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Post by The Charentis Project on Aug 18, 2021 9:52:49 GMT -8
The Armory
Approaching the armory, what would be first and foremost apparent was the vault door. Within were some of the most valuable weapons the facility contained, and thus it was only natural it have the highest grade of security. It was still certainly accessible by someone of Cerola's rank as a commanding military officer, but the same privileges were not even upheld for the common soldier. Next to the door was a small rectangular barred window with a tray below it. In a world where the facility was still fully operational, it was likely where the quartermaster divvied out weaponry upon request, taking notes of stock, who has what, and what needs to be brought back. If they managed to get inside with Cerola's credentials, well... That quartermaster was looking worse for wear. A skeleton in military gear, slumped sideways against the wall. The impact of the facility likely sent them hurtling into a wall, breaking bones, killing or paralyzing them. Perhaps it was terrible fate, perhaps not. But... The team certainly had more pressing things to worry about than the dead. What was still very much alive, was coming.
The Birthplace of Monsters There never really was an opportunity to soak in the details, and the time to learn every nuanced detail about The Charentis Facility. Yet it had many protocols in how it operated, built upon itself just like Charentis, from generations of trial and error and learning from hazards that'd come up over time. In the early days- back before the facility was effectively ruined in the impact, Corpses 7C and 8C caused a bit of a developmental hitch in the Charentis Project. Information that was readily accessible, but the response was a little more obscure. Both clones had reached a breaking point after decades of service and experiences, pushing on what the mind could tolerate. Furthermore and one of the more impactful causes, despite using Corpse 6B's memory backup in 7C after 7B was aborted by a Tuffle defector, something... Carried over. The psychological breakdowns two generations in a row had threatened the project entirely at the time, funding was at risk of being cut. In order to rectify these problems, several procedures were put into place with surgical intervention. A drug administration schedule was initiated, a psychologist was employed but most relevant to the situation the General, her team and Valentus were going to find themselves in was the final protocol. A lure. A room was entirely dedicated to distracting a Corpse if it got out of control, as most psychological breakdowns while starting with conscious control, rapidly deteriorated brain function. At a certain point a Corpse would become impulsive in this way, and thus succumb to the neurological trigger placed in that room. It was an invention that would technically work on animals as well, like a moth to light. That being said, the facility was so carefully constructed and sealed that nothing could be effected outside of the walls. It'd never seen use during the facilities active operation, as the treatments aside from it were enough, however... It had been holding the most recent mutant. 17G. For years it had stood in the room, absolutely silent and undisturbed. It only did anything else when it needed to for survival. Bursting out and snatching another mutant for food, or drinking water from melted snow that'd gotten into the ventilation system. Yet every time, 17G had come back. Yet the facility was in Self-Destruct mode. Axes were firing off their miniature weapons of mass destruction. The circumstances were anything but normal, and now 17G's survival clashed with the lure keeping it there. Prying itself away from it, the being was still aware enough to understand not the words of the alert of self destruction, but the memory of the sound. Planet Plant, previous corpses had heard those sounds before, and it'd been transferred again and again. Deeply rooted, the siren had a meaning in itself. To it, getting out of the facility was a priority, but muscle memory was a powerful thing. In the back of its mind... It felt like going to the armory- which it didn't even acknowledge as an armory anymore would assist. It just knew there was a spot it needed to be, feeling like it would better its own chance of survival. Unlike the subtlety 17G had been sedated into with the lure all of these years, the door to the lure room slammed open and was inserted half a meter into the steel wall on the opposite side of the hallway. The thunderous sound of metal being punctured in such a way rippled throughout the facility. And so the prophecy continued started to be fulfilled. For the longest time it had never needed to deal with the defense system, using a path to acquire basic needs that didn't come into paths with them. For the first time they needed to go to this one specific place. One... By... One, the signals died for the turrets. Of course Cerola, her team and Valentus as monster and man began to converge would hear what was going on. The sound of spooling turrets, a volley of shots and then the tearing of metal. There were no monstrous sounds, growls, gurgling, just the thudding of footsteps moving from one room to the next. Closer. And closer. They just might hear the thunderous bang of massive steps, as it certainly heard them with enhanced animalistic senses. The booming steps that rocked the nearby area stopped just shy of the security door blocking the room in which the armory door was in- opposite of the way Valentus and company would enter. There was a chilling silence... Whether or not the team acted fast or slow, in short order there was a slam. Five digits, each massive in their own right had punctured through the five or so inches of steel. With a push, the entire door was ripped from its motors and acted as a gigantic and overqualified riot shield. Looming now as it'd bent and buckled the doorframe it had pushed through, a... Phantom, a revenant, a what if scenario could be seen in the flesh. Standing eleven feet tall, the eerily ominous silhouette of 17G certainly looked like Charentis. The same face, more hair, by then the details started to mismatch. This Corpses eyes were a milky white, its body was leathery and calloused, and mutations had taken hold across its form. Expedited evolution, part of the reason that despite scientific intervention 18G was a little more evolved than the last maintained record, 9C. Yet when out of control, there was no care for decency or civilized function. Muscle and sinew tendrils with razor sharp bone split from 17Gs body in multiple locations; a mutation that gave it an edge on the blobs around the facility, and allowed it to ration meals while keeping the blobs alive. Its teeth were jagged, sharp and shark-like, a feature noticeable as it seemed to breath with its mouth, which was half ajar. It had three rows of upper and lower teeth. Neither eye seemed to fixate on any one person in the group, instead moving independently of each other in an uncanny fashion; wet sloshing sounds echoing out as the eyes drastically swiveled in their sockets. It stood there like a statue, but given what it'd done... As soon as a trigger was pulled, or a move was made... All hell could break loose.
