>>231920
not posting options 100[/spoiler

>Strafe away from the Cell, drawing "Bertha" and using the Bunker rounds on Banshee
>Use Claymore to draw attention, and backpedal to coax it to charge into terrain
>Make noises, draw attention, attempt to grapple/catch the creature's charge and hold it for the Cell to shoot into.

How big is that thing? Could Praeses 'rassle the shit out of it to expose the soft underbelly, if there's such a thing?

>>231948
>>Make noises, draw attention, attempt to grapple/catch the creature's charge and hold it for the Cell to shoot into.

>>231950
It's about four meters tall, with a massive horn on the front like a Hercules Beetle. Six long, three wide, this thing's nasty as fuck.

In theory, Praeses could make a solid attempt to hold it down. It's kind of a big task, and would be on the higher end of things. This description got lost when I had to trim to meet the 3k character limit, and I swore I left it in.

Praeses is almost three meters tall, hitting about 8ft tall and two wide. If that option is still good for you, roll 1d100+20. Best of three rolls, or the highest roll in 20min gets it.

Rolled 87 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>231981

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>>231992
aww yeah

>>231992
Sweet tits; writing up.

>>232000
That may end up being pretty damn accurate.

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>>231956
>Make noises, draw attention, attempt to grapple/catch the creature's charge and hold it for the Cell to shoot into.

Praeses was a BELLATOR. He’d fought some of these Banshees. He even killed a few before he earned the BELLATOR honors, mostly single-handedly. Sure there was a squad in his tower with him that slowly wore down until he was the last one, struggling to fight with scarce ammo and scarcer explosives, but he killed some of these.

It may have been a desire for revenge, but Praeses wanted to wrassle the shit out of one.

“Oi, you big screaming douchebag!” He shouted, firing at the crystalline-coverings that gave its eyes a compound appearance and a sinister glare. He dismissed his gun, and punched into his palm. Bringing up his dukes, his voice boomed across the battlefield once more: “I betcha don’t wanna know what these can do!”

The creature took the bait, howling and lowering its massive horn. That horn could have spelled certain doom. It could spear him, making him a perfect target for the creature’s screams. Those screams were sonic attacks from its gullet that could break glass, shake apart buildings, and even burst blood vessels. Regardless of whether it was a marvel of evolution, or an abomination to be destroyed, the creature was capable of goring tanks, exposing the crew, and screaming sonic death into the gash to slaughter the crew. This was a huge risk.

>Roll result: 87+20 = 97
>Critical Success!

And it paid off.

He clapped his fists together, and slammed the creature’s horn into the dirt below him. Before it could recover, he grabbed the horn’s tip and held it tightly in his fists. The Banshee began to writhe, desperate to free itself from the man-shaped slab of metal that stood in its way. Praeses waited for it to try thrusting forward, before sidestepping and grappling the base of the horn. He wrapped one arm around it, and punched into the crystalline covering of the creature’s eye. Underneath was a collection of swollen, bloodshot eyes. He punched more, destroying more of the coating. It squealed, kicking madly below it and attempting to dig away. The impact of the cannon slammed into its back, drones flew overhead to deliver flames across chitin. Its eyes rolled in various directions as chitin fell off in sheets. The creature’s abdomen was exposed, and a psionic blast slammed into it to leave some kind of field that chewed on the creature’s flesh. Sniper fire punctuated each assault, and another psionic attack landed that caused a massive explosion. The Banshee fell flat on its underbelly, letting out a squeal of pain.

>Post 1 / 2

>>232126
With a press of his foot, Praeses threw his left arm around the creature’s horn. He pulled back, getting another scream out of its flailing maw as the bone snapped. He swung it into the creature’s face, before flipping the two-meter horn and stabbing through its exposed eyes. It leaped up, knocking Praeses on his rear before it scurried at random around the field, headbutting a dumpster and driving the pike further into its skull and killing it.

“Holy shit! That was sick!” Marilyn shouted.
“Do it again!” the cannoneer shouted. The tech-specialist clapped, the drones returning to him where he repaired them. The sniper reloaded his rifle, and put it on his back before pulling out a pistol
“I’d love to,” Praeses joked, “But this thing needs a bit of time to rest.”
“Yea, here, let’s help it out,” the tech-specialist said through the rattle of a smoker’s voice. The drones began cooking the body, using a specialized oxide to leave a deep-cleansing chemical. Whatever remained of the Banshee wouldn’t even be usable, in a few hours.

Praeses had to keep his head on straight. He had two more military assets that required aid, and they were 462nd Armor division and a trio of transport-capable gunships from the 1101st Squadron. With the Cell appearing to be fine for the moment, he could either direct them to a task elsewhere or keep them with him to help free up the other assets on-field.

>Ask for a more in-depth sit-rep
>Order the Cell to clear a Communication’s Relay
>Lead the Cell to the Armor Division
>Lead the Cell to the Flier Squadron
>Scan for survivors between current position and other objectives

>>232133
>>Scan for survivors between current position and other objectives
check ammo, theirs in this case, maybe get some info on the situation in the other zones and build up a charge for our underbarrel launcher?

>>232173
>Scan for survivors between current position and other objectives
>check ammo, theirs in this case, maybe get some info on the situation in the other zones and build up a charge for our underbarrel launcher?

“How are you doing on ammo?” Praeses inquired, running his suit’s maps on an update protocol. There was a group of survivors that dropped a beacon moments prior, probably having panicked from their position of hiding after hearing the Banshee’s screaming. They were just on the other side of the now-collapsed building, hunkering down.

“Well, we’re all doing solidly on ammunition. Had you not come when you did, BELLATOR, we’d be a little screwed. Our anti-Banshee tactics involve trying to collapse a building on it, or just having Marilyn draw its attention with her barrier. Thankfully, we didn’t need to,” the sniper said as the others checked their weaponry.
“Yea, thankfully,” Marilyn spat and rolled her eyes, “I did not have to risk my blood vessels bursting due to some kind of bullshit acoustics bouncing the scream around.”
“Either way,” the specialist interjected, “We should be good for a little longer. We didn’t sustain any major injuries, and my drones didn’t suffer any damage.”
“Because it’s all about the drones, eh?” Marilyn playfully punched the specialist’s prosthetic shoulder, he smirked in response.
“Always.”

Praeses turned, dropping a waypoint on the civilians.

“There’s a group of kids, holding out and probably in a degree of safety,” Praeses indicated. He drew his weapon before continuing.

>Send the Cell to defend the civilians, run to the aid of another asset [specify which]
>Join the Cell to safeguard the civilians [Spends vital time]
>Send the Cell to assist another asset [specify which, risks Cell]

>>232272
>>Send the Cell to defend the civilians, run to the aid of another asset [specify which]
Regroup with the battalion, bring the the civs with them if they can't find a very secure place for them and secure around the battalion's area, could use the birds to remove the civs from the hotzones then they could clear the towers

>>232306
Writing up now.

