>>1162223
>Female
>The Scout

>>1162223
>> Female
> The Scout

>>1162223
>Female
>The Riflewoman

>>1162223
> Female
> The Sniper

>>1162223
>Male
> The Scout

>>1162223
>Male
>The Demolitionist

>>1162223

>female
>scout

>Female
>Sniper

>>1162223
>Male
>The Sniper

>>1162223
>Female
> The Scout

>Female
>The Scout

>Writing

>>1162223

Stepping through the doorway to the Assignment Office of the GDC's local Conscription Center, you sigh with relief as you see the line to the officers that will determine your fate grow shorter and shorter. It would be good to get this over.

As you approach the military doctors for examination, a battleaxe of a woman, holding a clipboard, approaches you, holding it out for you to take.

"Give your signature and ID number, and date of registration." Complying, you barely catch her muttering,

"...Christ, what have we come to now.... just a girl..."

Signing with the pen attatched to the clipboard with a string, you hand it back, and move forward in the line, ready to face your fate.

-----------

The ever-present Galvean rain pours down on the Galvean Defense Corps’ 328th Forward Training Camp, soaking you, and chilling you to the bone.

You stand on the landing pad next to fifty other men and women, not that much older or younger than you, dressed in fatigues, and hair cut short, in military fashion.

Looking around, you see no sign of the Sergeant who was supposed to be in charge of your platoon's training. Where is he? Your future platoon mates begin to mutter impatiently, even voicing their dissent quite loudly.

You, however, don't, because you notice something. The pilot of the dropship that took you here from the Conscription Center.... he's.... grinning?

"Well, now that I know how you REALLY feel, we can begin, cunts!"

..... Oh, shit.

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

Crawling out from beneath the barbed wire, mud caking your clothing, you stood up, and took off at a fast clip towards the climbing walls, the last obstacle.

The Gunnery Sergeant responsible for your training, a Lucas Johns, ran alongside you, screaming obscenities meant to ‘motivate’ you. Tuning him out, and simply focusing on the course, you climbed the wall with one last push, and fell down on the other side, breathing a sigh of relief.

You never thought you would feel glad to see a particular patch of mud before, but the area where you fall in is looking especially comforting, especially since today is the day before you ship out.

In training, you were assigned the Scout role, which meant you needed to be fast. Which you were, rating fastest among your fellow Scouts, being able to outpace them at a sprint, being able to overcome any obstacle quicker than anyone else in your platoon.

Taking deep, heavy breaths, and wiping the sweat off your brow, you stand in your usual spot for roll call, taking the time to catch your breath.

You're so focused on sucking in air, that you don't notice the Sergeant stop yelling at your platoon-mates, and approach you with a strange look in his eye.

"Navaal. I may not have been able to show it, but... You were always the one I saw greatest potential in. I'm an old soldier. I've seen young'ns come and go. Young men and women die."

He sighs, and scratches his neck. "What I'm trying to say, is..."

(cont)

>>1162389
".... That your friends are all going to die, and you're the only one among them that I see surviving one battle on the front, let alone a tour."

Shocked, at the fact that the Sergeant is talking to you, and what he just said, you take a moment to process it, and then speak.

>Nah, Sarge, don't worry. I'll keep 'em alive!
>What makes you say that?
>If the war takes such a toll on us, then why are we still fighting?
>Write-in

>>1162404
You're a goddamn failure if you believe any bit of the shit coming out of your mouth. Better you're back here instead of on the front.

>>1162404
>What makes you say that?

"And what about surviving two tours Sargeant? The war's already killed me, I just have to wait for the paperwork to catch up."

>>1162404
Yes, sir. War is hell, sir. (or the Galvean-appropriate military affirmation)

>>1162404
>That's why I'm here sarge: to make sure no one else will have to go to the front and die.

>>1162404
>What makes you say that?

>>1162404
>What makes you say that?

>What makes you say that
>Write-in

>writing
It might take a bit longer to include themes of everything, but I'll try.

>>1162404
"Yes sir. War is hell, after all. We knew what we were getting into when we received the conscription notice."

Sgt. Johns shakes his head, laughing cynically.

"Hell no you didn't. Nobody knows what to expect, as much as we try to prepare you, without scaring you off, and making you desert."