Meanwhile Charentis actual, 18G was still snoozing on Valentus's shoulder despite his recommendation not to. She'd agree with his recommendation, if she could help it. 1,275 | 7,065 Valentus Emargine "Azure" Cerola
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Post by Valentus on Aug 19, 2021 0:23:53 GMT -8
Seeing that the defector was unarmed, Cerola offered a weapon to him - Valentus could only wonder if she questioned in her mind how he was able to get so far without any weapon. In truth, he did have one... but getting it back was going to be problematic at this point. If even possible. Not that Valentus sweated much over it - after all, in the end, in spite of being a replica of his ancestor's legendary blade, it was... just a sword. He can always find a new one. " Don't worry, this'll do," he answered the General when she offered to pick up any other options, and weighed the magnetic scattergun in his hand as he ran through one room after another with Charentis on his shoulders. Back in the bunkers in the South, Valentus had the opportunity to give a similar scattergun a try, participating in a few drills with one equipped - alongside a few other rifles and carbines. They never quite caught the Tuffle's eye, his tutelage in the manor of the House of Nectarine led to a disposition for melee weapons, but, at least, he knew how to handle a gun like this. Valentus retracted the bayonet in advance. The squad marched into the elevator hall, met by several Dragoons standing by. No incidents, they let Valentus through as if he were one of their own. There was no working elevator, as expected - instead, the shaft was empty and harnesses were thrown downwards for them to strap in and raise themselves up. Slow, and that's no good when they are dealing with a self destruction sequence, but better than nothing. " One of the last classes I had before I fled, actually," Valentus answered Cerola's inquiry bluntly and began strapping the harness for himself and for Charentis. Having to handle it both for himself and for a sleeping clone over 250 kilograms heavy was no easy task, especially when they had so little time for the minutiae, so the harness strap turned out rather sloppy. Thankfully, neither of them crashed to the floor during the lift up the elevator shaft. Once Valentus and Charentis scaled up, he undid the harness straps and lifted the clone over his shoulder again. The next stop was the armory. Charentis needed her weaponry. Frankly, the Tuffle would have protested taking the detour there when they already did not have that much time... but it was the clone's decision, and the Dragoons followed it. As they ran through corridor after corridor, a wandering soul, frightened almost to fainting by what she had suddenly unleashed, heard the steps, hid in one of the cracks of the wall, and watched in shock as her guardian ran past alongside all of the Dragoons she had once feared. Though unaware of the deal between Valentus and Cerola, she figured that she will have no better path to survival than by following through, and so secretly flew out of the crack, trailing along the floor behind the marching party to keep after them. Finally, they reached the Armory - here, Valentus stopped and took a sigh. He stepped back in case Cerola or her Dragoons wanted to unlock the door with their credentials. Then stopped, and began to listen. What is that... stomping sound? It came closer and closer, accompanied by the sound of metal being ripped and volley shots dying down. Immediately, Valentus could guess that this meant nothing good - and he was sure that Cerola and her Dragoons would be just as aware that this was a bad omen. If that was a mutant, then that was a mutant which no turret could stop in its tracks. In a single, sudden rip, the door behind them got torn out, revealing an enormous, twisted clone of Charentis peeking inside. Yes. Yes that was a mutant which no turret could stop in its tracks. A repulsive nightmare, slightly more life-like than her sisters and yet still a blob of disgusting flesh, stared at them, as if waiting for any one of them to turn out alive and thus ripe for destruction. From behind Valentus, a tiny fairy suddenly flew out, spreading her arms and wings and unleashing a massive flash of light from her wings. While she had been using a dim natural glow to guide her Tuffle peer through the facility, now she released all of the mana she had, creating a blinding flash much like a Solar Flare - except, as it only came from one side of her wings, it was directed straight at the mutant while Valentus, Cerola and the Dragoons were left scot free. Still, Valentus raised his hand briefly on instinct. Paizu flew back in terror as soon as she released the technique, hiding in Valentus' palm and immediately frantically speaking: " Val! Val! Oh my god, oh my god- You were gone- And uh I was scared- And uh those soldiers came- And uh I did-" Valentus' thumb briefly poked her in the face, however, to signal to her that this was no time for story telling - then, the Tuffle yelled: " We need to- Grab whatever we can and get out of here!" (859 words, total 12167)
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Post by Emargine "Azure" Cerola on Aug 19, 2021 3:44:32 GMT -8
The journey to the Armoury was uneventful, for the most part. Valentus had accepted the scattergun and assured Cerola that he knew how to take a harness up. In true form, he had quickly rejoined them, outpacing Fenrir 1-4 on the harness even when he had Charentiss' mass to deal with. Impressive. Would they somehow be able to reach an understanding, he would make a fine addition to the brigade. But most deserters did not have petty reasons. To leave the security and purpose that TSE life, that ISLET service, provided, was counterproductive to one's survival. Especially when the outside world was so fraught with danger. Danger that Cerola had experienced much of first hand in the past fifteen years. Demons, monsters, Saiyans, Namekians, and other armed forces... Yes, to leave ISLET for petty reasons was irrational. Even if you were too lazy to serve, it was all too easy to just drop out and return to civilian life in a safe bunker. No. Deserters always had a deep, conviction-based reason to leave. Especially someone with his profile. A proud noble house's scion. A devoted soldier during the war. He gave