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>>232306
>Send the Cell to defend the civilians, run to the aid of another asset [specify which]
>Regroup with the battalion, bring the the civs with them if they can't find a very secure place for them and secure around the battalion's area, could use the birds to remove the civs from the hotzones then they could clear the towers

“You cover the civilians, I’ll help out the 462nd Battalion. If the area’s clear enough, bring the civies once I give an all-clear with the Battalion. If all goes according to plan, everyone should be able to free up the gunships from anything keeping them grounded. From there, the civies can be evac’d safely.”
“Copy that. See you on the other side, Commander,” Marilyn replied. Offering an informal salute, she brought her Cell to bear, and they entered the rubble with psionic and drone assistance to keep the wreckage stable.

Praeses put a waypoint to follow over the battalion, entering full-sprint. It took several minutes to clear the distance, and he heard the flight of shells overhead. As he made it, just at the edge of the combat zone, he heard the scattered ringing of Drop Trooper armaments and the occasional explosion of a Warden tank’s main gun. Praeses counted one artillery cannon firing, the tank, and about five Drop Troopers.

”Commander, we’ve suffered some casualties. A new Plague strain has been charging our firing line and blasting corrosive acid everywhere, and they took out one of the artillery crews as they blew up. The Warden is holding steady, and so are the five of us remaining, but we’re unable to contact the Squadron. Their last transmission was that they were landing, but they went dark shortly after.”

Praeses almost spoke up, but a familiar voice entered his ears over public bands.

...is message repeats. Eth-... If you ca… I

There was heavy static, something eating at the line. It was in one of the neighboring districts.

...fine. Cov… self. Our… -eting spot. This message repeats.

Rinoa.

Praeses wasn’t able to triangulate which of the other two districts it was, just that it was one of them. It may as well have been another language, for how staticky it was.

>Rush to the tower, the troops could likely hold out
>Aid the troops, the message is repeating

>>232416
>Rush to the tower, the troops could likely hold out
Can he keep sending pings to locate the place the message is coming from while still having radio contact with the 462nd?

>>232438
The distance between the two makes this a binary decision. At a 50km/h sprint it takes a few minutes to get to the nearest tower from here, with the other jammed tower being a repeat of the current distance. Not to mention he would need to guess which tower is the one messing with the signal, which isn't entirely clear.

>>232449
To further clarify, the jamming is doing just enough to keep his suit from clearing it up. He'd need to get closer, and stay there for a bit to maybe get the signal on the first tower he goes toward.

>>232449
Well shit, And the Cell is too far to help, hopefully we'll hear from Martina with some good news soon

>>232470
So what's the call? Risk the Armor Battalion to chase the lead, or risk the lead to guarantee the Battalion lives?

>>232480
Shit, yeah help the troops

>>232507
Writing up. Roll me 1d100; same rule applies to the others in how the highest roll either of three, or in 20min, will determine the result.

This isn't for Praeses, but one of the groups currently off-screen.

Rolled 88 (1d100)

>>232518
shit roll get, sucks to be them

>>232532
Well sheeeeiiit, everything went better than expected

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>>232507
>Shit, yeah help the troops
>Roll of 88 noted for [REDACTED]

Praeses inhaled, staring longingly at the distorted signal. He felt it in his heart that Rinoa was there. But, if the message was repeating, it could have been put up at any point during the day. This communication is garbled. With Martina’s disappearance, maybe she’s helping Rinoa? Not that Martina knows who his daughter is…

Or does she?

”Commander?”
“En route, hang tight. Mark targets,”
”There’s one of the exploding assholes up ahead. I’ll tag it red, we advise either killing it at range, or throwing it. Our suits aren’t quite agile enough to throw them, but that’s where yours could probably come in.”
“Understood.”

The Drop Troopers wore suits extremely similar to the BELLATOR suit, but where his was made to bond to his body and interface via complex nerve augmentations, the Drop Suits were more akin to vehicles than suits. Capable of mounting weapon systems that a BELLATOR could, they were at a notably less efficient rate of return. Lacking shielding, armor hardeners, and advanced nervous interfacing, a Drop Trooper was a BELLATOR’s kid brother who would surprise a few people in a street-fight. Praeses funneled some hate, and his sides emanated minor pain as his adrenal glands went into overdrive.

Nothing, not Plague nor circumstance, stays in my way for long.

Praeses hopped over a small stone barricade, and found himself behind the Plague. All the enemies were marked, tagged with numbers to indicate the order the Drop Troopers would be knocking them down. Praeses started at the farthest in the list: a yet-untagged Brawler. It saw Praeses, and immediately leaped after him. Making extensive use of his newly upgraded arms, he pulled the creature to the ground with ease. It landed behind him, momentum carrying it a few feet away. The rest of the Plague turned and began firing on him: which Praeses felt was a pretty reasonable thing for them to do.

Praeses slammed into a Zealot, hoisting it over his head and slamming it into his rising kneecap. It broke on his leg, and he snatched it by its leg and threw it to the Brawler. The Zealot fell apart, and Praeses surprised himself.

Am I that pissed off?

Praeses felt the Brawler slug him in the back, and he staggered forward. His HUD turned red, indicating a massive force of 1500N hit his back. The armor hardeners almost didn’t contain the damage.

Yes. I am.

He drew his Claymore, fired into the Brawler’s leg before dismissing the weapon and putting a kick square in its face. Something was clawing its way through the rubble to make it to Praeses. As his reflexes acted, he had a bit of brainpower devoted to making a relatively simple decision.

>Order the Battalion to start moving toward the 1101st’s Last Known [Staying behind to finish this]
>Try to raise the 1101st
>Order the Battalion to stay on Praeses

>>232647
>>Order the Battalion to start moving toward the 1101st’s Last Known [Staying behind to finish this]

>>232656
Writan'

>>232656
>Order the Battalion to start moving toward the 1101st’s Last Known [Staying behind to finish this]

“Move toward 1101st’s Last Known, I’ll take care of these assholes.”
”Copy that, Commander!”

The BELLATOR reached to the staggered, crawling Brawler. It looked up with pure hatred in its eyes, the skin pulled tightly against its skull and arm musculature revealing it was extremely specialized at one task. Just like Praeses! Praeses grabbed it by the chin, and gave it a good tug. The head came off, along with some viscera. Praeses swung, clocking something in the face. He watched a bubbling, writhing mess of humanoid flesh bounce off the ground with the squelch of wet meat. The creature screamed something that sounded like a mountain lion’s roar, and then it burst. Corrosive acid was flung everywhere, Praeses’ shielding flaring out as it vaporized the liquid. The other Plague became desperate, one of the Copperheads charging with a shotgun.

Praeses snatched the shotgun, and since his suit wasn’t going to fit the fingers into the trigger, he used it as a club. The creature’s head sheathed the weapon with a crunch, and the Copperhead fell limply on the ground. The Bellator charged, using his momentum to crush a Footsoldier into the cover it was scrambling to climb over. The Claymore appeared, as the Footsoldiers followed a Copperhead around a knocked over car. The second charge of the Claymore’s underbarrel grenade launcher was spent, and the weapon finished the replacement of the first almost immediately.

The monstrous suit of power armor stood triumphant, blood coating his chestplate and visor. With a thought, a wiper activated that cleaned his vision. He looked to the 462nd, sprinting to catch up. The remaining artillery tank was firing up into a parking garage, dumb AI-guided shells finding their targets with extreme accuracy. The Warden was swinging its turret around, the crew inside eager to fire another shot after having moved backwards to keep its armored front end facing where the Plague were.

