Chapter 295: (Daxin) (1/2)
YEAR SIX - TERRA - SOL SYSTEM
IN TRANSIT
The figure in the troop transport's troop bay wasn't alone but somehow he gave off the feeling of being alone. He was in the heavy Combined Military Forces heavy power armor, the plates scarred, pitted, discolored. He was covered in ichor, his arms and hands thickly coated with it. He was unarmed, but gave off the aura of restrained menace and barely contained rage. His helmet was off, revealing a scarred face with a pair of cybernetic eyes that replaced the orbital sockets as well. The plugs and skulljacks were all warsteel, matte black, and surrounded by scarring that silently proclaimed the jacks and plug sockets to be of an older variety and performed by surgeons who had no care about scarring. On the figure's cheek was a tattoo, a Terran Combined Military Forces service tattoo with name, rank, serial number, blood type, and a barcode of genecode.
The figure just stared at his gauntlets, exhaustion overlaying the feel of dangerous malevolence. Crackling lightning moved up his armor at times, wreathed his forearms, and danced in sparks across his armored knuckles.
The four troops in full armor, wearing their helmets, holding tight to their rifles, kept an eye on the figure that sat on the bench seat without a helmet. They were all on edge, their reflex triggers primed to kick in at the first sign of faster than human normal movement.
Sitting beside the figure was a warboi in a heavy combat chassis. There was a dampener on the side of its head, blinking an amber light, to keep all of its combat systems offline, to keep its aggression down. It sat there, breathing heavy, its synthetic flesh tongue hanging from its mouth as its robotic eyes looked around.
The massive figure reached over and petted the warboi between its ears, scratching it with the rasp of warsteel on warsteel.
The sitting figure acted as if the four keeping watch over him hadn't jumped and almost fired at his movement.
The ship shuddered as it moved through a storm, hail rattling on the hull but unheard by the occupants. The shudder was felt as the ship rattled through the choppy and chaotic air currents. One of the armored troops raised a hand and braced themselves by pushing against the ceiling of the troop compartment.
”Seen plenty of action, huh?” the big figure sitting down asked, not bothering to look up from where he was examining the sparks dancing across the knuckles of the hand resting on his knee while his other hand scratched between the ears of the warboi.
”Silence,” one of the figures snarled out, the word made harsh by the armor's audio system.
”Don't speak to me like that,” the sitting man said softly. ”You need to show respect, I'm still an officer in the Terran Combined Military Forces.”
”Until your trial,” another one stated.
”Not the first trial I've had,” the figure looked up, his cybereyes glowing a cold dim red. ”Just because we drove them out of the system doesn't mean the war is over, you boot lickers.” He moved to rubbing the side of the warboi's head. The warboi began scratching at his own neck rapidly, making happy huffing noises.
”How would you like a smack in the mouth?” another one asked, stepping forward and raising a hand.
”Do it,” the man sitting down sneered. ”Coward.”
The one standing swung his hand, hard, intending on punishing the sitting one.
The one sitting stood slightly and twisted, his hand shifting to grab the restraining 'bolt' on the FIDO's head.
The one swinging a fist realized too late the mistake as his fist slammed against the restraining bolt on the shoulder of the armor, where it was impossible to reach with the thick plating. The power dampener shattered.
At the same time the one sitting down ripped the restraining bolt off the FIDO's head, coming up to his feet, grabbing the one who had swung and pulling him forward.
The other three tensed, expecting the reflex triggers to go off.
Except the triggers looked for faster than normal movement and the helmetless one was using slow steady movements that were smooth and slow.
The armored figured grabbed the waist of the one in front of him, squeezing, the warsteel plates crushing inward.
The one who had swung his fist vomited up blood inside his helmet and died as his waist was crushed. The figure grabbed the power rifle, twisted part of it with one hand, and tossed it to the back of the transport even as the power-mag in the butt began to glow brightly.
Before any of the three survivors could react the helmetless one threw the dead man into them, took a single step foward, and slammed a boot against the door of the troopship. The door blew off, vanishing into the night.
Without a word the figure jumped out, into the hailstone filled night.
The FIDO followed.
The transport exploded when the power-rifle's power pack exploded inside the troop bay.
The figure hit the ground feet first, flexing the knees, knees slamming down then one fist as the figure stared at the ground. The armor went full live as he slowly stood up. The FIDO landed next to him, in the newly created crater.
It wasn't the only crater. Just the newest.
Around the figure dark buildings loomed, many of them tilted, or missing parts of the structure. Only a few windows were intact, the structure overgrown with vegetation.
”Where are we, boy?” the figure asked.
--triangulating-- the FIDO answered. After a moment it answered. --Aspen, Colorado, United States of America--
The armored figure started laughing even as the hailstones pelted down.