Sighing, he clenches his fist. "I sure as hell didn't know what to expect."

Contemplating his words, you ask, "Sir, if I may ask... what exactly do you mean, 'my friends are all going to die'? What makes you say that?"

He looks at you again, weary this time. "You don't know anything about the front. Nothing that they teach you in schools will prepare you for the carnage that awaits you. Those... 'things', are pure fear.

"They are death."

-----------

Sgt. Johns' last words to you echo in your mind. You sit in a dropship, surrounded by your platoon mates, all who are in good cheer, having heard nothing of what the Sergeant said to you.

What are you getting into?

Your introspection is broken by Ernest Fries, a rambunctious kid, two years younger than you at the age of sixteen, nudging you in the ribs.

"Right, Alex, right? Say yes, c'mon!"

>Yes
>No
>I'm sorry, what?
>write-in

>>1162558
>I'm sorry, what?

>>1162558
>I'm sorry, what?

>>1162558
>Sorry, wasn't listening. What was that?
Perhaps just a little less brusque.

>>1162558
>I'm sorry, what?

>I'm sorry, what?


>writing

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>>1162558
"Sorry, Ernie, I wasn't listening. What was that?"

Rolling his eyes dramatically, Ernest says, "What's up with you, Alex? You aren't usually this spacey. Anyways, I was telling Jack and Lara here that we're sure to push the enemy back!"

Gesturing animatedly, and looking like an excited puppy, he looks at you, smiling face out of place in the dingy dropship bay.

"I mean, we've been fighting for, what, eighteen years now? We've gotta be close to victory now! We're probably gonna be the final push against whatever we're fighting out there!"

Everyone around you shares a knowing look with each other. That's not true, but nobody has the heart to tell him otherwise.

"Well... Ernie-"

Before you can say anything, you feel the dropship shudder around you, as if struck by something. Looking around frantically, you see a giant metal claw, ripping through the roof.

Peeling back the armored hull of the aircraft, the claw reveals a gigantic metal thing perching on the top, which reaches in with one of it's other arms, grabbing Ernest with a crushing grip, and ripping him from his seat next to you, tossing him out.

The last thing you remember before getting thrown from your seat by the thing is the report of an exploding engine, and the feeling of the dropship falling from beneath you.

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

When you come to, the first thing you notice is the lack of feeling in your legs. Struggling to push yourself up, you see that they're both twisted at impossible angles. Oh. They're broken.

A sudden sharp pain as you breathe in informs you that several of your ribs are broken as well. At least your arms work.

Why is everything so blurry?

What do you do?
>Write-in
>Roll a D20, BO3.

Rolled 14 (1d20)

>>1162794
>Try your radio and call for the nearest unit

Rolled 15 (1d20)

>>1162794
>Write-in

Open up our personal First Aid Kit that we should have with us and check contents for painkillers or something to keep us focused before shock sets in

Rolled 20 (1d20)

>try to regain your senses

Rolled 17 (1d20)

>>1162794
Ensure first that there are no hostiles in the area - if there are still any, take them out, or else play dead if there are too many to viably kill.

>>1162822
>Nat 20
>Gained so much senses we turn psychic

>>1162822
>Try to regain senses

>writing

>>1162897
Fuck, forgot trip

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>>1162794

You, while scrambling around in the mud for your radio, your first aid kit, something, accidentally move your legs. A lightning bolt of pain goes through your body, causing you to let out a raw-throated scream of agony.

Skin clammy, covered in rain and sweat, and chest heaving as you try to gulp down air, you clench your fists, nails digging into your palms, fighting down the wave of nausea that racks your body.

After a few seconds, you succeed, managing to turn the scream of pain that threatens to overwhelm you into a dull roar. Letting out a breath, you look around, eyes focusing on any shape through the rain.

Eventually, you manage to crawl over to a military pack that had gotten ripped out of the dropship with you, dragging yourself through the mud with your arms. Shakily opening it, you see, to your dismay, that the radio was smashed in the fall.

However, you are lucky, the first aid kit is (mostly) intact, and you pull it out, desperately fumbling past basic gauze and hemostat kits several centuries old, and you grab the syringe that is in the very bottom. Jamming it into your right thigh, you feel an immediate sense of relief as the painkiller starts working.