“Commander,” one of the Drop Troopers reported with a robotic salute, “Staff Sergeant Conroy, 462nd. Man are we glad to see you!”
“At east, Conroy. Praeses Pater, your field commander. What’s going on now?”
“The top of this building is the last-known. They said only that they were landing; no signs of damage or anything before they just stopped responding. We could’ve used the air support, too.”
“You hurt, Marine?”
“No,”
“Good. Your suits have the jump-jets?”
“Very limited fuel. We can only use them to prevent catastrophic impact from a fall. We’ve been burning fuel evading the exploders.”

>Clear the way to the landing pad solo
>Take [write-in] Drop Troopers with you to fight up to the Landing pad
Also:
>Order Artillery to strike targets marked by any friendlies
>Order Artillery to Hold Fire

>>232715
>>Clear the way to the landing pad solo
>Order Artillery to strike targets marked by any friendlies
doubt they can reach the Cell's com but hey, it could help them. Give them Martina frequency or something

>>232756
Gonna get one last reply, then probably fuck off to do other stuff for a while. I'll be back at it tomorrow!

Writan' this reply.

>>232843
Don't forget to archive this thread and the previous

>>232851
Yea, I snagged the other one on an archive a little after it hit auto-sage. Gonna go ahead and get this one tagged ahead of time just to be sure it sticks.

>>232756
>Clear the way to the landing pad solo
>Order Artillery to strike targets marked by any friendlies

“You boys stay here, cover the ground-support. Artillery, keep an eye out for targets on the following frequencies,” Praeses linked the specific frequencies to them, “The Cell and a particularly hardy survivor now have clearance, should they make the stretch. Rough locations included.”

Praeses wasn’t sure if Martina even had the equipment to call in strikes, but if she did there’s be something. Praeses loaded the Claymore, walking around the building to find his way to the entrance. He found the remnants of Plague troops that tried to escape artillery fire rolling down the entry-ramp, mostly in bits. The few that weren’t dead were dazed, strewn about like ragdolls. They were subdued pretty easily, mostly with stomps or punches. As Praeses made it to the third level, where a single ramp was between him and the helipad, he saw the tail-end of a gunship. It was strange, because there wasn’t any smoke or signs of damage.

Trudging, he squinted to keenly observe a faint trace of movement. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he saw it. Holding the weapon up, he turned around and looked at the roof as he backpedaled up the ramp. There was nothing of any danger, but he saw Martina. Confused, he stared at her as she was using a blowtorch to the gunship’s machinery.

“So, you know how to fix gunships?” Praeses inquired.
“No, I just can search it up with the limited networks available. Their communication modules were damaged, and they’re hiding out in that shed over there. I wasn’t able to say anything to get them to open up. They seemed… Horrified.” Martina was somewhat unsettled, as if she knew more than she let on.
“You alright?”
“Yea. You… You need to talk to them. What they told me was unsettling, but they’ll probably get more coherent with you than they were a random survivor.”

The BELLATOR’s boots whirred and clanged on the concrete, and he opened the door. There was a spray of pistol fire, a scream of terror, and then silence.

”Clad in the Progenitor’s Armor himself!” one of the men screamed, running out and falling to Praeses’ feet as if to beg forgiveness, “We are so glad to see you, BELLATOR!”
“What happened, pilot?”
“We… We don’t know! We made contact with another pilot. He was a local, like one of those Sunday fliers. He was running a commandeered gunship of his own, and was running transports in Sector 16. We had given him our coordinates, and he was en route. Something came though. We saw him just on the horizon, and something leaped straight into the cockpit. He barely screamed before he went down. Last thing we got was an image of him… being consumed.”

>Ask them to explain further.
>Remind them who their field commander, try to levy that as a focus.
>Appeal to their fear: they need to evacuate people from that.

>>232901
>>Remind them who their field commander, try to levy that as a focus.
Focus people, I need as much info as you can give so I can make this thing regret ever coming here.

>>232934
Oh yeah, ask the guy's name if they caught it, makes the dealing more...personal, like we care about the guy

>>232901
>>Remind them who their field commander, try to levy that as a focus.

>>232937
even thow we dont and he will most liky die the second we walk ff to do something

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>>232901
>Remind them who their field commander, try to levy that as a focus.

>>233246
>>236251
>>232934
>Remind them who their field commander, try to levy that as a focus.

Writing. Sweet tits I suck at updates.

>>233246
>>236251
>>232934
>Remind them who their field commander, try to levy that as a focus.

“Listen!” Praeses reached down to the man at his feet, and stood him up with a single hand. Thank the Progenitor for these servos, he mused.

“I need you to talk to me, airman. Your Field Commander’s a BELLATOR. Focus, alright? We need you to keep your head on, you’re the civilians’ ticket out of here and my air support. Hear me? My air support. That’s huge.”
“I mean… Maybe… I guess you’re right, sir. Sorry, it isn’t every day you see someone just get… Eaten. I seen some violent shit. But they always did something, y’know? Something to get to the eating part.”
“Why did this scare you, then? I need to know as much about it as possible, so it regrets being born.”
“Well, it… It just ate him. Stabbed into his chest with some tendril on its back, and the man was just enveloped in a writhing mass of something and disappeared. That gunship went down, crashed into a building a little ways down. He didn’t even get to scream for help, BELLATOR. It just… Got him.”
“So it just outright consumed him?”
“It was like he had been a part of it from the start. He was there, it stabbed him, then he just… Folded into it. The monster jumped out of the wreckage, we think? We don’t know. Whatever it is, it took out the gunship by just bursting through the cockpit.”
“Look, this is why I’m here. Okay? I need you to fly, and I need you to provide air support.”

The tank down below fired a round, and the Drop Troopers began firing their weaponry. A roar worked its way through the streets, and it was clear another siege was about to begin.

“And I need it now. If you see that thing again, you tell me. I’ll scare it worse.”
“Y-yes, sir!” the terrified man said, standing straight up and giving you a proud salute, “You heard the BELLATOR! Get in your ships, we’ve got people to save and Plague to shoot. It takes a BELLATOR to win a war, and dammit this is the worst war the Plague ever started!”

There was a cry of “Hoo-rah!” from the other two, who seemed to compose themselves by Praeses’ speech. Praeses walked to Martina, who was fixing the last of the communications devices. She gave a thumbs up to the pilots, who seemed confused by her presence. Praeses nodded assurance, and they rolled with it. Looking over the horizon, there was a gentle smog filling the evening air. Creatures howled into the night, and the glow of rocket fire and flak artillery dotted the sky as it began to fade into a velvet purple.

“Commander,” Cell F-7 transmitted, ”We’re seeing confirmation that the air crew is on station. Do you want us to wait here, or come to you?”

>Order Cell F-7 to stay put, order an all-force attack-move to the Cell
>Order Cell F-7 to come to the 462nd
>Order both to hold position, you’ll clear a path between

>>241030
um, which one is for ordering ground troops to cover the air forces base of operation, while having artillery carpet bomb approaching bravos and us joining the fray to eliminate strugglers?

>>241094
Keep in mind you've only got one artillery crew. All things considered, this isn't entirely a bad idea. I'm a dit: totally forgot building a base of operations was a thing that might end up being necessary.

