Author Topic: Deyer's Story  (Read 3439 times)

Offline Deyer

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Deyer's Story
« on: March 31, 2008, 10:36:05 AM »
"Fight? Me?"

I figured the simple tone of my voice would be enough and coupled with the artfully etched incredulous look adorning my face surely they'd be no doubt! But they simply carried on like I'd said nothing. Droning on about full target beading and effective regeneration ratios.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not a coward. I spent three months covertly studying potential medicinal properties of North Korean flora, mainly in the highlands around Mount Paektu. Not a good place to be caught, especially as a British national!

My survival training has been top notch, mostly at the hands of the Royal Marines, to the point I could be dropped nearly anywhere and I'd survive, somehow. I'm not a marine though. Never was. They were off-the-record, unofficially hired to train me so that I was prepared to do the field research expected of me. But I was never trained in weaponry, never in ... killing. Aside from it being against my nature anyway, it wasn't part of the deal. They wouldn't compromise weapons secrets to me no matter how much my sponsor could have paid under the table.

"No, no, you don't understand. I'm a field biologist for a pharmaceutical company. I thought I was bought here to study alien flora for medical advances, not be a shotgun toting field-medic!"

My eyes pleaded for them to understand, to make some nod towards my plight. But the stares were vacant. They had patiently been silent whilst I spoke, but still stared straight ahead instead of at my puppy-dog eyed appeal. As if I hadn't said a word, the one of the left started droning again. Before they could properly get back in the flow I interupted once more.

"And what the hell am I to do with this thing?" I yelled, waving around a clunky mechanical device apparently for remote, ranged armour repairs. "I'm not a friggin' engineer either."

Not even a blink. They didn't even stop this time; choosing instead to ignore my ravings. For another hour I sat there, silently fuming and crying at the same time. This wasn't fair! I am friggin' who knows how far from Earth about to be sent into some war against rediculously oversized and violent aliens trained from birth to kill anything and everything.

But looking around me I found further protests were choked in my throat. All around me were men and woman in exactly the same situation. Worse, I knew many of them had left family behind. Wives, husbands, sons, daughters, brothers, sisters. All those who weren't deemed to be 'worth saving'. I had left no family behind. I didn't have any family to leave behind. A pang of guilt slid through me, frigid ice cooling my protests.

I was being offered a chance to live. Unlike all these poor sods families left behind, doomed to death and torture. Who was I to complain when so many others were paying so much more for a chance at this, this...

...clean slate.

((OOC comments are most welcome))

Offline Gangrel

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Re: Deyer's Story
« Reply #1 on: March 31, 2008, 04:52:36 PM »
((i like it, and you have hit the part of not wanting to fight under any circumstance either. The reluctant soldier (and engineer) part works nicely.... carry on please :D ))
1) I reject your reality.... and substitute my own
2) Not to be used when upset... will void warranty
3) Stoke me a clipper i will be back for dinner
4) Never tell Gangrel to do anything... he will probably get it wrong
5) I have seen more intelligence from an NPC AI in TR beta, than from most MMO players.

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Offline Deyer

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Re: Deyer's Story
« Reply #2 on: April 01, 2008, 02:40:09 PM »
"I'm... I'm a what?"


I should probably backtrack the story a little first.

Despite many... many further protests, I am now in possession of not just a friggin shotgun, but also a standard class pistol and matching rifle. Thankfully they aren't too heavy and my 'armour' is well designed for allowing fast access and storage of them on my hip and back. But that doesn't particularly help the situation.

Of course I was expected to 'practice' shooting the weapons in a training yard. Despite advanced lock-on and targeting features, I still missed the targets more often than I hit. Except for that friggin' shotgun of course. Near impossible to miss with that, considering how close you have to be. I asked them if they actually thought I'd be letting myself come within a  close enough to these aliens for a shotgun to become the weapon of choice! All I was met with was laughter.

I aught to go in to more detail about this 'armour' I mentioned. They call it 'Motor Assist Armor' (yes American spelling. I try not to let it bother me, there's enough going on here). I have to admit a grudging admiration for the engineering behind it. Each piece supports and enhances the local muscles, allowing them to work longer and faster with a significant reduction in fatigue. Short result, the wearer can move faster. I'm told with advanced training, and a full kit, this is in the region of a remarkable augmentation in the region of 25%.

Despite my interest, or perhaps because of it, all the other recruits scoff at Motor Assist. Instead they admire the massive suits seen on veterans around the base. Huge plates of metal cover their entire bodies, making them seem nothing less than man-shaped tanks. Other, more specialist, kinds of armour are explained to us, but I don't pay attention. As far as I'm concerned. Something that allows me to cover a lot of ground during my exploration, and more importantly, allows me to run away fast, is far superior to the clunky alternatives. If they end up sending me out there, then I intend to live stoically by the principle of 'run away, and live to fight another day'.


"Aah, so you're the new Receptive!"

"I'm... I'm a what?"