up his seat on the CONTINENT Exodus Fleet for a fellow soldier he thought needed it more. When they brought him back, he quickly rose through the ranks and qualified for the Dragoon Reinforcement Program. That was not just for any soldier. You needed an iron strength of will to make it through to the end. No. There was unlikely to be any reconciliation with the son of Lord Nectarine. Were it so easy, he would not have deserted ISLET in the first place. However, she could agree that whatever his reasons, they were not petty. He made that choice with his full conviction. Just like most deserters. For them, life out in the dangerous wilderness was a better alternative to life in the relative comfort of the TSE, or life in the service of ISLET. It wasn't a matter of mere survival, but of something much deeper. Others might see him as a traitor... and by definition, he was. But the General understood that he did not decide this halfheartedly. Whatever the reason, he gave it his full commitment. And for that, he had her respect. Fenrir 1-A secured the ante-room's entrances, 1-3 holding up the rear while Cerola herself and 1-2 held their weapons at the secondary door. Fenrir 1-4 was quick to catch up. He had the card. Knew what to do. All it took was the Boss' hand signal, and he was quick to unlock the armoury. "You'll need this," a quick facial gesture on her Scouter, and it transmitted the relevant data to his. "As much as I'd like to clear the whole place out, there's no time. Get only the Project Armaments."It was handy to have the Project Data on hand for herself. She could delegate that, and allow the specialist to procure the relevant equipment. 1-4 acknowledged and made his way in. His mission was simple. Retrieve Charentis' equipment. All of it. And nothing else. Not an extra rifle or sidearm. The others were sure to follow. Hopefully they would arrive soon enough. Because as they trod in the direction of the Armoury earlier, they could all hear it. Big. Heavy. Footsteps. The whir of turret gun barrels. The tearing of metal. Silence. Those footsteps... It was a disturbing pattern. There was something else out there. Something that the security system categorised as hostile. And that something was making short work of the system's extensions. This was the Charentis Facility. The only thing in here capable of defeating the security system that wasn't them... was no doubt part of the project. It was Charentis. Or well... another one of the additional copies. There was no shortage of mutants down here. But was it possible that one such instance could become far more successful, more dangerous, than all the mutants they had dealt with so far? Cerola's fingers tightened around the hand controls. The oversized fingers of her suit's gauntlets responded in kind. One fist around the foregrip of her rifle. The other around the pistol grip. She braced the stock against her pauldron as the footsteps closed in. Slowly. In a rhythm... almost cadence-like. A slow, lumbering march toward the Armoury. Perhaps this one too understood that the facility was about to be destroyed. That its existence was in peril... and perhaps, it remembered just enough that Charentis' equipment could help it survive. "Everyone, on me. Heavy weapons." It wasn't to say that the magnetic rifle was a pushover. After all, it was a flexible, all around weapon that wasn't lacking in firepower. When you could accelerate hot ferrotungsten to Mach 20 at a fire rate of 1200 rounds per minute, enemies tended to not frak with you. Unless you were a Saiyan, at any rate... But sometimes, penetrating power was just too much, and you needed a blunt instrument to put down some of these creatures. 1-2 readied his Plasma Minigun, while 1-3 drew his Plasma Flamer. And not a moment too soon. The door, all five inches of it, was torn open like paper, hanging from the beast like a makeshift riot shield. And she was indeed a beast. Standing to a full height of eleven feet, the recognisable visage of Charentis was offset by her mutations... Multiple tendrils, presumably prehensile. Rows of sharpened bone... It stood there... waiting... Just a pause. A moment of silence as she studied their foe. Potential weak points - aside from the spots not covered by the security door of course - were the top priority. But how long would things go before it made the first move? The alarms continued to blare. Time seemed to slow as her adrenaline kicked in. She had to move fast. Her eyes scanned it, and her mouth opened to give the order. Then a little firefly flitted past the four of them. And a bright light flashed into the beast's eyes, potentially blinding it. Then it disappeared somewhere. Valentus yelled an astute observation. It was now or never. "Light her up!" Hot magnetic spikes spewed from her rifle in short controlled bursts. From behind her left, spewed a stream of hot ionised gas. To the far right, past Valentus, six barrels spun up before unleashing a storm of that same plasma, in concentrated bolts. "We hold until 1-4 has retrieved the equipment!"Speaking of which... <<1-4, Status report!>>Fenrir 1-4 went about unlocking everything that was needed to get through. The project data helped him find the appropriate locker quick enough. Not that it wasn't obvious given how oversized it was compared to all the other gear sets. It popped open, revealing a large, pristine suit, and an oversized set of weapons... The Boss chimed in, to the report of intense gunfire that he could hear even without the scouter comms enhancing the sound. <<Found the cache, Boss! I'll need fifteen seconds to encapsulate it all!>><<Make it ten!>> Bracing the rifle with her right hand and setting it to fire on 3-point burst, Cerola freed her left hand from the foregrip and stretched it out in the beast's general direction. Cerola concentrated. If she could bind it in place, or even just slow it down in the event of it charging forward... they should be able to maintain their formation. The tendrils had the most reach though. But if she could keep most of its mass at bay, then that just might be enough. One thing was for certain... she really needed to practise her powers more. [1277/16557] Valentus The Charentis Project
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Post by The Charentis Project on Aug 19, 2021 7:36:39 GMT -8