That being said, making this parking garage a base of operations for the forces is an option. I knew I was forgetting something sensible.

>>241116
don't worry, but yeah we need to reinforce a position as a temporary field ops base, otherwise our troops will suffer from too much battlefatigue and stress which are important to manage in a situation like this. We also have to attempt securing supplies or we WILL get fucked fast.

>>241151
With this in mind, I can include "Make this a FOB" in another option, and instead have 1101st send a ship out to get the Cell. Sound like a good write-in?

>>241201
yeah, let's roll with that one

>>241227
Writan'

>>241094
>Make this location a FOB, have a dropship get the Cell while all other forces hold position
to be specific

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SbevUYP55HI
tfw no ultra heavy exoskeleton corps

>>241094
>Make this location a FOB, have a dropship get the Cell while all other forces hold position

“Wait there, I’m sending one of the 1101st gunships your way. It’s gonna be hot here, so be prepared to come out and join the fray. If you mark targets, we’ll have the artillery shell them. We’re down to a single crew, however.”
”Copy-copy, Commander. Gotta say, this is probably one of the smoother joint-ops we’ve been in.”
“We’ve got a job to do; regardless of how you do it all that matters is it getting done.”
”That is damn refreshing to hear. We’re mostly safe; our marksman is taking out a few targets. Looks like you’ve got a nasty coming down to say high, though, by our scans.”
“And that’s why I’m here. You just keep the civies safe.”
”We’ve got a waypoint on us for the 1101st. Marked a few targets as our marksman and tech-specialist see them, for your artillery.”
“Good. I’ll be waiting to shake your hand. Over.”

The artillery began blasting away, and Praeses smiled. The 462nd began its work, suppressing new enemies as they approached. Praeses sprinted, dropping down to land squarely on a Viper, its life ending with a resounding crunch.

”Praeses,” Martina coughed, ”I’ll be joining the bird that’s going to Cell F-7. I know one of the survivors.”
“Understood, Ferrara. Keep your head down; no matter how hardy you are you’re still a civilian. Stick to the Cell’s plans, okay?”
There was a notable pause as the gunship took off into the distance.
”Understood.”

Praeses drew Bertha, and began pouring the rounds into the Plague around him. As the weapon glowed bright orange, the bullets mowed through Plague. They were scrambling for cover, only to catch molten metal as the bullets cleared their impromptu hiding places. The BELLATOR dismissed the weapon as it clicked empty, charging directly into a Brawler and rocking it into the dirt with his shoulder. It jumped up, being made into mincemeat by several high-powered rifles. There were cheers on the comms, and the tank blasted into a Banshee’s mouth. The creature belched smoke, and fell limp on the ground.

“Good shot!” Praeses cheered. The Cell came down from the landing pad and joined the fray, marking what was effectively the last half of the fight. Their unusual combat methods were invaluable, shoring up a glaring weakness: pushing enough to break the assault. The Plague were routed, and Marilyn fell to the dirt with a sigh.

“Well, Commander, that’s some good shit,” Marilyn laughed, “But I might be spent after that last stunt.”
“This garage is a suitable enough spot,” Martina added.
“With some work, we could set up patrols. The tank needs some service, which the crews of both vehicles can provide.”

>Allow troops to rest
>Press their limits to find more survivors
And
>Stay with troops
>Strike out to search solo

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>>241815
>allow troops some R&R
and
>Stay with troops, heroics are for fools

>>241852
Writan' out

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>>241815

>>242117
>mission_status_sick.png

>>241852
>allow troops some R&R
>Stay with troops, heroics are for fools

“Good holding; put out a beacon to all survivors. We’ll do evac in the morning of all survivors who come, but we need to bunker down, get through a night.”
“But Commander,” a member of the artillery crew shouted, “What of everyone out there?”
“We won’t be doing them any favors coming in poorly rested, ill-stocked, and under-repaired.”
“But… Those are mostly kids out there.”
“It’s simple. We can go out there with a damaged tank, Drop Suits that need servicing, a single artillery crew, three gunships that have only their pilots in them, and take on the entire Plague force only to rout overnight. Or, we can get repairs, rest, and take any who can make it to us to safety over the night.”
“Wouldn’t you go out there, though? To save them?”

Praeses felt that hit him in his gut. Yea, he would. He should. But in all honesty, he needed to be a rock. He had seen the Plague deploy en masse in seconds, and considering the losses that had already been inflicted, the troops needed a short reprieve to take those numbers on at their fullest capacity. Praeses would go out there and save his daughter in a second, but that was a lot of Hell out there. There needed to be sensibility, something that can be acted upon. He wasn’t going to make a gamble on something that could end up just being a trolley problem.

“I would,” Praeses admitted, “But I’m also here to make sure nothing ambushes the base. I will stand with you, as I was built to.”

Praeses flexed his fingers inside the suit, and the gauntlets at the end of the armguards responded in kind. He was reminded to keep his sensibilities straight: even if he was a BELLATOR, he was simply a man. They were men and women who would have laid their lives on the line to save a planet.

“We’re here to keep standing, to weather this storm. We aren’t going to weather anything if we don’t rest. Understood?”
The artillery operator started to talk, but one of his companions gestured to a bullet hole in the artillery vehicle’s armor plating while shaking his head.

From there, the night seemed to go on without much trouble. The troops were eager for the rest. They weren’t happy about it, but they were more or less understanding of the fact that they were just human. Martina, however, was nowhere to be found. Searching around, Praeses wasn’t even able to find a trace of her, and her suit’s subsystems were effectively disconnected from the link that put a waypoint over her.

Shit.

>Trust her to be out; she’s made it a whole day with you
>Ask the troops if they’ve seen her
>Extend your patrol of the base a little, see if she’s nearby

>>242141
>Extend your patrol of the base a little, see if she's nearby
any high vantage points for thermal scanning? if there is, we should post a sniper for spotting civvies and any friendlies that might still be alive nearby

>>242141
>>Ask the troops if they’ve seen her
>>Extend your patrol of the base a little, see if she’s nearby

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>>242154
oh yeah, asking troops is also a good choice

>>242154
>Ask the troops if they’ve seen her
>Extend your patrol of the base a little, see if she’s nearby

Will work them together, writin' up.

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>>242146
>>242154
>Ask the troops if they’ve seen her
>Extend your patrol of the base a little, see if she’s nearby
I don’t have any art, but my head I’ve been rendering Praeses’ suit as more akin to the Terran Marine suit, more like boots and such. Definitely digging the art, though! Thank you!

There was an uneasiness about it. Praeses continued his patrol, slowly making his way through the impromptu barracks of an office to ask around about her. They hadn’t seen her, and a few even thought she left with the rest of the survivors. Praeses prefaced with “am I going crazy?” once or twice, just to make sure he hadn’t done something ridiculous like hallucinate her.

They reported seeing her, and the pilots also confirmed her existence by taking a moment to express their surprise at the servicing upgrades. They had, in a mild panic, wrecked the communication lines. Martina had, somehow, found a pretty accurate guide. They recognized the jury-rigging pattern, and had admitted to using it to get through a few maintenance exams.

Shit.