Now that's settled, you scan the area, making sure that there are no more of those.... things that crashed the dropship around. Fortunately, there are none around, and you start pulling yourself in a random direction, leaving a track in the mud that quickly gets washed away in the heavy rain.

After several minutes of flopping through the mud, you see something in the distance that gives you hope, however small.

People.

At the crest of a small rise, not too far away from you, are two soldiers, facing away from you. You can't determine if they're Conscripts or regular Army, or if they're even on your side at all, through the rain, but you're hurt and trapped in a combat zone without your weapon, and with two broken legs.

>Call out to them
>Don't risk it
>Write-in

>>1163023
>>Call out to them

>>1163023
>>Call out to them
We're fighting monsters. Odds are these guys are cool.

>>1163023
>>Call out to them
I assume we don't have any sort of gun on us to point their way in case their enemies?

>>1163043
Sorry, but no.

>>1163031
>>1163035
>>1163043
Might as well. If they're on our side they might help; if they're not, they might try to capture us, but that's better than dying to the monster/mech/whatever. They also might die while lording it over us, unintentionally shielding us from the claw thing.

Going to take a short break, will count vote and write when I return.

>>1163060
What if they try to do naughty things to us?

>>1163133
We're kinda fucked at that point m8.

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>>1163133

>Call out to them

>Writing

>>1163023
Fuck it, you decide, if they're not GDF or Army, it's still worth calling out to them. You have two broken legs, what would you do if they were hostile, anyway?

So, crawling closer, you call out to them.

"H-hey-" Your voice is thick, and you are interrupted by a coughing fit that hurts even through the haze of the painkiller. Gulping, you try again, more successful this time.

"Hey, you there! I'm... seve- sever-" You struggle to say the rest of your sentence, stumbling over severely. Frowning, you manage to stutter out, "I'm hurt bad."

The two soldiers whip around, pointing their guns at the source of the sound, flashlights blinding you, causing you to wince as you put your hand in front of your face, hoping to block the blinding glare. Squinting, you manage to make out the insignia on their body armor, that of the 178th Black Division, one of the most successful regiments in the Army.

Lowering their guns, they kneel down, checking on your pulse, talking frantically among themselves.

"Shit, she's GDF!"

"She's probably a survivor of the dropship that got downed..."

"Should we try and take her back with us?"

"I don't know, she'd slow us down. We're miles away from the nearest outpost, and we lost contact with our convoy when that jammer cut us off.."

Looking down at you, they come to a decision.

"We can't leave her here. She's just a kid."

"Agreed. Should I carry her? Her legs are broken to hell."

"Yeah, I'll cover you. Hopefully, we can find someone before she starts going into shock."

The soldier who said he'd carry you kneels down, lifting you up into a fireman's carry. It hurts your ribs, but it wasn't as bad as it was earlier.

"We'll get you out of here, okay?"

As he lifts you up, your gaze drifts behind him. One of them is creeping up on him, impossibly silent for such a large machine.

>Look out!
>Behind you!
>Get down!

>>1163243
>>Behind you!

>>1163243
>>Behind you!

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>>1163243
>>Get down!

>>1163243
>Get down!

>>1163243
>>Behind you!

>Behind you!

>Writing

>>1163243
"Behind you!"

You manage to shout, warning the two soldiers. They whip around on instinct, the one carrying you raising his sidearm in a practiced motion, and the other, his battle rifle. Managing to get off a few shots, you see them simply get deflected by the machine's armor plating.

Ignoring the shots, the machine lunges forward with its' claw, catching the soldier firing the rifle, and shredding his armor, spears him through the chest.

"No!!!"

With a cry of rage, the soldier carrying you opens up with his machine pistol, but it doesn't do much more than annoy the machine.

Tossing the other soldier's body aside, the metal monstrosity sweeps his arm at the soldier carrying you, slamming into him with an audible crunch. Falling onto the ground, not too far away from the soldier's corpse, you stare up at the machine in terror.

Approaching you ponderously, as if savoring the moment, the being shakes the gore off its' claw, spraying it on your face. Letting you stare at the claw for a few seconds, the machine makes a sound for the first time.

