Post by Cortlund on Jul 31, 2021 1:45:24 GMT -8
He was a wanted man and that felt different to him than his entire life had before. A wanted man, but who was he really? Sure to the World Government he was Captain Cortlund Smith, as his Earth Defense Force Dog Tags had said, but to the Tuffle Science Executive and ISLET he had never even had a name. Cortlund was a designation, as was Smith. Administrator “Granny” Smith was one of the toughest martial artists within the TSE and of an age that no one could be really sure of. A firm matriarch, she was the one who had been maternal figure and staff sergeant to the various members of his line born from Cortlund genetic stock.
None of the rest of the B12 Line knew if their progenitor and basic genetic template was a member of the Tuffle Elites who had taken a misstep on the dance floor of politics and power that was the leadership of the TSE, or if it was simply a gene tamper like so many others. He had never met a B11 or B13, none the less someone like an A1; so there was not even a basic idea as to what the template had come from.
As a child he had done as children do, and not questioned their teaching. Throughout the time he worked his way up the ranks of the World Government's Defense Forces, he had bought the political story told by the TSE.
That was before. Before he had went to the Bunker that had been nearest to the Southern Demon Kingdom battleground that he and Major Clever and the others had been nearest to. Before the scientists had tried to refuse it because Major Clever was not a Tuffle, considering the Earthling 'an inferior being', and it a security risk. Further, a Cortlund B12 Model didn't have the authority to demand anything of them.
It had been weeks before, and while he had inevitably massacred much of the Installation after that in a rage, he had been able to save Clever. Using one of the cryostasis machines and focus, he had done so – and both called in his resignation to the World Government and kept watch on the machine as it healed Major Clever.
He had fought no less than three squads of ISLET troopers trying to secure the facility before Clever had been fully healed, and then he had guided his friend home. Then he had looked into protecting Clever and his family for the time that passed.
What it mean to be a wanted man? What did it mean to lose all placement and position he had within Tuffle society? And why was it he didn't care? Why was it with every breath that he took, every action he took now, he felt as if his heart was beating for itself for the first time? It's bass boosted reverberation sending a spark up his spine.
Who was Cortlund Smith? What did it mean to be that? Did he even want to be Cortlund Smith anymore? He could pick any other name he wanted and no one would question him – aside from people when he collected his World Government Pension.
He rubbed a his left thumb against his chin as he thought about it. He didn't think of the squad of Tuffle soldiers, some which looked to be other Cortlunds or Bana-nons, which lay collapsed and tied up behind him.
What did it mean to be a person, truly? The eerie words, “WHERE IS YOUR TUFFLE PRIDE, TRAITOR?” from the commander of their squadron, with her bubblegum pink hair in pig tails and her snide smirk, he could hear it in his mind's eye.
Where was his Tuffle Pride?
It made his mind drift out of time and place. Through genetics or something else, to another planet, another time. Another Cortlund. Perhaps the original? This planet seemed familiar. It almost looked like the pictures Tuffle History classes had shown of Planet Plant.
The armor was archaic, the kind of stuff that some low end gangster on Earth might wear, but the rifle was the same sort they start all young Tuffles on using. The armor was covered in stealth covering, too. The scene played on through his mind, as he and the rest of his squad, along with their MANGO supports snuck up onto this walled Saiyan Village and confirmed with their Scouters that there was no considerable power level presently within the area.
Despite that, the battle that followed? Even with his squad battling against the Saiyan Savages who were squatting since their destruction of Planet Sadala, and trying to capture them using advanced tactics and numbers, it wasn't easy.
As an old man with wild grey hair unleashed a massive power level some of the soldiers were distracted. Cortlund hesitated. As a boy with bright, chillingly blue eyes – like glacial sapphires – stared down Cortlund and the others, he could hear the words again.
“My name is CAYLE POTA. SON OF POTA POTASET, HIMSELF SON OF POTASET POTASET, THE SON OF POTASET POTA, THE SON OF POTA ONIO, THE SON OF ONIO POTA, THE VERY SAME ONIO POTA WHOM WAS THE SON OF POTA THE PROUD, AND I WILL NOT ALLOW YOU TO HARM MY FAMILY.”
Then the boy powered up with such a rage that many of the squad's scouters broke. He charged the MANGO Mechanical and knocked it to the ground with one staggering punch. As he went rampant on the vehicle, a child a few years younger than the one who had just done that could be seen, with the same striking sapphire eyes.
“FIRE. IF THEY POWER UP LIKE THAT DO NOT USE STUN. FIRE, FIRE, CORPORAL CORTLUND, FIRE.”
This other Cortlund shot his commander in the knee instead.
“I didn't join this to attack no kids. You said this was to capture insurgents, Major Mango.”
“YOU WOULD LET THEM DO THIS TO YOUR FELLOWS? WHERE IS YOUR TUFFLE PRIDE?” The Major said, before one of Cortlund's associates hit him with the rifle butt. The memory ended.