Praeses’ patrols stretched out a little further, and his suit began pulsing. Thermal views, mild surface scans... Anything that wouldn’t fire a flare for the Plague to hunt, Praeses used it. He didn’t get anything, except for echoes. A group of civilians showed up, they were hurried along and there was noise further into the district. Not near the communication towers, but Praeses detected it as a gymnasium-type-deal. The map showed it was currently out of order, and when the overlay dropped Praeses noticed that it was imploded. There was some minor viscera from a Plague biomass crushed inside it, and Praeses noticed the leg of a Banshee wedged inside.

Holy shit, he shook his head. Truth be told, the entire place looked like shit. There was a minor concern if the colony was lost, and Praeses wasn’t sure if he could save it all. There was a lone transport, and Praeses zoomed in. The thing was taking off as a firefight was breaking out, and several bullets flew out of the skyline to pepper its hull, before a Plague Hellflyer took off from its perch and slammed into the impromptu dropship. It spun out of control, flung several people out, and exploded into a building.

“You come to watch, too?” Martina interrupted, and Praeses was jumped slightly, arming himself. He dismissed the gun, and turned back from her as she sat with her hands on her knees. The dropship skidded out of sight, dropping its flaming hull to the ground.
“No, I came to find you. Were you watching?”
“We’re not going to be able to save them all.”
“You dodged the question.”
“You’re dodging a possibility,”
“What?”
“We won’t be able to save them all.

>”I don’t care, I need to save Rinoa.”
>”I have to try, saving as many as possible is what I’m built for.”
>”What do you mean by that possibility business?”

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>>242355
>”What do you mean by that possibility business?”

>>242355
>>”What do you mean by that possibility business?”

>>242383
>human lives are like lemons, I can't handle them all.
>I don't know why I took lemons to explain that

>>242402
>life gives you lemons
>human lives are like lemons
>lemons are assholes
it all makes sense now, thanks anon

>>242398
>>242383
Writin' up

>242398
>242383

“What exactly do you mean by this dodging business?”
“What?”
“You’re trying to get at something. Let’s get it on the table, and talk.”
“I see.”

Martina started to stand up, and the BELLATOR turned to face her with his arms crossed. She dusted herself off, and nodded towards the night sky, accentuated by the fleet battle overhead and the scattered gunfire occasionally lighting up streets, and decorating a night with a very sharp staccato.

“Your daughter. I know her, and I roughly know you.”
“You do?”
“Yes. Rinoa Walter. Your name, I can’t really pull from any records. I broke into some records shortly after coming out of my trauma-induced blackout. Well, more accurately, I was in the office of some kid that was an investigative journalist. He connected some dots, probably would’ve gone public if this mess hadn’t happened.”
“You lucked out, then.”
“Yea, knew you were dropping.”
“Do you know where she is, then?”
“No. But I imagine she’s safe.”
“How do you know?”
“She’s with someone. They’re under some good protection. Did a scouting run, peeked my head over a wall and saw. They’re gonna make it out, if everything goes well.”

Praeses felt like there was more to it. She had her helmet off, and there was a degree of sadness in her eyes. Reaching for her helmet, she walked out of the cover of the building for a brief moment. The last of the sunlight was moving away, fading into the beginning of a long night.

“Are you sure she’s safe?”
“Yea. She isn’t safer anywhere else, asides from maybe under your view. I uh… I’m gonna go rest with the troops.” She walked, limping somewhat.
“Are you alright?”
“I… I’m gonna miss Leo the most when this is all over.”

>”There, there,” [Generic comfort]
>”I still miss my squad,” [Backstory on Praeses]
>”Survive, so you can keep his memory alive,” [Motivation]

>>242445
>"I still miss my squad"
can we use the motivation options phrase as a finishing phrase?

>>242383
This is great

>>242445
>”Survive, so you can keep his memory alive,” [Motivation]

I'd also like to combine the two like >>242450

>>242383
I just want to take a moment to appreciate this especially. That's so much more tragically accurate than I can reveal at this point in the quest.

>>242450
>>242452
I'll write this up some, and get some snooze. I'll have this posted immediately as I get back from work tomorrow, so we can hit the ground running. It's gonna be a busy day.

I'm on Twitter @BlackScribeQM so keep an eye out

>>242463
Aigth, good night then. Keep in mind that threads hit auto-sage and cannot be bumped to the 1st page after they've been up for 3 days/reached bump limit, so it'll be a race to get the most done before it falls off the board

>>242463
sleep tight sweet prince
dont take off your powersuit or the plague will get you

testing

>>242445
>"I still miss my squad"

“I still miss my squad. They were all that was with me, on that old city-colony. I can’t even remember the colony anymore due to how bad it was. Colony doesn’t exist anymore.”
“Huh?”
“I got BELLATOR Honors for fighting to the last. I took out every Plague that attacked my forward operating base, thinking someone was alive and coming to get me. I fought, and fought, and fought. They didn’t stop comin’ and I didn’t stop shooting. I spent every weapon I could scrounge, thinking others were just on the other side fighting in the same way. I fought, Martina. I fought like there was nothing else, because it was that or become Plague-chow.”
“You wouldn’t taste good, I imagine.”
“They thought I would. So I lodged myself in their mouth, and bore my claws. I dug into flesh, and when I was out of bullets I switched to explosives. I was in a tower, basically, and used explosives and artillery rounds to keep the Plague down. Took out a Shrimp with SAMs and a lucky toss of a grenade.”
“Holy shit…”
“Yea, holy shit’s right. But I was convinced that there was a group on the other side, and that I had sent a man to grab their assistance. A Copperhead sniper took him out as soon as he left my eyesight. Those who stood with me and slowly fell, I never noticed they’d gone. Now that I’m looking back, I’m pretty sure I couldn’t tell you my last words to each of them. I wrote the letters, being the last one. Their families were devastated.”
“How did you deal with that?”
“There was alcohol. A good bit of it. Then the Republic got a hold of me, told me they had a program I was perfect for. I had a chance of dying, and would be recorded as such after I entered the program.”
“The BELLATOR Phase Two project?”
“Yes.”
“What did you do?”
“I accepted, had the ceremony, and was granted one night to pack my shit and leave.”
“And that… That’s where your daughter came in?”
Praeses turned away, looking at the place his daughter had come to live: “Yea,”
“I see. What… What got you to keep going, after you realized you would survive the project?”

>>242452
>”Survive, so you can keep his memory alive,” [Motivation]

“I needed to push. To fight. To stay alive, so that nobody else would forget those people. They were my friends and my brothers in arms, and they fell. I bear their names, and as a BELLATOR I cannot be killed.”
“So you fight, to keep them alive with you?”
“Their story is something I’ll fight and extend as long as possible, considering I'm born of it. As long as I’m alive, their names remain. I’m gonna live a long time, if I have anything to say about it.”
“I guess... I'll need to do the same.”
“Now, you need to get to bed. Rest, so that tomorrow we can clean this mess up and save the planet.”
“Understood.”

>Continue patrols
>Pass watch to others, take a moment for yourself to keep your head on

>>245078
>>Pass watch to others, take a moment for yourself to keep your head on

>>245078
Good writing
>>245464
seconding

>Are posts back up? Because if so I know a thread that's getting updatez
What do you think?