-click- *Hrrrrrrrn- hrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrn-hrrrrrrrrn* -click-

It's laughing at you.

Letting you process this information, it rams its claw into your gut, destroying your bowels.

Time seems to slow down as pain becomes all there is.

What do you want to do before you die?

>Write-in
>D20, BO3.

Rolled 13 (1d20)

>>1163377
>Grab a gun and shoot the thing
Even if it is useless at least we go down fighting.

>>1163377
Try and trigger any explosives on the corpse.
"Let the rust take you dammit!"

>>1163383
You need to roll man

Rolled 8 (1d20)

>>1163383

Rolled 14 (1d20)

>>1163377
Yell at the thing. Ask it why. Pointless shit.

>>1163377
Spit in it's robotic camera eye

Rolled 12 (1d20)

>>1163395

Rolled 12 (1d20)

>>1163377
just lgiggle madly at it

Rolled 6 (1d20)

>"Say hello to my nat 20"

>>1163388
I shortened this a bit much. heres what i wanted to write.

well clearly we're going to "die" so why not pull ourselves closer to the beast, skewering ourselves further, and try to make it feel our frustration, our fury. As pointless as it is.

Rolled 1 (1d20)

>>1183377
Just hold our tongue and glare at it or something. Don't scream.

>Rail against the dying of the light
>14
>Writing

Briefly struggling against the machine, trying to pull its' claw out, you cough up blood as it makes its' way through your body, eventually piercing your lower back. Giving up on escaping, you grab the dead soldier's gun, and coughing up blood, fire wildly into it's 'head'.

"WHY-"

BLAM

"ARE-"

BLAM

"YOU-"

BLAM

"DOING-

click

Throwing the gun at the machine's head, you pull yourself forward, to the end of the claw. Glaring hatefully at the machine's cold 'eyes', you spit at the metal being, blood spraying across its' 'face'.

Surprised at the sudden activity from you, the machine made a confused clicking noise, before shaking you off its' claw, flinging you to the side.

Your vision going black, you have enough strength to flip it off one last time.

Then you died.

(cont.)

>>1163477

Waking up in a cold sweat, tangled in bedsheets, you find yourself not in the muddy battlefield of the Galvean Front, rather, in your bunk on the SC Nero, the ship that has been your home for the last five years.

After that day, you were declared legally dead. You actually would've, if not for the efforts of a certain medic. Now, you are soldier for hire, using what few skills you had learned in the GDF to your advantage. It's been rough, at times, but the pay's better than any soldiering job on Galvea ever would've been.

Sighing, and extricating yourself from the tangled mess that is your bed, you make your way to your small bathroom, and look at yourself in the mirror, splashing water over your face.

Looking at your body in the mirror, you study your various scars that crisscross your athletic frame. Following the scars down your body, you look at the biggest one you ever got. The one from the machine on Galvea. A nasty, puckered scar across your abdomen, curving across the right side of your body, up to your armpit. It had done quite a bit of damage, and shaking you about hadn't helped.

Anyway, moving on. After that incident, you were....

To what degree did you to get rebuilt?

>Both arms and legs replaced.
>Just legs.
>None, just months in therapy.

>>1163504
>Both arms and legs replaced
We didn't ask for this.

>>1163504
>>Both arms and legs replaced.
Did a nasty bit of work on our spine in that battle.

>>1163504
>>Both arms and legs replaced.
with guns in them

>>1163504
>>None, just months in therapy.

>>1163504
>Both arms and legs replaced.

>Both arms and legs replaced

>writing

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>>1163504

Your spine was permanently damaged in that fight, and without severe cybernetic work, you would never be able to walk, or use your arms again. So, you had your arms and legs replaced entirely, and significant augmentation to the spine.

The prosthetics themselves are indistinguishable from a normal arms and legs, and fit seamlessly onto your torso. They're as strong as a normal human, as well, with feeling integrated. It's almost as if you never lost your limbs in the first place.

Splashing water on your face, and then drying off with a towel, you throw on a random shirt and sweatpants, and yawning, leave your room, heading to the mess hall.

Over the years, you moved on from the basic techniques that you were taught in the GDF, and developed your own distinctive fighting style and techniques. Nothing too drastic, however, you're much better than any GDF Conscript will ever be.