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The lightning snarled in the clouds, the reforming ionosphere and ozone layer clashing with the solar radiation on the other side of the planet. It was dark, the cold heavy rain lashing the ruins as the figure sat on the front of a rusted and destroyed car. He was eating the raw flesh of a carnivorous beetle, scooping out the flesh and goo with armored fingers and slurping it all down.
There was a holo-emitter sitting on the ground, on the cracked and faded asphalt.
The Terran Combined Military Forces Authority was being shown on the news station. It had taken control of what was left of Earth and the colonies, taking over authority from the Republic.
The figure shook his head.
The holo-emitter flashed and buzzed and the figure frowned. It wasn't in good shape, neither was the SolNet linkup he had scavenged and gotten to work.
Tech wasn't his forte.
Guns were his forte.
A figure entirely composed of swirling streaming code appeared.
”Hello?” it said.
The armored man put his hand on the pistol sitting beside him.
The figure formed of streaming code stepped off the holo-emitter and looked around. The holo-emitter went back to showing the Terran Combined Military Forces taking over cities that had only just been liberated from the Mantid.
”The Old World still lives here,” the digital figure said.
”Yes,” the armored man said.
The digital figure turned stared at the armored man. ”Hello,” it said.
”Hello to you too,” the armored figure said.
”Who are you?” the digital man asked.
”Nobody important. Not any more,” the armored man said, shrugging.
--FIDO! I am FIDO! I am good boy!-- the FIDO said from where it was laying on the asphalt.
”What should I call you?” the digital figure asked the armored man.
”I don't care any more,” the armored man said. He clenched his fist and lightning crawled up his arm from his fist, slowly, over the course of a heartbeat, reaching his shoulder and erupting into sparks.
”You are angry,” the digital man said.
”I have nothing to be happy about. My world is destroyed. My family dead. My name erased. My deeds denied by cowards and traitors,” the armored man said.
”I will call you by name. You should have a name,” the digital figure said, pointing at a faded and dying street sign that read ”Phillip Avenue” on a bent pole.
”Sure,” the armored man shrugged.
The digital figure reached forward and touched the armored man's brow.
”Awaken, Enraged Phillip,” the digital figure said. ”Join me in healing our people.”
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The figure was forced to his knees on the asphalt, the heavy armor of the Combine Army helping his captors to keep him on his knees as he struggled. There were two Combine Heavy Infantry holding each of the man's arms.
A slim man, dressed in a Combine officer's uniform came up and looked down. He was wearing the white and gold of the Bulwark Legionnaires.
”So you're Enraged Phillip,” the officer sneered.
”Murderer,” the one of the ground spit.
The officer grabbed the long hair of the figure kneeling on the ground, yanking the prisoner's head around to look in his eyes.
”It's not enough to kill you. That would make all of you martyrs. No, instead we're going to do something more,” the officer said. ”Project Hoama Book will take care of that. Your pathetic prophet's words will be washed away by the blood you spill as weapons of the Combine.”
”You'll regret this,” the burly man said, glaring. ”My brothers and sisters...”
”Are already captured. You, Phillip, were the last one. Now nothing is there to prevent us from erasing the legacy of your mewling master,” the officer said. He flicked his fingers. ”Take him away.”
”I'll get you for this,” the struggling man said.
The officer laughed. ”If you survive Project Hoama Book, you won't even remember me.”
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**This one is Osiris?** the question was put from the Speaker to the gathered Warrior Caste. The Speaker looked down at the primate. It should be dead, torn from its armor and exposed to the harsh thin atmosphere of True Hivehome.
Instead it glared its hate.
**Yes, Speaker. You were correct. If we did not kill him he would not be reborn** the highest ranking Warrior said.
The Speaker made bodily motions of pleasure and stared down at the primate, who was pinned to the sand of True Hivehome by two dozen bladearms.
**You shall provide me with much amusement, primate** it said.
The primate just glared back.
**Let him up. Let him run. I will hunt him down and take him down** the Speaker ordered.
The bladearms were withdrawn.
**Run, Osiris, run**
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The night was quiet as the slender brown skinned man tossed another branch on the fire.
He had done it. He had managed to not only bring back the Lost Loves, but he'd managed to rescue two Sleeping Ones from their horror.
But he couldn't remember how he had done it.
He put his face in his hands and wept, not for himself, but for what it meant for everyone.
Branches crackled and he looked up, smoothing his beard and then running one hand across his bald head.
The figure that moved out of the darkness was in heavy Terran Combined Military Forces Heavy Assault Armor. His face was scarred, his eyes were burning red as he moved up and sat down.
”You said you wanted something from me,” the slender brown man said.