Patrick slowly stirred from his light sleep, remaining motionless as his consciousness instantly snapped to. something was off. He swore silently as a shot of adrenaline pulsed through him. His revolver was in the desk across the room. He slowly scanned the room until his eyes came to rest on the reason for his human instincts ripping him from his slumber. His door was ajar. It had not been left that way.
Patrick began to slide from the bed when he felt a weight on his chest. He looked down as Camorra stirred slightly before nuzzling back down and stilling once more. She must have moved to him during the night. Ever so slowly, he slipped from her grasp, gently sliding his pillow under her head. He admired her contented expression momentarily before an almost imagined creak peaked his senses into overdrive. His practiced Delmar mannerisms disappeared, and the very human response kicked in. He took a few deadly silent steps, slipping the drawer open and retrieving his weapon, before ghosting over to the door.
He steadied his breath. Whoever was on the other side was still there, and he could hear them shift slightly. He waited one heartbeat more, a decision more felt than thought, before whipping the door open and jamming the revolver under his opponent’s chin. The Second Click of the ancient Smith and Wesson heralded the Hammer slipping into full cock just as Patrick recognized the terrified expression on Krastus Baillins face.
The two of them locked eyes before Patrick slowly lowered his weapon and de-cocked it in a safe direction. He was still unsure what to say. He had just nearly killed Camorra’s father.
“I was looking for Camorra. She is usually up with the dawn….” Her father began, his voice barely a whisper, “I apologize, I know humans are different, but I didn’t realize you would react so…… violently.” His tone was still creased with worry. His eyes glanced at the door, noticing his daughter in Patrick’s bed.
Patrick took a long cleansing breath, “No, I should apologize. Trauma can make Humans…. overprotective. Of themselves, and of those around them.” He nodded inviting the man in as they both stepped in out of the hallway. It was obvious that Krastus was still scared, but Patrick made a point of showing the pistol going into the desk and closing the drawer. Krastus smiled in gratitude as he sat at the edge of the bed, gently checking on his daughter whilst ensuring he didn’t wake her.
Patrick slipped to his sea bag and pulled a pair of Sandals out and slipping them on. Krastus nodded as he stood, following him back out into the hallway. Patrick closed the door mostly, not wanting to trigger another episode if Camorra were to wake up. “She had a panic attack last night.” He began.
Krastus’ eyes widened in understanding, “She always hated sleeping alone. She took the longest of the children to get sleeping in her own room. I thought she had gotten lost. She did that when she was young. Her panic didn’t always awaken her fully; we found her in a hall closet or a hallway corner more than once. Why did she come to you… usually she comes to our room.”
“We were assigned as roommates after the attack. There wasn’t enough space to give anyone a single berth. She told me she couldn’t hear me sleeping near her. I think she had a nightmare from the attack and half woke up.” Patrick leaned in, making sure she wasn’t growing restless, “she wanted to sleep on the floor, I refused” Krastus leaned slightly to watch her sleep as Patrick smiled at a father being a good dad, “I didn’t want her on the ground after an episode that bad.”
Krastus got an odd look on his face before looking the lanky red-haired Human in the eyes, “I’ll not be mad, but tell me truthfully. Has she claimed you. I know humans don’t tend to sleep with people they aren’t romantically involved with. Are you family, son?”
Patrick smiled sadly, “No sir, she has not. I’m not even sure if she sees me that way.” He squared his shoulders to the older man, “In all truth, I very much care for her in that way, sir; but I won’t push that on her when her mind is still so fragile from the attack.”
“I see.” Krastus frowned as she stirred slightly, “Is this you asking for a courtship, in due time? It would be appropriate, in the old ways.”
“I don’t know enough about your culture to even answer that question.” Patrick said, clearly starting to get worried as she stirred a second time.
Krastus noticed the humans change in attention, and Patrick missed an approving smile that flashed across the father's features, “Go to her, she feels safe with you. If I can’t find her again, I’ll know she is in good hands.” With that, he turned and walked off down the hall.
