes underneath, and even a lock of that dirty burgundy hair as it slips across her forehead.

“Aren't you hungry?” You inquire, though your own stomach feels as though a rock had rested itself in your gut. You doubt you could eat even if offered the most succulent meal imaginable.

“I couldn't eat if you shoved a fresh chicken in front of me. Don't lie, you couldn't either.” Cass chides even as she peels the helmet off her head and shakes out her sweaty locks of hair to smirk at you.

[ ] Ditch your armor and spar with Cass

[ ] Call her bluff and steal a chicken from the mess hall, if there is one to be had

[ ] If you're both too wired to feel tired, put on a front and try to cheer up the grunts
>[ ] If you're both too wired to feel tired, put on a front and try to cheer up the grunts
>[ ] If you're both too wired to feel tired, put on a front and try to cheer up the grunts
I choose this because it rhymes.
“We'll have time to come off this high later, maybe with a chicken.” You smirk, your own visor raised, “Let's go give these guys some hope.”

Thus the two of you begin to make your ways through the camp of the rank and file, the downtrodden and the injured.

A young wolf with a heavy bandage wrapped across his head raises his one eye to take in the entirety of the two DIRE clad figures treading through the muddy encampment even as he pokes at a small smokey fire barely clinging to life against the wet ground.

“DIRE...” He marvels, his hands stopping as he watches.

“You holding up, soldier?” Cass asks, taking a knee beside him. Even hunched, and small for a DIRE, she's a good deal larger than him.

“We've been taking a pounding from FU artillery, but we'll hold up.” The injured wolf cracks a small smile.

“We need you to stay strong, soldier. We're all in this together.” You clasp the shoulder of the young soldier with an armored gauntlet.

“We'll do our best!” The bandaged young wolf offers, clasping your forearm, “With you here, the war may as well be won!”

Moving on to another group, you immediately fixate on a catatonic soldier slumped in the dirt with what you surmise must be his friends huddle around him.

“You alright, wolf?” Cass takes a knee beside the man.

“He just lost his father.” Another of the group offers quietly.

Cass's gaze falls to the dirt before turning up toward the silent trooper.

“How did he die, soldier?” She asks, voice not without empathy.

“Bear caught him with a rifle round. He died, but he shot the bastard first.” The man speaks quietly, without raising his gaze.

“He went out as good as anyone could ask. Don't be sad, soldier, you can't ask for a better death. Instead be proud of that struggle, carry it with you, let it burn inside you and don't ever let that torch die.” The only female Timber member gives the man an empty shake. Empty, but nevertheless meaningful.
As the two of you continue to make your way through the camp, stopping every few moments, you can almost feel Cass leaving her body and letting it go into autopilot.

Thus its only when you two are walking side by side once more that she finally speaks to you this time.

“We aren't going to win this, puppy.”

“Never figured you for a defeatist.”

“I'm a realist. We don't have the numbers. The equipment. We're all alone here and nothing you and I might do will change that.”

Her sad eyes lock on your own before she smiles, eyes closing as her face turns away from you.

“It's all just a matter of time now.”

You know, deep within yourself, that she isn't wrong. You and the rest of the DIREs might be fighting until you've given your last, and the other wolves are certainly giving their all, but it isn't enough. Too few, too tired, too depleted.

Nevertheless, you only know how to do one thing. Fight.

“Nothing's for certain. We can turn this around.” You say hopefully.

“I wish I could have what you've got. Don't ever let that go, puppy, it's what makes you... Well... You.”

Cass shrugs the MKII shotgun up in her grip as she stands to her full height from the slouch as she brushes an armored hand through that short hair of hers.

“Come on, let's go raid the mess hall. We can at least show them what kind of appetite a dire has, even if we aren't hungry. Right?” She smiles that faint, hollow smile that you've grown to know even with your short time with the team.

You came into Timber team as bright and ready as the next recruit. As eager as you had been the day you'd been put on the line as infantry. You don't let her know that her smile, no matter how small, lifts you up enough to keep you slogging through the mud.
You awaken with a gasping snort, your hand clenching around the small thigh it rests on as the sleep dissolves and you're left again in the present.

Kukri stirrs but doesn't awaken, and for a moment you ponder trying to lapse back into sleep.