>>252404
awshit

it's time to rush into the autosage

>>245464
>>245702
>Pass watch to others, take a moment for yourself to keep your head on

Praeses approached one of the others in line for the watch; he had been taking over for the entire base, watching and taking advantage of his lack of needing sleep. There was, though, a point to be made. The others needed to feel empowered, like they were capable of fighting alongside the BELLATOR.

They already know I’m good to watch. They need to know they’re good.

It was a strange statement to make, Praeses thought, as he meditated somewhat. He was more or less reducing the effectiveness of the night’s rest to ensure the soldiers around him were empowered by being trusted to handle themselves. If push came to shove, he needed them to feel independent enough to handle things without his saving.

Truly, they were the heroes here. Praeses reflected on that: they didn’t have super suits and didn’t have redundant organ systems to fall back on. They were just people. They stood up, put guns in their hands, and opened up on what threatened their way of life. Of all things, Praeses never thought being a BELLATOR would make him a warrior-philosopher or something.

He reflected on the alcohol, the day he held his own until he collapsed at the sight of a friendly dropship. The Republic insignia being the last thing he saw. It bore into his vision like the bullet that probably killed his friend, straight into the center of his vision and occluding everything else. There wasn’t a sentence he could say that would remove that: the Republic made Praeses so that others would see him where he saw that: a signal that the fighting was over.

Day came quickly, or an approximation of it. The attack on Domus had started pretty early into nightfall, about maybe three in the afternoon? Either way, it was to Praeses’ surprise he heard the roaring of the gunships’ engines. They were lifting civilians out, and everything was slowly coming to. He thought, realizing that he may very well have actually slept. That… He didn’t know what to do with that. He drew his gun, and made sure his systems were green. All checked out. Martina stood in front of him, tapping at his visor.

“Wake up,” she said, a little more direct than she had spoken previously, “New day. Plague are still active, and the troops are ready.”

The BELLATOR walked about the impromptu camp, watching men in almost skin-tight suits climb into hulking maws of machinery. They closed, and sealed over the heads of the Drop Troopers. There were hisses of steam, the clicks of various fasteners, and the gentle hum of energy sources flowing. Small-scale fusion reactors were lighting up systems, and the Drop Troopers performed an approximation of a salute as he passed. He nodded, putting them at ease with the phrase required. Clicks of heavy rifles followed his steps.

[1 / 2]

>>253197
“While we were passing watch, several groups of survivors came in. All on the quiet, but they reported something odd.”
“What?”
“A local Psi-Cultist convent wa-”
“Why treat them like that?”
“Okay, fine, Followers of The Mother. They were pointing out that some kid was going to try saving others in the school. They were concerned, though, when he didn’t report back this morning. They want us to find him, said he found something the Plague were doing.”
“Why did they let him?”
“He was a Grade Charlie, allegedly was going to become Delta in the near future. Had all the right visions, according to the cleric. He said something about feeling ‘Her call’ or something.”
“Progenitor’s balls.”

Praeses knew one thing: Grade Charlies were time-bombs. It wasn’t a widely accepted policy, but a Grade Charlie or lower psionic was troubling: if at any point they pushed past their limits, they would risk their minds breaking inside out in what was called a Psi-Terror. Praeses wasn’t an expert, but from what he knew a Psi-Terror was caused by their psi-nodes overclocking, and the resulting stress causing the limits a psionic had in place to keep themselves safe decaying outright. Any mental problems they had would be amplified, their minds unable to cope with the stress the psi-node put on it as more and more of the nervous system fed impulses to it. Friends, foes, whatever, the unfortunate psionic wouldn’t be able to stop themselves from hurting them. A kid deciding to go on this warpath, and become a hero? He wouldn’t just be a threat to himself but to everyone within a distance of, potentially, a city block if he were something like-

“They said he was a kind of electromancer, kept a bolt of lightning on hand at any given point, but that wasn’t their concern. Their concern was what they heard behind them as they ran.”

Fuck.

A storm was forming a little further into one of the districts that was still under ECM jamming. Sending more than two people in to deal with whatever that kid got into may be a bad idea: larger numbers unable to communicate with one another would be asking for trouble if that storm got any worse.

Especially if it’s from that kid going into a Psi-Terror.

>Set troops up to hold this position, Praeses and Martina moving into the storm
>Order troops to clear the relevant Com Tower, Praeses staying with them
>Have Martina scout for the troops, while Praeses braves the storm alone

>>253202
>Have Martina scout for the troops, while Praeses braves the storm alone

>>253342
Writin'

>>253202
>>Have Martina scout for the troops, while Praeses braves the storm alone

>>253415
>>253342
>Have Martina scout for the troops, while Praeses braves the storm alone

“Martina, you lead the troops into the communications array for that district,” Praeses spoke with a simple pointing of his gun, “You scout. I’m sending them your suit’s link, and you’ll be part of their battlegroup. This parking garage is a good helipad, but we need a wider net. Maybe more assets are out there.”
“You don’t want us with you, to help the kid?”
“No.”
Martina almost protested, but the rolling thunder dropped a series of bolts into a small office building. It imploded under the stress, and it was clear anyone going in there wasn’t meant to survive.

Anyone besides a BELLATOR.

The hairs on his arms stood up, and a chill ran down his spine. The storm was a sickly black, with arcs of white and blue licking the area. He didn’t trust that anyone but him would survive that. If there were Plague forms in there, they were probably dying by the swarms. The storm was without rain, nor hail, nor precipitation of any kind. It was pure electrical buildup, discharging at random around the massive suit. He lost contact with the 462nd, 1101st, and Cell F-7 almost immediately upon starting his sprint. Their standing orders were to - slowly - clear the comm-tower around that district. If this worked, Praeses would be able to sound off about his taming of the storm, or order an artillery strike.

A bolt slammed into Praeses’ shoulder, and it did little to stop him besides disable his shielding. If this storm was the result of a Psi-Terror, he had a grim call to make. One he wasn’t keen on making.

Anyone with a Psi-Terror had a chance of coming back from the brink. They could guide the river of raw reality, of existence melding aggressively with their subconscious. Some disciplines of psionics, such as the Eldritch that messed with people’s heads, even specialized in tapping into that limitless power for brief spans of time. A Psi-Terror normally wouldn’t last this long, nor would it have this kind of effect. However, if a kid was to eventually mature into a Grade Delta, the second-highest on the scale, their Psi-Terrors wouldn’t have a hard-limit. In the Inner Colonies, most kids rated Grade Charlie were scooped up into Psi-Battalions and trained in very specific disciplines. This was so that, if one pushed too hard, the others in the Psi-Battalion would be able to suppress and guide their ally into a safe state. Ease them back to sanity. Lacking that, it was either waiting them out or hoping they wouldn’t harm their ally before coming into sanity.

Praeses watched a cluster of Plague troops scattered about a courtyard, and the storm’s eye was visible. Bolts flew from a shrouded figure, searing Plague apart. An Overlord captured the lightning, straining to redirect it before bouncing it to the figure.