Cortlund Smith found himself in the modern moment, on Earth. He took a breath and stood up and dusted himself off. Whatever else he was, he was a wanted man and he was no Tuffle Science Executive stooge.
[1057]
None of the rest of the B12 Line knew if their progenitor and basic genetic template was a member of the Tuffle Elites who had taken a misstep on the dance floor of politics and power that was the leadership of the TSE, or if it was simply a gene tamper like so many others. He had never met a B11 or B13, none the less someone like an A1; so there was not even a basic idea as to what the template had come from.
As a child he had done as children do, and not questioned their teaching. Throughout the time he worked his way up the ranks of the World Government's Defense Forces, he had bought the political story told by the TSE.
That was before. Before he had went to the Bunker that had been nearest to the Southern Demon Kingdom battleground that he and Major Clever and the others had been nearest to. Before the scientists had tried to refuse it because Major Clever was not a Tuffle, considering the Earthling 'an inferior being', and it a security risk. Further, a Cortlund B12 Model didn't have the authority to demand anything of them.
It had been weeks before, and while he had inevitably massacred much of the Installation after that in a rage, he had been able to save Clever. Using one of the cryostasis machines and focus, he had done so – and both called in his resignation to the World Government and kept watch on the machine as it healed Major Clever.
He had fought no less than three squads of ISLET troopers trying to secure the facility before Clever had been fully healed, and then he had guided his friend home. Then he had looked into protecting Clever and his family for the time that passed.
What it mean to be a wanted man? What did it mean to lose all placement and position he had within Tuffle society? And why was it he didn't care? Why was it with every breath that he took, every action he took now, he felt as if his heart was beating for itself for the first time? It's bass boosted reverberation sending a spark up his spine.
Who was Cortlund Smith? What did it mean to be that? Did he even want to be Cortlund Smith anymore? He could pick any other name he wanted and no one would question him – aside from people when he collected his World Government Pension.
He rubbed a his left thumb against his chin as he thought about it. He didn't think of the squad of Tuffle soldiers, some which looked to be other Cortlunds or Bana-nons, which lay collapsed and tied up behind him.
What did it mean to be a person, truly? The eerie words, “WHERE IS YOUR TUFFLE PRIDE, TRAITOR?” from the commander of their squadron, with her bubblegum pink hair in pig tails and her snide smirk, he could hear it in his mind's eye.
Where was his Tuffle Pride?
It made his mind drift out of time and place. Through genetics or something else, to another planet, another time. Another Cortlund. Perhaps the original? This planet seemed familiar. It almost looked like the pictures Tuffle History classes had shown of Planet Plant.
The armor was archaic, the kind of stuff that some low end gangster on Earth might wear, but the rifle was the same sort they start all young Tuffles on using. The armor was covered in stealth covering, too. The scene played on through his mind, as he and the rest of his squad, along with their MANGO supports snuck up onto this walled Saiyan Village and confirmed with their Scouters that there was no considerable power level presently within the area.
Despite that, the battle that followed? Even with his squad battling against the Saiyan Savages who were squatting since their destruction of Planet Sadala, and trying to capture them using advanced tactics and numbers, it wasn't easy.
As an old man with wild grey hair unleashed a massive power level some of the soldiers were distracted. Cortlund hesitated. As a boy with bright, chillingly blue eyes – like glacial sapphires – stared down Cortlund and the others, he could hear the words again.
“My name is CAYLE POTA. SON OF POTA POTASET, HIMSELF SON OF POTASET POTASET, THE SON OF POTASET POTA, THE SON OF POTA ONIO, THE SON OF ONIO POTA, THE VERY SAME ONIO POTA WHOM WAS THE SON OF POTA THE PROUD, AND I WILL NOT ALLOW YOU TO HARM MY FAMILY.”
Then the boy powered up with such a rage that many of the squad's scouters broke. He charged the MANGO Mechanical and knocked it to the ground with one staggering punch. As he went rampant on the vehicle, a child a few years younger than the one who had just done that could be seen, with the same striking sapphire eyes.
“FIRE. IF THEY POWER UP LIKE THAT DO NOT USE STUN. FIRE, FIRE, CORPORAL CORTLUND, FIRE.”
This other Cortlund shot his commander in the knee instead.
“I didn't join this to attack no kids. You said this was to capture insurgents, Major Mango.”
“YOU WOULD LET THEM DO THIS TO YOUR FELLOWS? WHERE IS YOUR TUFFLE PRIDE?” The Major said, before one of Cortlund's associates hit him with the rifle butt. The memory ended.
Cortlund Smith found himself in the modern moment, on Earth. He took a breath and stood up and dusted himself off. Whatever else he was, he was a wanted man and he was no Tuffle Science Executive stooge.
[1057]