The silence wouldn't last long. The turrets were ample evidence of what happened once the creature was attacked. Yet it was inevitable confrontation would break out, as they were going for the same equipment that it needed. Even if they hadn't fired on it and allowed it passage, when they were revealed to be looting the thing it required, well... Whoever held it would've been minced. So the upfront violent response was likely the best choice given the circumstances. Nevertheless, the genetic chaos that'd gotten this creature to eleven feet tall was effective for an animal that didn't critically think. As expected, as soon as there was a flash from Paizu, the creature revealed how it fought. A burst fighter, capable of doing immense actions in brief windows, but otherwise forced to conserve energy due to the power of such moves. It was fortunate Cerola had her men open fire at the same time, as blind or not the creature knew it didn't need to be precise to crush the opposition. Another clue that'd surface fully later was the lack of bullet holes. Surely without bullet holes, the turrets going full auto was particularly strange. There was blood however, following the patterns reminiscent of a bullet wound. If there was a particular nerd or her allies temporary and not-so-much that could put the clues together, they could get the jump on its regenerative capabilities. Of course, things happened so fast that they'd be learning first hand. Five meters in half a second. As the wall of death was on the brink of impact with the frontline, a charge of ionized gas blasted into its dominant leg along with several rounds from Cerola. Completely severing the limb and leaving both stumps created as boiling flesh, the act cause the final pounding step 17G was taking to veer off course. Specifically meant to be used as a forward knee to pulverize whatever was before it, that instead was used as a rapid maneuver given the circumstances. Sending it flying upwards, the gargantuan giant flew overhead as its mass went horizontal from the heavy force, flying passed them and into the doorframe they'd come through. The force tore the metal frame off along with it, as the hulking mutant discarded Corpse of Charentis landed in a steaming mess of metal and melted skin in the other room. It had the combat knowledge to position itself and raise the shield in front of itself to block the oncoming fire at that point. The perceptive eye amidst the ionized gas, condensed plasma bolts and three round bursts of Cerola might notice a couple of tendrils retreating into the main body. What that meant might only be apparent if they'd picked up on the clues of the turrets, but nevertheless it was down a leg... Right? With the shield blocking ninety percent of its body based on it being braced perpendicular to it and prone, there was no way to get immediate visual confirmation from their current positioning. It also seemed to understand that the integrity of its defensive tool was fleeting. With the firepower being utilized- a calibre it was innately familiar with, the whole encounter transpiring over a second was already enough for it to start failing. So it did the best thing it could do, taking the optimal action on impulse. It threw the remains of the door at them, a five inch thick door (a little larger than factory standard, considering once upon a time Charentis had to navigate through) superheated with ionized gas and plasma at the firing team. It cut through the air like a boomerang, putting them in a deadly position. Regardless of the result, it wasn't waiting to find out. Instead with incredible force the entire mass of 17G slammed to the right. There were no doors, but with the power it had it didn't need them. Making contact, the metal walls failed immediately from the force. Sparking wires, hissing steam pipes, dripping hoses of rotten nutri-paste and the caved in oval shaped metal formation in an entrance and exit pattern respectively. For the moment it was out of visual sight, but perhaps there was technology to keep track of it nevertheless. Interestingly enough, the aforementioned footprints weren't there. Seemingly aware enough to lighten its step, it quietly lurked somewhere in the hall directly adjacent to the one they were in. If the fact it'd disengaged in such a way wasn't educational enough, the firing squad might soon find out the threat could come from anywhere. The walls, the floor, the ceiling, even. Among them however, not all of 17G were gone. The swaying prehensile bladed tendrils were a bit too... Wispy to be kept tightly packed behind the shield. Some had been severed, and much to the potential disgust the sight may incite, they seemed to continue wiggling of their own volition. Furthermore, one of them seemed to have a half formed mouth on it, which croaked out in the distorted guttural voice of Charentis. "N̸͕̂͝ḙ̸̢̉v̵̜͉̾e̷̡̠̎r̶͔͙͠.̴̜̈́̒.̶̥͉̅̐.̷̩̄̃ ̸͔́̇Ḡ̸̮̩i̷͈͊v̷͈͇͆̑e̴̘̅.̵͎̀́.̴͓̊͜.̸͙̉ ̸̙̆Ȕ̷̖p̷̺̉͒.̴̮̭͋.̴͍̳̎.̶͉͔̄." Perhaps the soldiers will remained even in prior copies, a shard of her soul that couldn't be removed, only copied. Yet chances were that wasn't advice for those fighting the good fight; but rather reassurance to itself. What was certain is that they'd bought themselves time as the creature formulated its next plan. It had already in truth made out that they were looting the armory, and therefore it had no care for it whatsoever. Now they were the facet of its attention, it needed what they were going to be transporting. A crash. It was distant, but telling. It seemed to be higher than it was low, and any enhanced hearing tools would confirm that vague feeling. It was synonymous with a ceiling failing as it was breached. There was more turret fire, and the tearing of electrical mechanisms. Then followed the sickly peeling of metal, like nails on a chalkboard as sheets were torn like paper in the distance. It was preparing for something. They had time. But it would be coming back. 1,026 | 8,091. Valentus Emargine "Azure" Cerola
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Post by Valentus on Aug 20, 2021 1:06:08 GMT -8