Partly because of their life expectancy, but that's besides the point.
What is your style of combat, and what techniques did you develop, in life as a mercenary?

Combat Style (choose 1)
>Marksman (+1 to Shooting rolls)
>Commando (+1 to Melee rolls)

Technique (choose 2)
>Freerunner (+1 to freerunning rolls)
>Stealthy (+1 to stealth rolls)
>Intuition (+1 to information gathering)
>Navigator (+1 to navigation)

>>1163559
>>Marksman (+1 to Shooting rolls)
>Intuition (+1 to information gathering)
>Freerunner (+1 to freerunning rolls)

>>1163559
>Commando (+1 to Melee rolls)
>Freerunner (+1 to freerunning rolls)
>Stealthy (+1 to stealth rolls)

>>1183559
>Commando (+1 to Melee rolls)
>Freerunner (+1 to freerunning rolls)
>Stealthy (+1 to stealth rolls)
We ninja Jensen now.

>>1163562
>>1163564
Third for Ninja Jensen (Ninjensen?)

>>1163559
>Commando (+1 to Melee rolls)
>Intuition (+1 to information gathering)
>Freerunner (+1 to freerunning rolls)

>>1163559
>Commando (+1 to Melee rolls)

>Intuition (+1 to information gathering)
>Navigator (+1 to navigation)

>>1163559
>Marksman (+1 to Shooting rolls)
>Freerunner (+1 to freerunning rolls)
>Stealthy (+1 to stealth rolls)

>Commando, Freerunner, Stealthy

>writing.

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>>1163559

Over time, you honed your close-quarters fighting, mobility, and stealth. Quite useful for support operators, or lone wolves. Which was usually the case, with you being sent on your own to complete objectives, or roam the battlefield, doing whatever you could to help.

Your lone-wolf status never seemed to bother the team, however, which helped quite a bit. They accepted you as you were, welcomed you into the team. Honestly, it was a welcome change from the loneliness of the hospital.

Sitting down at the table, you are welcomed by the fresh sizzling sound of bacon and eggs, coming from the stove, to your left. Cooking said bacon and eggs was Rachel Parker, team demolitions expert. Surprisingly, her job in combat isn't indicative of her cooking skill, as the woman can cook up a storm one day, and blow apart a building the next.

Standing about a head shorter than you, the blonde woman is athletic and toned, for her slight frame. Dressed in casual clothes similar to yours, she gave you a warm, genial smile, not even caring that your hair was askew, and your clothing was rumpled as shit.

"Mornin', Alex, sleep well hun?"

>Yeah, I did. You?
>Not really. For some reason, I keep thinking about Galvea.
>You cooking breakfast today?
>Write-in

>>1163596
>>Yeah, I did. You?

>>1163596
>Yeah, I did. You?

>>1163596
>Yeah, I did. You?

>>1163596
>>Not really. For some reason, I keep thinking about Galvea.

>>1163596
>Yeah, I did. You?
Hey Silver is back

>>1163596
>Not really. For some reason, I keep thinking about Galvea.

>>1163602
Changing to this

>>1163596
>Yeah, I did. You?
Pfft, communicating feelings is for the weak.

>CONCEAL, DON'T FEEL

>writing

Also, taking another short break, then I will return to writing.

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>>1163596

For a moment, you seriously consider telling Rachel about your dreams. She's a good friend, and has always been there to talk with you when you need help.

But it's that second bit that stops you from telling her. You're tired of burdening your friends with your shit, having them listen to your rants and your fears.

So you block that thought off, fix a smile on your face, and turn to look at her.

"Yeah, I did. You?"

Rachel, with a genuine, dazzling smile that almost hurts your heart to look at, says, "Oh, I didn't sleep that well, I was up until the wee hours, tossing and turning. But I'm glad one of us girls slept well~!" She turns back to cooking the bacon and eggs with a singsong voice, humming.

You turn away, feeling bad for lying to her. What if she knew that you weren't telling her the truth? What if you ruined her opinion of you? What if she thinks you're a liar from now on-

Doink.

Your downward spiral of introspection was interrupted by a tall, muscular Rossiyan man flicking your forehead.

"You're thinking. That's never good. Stop it."