‘This must be a Delmar thing’ Patrick openly gawked as a father left his daughter in the bed of a stranger, rounding the corner to disappear into the carved labyrinth.
“Patrick?” A Soft voice drew him back as he returned to his room and closed the door. Cammy was sitting up as he slipped to a sink and poured his alibi.
“Hey, I’m here, I needed to get a drink.” He took a sip of water as he sat on the edge of the bed, “you feelin’ better?”.
“MmHmm, until I got cold when you got up. may I?” She reached for the water, and drank after Patrick without a second thought. “Did you sleep ok?”
“I did, you’re a very gentle sleeper. I didn’t even feel you curl up on me.” Patrick teased lightly, noting a slight blush.
“You were so warm, it was nice.” She put the water on the nightstand and reached for Patrick’s hand, “red?”
“Hmm?” He turned in time to catch her blatantly out on a pouting expression for him.
“I’m cold” she said in her best whimper, and Patrick didn’t have the heart to say no.
“Ok… ok, come here” he slid back into the bed as she grinned with a small squeak and curled up next to him just as he had found her when he woke up.
“Hmmmmmm better” she murmured relishing her redheaded hot water bottle for a long moment before propping her head up with her chin to his chest to look at him. “What did Pappa want” she smirked at Patrick’s raised eyebrow. “I heard his footsteps before you came back.”
“He was worried. You apparently like waking up at the ass crack of dawn. He came looking for you.” Patrick whispered, “He was fine after he came in to check on you. Something about you having a history of not liking being alone?”
“He told you?” She asked, burying her head in his chest, “that’s embarrassing.”
“Oh shhh. It got you permission for us to stay roomies.” Patrick encouraged, patting her on the back gently.
She looked up at him with a start, “what?” She searched his face, looking for something before laying back down on his chest, “I would like that… I would like that a lot.”
“I have one rule though,” Patrick looked down as she looked back up at him, “no more of this sleeping on the floor business. You sleep up here, not down there.”
“Deal.” She mumbled before settling back down, in moments she was asleep again, and Patrick checked his com for time. It was indeed the ass crack of dawn and he was not a morning person. He settled in and let his mind drift as sleep settled on him once more.
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Captain Alex Collins stepped up to the monitors in full armor. His helmet was hefted in one hand as he scanned the screens in front of him. The Marines were about to be attempting their most daring operation in this part of space. Their hit on the pirate barge had gifted them a gold mine in the form of Intelligence. The catch, it had to be acted on within the next day.
The barge had a scheduled stop, a black-market station with a reputation for also being a trafficking market. This was the most detailed information that Sol had gotten on the rampant space-born crime trades. Alex and a small squad were in a shuttle that was doing its level best impression of a piece of space junk as a more… indigenous… infiltration unit, led by Growrmun, made their way through the station. The Lycan had returned to his skill set, only this time for his people, who were growing ever closer in social-political ties with Delmar. A transport ship of Lycan families had been hit recently, and their government had reached out days before the hit on the pirate barge. The intel from that hit revealed that at least some of the families were here, among other beings. They were to be sold off to other Syndicates as forced labor, or worse.. forced pleasure… and that auction was today. Alex and his team were the Extraction contingent, whilst Growrmun's group was Infiltration and Target confirmation.
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He worked his joints, feeling the up-armored suit’s added heft. He probably couldn’t have lifted this suit in earth gravity.. but it was comfortable in anything less than 1Delmar G. It was a Delmar design using joint technology, and had proven immune to even the heaviest handheld weapons so far. It was a vast improvement, taking on lessons learned from the study of the armor he and his men wore during the Boarding of the Vorath Command ship. It was, however, still a rapid prototype, and not fully trusted. There were also only 5 in existence… all of which were inside this shuttle, on his men.
The “Brothers Gremm” had made a name for themselves with their willingness to tackle any technology, human or Delmar, and turn it on its head until it became something completely unexpected.