Valentus joined the Dragoon fire volley upon Cerola's orders - the magnetic scattergun in his hands did not have the range and rapid fire of the rifles and turrets which his peers were throwing at the enormous clone of Charentis, but as it began to rapidly approach, this was hardly a big deal. A single leap, powerful and terrifying to shake any recruit to their bones, took the gigantic mutant forward across the room. Before it could reach any further, however, a blast of ionized gas tore into one of its legs, which, coupled with heavy overwhelming fire, forced it back from the room. In a firefight which lasted a mere few seconds, the enormous clone was forced to retreat, raised its shield, threw it and retreated. With the real Charentis still on his shoulders, Valentus ducked to the side from the incoming lump of steel, sliding across the wet heated floor before stopping at the side of the hall. One tense fire volley and a door throw later... their surroundings were turning silent again. The sounds of metal crashing and breaking in the distance could still be heard, several detached tendrils were plopping on the ground, wallowing in their own blood and juices and wiggling as if they were still trying to return to their master. Valentus took a slightly easier breath and lowered his magnetic scattergun, his focus now trailing across the walls and ceiling of the room as he tried to track the escaped clone by the distant sounds. Was it over, then? Did they drive it away? No, that couldn't be it. Even before Valentus could consider all of the details and intricacies of their situation, he could not allow himself to get too optimistic. There's no chance that such a simple display of force could be enough to scare away a clone powered by nothing but ravenous hunger and primal fury. And the details... The first thing which Valentus could note in the brief confrontation they had with the clone was that it was fresh. Its body was smeared with blood, sure, but there was not a single bullet hole - even though it had been traversing through and crushing automatic turrets right before arriving to the hall. And right after, too, if the sounds of whizzing bullets and rattling turrets in the distance had anything to say before they all got shut down one after another. Regeneration. That's what was amiss here. Physical wounds could not harm it, as it could simply regrow whatever flesh it has gotten blasted or severed away. Keeping this in mind, it would be ridiculous to imagine that they could have driven the clone off just by inflicting some damage on it. For sure, Valentus could only guess on what were the limits of the mutant's hypothetical regeneration, but if it was able to clot and cover bullet wounds in a matter of minutes, if not seconds, then it is a small leap of faith to assume that it was going to be able to fix that, too. And then... following the audible trail of the mutant, as it crashed through walls and turrets alike. Valentus slowly walked to the center of the room as he listened to any sound he might pick up. " It's going to come back for us," Valentus glanced back towards Cerola, while his hand pointed the barrel of the magnetic scattergun into the "face" of the detached tendril whispering something about "Never give up". A scatter shot fired, splashing the half-formed mouth across the floor. " Has that "ten" already passed? I'd rather us pick up our things and leave before it comes back." Paizu, meanwhile, slowly and weakly peeked over Valentus' hand, only to turn away as soon as she saw what had been left of the room. How come everything in this entire facility keeps getting uglier and uglier? (644 words, total 12811)
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Post by Emargine "Azure" Cerola on Aug 21, 2021 6:07:11 GMT -8
Those short split seconds used to analyse the beast before opening fire were not in vain. Streaks of blood lined her flesh, stopping abruptly where open bullet wounds should be. Coupled with the earlier sounds of how she dealt with the turrets earlier, it was clear that she had been injured. And the lack of injury, combined with ample evidence of previous injury, could simply be explained as a result of a regenerative mutation of some sort. Truly, this was a possible result of the Charentis program, a warrior that could put herself back together... The beast sprang into action as Cerola gave the order. She had pounced at an angle, but the withering field of fire sent her off course, flying through the opposite door and out into the antechamber. Legs burned and shot off, tendrils and bone saws splayed out. Most would assume that she was down for the count. But this was not the case for someone who paid enough attention. You didn't have to be a nerd like Cerola to put two and two together. Its disappearance, and engagement with turrets on the floor above was only indicative of a tactical retreat. The warped speech from that of a severed lamprey mouth only reinforced this idea. It was... terrifying, in away. That disembodied parts continued to move was still natural, if unnerving to some. In lizards, the ends of their tails could slip off so easily and continue twitching to distract their predators, allowing the creature itself to escape and grow a new end to its tail. But that a disembodied "tail" end could still... think... or at the very least, that those muscles could still contract in a way to declare a very legible message... Was this creature aware not only in its mangled brain, but right down to every single cell? Valentus silenced the vagrant ambulant appendage, and made a very appropriate observation and recommendation. "Took the words right out of my mouth." Scouter frequency was immediately switched to Fenrir 1-4, who had yet to emerge from the armoury. <<1-4, Fenrir Actual. Where are you?>><<Just about done, Boss. Rendezvous in five.>> The response was reassuring, as well as the heavy titanium footsteps from within. Cerola took the five seconds to prepare the fireteam for mobilisation. By the time 1-4 exited the armoury with Charentis' gear in a previously blank capsule, they were ready to roll out. All it took was a simple hand gesture, and they were marching down the hall as fast as their armour could carry them, headed for the fallback point that Fenrir 5 had established. <<Fenrir 4, Fenrir Actual. Fenrir 1-A is Oscar Mike. Rendezvous at waypoint 3.>> That was the next corner, and it was already in view. <<Solid copy, Fenrir Actual. We've got the rest of Fenrir 1 tagging along while we're at it.>> She could already hear metallic marching coming from the direction of the elevator hall. They were so close... <<Keep your ears sharp. We have a tango on the loose in the walls and ceiling. Baddest motherfrakking mutant I've ever seen.