Rubbing your forehead, you see the group's bruiser, Dimitri Antonovich, sitting across the table from you, perpetual smirk on his smug face. "You didn't even notice me come in."


>Morning, Dimitri.
>(Playfully) Ah, fuck off, Dimitri.
>I just had some stuff on my mind. What's up?

>>1163658
>(Playfully) Ah, fuck off, Dimitri.

>>1163658
>Morning, Dimitri.

>>1163658
>Morning, Dimitri.

>Morning, Dimitri.

>Writing.

>>1163658
> (Playfully) Ah, fuck off, Dimitri.
I like ties.

>>1163668
>>1163669
You're fucking joking. Ah, well.

>>1163658

"Morning, Dimitri."

Stretching, Dimitri nods at you and Rachel. "You hear the news? Apparently, Transplex had a tanker ship go missing on its' way through the Caspian system. Nobody knows how it happened."

Leaning forward with a conspiratorial look in his eye, he continues, "And the best part? There was a GRP convoy less than a klick away. It just vanished."

Chuckling, Rachel says, "Spooky. Are there any theories out yet, other than the normal fringe theorists raising hell on the OuterNet?"

Dimitri shakes his head, smirking. "Nope. There's only the normal 12chan threads ranting about the GRP using it as an excuse to violate the Free Space Charter, but people have saying that about the GRP ever since they left Terra."

Shrugging, Dimitri lights a cigarette, taking a long drag before exhaling, and continuing.

"I think I'll wait until Transplex has something to say about it; who knows? Might be a job opportunity there? Anyways, not much use freaking about it, 's not like a missing tanker is a big deal to anyone not in the Caspian system, or involved with Transplex or the GRP."

Nodding, you say, "So, any jobs come through the wire while I was asleep?" Dimitri is a notorious night owl, it's quite possible that he feels more comfortable in the dark than in the light. However, he always manages to wake up alongside everyone else, yet he swears he isn't Wired. You got used to it.

Rachel hands him a plate of bacon and eggs, and he thanks her before replying to your question.

"Yeah, three offers. One's for a single operator, right up your alley. There's a colony on a planet near here, has some trouble with bandits. They got reliable intel that they're gonna attack tomorrow, so, after they drive them off, they want someone to tail the bandits, and follow them to their base.

"Another one is for two-three people, there's some rich Sheng Long merchant-prince who's looking for bodyguards during a shady business deal on Craft Station Levant; seems he can't be seen with his honor guard there for some reason or another, most likely to do with their 'honor' or something.

"And finally, there's a contract out on some 'Pirate Lord' named Lázár Kristóf. Apparently he's been harassing convoys in the area; nothing too serious, but a bunch of businessmen have gathered enough money to put out a lucrative contract on him; a preemptive strike, they say. Of course, a job like this would require the whole group, but the money should be worth it, right?

Which job do you choose?
>The Solo Job (Medium Risk, Medium Reward)
>The Bodyguard Job (Unknown Risk, High Reward)
>The Contract on Lázár Kristóf (High Risk, LUDICROUS Reward)

>>1163686
>The Solo Job (Medium Risk, Medium Reward)
Something simple to start with. We're not exactly terribly well-suited for the other two either.

>>1163686
>>The Solo Job (Medium Risk, Medium Reward)

>>1163686
>The Bodyguard Job (Unknown Risk, High Reward)

>>1163686
>Bodyguard job.
A good way to get to know the crew and their capabilities

>>1163688
>>1163689
>>1163692
>>1163698
Well this is a predicament.

>>1163700
And on that note, I'm done for now. I'll leave the vote open, so we can hopefully have a consensus before next thread.

>>1163686
>The Bodyguard Job (Unknown Risk, High Reward)
This sounds pretty rad.

>>1163686

>The Solo Job (Medium Risk, Medium Reward)

Gota help the people.

Then the big one unless we only get one and the rest go to other mercs.

>>1163686
>>The Bodyguard Job (Unknown Risk, High Reward)

>>1163686
>>The Bodyguard Job (Unknown Risk, High Reward)

>>1163686
>The Bodyguard Job (Unknown Risk, High Reward)

>>1163686
Let's start off big

>The Contract on Lázár Kristóf (High Risk, LUDICROUS Reward)