Dubbed the “Mechanized Advanced Combat Exosuit Mk I” the MACE Mk1 would have weighed over 175 kg on Earth without modules. Leaning heavily on the bleeding edge of nanite technology and alpha-synce. The wearer’s mind was directly linked to the suits mobility and survivability, Communications, and targeting systems. Currently powered by an equally experimental micro fusion core, the suit not only moved like the wearer’s own skin but had enough power to run several configuration modules. Those module’s development hinged heavily on the suit’s performance, and Alex was wearing just a basic sensor and coms module on his back, and a rifle-grade laser emitter on his left gauntlet, everything else was standard marine weapons, magazines, and grenades save for the Vorath Dagger strapped on his leg.
An icon flashed in the HUD projected directly into his mind as Growrmon’s team found the objective.
Go Time
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Growrmon tucked the pocket transponder into his garments. He had discreetly put a tracking tag on the holding pens that contained the families he could find, as well as the rest of the captives. Now he had to wait. His team was a motley crew of sorts, and He nodded to himself as he noticed them filtering through the crowd of the slave flesh auction. His situation had changed drastically since his exile. Gone were his distasteful missions for the Unity. He was now an Agent of his people, and it felt good to work for the home-world again. His skills were undeniable, but this was not a normal mission or crew, however. The nature of their Target would have made an all Lycan team impossible. He was currently the only lycan on the station that wasn’t in a slave pen, he was accompanied by Commander Silu of all people, and his Human first officer, Philip Kenye. The Delmar Commander had shown up, looking every bit the well-off Pirate, with a well-worn cutlass on one hip and a laser pistol holster on the other. His facial scars and opaque eye sold the look, as Delmar were not often Pirates; but it was not unheard of. He walked with a pronounced limp without his cane, but he mingled and blended with the best as he found his position and sat.
Philip was just gone... Growrmun couldn’t figure out how a Human, currently the most notorious species known to the Unity, had just evaporated into the ether of the station’s commotion. Philip had clicked his com to say he was in position, but even looking at the area he was supposed to be, Growrmun still failed to spot him. He was still searching for the elusive human when his earpiece beeped twice, a signal that his “Reinforcements” were 30 seconds out. The rattling of bars signified the unlocking of the cages, as the auction began. The first few captives were dragged out and brutally stripped of their rags as the Auctioneer began the bidding process. Growrmun’s bile raged as thinking beings of multiple races were humiliated and sold like livestock. He had not been told exactly what the signal would be, only that he wouldn’t be able to miss it. The first group was just finishing up the bidding when a deafening explosion rumbled through the pressure vessel of Syndicate Station before sounds of distinctly human weapons fire rattled and stuttered faintly into his hearing. ‘yup, can’t miss that’. Growrmun leapt from his position, leveling a Lycan made laser pistol and boiling the brain out of the Kawmari guard leading the captives back to their cells. The giant bird collapsed like a puppet with cut strings as faint yellow blood mixed with liquified brain matter oozed from smoking eye sockets, sinus cavities and mouth. Growrmun leapt from his position, rushing to his assigned of the three cages as he saw the flash of a saber and a wail of agony as Silu dismembered a C’Claram guard that was guarding the second pen. A loud triplicate of pops followed as Silu’s revealed that his sidearm was not, in fact, a laser pistol; and Silu’s Delmar native Gauss pistol dropped two more guards. Growrmun looked toward the third pen just as a figure materialized out of the shadows and drove a strange ornate spear through the base of the skull cavity of the C’Claram guard trying to lock the door. The spear twisted, fully shattering the insectoids head before Philip stepped to the side and flicked the gore from his Traditionally Sudanese designed spear custom made of Durasteel.
