Garrett Thorne
Garrett blinked twice, hoping the information displayed on the internal screens of his suit would change.
He tapped on the screens, and then on the controls to check the menus. He needed to make sense of this situation.
SEAL? DEVGRU? Those names were legends now, relics of a bygone era.
SEALs were among the first to respond during the First Contact War over a millennium ago, heroes whose stories were told in history books and holographic dramas.
They didn't exist anymore, not as active units. Modern special operations had evolved into new entities, more advanced and integrated with current technology and alliances.
The suit’s systems checked out, displaying green across the board, signaling maximum efficiency. Video feeds from the building's security systems relayed the ongoing battle outside.
The piloting seat felt even more cramped than usual as Garrett took in the being before him, invoking names that shouldn't be spoken outside of a museum or a theatrical production.
His eyes narrowed as he scrutinized Master Chief Scott through the suit’s cameras.
Scott’s head was enclosed in a metallic container, vaguely resembling the head of a Granfi with its four horns.
The metal appeared matte gray, etched in what appeared grained rust, and seemed to pulse faintly with the movement of untold billions of nanites.
His body was bulkier, showing signs of the same alien technology Garrett had seen in Vexx’s shop. The metal was slowly, almost organically, adapting, melting, and shaping itself into a more human-like form, though it was clear it lacked a proper blueprint to do so.
The initial design was still recognizable and it encased the human body within a Granfi shell, and now something was melting that shell to make it look more akin to something human for whatever reason.
Up close, Garrett could see that the plates were hollow, revealing the neck and limbs within. The magnified view of the cameras showed the faint, rhythmic pulsing of blood in the exposed veins.
What he could see of the human body within was surely damaged.
Clusters of nanites patched the skin, hinting at severe trauma; they were slowly but surely healing the body; it was a common occurrence in the heat of battle.
One arm was still human, while the other had been mechanically recreated, gleaming with a sinister, cold efficiency.
His legs, too, were entirely mechanical, all constructed from a strange amalgamation of human and Granfi anatomy.
The integration was advanced, more so than anything Garrett had ever seen in prosthetics, but it was also disturbing.
It seemed in places an unnatural fusion of flesh and metal.
A chill ran down Garrett's spine. The sight of Scott was horrifying.
Was this some kind of psychological operation? Was it meant to destabilize them?
Scott’s demeanor and the precision of his introduction suggested otherwise.
There was no hesitation, no hint of deception. He believed in his stated identity, at the very least.
Could he really be a relic, a soldier preserved in cryogenic sleep and enhanced by advanced cybernetics, carrying the legacy of the SEALs into the present?
The idea seemed far-fetched, considering he knew that cryosleep had limits, but stranger things had happened in the galaxy.
Besides, Scott’s unit had pulled off a devastating move against a force that overwhelmed it by a factor of ten at least, both in number and weapons.
Garrett’s instincts, honed by years of service, told him to be cautious but respectful.
If Scott really was who he claimed to be, then he deserved honor. If he was a threat, Garrett would have to deal with it somehow.
Deep down, Garrett was intimidated and unsettled; he couldn’t allow himself to act upon his fears, however.
SEAL's legacy in history was their relentless drive and ability to achieve their objectives, but machines were pretty much the same.
Scott was both.
How was Garrett gonna tell the difference in a split second during a raging battle?
-Master Chief Scott,- Garrett said, measuring his words carefully trying to gauge a line -SEALs were the best of the best. But they've been gone for over a thousand years.-
Scott’s head tilted slightly, a natural motion that felt almost too smooth, too mechanical.
Garrett now felt overly conscious that Scott’s voice, when he spoke, had an artificial undertone more than the translator would normally imprint it, an echo that would send shivers through Garrett’s bones along with the content of what was said.
-Chief Thorne, did I stutter? I said I would take those I left in your custody, not that I’d like a briefing about the last millenia and a tea! Lead me to them or get out of the way.-
Whatever Scott’s true identity, one thing was clear: the situation had just become far more complex and possibly dangerous than before.