But you know by now that such hopes are meaningless. You're awake now, and no amount of laying on a small cot is going to change that.

Though, for a fleeting moment, you think it's Cass lying alongside you, thigh clasped in your hand.

Still, you're awake now, and wishful thinking aside, today is a new day.

Slipping out of the cot you take a second to stretch and get yourself right. You know what happened last night, and you'll have to live with it no matter the outcome. As much as you're regretting allowing yourself to slip.

Kukri mumbles in her sleep, but stays out even as you slip back into your DIRE armor piece by piece. The alcohol long since subsided, you mange the task quickly enough.

Thus by the time you slip out into the twilight hours outside, with the sun barely cracking the horizon, there is nobody awake to make an off comment or spark rumor.

[ ] Hit up the Command post, you know the new mission is beginning today

[ ] Find the group from last night, you can fall in with them for the briefing

[ ] You know the mission, the briefing, you can finish this before anyone else wakes up for breakfast

[ ] Other
>[ ] Hit up the Command post, you know the new mission is beginning today
>[x] Hit up the Command post, you know the new mission is beginning today
Man I am loving both of these quests.
>[ ] Hit up the Command post, you know the new mission is beginning today
>get home from a shit day
>Papa-N is running
Thank you for the small things in life.

>[ ] Hit up the Command post, you know the new mission is beginning today
The dawn of the new day has barely begun, birds singing in the forests beyond, as you enter the command post. You're alone until you enter, smelling the Commander before you see him.

He turns his masked face toward you as you enter, the exterior of the face guard gray and lifeless, but goes back to his laptop and whiteboard once he sees who it is.

“You're up early.” The Commander offers after a few long moments of silence.

“This much is nothing. I'm used to running for days without rest.”

“And I'd expect nothing less. Still, sleep well?”

The way he asks, you can't shake the feeling that somehow he knows. Though with your helmet on and visor down, you at least know he can't see it on your features.

“I'm rested well enough.”

“Good. Good. I'd expect nothing less. I wouldn't have called you here if I had.”

The masked face of the Commander looks over his shoulder to ponder you, standing there in your heavy foreign armor. Alone and quiet.

“I trust you know what I am?” He finally asks, though he turns back to begin writing in red marker across the board beneath a few black and white aerial photographs.

“I could smell it the moment I met you. But that doesn't explain it all.”

Setting the marker aside, the Commander sighs as he stares at the board in front of him.

“This world is so different. The people so strange. I thank you for not saying anything to the rest of them. I trust that you can keep your silence.”

“If I can ask...”

“You may not.” The Commander cuts you off, though his words hang in the air.

Until his right hand rises to clasp around the mask, which with a small click, releases from his face. He lowers the gray plate and lets out a long, tremulous sigh.

“Any wolf would have known, if they had smelled me. I won't lie, I've avoided your kind because of that fact. But if you can smell that much, I'm sure you already know.”
The man turns toward you even as he raises a small cloth to dab at the trickle of red at the corner of his mouth. A pink, fleshy man with a face that a few decades ago would have been nothing if not ordinary.

“You hide it well.”

“I try. But hiding it won't make it disappear.” the man smiles thinly.

“So why persist? Surely you could live out your last in comfort? Maybe answer so many of the questions left after the event? Sure there are some left over but none...”

“Human.” The Commander finishes for you as he shakes his head.

You shift your weight uneasily. Though you'd known it the moment you'd first encountered him, you had let the issue lie. The scent, though so familiar in many ways, completely foreign in so many others.

The Commander breaths heavily into his cloth with a few errant coughs as he seats himself on the desk to his rear. His slate eyes and small smile staring into your smoked visor.

“Why don't you just let anyone know? You might be the only one. The last.”

“Yes... The last.” The Commander suddenly seems much less imposing without his mask as he worries his hands, eyes closed, as he leans back to rest against the wall.

“There are still some left over from before the event. Humans left changed, in strange bodies in an even more bizarre world. But no, none quite like myself.”

The Commander's hand clutches a porcelain mug that he lifts to those strange pink lips as he drinks deep and long.

“Why am I doing all of this? Why not reveal myself? I know you're wondering.” The man smiles, “But I ask what good would any of that do? Would I not just end up an experiment? A source of blame? What good, I ask, would come of that?” The Commander slides himself off the desk to stand.