>> As she said this, she made sure to share her scouter footage to the appropriate individuals. <<Looks like she's got regen to help her with projectiles and turrets. Go for plasma heavy weapons with some mag-scatties and stick to a fighting retreat. We don't have time to make sure it's dead.>>It didn't matter if they most definitely killed it, if they ended up getting caught in the Alpha Warhead detonation too. If anything, the hyper-focused nuclear explosion would vaporise that beast much faster than all of these weapons put together. It was, after all, a nuclear weapon. Such a weapon needed little introduction when it came to destructive potential. Cerola shifted to her vocaliser to speak to Valentus. "We'll be meeting up with the others soon. We set up a heavy fallback point on the way in. The defences should hopefully distract that thing long enough for us to exfil."Worst case, someone would have to stay behind at the fallback point, if the turrets didn't last long enough. Although given how the pulley worked, and how quickly it found them, there might still be a whole squad waiting to get out... And if that were the case, then maybe they could lump together enough firepower with the turrets to put it down. Heh. Such was the CO's job, always thinking about the various scenarios... [743/17300] Valentus The Charentis Project
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Post by The Charentis Project on Aug 26, 2021 13:02:51 GMT -8
Outnumbered. Hit hard, run fast. Repeat. The core fundamentals of the original Charentis's training as a field operative were drilled into the creatures head. It would only survive if it drew the encounter out, suffocated them of resources and pushed them to the brink. Yet it couldn't formulate or understand just who the people it was up against were, that didn't matter. It didn't wait to see results from the door, but fear and anxiety were something it understood on a deeper level. An impulse, predatory in nature of anything that would even hesitate a fraction of a second out of terror. In that sense, it knew this group was a formidable obstacle. It could decipher living and machine, turrets, and people. It was peeling off the metallic walls to use for armor, the screeching of bending and twisting metal echoing from the floors overhead as it bent the material around itself to help protect itself. It had also taken the time to form a few tools it might've seen as useful to itself, equipped with more strength and might than even 18G given the out of control nature of its mutations. Shredding down a metal wall, it twisted and rolled the material into a spear. Getting up close was what it felt instinctively drawn to do, but... That didn't work out so well. Once it was ready, the screeching stopped. Given its size, even trying to tread lightly those below might hear the occasional clunk of a foot hitting a nearby hazard sign for a wet area or a trolley. It on the other hand was trying to track them down. The sounds of sirens and the building pressure to get out of the facility was paramount, but... It needed those weapons. Yet it also started to consider if the risks were worth it. For now it humoured the feeling. Like a machine, it had rules. Survival was of the utmost priority, and even if a different rule- such as acquiring the gun was there, it could be overridden if doing so would extinguish any hopes of living. The simple way it framed it is that there was one more opportunity unless circumstances granted another. If it made it out after that, it had to escape the facility without the thing it so desperately desired. Though a soldier has to sacrifice much, even their own body if it comes down to it. Losing out on something wasn't foreign to this being, even if its consciousness was so heavily damaged and distorted. Now poised to intercept- thanks to the boons of long strides and being a floor above when they needed to go up to get out. The creature waited. Hearing the sounds of voices and metallic boots hitting the floor- almost in unison, it started to lurk directly above them. If they to were seeking to leave the facility- an obvious assumption to make, they'd be having to enter another elevator shaft. If it were a little smarter, it might've severed the cables that they'd attach their lines to. However it lacked such a thing in its entirety, and on top of that they had equipment it needed. Instead it would wait. As soon as they'd enter the elevator shaft, that was when it was going to attack. It had the spear at its disposal to strike from afar before engaging fully. The shaft itself had an elevator in it, though that elevator was on the floor below theirs and out of service. It could collapse, given enough commotion happening on top of it. The impact of the many hundred kilogram monster would certainly play a role in the cables snapping, and if those did, Cerola's team may have to improvise unless they were severed low enough. 630 | 8,721 Valentus Emargine "Azure" Cerola
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Post by Valentus on Aug 28, 2021 2:05:28 GMT -8
Hearing Valentus' statement, General Cerola and her Dragoons acted immediately. As it turns out, the "ten" which she ordered had not yet passed - but work in the armory was progressing at a solid pace, and the squad was getting ready to pull back from the room as fast as they could. Good. The less time they spend here and the faster they move out to the safety outside, the better. While Fenrir 1-4 was pulling out all of Charentis' gear and packing it up to a capsule, Valentus took the few seconds they had to look down at his fingers, and see how Paizu was holding up. The little fairy was clutched onto the Tuffle's thumb, hugging it, knowing that in spite of all the unbelievably frightening terrors which lurked in the depths of the bunker, at least one person could ensure her safety. Of course, Paizu also very quickly realized that the Tuffle was looking down at her - and, just as quickly realizing what said Tuffle was thinking, she turned her head away, striking a pout of stout arrogance, complete with her chin raised. As soon as the Dragoons marched out, so did Valentus, though this time, he kept at the tail end of the crew. As the enormous mutated clone was still somewhere