Especially because the only person that he didn’t want to see had just announced his presence!
-Master Chief Scott- Arther's voice came through the suit's speakers, slightly distorted but clear.
ßÿñæptrâ Löckßhÿă Këßtræ
Deep purple hues throbbed with an intense, pulsating orange all around her body.
Darker veins streaked across her currently mottled skin, which now almost glowed with red hues of rage and frustration.
Stolen story; please report.
By the spirits of the ancestors, what was wrong with this planet?
Names held power. Names held meaning. Names were a testament and a warning.
That was why ßÿñæptrâ Löckßhÿă Këßtræ, who bore three names, was the most important being in existence after all.
Was this the reason those accursed monkeys, rising from a death world, would use the name of something forbidden in their soft tongue for this artificial planet?
Spirits of the disappeared and the weak now walked the material realm, under the guise of aberrant machines.
They rose from the depths like demons of metal and flesh, armed with lasers and plasma weapons, scattering her forces with terrifying efficiency.
What had the humans pack-bonded within their hour of desperation?
It couldn't be remnants of the war; remnants of the original owners of the planet would never assist humans.
Unless...
A chilling doubt arose. She felt as if she were grasping at cosmic dust, but the possibility lingered: the humans were that crazy after all.
They managed to rise against a greater foe and win, shattering an empire that had once united the whole galaxy under its glorious banner.
Tales of the Von Rossman, the automated horror humans had unleashed in their direst of hours, still chilled the lower decks of pirate ships to this day.
The ghost of a capital ship lost on the day of its launch, a ghost haunting the galaxy, seeking those who dared to hold humanity at gunpoint.
The sleek barrels of its mag cannons were the last things unfortunate crews of pirates would see.
A cold shiver ran down Këßtræ's spine as she realized the situation was far worse than she had anticipated.
Now she felt as if she were living one of those terrifying stories told to scare off newbies and elicit the color of fear on one's skin.
That was because she realized a thing about the machines that came from below the streets: they weren’t just fighting, they were harvesting.
Those who were disintegrated by being squarely hit by a plasma ball were the lucky ones, report after report came of bodies of fallen soldiers and their weapons being dragged into the depths below the streets.
Yes, these mechanical monstrosities hit with precision and all the power their weapons allowed, moving in small units to sow confusion.
When a weapon was overheating or had lost its charge they would simply throw it away and swap it with a weapon that fell from her men.
The scariest part was when the manholes and the service passages in the streets opened and more bulky and less combat-oriented forms emerged dragging the bodies of her soldiers down below.
They would even drag down the most damaged among the enemy and would substitute for them on the battlefield, moving with perfect coordination.
If one didn’t pay close attention, it would be almost as if the unknown assailants never waned or were hindered.
She was in the safety of the command center and she could tell, but her troops on the ground would be feeling the full effect of the strategy employed amidst the chaos of battle.
Her army, which had started roughly 2,000 strong, was reduced to about 900, those who would still respond at least.
It irked her that those under her command wouldn’t simply hold their ground and die for her sake, it was their given purpose and they should have been honored, not fearful.
It would’ve been easy to just bear the brunt of the assault and swamp them with superior numbers, they would have been successful for her glory and give their otherwise useless lives meaning by spending them to honor her names!
It was like the tales where the spirits of the damned came back to the land of the living to punish those who would do wrong. But she could do no wrong!
Her hearts pounded with a mix of fear and fury, as she stood from her chair in the command room, the realization struck her with the force of a plasma blast.
The old dog had done the impossible. He had turned the tide, without even having to make the knight act.
Her plan had been foiled once again!? No, she wouldn’t stand for it this time!
There had to be something, anything she could do to reverse the tide of battle once again!
Arther Lero
Light and darkness existed in the galaxy; darkness was prevalent, of course, but that was by design. It was to allow light to shine all the brighter.
Light and darkness had to clash, and the holders of light had to prevail, made stronger in body and conviction by the wringer the clash imposed.
It wasn’t a time for him to intervene and put an early end to the trial, but to rise in the darkest of hours, when all hope appeared to be lost!