“Nothing. I would give this new world nothing. Questions and doubts and grief. Nothing.”

You almost interject before the man cuts your concerns with a raised hand.
“I only am what I am. A relic. I can't change what happened. I can't make everything better. So what can one last human do, you want to know? Well, I asked myself that same question as soon as I woke in this new, strange place.”

Staring down into the cup of joe in front of him, the man seems much smaller and more vulnerable than you'd been lead to believe.

“There's only one thing I can do. One thing I can leave this world having accomplished. My people left too many of our own problems leech into this new dawn. So what can one last human do? I can do whatever it takes to give this strange place a better shot than what we as a species left it in the first place. If I can alleviate some of the grief and the struggle and the pain, isn't that the best legacy the last human could leave for this world?”

Fuck. I don't know.

I kinda want to say fuck it and get on with planning the mission, but that seems like a damn waste.

man what do you say to something like this.

nod and begin the briefing.
Salute and get to work.
"Then let's not waste any more time."
“I'm just a soldier, I don't know anything about legacies or any of that. But if you need my help to accomplish what you set out to do, then I'm your go to. And I can keep quiet.”

The Commander studies you for a moment, decked out in your DIRE armor, before nodding just once as he returns the mask to his face.

“That's all I needed.”

Without further ado the human begins laying out various photographs and documents on the table nearest to you. Nothing you recognize, though you scan through each of them.

“What we found out from the late Maqib Al-Zawari is the supplier of his heavy artillery. What I wish we hadn't found is this.”

The Commander flips a few pages and lets you read the document quickly.

“Are you sure this information is accurate?”

“I've suspected something for a while, but it's never anything I've been able to confirm. Still, this isn't something that we can just ignore out of convenience.”

You give the page another read.

Various sources, with slightly different information, all pointing to the same central point.

“Why would the FU supply rebel, terrorist elements with this kind of equipment?”

“Why indeed. This is the legacy of humanity I want to overwrite. A legacy of proxy wars and underground supplies to keep the status quo geared toward an agenda of fear.” The Commander taps the marker in his hand against the table in front of you.

“What does the FU benefit from keeping this sort of ilk going? Validity. The idea that they are the one and only thing keeping chaos at bay. And if there is no common enemy to rally against? They make one.”

As you jump piece to piece as you listen, finding they all add up.

Other previous Alpha missions having learned each block along the way to form the final awful truth staring you in the face.
Rocket trucks, new and refurbished supplied by a few criminal elements, sold to other criminal and terrorist elements to keep them afloat with new and horrific equipment. The same criminal suppliers getting their stocks from various sellers, each pulling from yet more groups. All leading down to one simple truth.

Money moves less like an ocean and more like a river. Follow it long enough, and you find the source.

In this case, without a doubt, some of the upper echelon of FU leadership. Even some names you recognize. Politicians, generals, captains of industry.

“So you see now my dilemma. What we have now may well be some horrible farce of peace, but it's just that, fake. Do we let this go on for the sake of the everyman? Or do we tear it open and see if we can't pick the pieces up and put them together to show the truth of it? Is it worth tearing open the horrible facade to bring light to what has remained hidden?”
dropped your trip there Papa
Not quite sure how that happened.
[ ] Facade be dammed. We bust this open.

[ ] We can work this without revealing everything. Keep the fake peace while we work behind it.

[ ] What's the point? Even a fake peace is good enough

[ ] Other
>[ ] Facade be dammed. We bust this open.
>[ ] We can work this without revealing everything. Keep the fake peace while we work behind it.
>[x] Facade be dammed. We bust this open.
Killing politicians, generals and captains of industry? All of my yes.
>[ ] We can work this without revealing everything. Keep the fake peace while we work behind it.
We don't want to play our hand openly, that will tip them off and make our job that much harder, and we're better in the shadows.

Besides we can always bust it open and go loud later if we need to, no need going straight for that from the start when we work better covertly.
Taking a few minutes to eat real quick
that's a good point.
So a mixture of both then? Remove then silently and then bust them open when all the evidence has been gathered?
well that allows us to go loud when we want, on our terms, for greater impact, or keep being quiet if the situation demands it
>[x] Facade be dammed. We bust this open.