on the loose, the Tuffle focused on his senses as they marched, trying to figure something out about its location - a task which would be far harder to attempt if he was in the middle of the squad, surrounded by heavy footsteps from all sides drowning out any other sound. That's not to say that it was easy, with all the marching and focusing on the run and all, as well as making sure that the real Charentis stays safe on his shoulders. From what Valentus could tell, the creature... stopped? The sounds of metal thrashing and bending on the floor above ceased. Whatever that terrifying beast was trying to do, it moved on. At first, Val had expected it to be setting up an ambush in one of the corridors they ran past, and the sound of thrashing metal certainly played to that, as if it was burrowing through the floor above to drop down on them somewhere. That did not happen, however, and Valentus, Cerola and the rest of her Dragoons reached the elevator shaft safely. Has it finally abandoned its targets and moved on to something else? Valentus would rather not assume that. It never hurt to be optimistic, sure, and Valentus always made sure to be as optimistic as he could possibly be... but this was one of those situations where it was always the most healthy to assume the worst. Something dull tapped the floor in the distance, in the floor above theirs. A plop, as if a large piece of plastic just dropped on the floor, followed by a creak of the ceiling. Soon, another one came. Valentus was standing at the tail end of the squad, still, paying little attention to any planning for advancing upwards the elevator shaft which the Dragoons might be doing. His eyes were raised towards the ceiling, his senses were focusing on what might be happening up above. Not just the five ordinary ones, but also the unnatural sixth one, tracking energy, which he still had to fully figure out. " Watch out. It might be above us as we speak," the Tuffle muttered, all while a piece of his mind still hoped that the foolish optimism from before was correct and they won't have to deal with that monster in a moment of weakness. (601 words, total 13412)
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Post by Emargine "Azure" Cerola on Aug 28, 2022 7:15:13 GMT -8
The rendezvous was uneventful as one could get if you were being stalked by a mutant monstrosity with supertuffle strength, regenerative powers, and an elite soldier's instincts. Even as they made their way to meet with the remaining strike team, they could hear it somewhere above them. Calculated destruction. Walls, floors, or ceilings were being torn apart, it seemed. What was she up to? Tunneling? And yet it eventually stopped. As they met at the waypoint and made their way to the elevator hall, everything went quiet. Cerola tensed, as she tapped on her scouter. With that kind of power level, it was entirely possible to pick it up, just like the other mutants. The only question was if Charentis was trained to suppress her power... and if that thing knew how to do it too. It was a film cliche when dealing with such stalkers, and if Carnation was down here, she would have made a joke about how it was quiet... too quiet. Although it was just as likely she had the common sense to not jinx the mission by stating such obvious and deadly cliches. Her scouter turned up blank. More specifically, fuzzy. The Alpha Warhead itself was only part of a larger self-destruct protocol. Another one was the jamming of scouter-like detection and communication systems to confuse the intruders and protect the evacuees. Bunker staff were of course trained for this possibility, and knew to access special encrypted frequencies to keep in touch with each other and coordinate their evacuation while keeping away from the intruders. That was how Fenrir managed to keep in touch. Unfortunately, that was working against them at the moment. But it wasn't like the creature didn't leave telltale signs that it was still after them. How could she not be? Be it because they had Charentis' equipment, or were the fastest way to escape the doomed clone farm, it was in its self-interest to get to them. That was assuming that, after declaring she would never give up, the mutant still had enough self-awareness to pursue survival rather than just hunger... Eighteen armoured troops, a temporarily cooperative deserter, his tiny companion, and a super soldier walked into the elevator hall. It sounded like the setup for a dumb joke. Valentus was the first to pick up on its presence, and voiced his suspicions. Cerola nodded. It was clever, in that strange way. Setting up a trap, perhaps in the elevator shaft, or near it. But it was the fastest way up, and the clock was ticking. The only option was to spring the trap and survive while making their way back up. Which meant they couldn't just go around this problem. So what was the solution? The straightforward approach was to toss some flashbangs into the shaft and see if it suddenly fell two stories down onto the roof of the elevator, which would give them the advantage of high ground with which to slow it down with even more thermal firepower. Making a number of hand signals, Cerola instructed three from Fenrir 4 to take positions near the shaft opening, one on either side of the door to provide cover with plasma weapons, and the third to lob a pair of impact-fuse flashbangs with their automatic grenade launcher. Rather than detonating after a given time allowance, they would instead do so as soon as they struck the shaft's wall opposite the door. Cerola handed Valentus a pair of flash goggles in preparation for what was to come. The Dragoons were careful to not get too close to the door, lest some tendrils just snag them like a flies in a frog's tongue. That would be a rookie mistake, and Fenrir was not made of rookies. But this approach would be a little less than straightforward. The flashbangs would not be fired until she gave a particular scouter signal... one that would depend on how soon the General could test herself. In any case, if anything went wrong, the other seventeen Dragoons could simply light up the elevator shaft the moment it showed itself. Cerola slung her rifle over her shoulder and concentrated, reaching out. It could speak. But the question was if its words truly carried meaning from an intelligent source no matter how rudimentary, or if they were only echoes of a mind that no longer inhabited that body, if it ever did to begin with. <<Identify yourself, Soldier!