>Stay back, observe
>Engage the Plague outright
>Pick off any Plague that might actually harm the figure

>>253496
>>Pick off any Plague that might actually harm the figure

>>253515
Writan'. Normal thing of like, 10min is going because we avoidin' sage yo

>>253515
>Pick off any Plague that might actually harm the figure

Praeses pressed into a pillar, firing his rifle only at Plague that drew too close and weren’t going to be obliterated by the swirling winds. It wasn’t until his suit screamed several alarms of drastic atmospheric changes that he knew just how swirling they were. He took a moment and likened it to an obstacle course: Plague charged up a line of debris and tried to take shots at the figure. A small disc of electricity would swing out from the figure, cleaving a sluggish Plague form in half. One got through, and just as the Claymore leveled to fire a shot the creature was simply obliterated in arcing electrical discharge.

Well, good thing he hasn’t taken notice of me, yet.

Praeses put a few more pot-shots into the Plague, which were beginning to address him with their own fire. They were met with the sheer terror of nature, guided by a single humanoid. The storm howled, winds and atmospheric pressures changing rapidly. A few more exchanges, and Praeses realized there weren’t any Plague left. What little was there, was being dispatched from buildings by the storm. The air heated, explosively crackling and leaving little but scorch marks and spatter in the wake of what used to be Plague. Praeses had to thank his training for being able to resist the nausea that was coming from it. Sure, he was ripping and tearing earlier, but that was something done with hands. There was an order to it.

This wasn’t ordered.

There was a scream, a confused and panicked scream.

”HELP ME!”

The figure was dismissing the swirling vortex, and Praeses stepped into cover to see an Overlord had somehow snuck to the boy. Praeses leveled the rifle, only to watch in terror as the Overlord’s eyes took on a vile red glow. Tendrils of darkness emanated from its limbs, and it pressed its warty forehead to the boy’s. The scream continued, and an electrified hand reached into the Overlord’s abdomen and collapsed its form from sheer discharge.

”NONONONONONONO! I DIDN’T KILL THEM YOU DID! YOU! ALL OF YOU!”

The kid, couldn’t have been older than sixteen, was convulsing. He had vomit erupt from his mouth, with the sizzle of electricity arcing between his limbs and torso. Praeses had his gun leveled, and the kid howled.

”YOU’RE WITH THEM AREN’T YOU!?”

A vortex plucked the BELLATOR from his cover and flung him into a building. The boy raised his right arm, lightning filling his palm and creating a jagged connection between the storm and the ground.

>Desperately try to reason with the kid! You’re not with “them!”
>You’re tough, you can take some of this kid venting insanity.
>Try to escape, breaking line of sight and get your bearings

>>253587
>>Desperately try to reason with the kid! You’re not with “them!”

>>253609
>Desperately try to reason with the kid! You’re not with “them!”

Writin'

>>253609
Roll me 1d100, while I draft! Usual spiel of best o' three.

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Rolled 95 (1d100)

>>253642

>>253658
kid, do you know why they don't wear pants? It's because it's easier for them to piss themselves when I round up the corner

>>253609
>Desperately try to reason with the kid! You’re not with “them!”
>Roll result: 95

The kid hurled the bolt of lightning at Praeses, and he took the bolt straight to the chest. His shielding struggling to dissipate the charge, he stood up. He walked to the young man, whose face was in a perpetual state of terror. Lightning coursed through the boy’s arms and legs, and pulsed through the ground.

“Do you know why they don’t wear pants?” Praeses grabbed both the boy’s shoulders, and lowered his face, “It’s because of how much easier it is for them to piss themselves when I roll up.”

”AH!” the kid fell backward, grasping at his head and curling into a ball, ”Fine you’re not one! You’re not them! You aren’t! But I hear HER.”
“Who?”
”DON’T YOU KNOW?! HER. THE MOTHER. THE ENTITY. IT’S THE SAME THING AND I HEAR HER IN THE TIME BETWEEN TIME! THE STRINGS THEY GROW SILENT AS SHE DRAWS NEAR AND I AM DESPERATELY PLUCKING THEM!”
“Then fuckin’ stop! You’re conjuring a small hurricane!”
”What?!”

He wasn’t aware.

“You’re on Domus! Fuck the strings, fuck the Mother, you need to focus on where you are right god-damn now! You’re talking to a BELLATOR!”
”BELLATOR? On d-d-DOMUS? No! That means…” Lightning struck around the pair, creating a fierce scene. Praeses’ suit was screaming in pain, howling at the shorting. It would be able to fix itself, easily, but there’d need to be some solid maintenance.
“Yea, it means exactly what you think it means!” Praeses shouted, stepping closer to the kid. The kid’s eyes lost their glow, he stopped seizing. The electricity still pulsed and arced from him, but he seemed much more in control.
”I don’t know how long I’m able to hold on, so I need you to answer me something,”
“What?”
”Did I… Did I save them? The Followers?”
“Yes. They’re on a transport and leaving.”
”Then I did what I needed to.”
“Reign it in. Just focus on me. Okay?” Praeses had zero idea what he was doing. At this point, it was a gut feeling.
”Just…”
“One.”
”Like…”
“Two.”
”This?”
“Three.”
”How… BELL-”there was an audible pause, and it was clear there was a sudden snap to reality. As if someone had just fallen out of a high, instead of easing out: “-ATOR? Oh Progenitor’s gun, what… Where am I?!”

>”You’re safe for now, that’s all that matters.”
>”You uh… Kind of… Broke a Plague force.”
>”Domus. District 23, and I’m getting you out.”

>>253720
>>”Domus. District 23, and I’m getting you out.”
>”You uh… Kind of… Broke a Plague force.”
You should be proud of that, even though you might have nightmares about that for the rest of your life.

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>>253736
>”Domus. District 23, and I’m getting you out.”
>”You uh… Kind of… Broke a Plague force.”

Writan' with a hearty kek, especially at:
>You should be proud of that, even though you might have nightmares about that for the rest of your life.

>>253736
>”Domus. District 23, and I’m getting you out.”
>”You uh… Kind of… Broke a Plague force.”

“You’re on Domus, in the middle of a hostile invasion by Plague forces.” Praeses was interrupted by the slow, guttural snarl of a Plague form struggling to live. It crawled toward the duo, attempting to reach for an assault rifle. It was in the ashes of what was the Overlord: a Project MÉNTIOUM rifle. Suitable, Praeses thought as he trudged to stomp the Footsoldier’s skull in, “You also broke an entire Plague force. Like a model car, that you threw on the wall.”

Handing the weathered marksman rifle over, it lit up as the boy touched its stock. The boy’s eyes were wide, staring down at the blood spatter under the BELLATOR boot.

“Yea that model car was made out of toothpicks, to keep the analogy going.”

A roar echoed throughout the courtyard. Praeses looked toward the source, and the boy immediately began to scream. Praeses, in a show of speed he wasn’t fully aware of how he did, pressed the gauntlet to the boy’s face and darted into the building. Praeses’ head calculated it: the guttural noise was not of any Plague strain he had seen before. It was a brief recollection after, that gestured the area “that thing” was in was this one.

A bipedal creature, with tendrils writhing from its back, slowly approached the courtyard the pair had their stand off. Through the gauntlet, the BELLATOR felt the vibrations of whimpers. The bipedal creature knelt to one knee, and picked up a head. It looked vaguely like the head of a Viper, skin pulled taut across the surface of the bone. Loose bits of skin hung off it, and Praeses’ suit had a good deal of information to provide.