After all, no tune appeared perchance in the harmonious song of the universe; at least that was what Arther believed.
His presence here had to mean something, each Myar knight renounced their given name and adopted names from human history, this was done both in deference to the humans that freed them and to inspire the knight to the greatness those humans left in history with those names.
Arther was bestowed by the name of the king of knights, Arthur Pendragon, and one of the greatest and most courageous warriors, Leeroy Jenkins.
Like any other young knight aspirant, Arther grew up with the true stories depicted in historical human mediums and knew all there was to know about real heroes like John “Hannibal” Smith, Casey Ryback, or Jason M. Hayes.
Having been educated in this kind of environment Arther knew very well the figures of the Navy Seals, and how they were legendary in their own rights.
While not intervening in it, Arther wasn’t ignoring the ongoing conflict altogether, so he was surprised when warriors emerged from under the city and sowed chaos amidst the forces of darkness assembled to siege Claye’s light.
He was curious whether this was an ally or a possible foe, and he was very surprised to overhear the presentation made as he was moving through the corridors.
Arther had the chance, the opportunity to speak face to face to one of those heroes of humanity, well not really, his advanced suit, would be the link.
As he approached, he couldn’t help but feel awe and excitement.
There, in that building was a SEALs Master Chief, a title that echoed with glory, valor, and the duty of field command of the ancient SEALs.
Arther’s tentacles inside the suit quivered a physical manifestation of his inner turmoil and anticipation.
He stopped behind the corner of the corridor before speaking, fully aware that the suit he was wearing was built as a weapon, and any good soldier would regard him as an enemy.
Especially if, as the conversation suggested,
-Master Chief Scott- Arther's voice came through the suit's speakers, slightly distorted but clear.
-I am Knight Arther Lero.- He said -I hold the noble Arthur Pendragon and the valiant Leeroy Jenkins names high. Thy deeds this day hath brought light into the shadows of this town.
Art truly the legendary SEALs been reborn in this hour of need for the galaxy?-
–Leeroy Jenkins, huh?- The seal recognized the name of the hero, but he was not in awe, he scoffed instead, as the translator indicated clear frustration and annoyance in his mechanical voice. -No wonder you pulled out that stunt.-
What had Arther done to annoy such an esteemed member of the human race? Worse, Master Chief Scott appeared to not consider his quest for truth worthy of an answer!
-Master Chief Scott- Arther said, his voice filled with reverence and determination, as he came to the corridor, the suit relaying the grim image of the human directly to his cerebral cortex.
He paused, analyzing the data at his disposal before speaking -Thou art here for that nefarious villain, Vexx? I can lead thee to his cell in Chief Thorne's stead. But ‘ere I do, prithee, answer me: why? I..-
Scott sighed, interrupting him -Why else? To gather intel. There’s slavery, piracy, aliens being force-fed their dead and God knows what other horror is afoot in this world. I am simply following rule 303. I was given the means to end this, hence I have the responsibility to do so. I won’t stop until the people on this planet are safe from oppression, at the very least.-
Arther was taken aback, humans found the term alien derogatory and offensive, but this one used it as a statement of fact, like he had no other term like the humans of old, facing the stars and other sentients for the first time.
-It seemeth I am called to witness history being writ once again, as it did happen when thy kind embraced darkness and did end crafting light. I cannot for the life of me begin to comprehend how thou didst accomplish such a feat. I cannot forget I live by the light of freedom thy kind did shine upon the galaxy in those days, so even though my code doth bid me to judge thee for having used a sentient creature for thy plans, I feel it is not my place to judge thee here and now. Not yet. Come, follow me. I shall lead thee to those held in custody. -
With that, Arther turned, his suit whirring softly as he led the way.
The path ahead was fraught with uncertainty, Arther felt conflicted, after all, Ethan would use a slaver for its purposes.
It was, however, a human thing to do, to use darkness to reach for the light; who was he to bar the way to a peaceful future if Ethan was sure to be able to lead the way there?