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Dozer’s Gauss rifle rattled in his hand as he dispatched another Pirate. They had landed violently. The Shuttle was, in fact stripped out Terran Armored troop carrier. Its inside had been stripped of anything that would sacrifice space, and only carried two harpoon missiles on its stubby wingtips. One had been used to blow a hole in the armored hanger doors gliding through the emergency containment field that sprang up in response to the venting atmosphere. His team had stepped out of the shuttle and their MACE Mk1’s immediately began taking a pounding from every weapon in the immediate area. The Captain’s second was a shorter man with a pension for all things boom; Lieutenant Briggs immediately loosed a flurry of fire from his belt Fed M640-G. The great grandson of the Venerable Fabrique Nationale Herstal Mag58, The normally almost 12 Kilo light machine gun barely moved as it spat its hate. The Optic, while easily used from the shoulder, was also feeding targeting data through the alpha-sync to a calculated Reticle projected directly into the shooter’s mind based Hud. The rest of his squad was made up riflemen save for one Grenadier. His specialist’s module for testing was a shoulder mounted grenade launching system. Grenade launchers were one of the few Human weapons left that still used a propellant charge, on account of the advancements in grenade electronic fusing and programming. A Gauss powered firing system tended to play hell with the circuits inside the grenade when a capacitor dumps a micro emp into a set of coils right next to a microchip controlling the Grenades fuse and proximity programming. Sparks of heavier crew served laser and plasma weapons began impacting a few of the riflemen’s armor, causing them to dip into cover. It was quickly silenced by the blooping bark of Specialist Turner’s launcher. The Venerable 40 mm grenade had survived many attempts to replace it. This generation had a microtargeting and detonation mode computer inside the warhead that linked with the Mace’s targeting systems. Turner had selected airburst and fired three rounds, raining a hail of shrapnel down on the crews of the larger weapons, quickly coating the immediate area with a collage of organic matter from multiple species. One Private had taken a crew served laser blast to the magazine of his rifle, fusing the magazine and weapon together and slagging the weapon’s action. He slung the disabled rifle, drawing his sidearm and continuing to eliminate targets. Lieutenant Briggs had taken three of the same weapons laser discharges directly to the chest plate of his armor. All three failed to penetrate but left deep melted gouges. The assembly would need to be removed and replaced, with the damaged parts sent off for dissection by R&D. For now, the team moved at speed toward the beacons and tags. The Mace Mk1’s allowed for ease of movement with exorbitant payloads, and the Team, minus a private and the Grenadier, began a brisk jogging speed through the station. Resistance tapered off as they went, it was anyone’s guess whether it was out of fear, or number lost. An occasional splash of laser or plasma would bounce off of one team member or another, only to be quickly silenced by a short staccato’d burst from a human weapon. It took Dozer’s crew 6 minutes to get from the Hanger to the containment pens.
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Growrmun suppressed a look of shock as 3 armored Durasteel Horrors, covered in obvious weapons impact rumbled around the corner completely unphased by the punishment they had so obviously received.
“Growrmun, Silu, Philip?” one of the armored Titans stepped up, flicking open his visor to reveal a grim, serious expression, “Captain Collins. How many do we have for evacuation.”
“We found a few of the families. I fear the rest lost. The pins hold a total of 25.” Growrmun reported to the most terrifying human he had seen to date.
“A tight fit, but we will manage. Gather them, we move in 1 minute” Collins turned to his two team members, “Fan it out. If it has a weapon, it dies. Go.”
Commander Silu ambled up, barely limping as he led some of the captives. Philip brought up the rear with the rest before nodding to his superior.
Dozer activated his armored face visor once more. It slammed down with a satisfying clunk and hiss of re-pressurization. “Move.” Was all he said, turning to head back the way they had come. The return trip was a much slower affair. 20 minutes went by before the hanger entrance made its appearance. The shuttle was packed tight just as a new barrage of energy weapons fire pelted the Marines on security. Someone had figured out the “merchandise” was leaving and mounted a counter-assault of sorts. A steady thumping sound heralded the launch of more grenades. The rumbling bark accompanied a rain of belt-fed hate. The fresh defensive volley of ammunition and ordinance painted the corridors and walls with freshly disassembled enemies, causing the attack to falter. The Marines took the opportunity, reembarking into shuttle that began hovering back out of the hanger. Captain Collins elected not to order a second Harpoon launch, as he was not sure how many innocents were still in the structure. The shuttle pivoted upon its exit, swinging its head ‘round to open space as its main drives spun up.
2 minutes later, slip jump velocity had been achieved and the vessel winked out of existence.