PLAGUE STRAIN IDENTIFIED.
AETERNUM INTERFECTORUM
COLLOQUIAL: “MURDER”
EXTREME CAUTION IS ADVISED!!!
EXTREME RADIATION DETECTED. EVACUATION ADVISED!!!

Praeses watched, observing as the claws the monster used in place of hands crushed the skull.

”ETHAN! WHERE ARE YOU!” It sounded like someone hadn’t cleared their throat in seventeen years, and there was enough bass in its voice to suggest that it had quite a bit of air to work with.

Praeses immediately snapped his vision to the kid, who violently shook his head. The creature, however, sniffed the air and turned away. Its back was to Praeses, and it walked towards where he had been flung. However, instead of looking along the BELLATOR’s path, it punched into the debris and howled the name once more.

”COME OUT AND FACE ME!”

>Try to wait it out [Risk it detecting you with pants down]
>Remove hand from kid’s mouth, ready weapon [Risks the kid screaming]
>Attempt to stealth [Risks the creature lunging at first sign of noise]

>>253767
That a fucking skinwalker?
>Remove hand from kid’s mouth, ready weapon [Risks the kid screaming]
Can we mouth "don't scream, yet"?

>>253769
>That a fucking skinwalker?

I'm writan'; I'll just say it is very aptly named.

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>>253769
>Remove hand from kid’s mouth, ready weapon [Risks the kid screaming]

Praeses removed his hand from the young psionic’s mouth, and he immediately pressed his own hands to his mouth. His face turned white, indicating he had heard the impact resonate in his own skull. The creature seemed unaware from what Praeses heard, but he could at least figure out why the kid looked like he was going to pass out.

The kid’s shaking was imperceptible to anyone without BELLATOR ocular upgrades. But he was horrified. Praeses, admittedly, was a little regretful of his whole “BELLATOR Honors” crap about now. If it gets a name like “Eternal Murderer,” and the only other one was killed by… How did Martina say it died?

Oh yea, falling into a fucking fusion reactor.

The “Murder” dropped to its knees, forming a shell over itself as the Claymore was raised up. He aimed it square at the creature, and when it came out of the shell with an explosion, Praeses had to double-take. Now, its humanoid legs were shaped like that of a horse’s. Hooves covered the bottom, and the creature’s arms were thick and claw-like. It stretched its arms, testing the tensile strength of the limbs. The flesh undulated and moved as the monster reallocated muscle mass to its legs, and after a few seconds of buildup launched itself into the rubble to start digging. Another creature, almost exactly like it, slammed into the ground behind him. This one didn’t have any semblance of humanity. It screeched, sounding like a mountain lion: a woman in her death throes letting out one final howl of pain.

The first one spun around, slamming into the second one’s torso. The built-in Geiger Counter went apeshit, and Praeses held his gun steady as they began a brawl. Howling fury tearing into them. As Praeses looked into their faces, he swore they had the semblances of human faces. It was hard to tell, though, as claws began to rip and tear.

>Order the kid to go, cover his six [Maintains Praeses’ position, will draw aggro if kid breaks silence]
>Pick up the kid and fuckin’ run [Balls-to-the-wall, x4 move action]
>Attempt to lob a grenade out to draw the pair away [Risks outright detection]

>>253782
>>Order the kid to go, cover his six [Maintains Praeses’ position, will draw aggro if kid breaks silence]

>>253790
Everyone's favorite phrase: Roll me 1d100

I think I've got me one more update then I gotta hop off; take some meds and snooze.

File: [Invicibility fucking int(...).gif (1012 KB, 400x321)

1012 KB GIF

Rolled 87 (1d100)

>>253791

>>253791
Oh yeah, can we call up Martina and ask where the nearest reactor is situated?

>>253799
Excellent question!

X-046 “Black Tape” Payload Delivery Device
Wonder if it might be time to use our big boom if we can keep the fucker still for a while

File: GET OUT OF HERE.gif (1.4 MB, 400x259)

1.4 MB GIF

>>253790
>Order the kid to go, cover his six [Maintains Praeses’ position, will draw aggro if kid breaks silence]
>Roll Result: 87

The kid was out like a thief, and Praeses almost didn’t realize he was there. The kid had about ten seconds, before Praeses began to slowly back away. The pair of creatures fought like feral animals, competing for dominance. Arms were torn off, consumed in a visceral display of the tendrils writhing off one of the creatures and into the severed limb before being swallowed, as if by acidic spittle.

Praeses backed away, getting a communication line to Martina and the squad. He drew the pistol that would drop a BELLATOR Round, aiming it as he backed up. If anything went wrong, bullet out followed by a full-sprint.

”Praeses, we’re clear. Minor scuffing, mostly paint scratches, but we found very little resistance.”
“Martina,” Praeses inquired making sure to mute his external speakers, “Where is the nearest fusion reactor?”
”What?”
“I’m currently staring down two Murders beating the dogshit out of one another.”
”No!”
“Yes! It’s kind of horrifying! I saved the kid, but these things rolled up looking for some fuck named Ethan. It’s getting pretty awful.”
”Just retreat, we’ll meet you halfway, an-”
“No, we’re not engaging these things. If these are the same things that one kid had to lead into a fusion reactor, I’m not fucking with it. Considering I can withdraw unnoticed,” Praeses was about 45m out at this point, “I’m not deploying the BELLATOR Round.”
”The what?”
“Long story.”
”We’ll meet you halfway, and choose a nearby asset.”
“Oh yea, that’ll work, as long as it’s the fuck away from these coordinates.”
”I'm updating the locations.”
“How hard did they chase that Engineer kid?”
”One. It was one versus the Engineer. You said two were fighting? If they didn’t have reason to go join together to chase down Ethan, then they’re probably not doing anything but beating one another up.”
“That’s a relief, for sure,” Praeses said, full-sprinting before snatching the psionic up and holding him under his right arm like a football. It was minutes before the screeching and roaring stopped, and the visions of the creatures were still cooked into his mind. He found the troops and was almost too excited. Praeses put the young one up on the tank with Marilyn, and pointed a waypoint to where the Murders were fighting.

“Stay the fuck out of there! If anyone sees a Murder, Martina give them footage,” Praeses huffed, “Tell me. I’ll kill it!”

Each is a straight line from current position
>10km out: Machine Shop Garrison [Potential HQ, 48km from Murders]
>18km out: Mixed Forces Cafe Holdout [Troops 40km from Murders]
>22km out: Engineering Corps Building [Upgrades, supplies, 20km from Murders]

>>253813
>>22km out: Engineering Corps Building [Upgrades, supplies, 20km from Murders]
As long as we/Martina can send a gtfo message before we get there

>>253819
>Engineering Corps Building [Upgrades, supplies, 20km from Murders]

I'm gonna copy this to the scratch pad, get some snooze in, and the next coupla updates will be out before work tomorrow evening. If it autosages while I sleep, I'll get a new thread and update the starter post appropriately. Night all!

>>253820
>If it autosages while I sleep,
Already autosaged, threads enters autosages after 3 days of being up. Have a good night, see you next time.

>>253819
seconding this