The bad guys are gonna know something is up when we start killing their dudes and stealing their secrets, cause we all know that's what's gonna happen. Hit em hard with everything we've got up front, so they have less time to bury the evidence and any links that may exist.
No they ain't, they are in business with bad guys, and we can make it look like their suppliers got greedy or something.

Hitting them hard with everything only every works if we are in a position of power and they are not expecting it, while we have surprise right now, we don't have power nor evidence we need. They won't start burning evidence until they know about us, and THEN we can hit them with everything we've got up front.

We didn't get into DIRE by being an idiot and charging into battle without thinking, so don't be stupid.
“A fake peace may as well be no peace at all. I'm in this to the end, so lets open this can of worms bit by bit. You give me the wood, I'll give you the fire.”

The Commander contemplates your words, but nods contemplatively.

“I knew you would be the right man for the job. Mission is on, Sulla. You're on point.”

“Just tell me where you want the bodies.”

The Commander begins going into details about the upcoming raid. A large scale industrial area that dates to before the event. Only somewhat recently reopened but now dedicated to the refurbishing of old weapons of war that have been getting slid under the table to some less than scrupulus folks. Notably Al-Zawari getting shipments of missile trucks in exchange for slaves.

From what information Alpha has to go on, the group running the facility is a part of Giardiniera familly business. A recently formed mobster group with some powerful connections in the FU senate.

“We'll be posing as trafficers, bringing in a fresh shipment of old arms to refurbish. By the time the trap springs, they won't know what has hit them. I know that you've already met the group of newcomers, they'll be providing us an electronic jamming blanket over the area. But while that means no word going out, it also means no word going in. Once you're inside, you're on your own.”

>mission questions?
Well fuck me, he's still alive.
Took a few minutes longer than I'd thought it would. Had pork chop in the pan but forgot to turn burner on. Was too busy making broccoli to realize until I went to flip it and found it still cold.
Any people of interest that need to be captured? Or this going to be a straight extermination job? How many people do we expect to be there? What resources, beyond the personnel we know, do we have at our disposable? I guess kind a basic shit I'm looking for.

Any of these 'slaves' at the site that we need to be aware of? As well people that might be considered civies, I guess.

any idea what they're packing, level of opposition and what type of payment they're expecting?
Opposition - Numbers, Equipment, Training, Morale?

Location- Layout of facility, maintenance of same, ingress/egress routes?

Mission Parameters- Objectives (in order of importance), allies/support (if any), any civilians/noncombatants in the area?

Basically >>36827691
“Any HVTs that need to get taken in?” You ask, glancing up from the pages in front of you as you read.

“At the facility? None. Anybody higher up we've already deemed irrelevant. We know what we need to know from these people. All that's left is to stomp on the cockroaches.”

“And their level of resistance?”

The Commander smirks, though the mask conceals it.

“Small arms, maybe a few light armor pieces if they roll those out, if they somehow have time. They aren't expecting us and their operation has been running smoothly under what they perceive as impunity. When we hit them, it will be a complete sucker punch.”

While you'd like to share in that enthusiasm, you know that almost nothing ever goes according to plan. If it did, it wouldn't need much of a plan.

“How many?”

“Total? Around a hundred or so. Most of these being cartel members but not direct combatants. Ignore them or take them out as you see fit depending on how they react. They scurry and hide you can leave them, they come out with guns, cut them down.” He places a few more sheets in front of you that you quickly scan over.

As far as you can tell, resistance will be spotty and light if it all goes well. From everything you can tell, there aren't any civlians around

The facility itself is quite a distance away from any residential areas, secured high in some rolling hills and accessible through only two roads. Hard to get to by land but plenty of zones to get a chopper into. Meaning you'll have to rely most of your backup assets on air cav.
The rest of Alpha slowly begin filing through the doors as the morning begins to wear on. The faint smell of breakfast from the mess hall lingering on most of them as they enter.

Each in turn receives a stapled paper briefing to fill them in on what you're looking at as the next mission. A mission quickly chalking up to be a rather sudden and brutal in-out hit to leave the enemy disoriented and bleeding.

After a while, Kukri finds a seat next to you and begins reading her own papers. Though she never says anything, and neither you do, somehow that only makes things a twinge more awkward. At least for their parts, Mara and Seluth don't seem to suspect anything.