>>It was an absurd idea in both how cliche it was, and how unlikely it was to yield any meaningful results. It was almost something out of a children's movie... to speak to a monster that was misunderstood. And with time being at a premium, some might even call it foolish. But they were currently at an impasse, and this was one way that could help break it without just resorting to brute force. The worst that could happen was that she would aggravate it enough to provoke an attack, in which case everyone was already expecting it. And the most miraculous, absolutely ridiculous result, would be that some communication is established and she would instead focus on getting out, rather than killing all these other people. Then maybe she would live out the rest of her days in the wild northern tundra, becoming an elusive living legend to those who spot her. That would be too poetic. And stupid. And unrealistic. So Cerola braced herself instead to hear some guttural animalistic growling within her head. Or at most, some monstrous declaration of "never give up" or "I'm hungry". Something like that... The message was sent. [936/18236] The Charentis Project Valentus
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Post by The Charentis Project on Sept 2, 2022 20:49:08 GMT -8
The journey had been anything but peaceful. What had transpired over less than half an hour was jam packed with threats. Every minute was dragged out, every moment was essential to their survival. Especially now more than ever, as a supersoldier gone awry now an apex predator was after something in their possession. Something that it was eerily focused on, waiting in silence just above them in the elevator shaft. The most peculiar of eyes might be able to see the unsettling massive visage of the monster in the reflective sheen of the back of the elevator shaft. It was standing there, deathly still with not even minor twitches. Regardless of this detection, both Valentus and then the Generals scouter picked up on the energy level. It was truly over nine thousand, into the five digits nearing twenty thousand to be precise. Yet it fluctuated- perhaps given the signal wasn't being gleamed directly, or perhaps something more intangible than that. The Generals unit prepared for the final push out of the compound. With a successful extraction up the elevator shaft they were just about home free. The countdown to the facilities self destruction was blaring in the background, but as a gentle reminder of how tense the situation was an automated system came to life. "ETA One Minute; Nanonuclear Fission Impulse." However, it was some of the most professional and upstanding of ISLET's assets in play here, and as professionals they got the job done. As the flash shot upwards and slammed against the opposite wall of the elevator shaft, there was a bright flash. Blinding to those without protection, but it was yet another factor the General had accounted for. Immediately with the flash there was the sound of pounding feet as if staggering. The slamming of a wall, the sheering of reinforced metal that made the facility last an impact from outer space. Presumably seeing as the monster did not drop into the elevator shaft but was clearly stunned, it was their opportunity. Pushing forward the vanguard witnessed the hulking monster make a leap without any sort of calculation. Blind, it just pounced upwards through the elevator shaft and away from the squad. The monster slammed into the top of it after rebounding off the far wall, the collision so intense that the metal hull gave way and the sky above became visible. A downpour of snow piled up in the elevator, proving hazardous without cautious. However, it was easy enough to melt. Whether or not they believe the monster had been dealt with, the truth of it all was that 17G had made another call on instinct. A weighing of options, and a sacrifice for survival. Securing whatever it felt it needed to continue would only cause its' existence to come to an end. Live to fight another day. Win the war, not the battle. Between the blaring alarm, automated voice and snow-commands, orders and likely flamers being used to melt the snow out of their way it would be nearly impossible to hear the thudding footsteps moving down the mountainside now. And by the time they would extract proper, it would be out of sight. A cascade of snow covering tracks in its wake, or perhaps leaps made their separation too distant to track. 17G had become a liability, no longer a product of a neglected cloning farm, but now a wrench in many plans. A force of nature that was unpredictable, and out in the world at large.
The squad extracted with twenty seconds to spare, making quick use of the necessary equipment to get out of the elevator shaft. Using the hole made by 17G, it provided a valuable shortcut. By the time the facility self-destructed, the team was already in the air and making distance. The blast was a dull thud, before a swirl of blue and red energy twisted malevolently and completely consumed the facility. Then, the roaring explosion and wave of force followed. With enough power to send the aircraft hurling forward, they were far enough where that didn't compromise the vehicles stability. The devastation was behind them, a perfect sphere cut into this particular section of the mountain. Yet, the snow would cover it up in time and none would be the wiser. A relic of the Tuffle peoples history, wiped out in an instant, for better or worse. Charentis on the other hand, in the rush of it all having ended up in ISLET custody was laid out across the center of the aircraft and secured down. She was too large to fit in the seats normally, a hulk that only resembled a Tuffle in her features. This was the asset that'd laid siege to the Saiyans all those centuries ago. The mighty hammer to the General's once in a hundred generations tactical talent. Her shotgun alone was the size of a missile launcher, enough to turn someone into a memory at the pull of a trigger. And she was now an ISLET asset, extracted and secured. Whether she was worth the price of what got out, would be found out in time. 871 | 9,592 Emargine "Azure" Cerola
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