The arachne having busied herself studiously tearing into the intel while the Ryu flips a few papers around absent mindedly without appearing to do much reading if any.

Despite everything you've read, however, you can't help but feel a certain unease. Like a rock in your gut.

Nothing ever goes as smoothly as it's supposed to.
Personal armament: MKII 4ga shotgun, GKT 15mm handgun.

[ ] T38B 6.1x30mm carbine. Sporting a 150rd helix magazine in a bullpup configuration, the T38B is a carbine version of the longer T38. Both utilizing a forward operating rod guided by a star gear to reduce felt recoil and muzzle climb. Featuring an adjustable rate of fire from 800 to 1900 rounds a minute the T38 line is a favorite of wolf infantry and DIRE teams alike

[ ] D18 rifle. An antiquated rifle by wolf standards, the D18 nevertheless continued to see frontline use until the last days of the war. While many consider its 20 round magazines to be lacking in firepower, the rifle itself is chambered in a powerful .350 cartridge capable of downing even the largest of werebear with relative ease. Though results when used on the full automatic setting are mixed at best.

[ ] ARC30. A thirty milimeter bolt action rifle with removeable three round magazines, the ARC is intended for use on armored targets. However with HE loadings it has carved itself out an impressive niche at long range anti personel work. A matched scope capable of 20x magnification and internal dampening systems make the ARC an impressivly accurate piece of handheld artillery.
>[ ] D18 rifle
>[ ] T38B 6.1x30mm carbine. Sporting a 150rd helix magazine in a bullpup configuration, the T38B is a carbine version of the longer T38. Both utilizing a forward operating rod guided by a star gear to reduce felt recoil and muzzle climb. Featuring an adjustable rate of fire from 800 to 1900 rounds a minute the T38 line is a favorite of wolf infantry and DIRE teams alike
I'm just going to assume that we have some sort of sabot round for our shotgun. Should be able to punch through BTRs, so we should be fine.
Rolled 4 (1d10)

>[ ] D18 rifle
>[ ] T38B 6.1x30mm carbine

many hostiles
I think I'm going to have to crash for the night. This past week has just been creeping up on me and I'm struggling to even /k/ right. Which is unfortunate because I've been keeping up on my 2 Z&W threads a night pretty regularly while I get ideas written down.

As is I'm barely managing to keep upright in this chair and a red bull has just made me need to pee a lot and done little else.

Sorry for the shortish thread but I'll also be more on track now that I have actual coworkers again instead of people ditching their work onto me.
All good man, thanks for the run.
Thanks for the run! And do we have some sort of sabot round for the shotgun? A giant tungsten spike instead of several smaller ones?
>And do we have some sort of sabot round for the shotgun? A giant tungsten spike instead of several smaller ones?
Yes. Massive tungsten spikes.
This anons got to leave for work now, thanks for the thread so far Papa
Thanks for the thread boss
thanks for running~
File: SimpleJoys.png (1.48 MB, 1920x1080)
1.48 MB
1.48 MB PNG
No worries about the runtime bossman, I'm just glad and happy your running at all so keep being awesome.
>D18 rifle
A helical magazine disgusts me on a deep, personal level. I'd go for the battle rifle every time.
Glad to see you back bro. Missed last thread as I was busy and most of this one as well. Glad someone else archived last thread, I'll do this one assuming no one beats me to it.
And its up, seeya next time
Well this is a wonderful surprise. I just caught up to the 2012 Gen A stories that I put off for forever and a half because military happened and things get put on a backburner. Sleep well Papa-N.

[Advertise on 4chan]

Delete Post: [File Only] Style:
[a / b / c / d / e / f / g / gif / h / hr / k / m / o / p / r / s / t / u / v / vg / vr / w / wg] [i / ic] [r9k] [s4s] [cm / hm / lgbt / y] [3 / adv / an / asp / biz / cgl / ck / co / diy / fa / fit / gd / hc / int / jp / lit / mlp / mu / n / out / po / pol / sci / soc / sp / tg / toy / trv / tv / vp / wsg / x] [Settings] [Home]
[Disable Mobile View / Use Desktop Site]

[Enable Mobile View / Use Mobile Site]

All trademarks and copyrights on this page are owned by their respective parties. Images uploaded are the responsibility of the Poster. Comments are owned by the Poster.