Futuristic Confederation Reserve Squadron M-842

[Pavan]

Durall sat quietly as Angrissi spoke simply nodding once she had finnished. He already had the files on most of his squadmates, provided by Onkar his handler, but this short conversation could tell Durall more about the people than any file ever could. She threw her history down like a challeng almost daring someone to try and test her. Durall had no wish to. Infact with her past of petty theft and bribery she may be useful to Durall if his mission required him to seek extra equipment or information from... less than legal source. Durall made a mental note to follow that thread when he had time. As the automated began to speak a large terran male plopped down at the table and began speaking quickly in a terran dialect. Durall set his translator to detect the language and it informed him that it was heavily accented english. He rambled on for a while before finnishing with "So whats yer deal? Huh? I'm guessin' little lass over haur is a convict tae." As the automated began asking questions of the terran Durall switched his focus back to Angrissi feeling his mucsle tense up a little. Durall knew about her history from her file. What he didnt know was how she would react to this terran calling her out in front off others. He watched and waited.
idalie KhazTheGiraffe lilcherrykitten

 

[CkSmalling]

Corporal Robert King​

Spoiler

"We have to move!!!!! The Onslaughts are on their way. Make sure the civilians have been evacuated. I don't care if they have to be kidnapped. JUST EVACUATE EVERYONE!!!!!" Robert and his squad scattered in different directions as the Onslaught made their way to civilian populated areas. He was part of the team protecting the civilians and it was not an easy task. he got on to his ship and hovered above the transport ship, scanning different sectors for enemy activity. He got a blip. Three enemy ships were approaching from the southwest.

"Sir! We have incoming!!!Proceeding to intercept trajectory." Robert said over the comms to his commander.
"You have permission to make love my dead mother. NOW MOVE!!!!!! Do not let any ship pass through!!"
Robert fired up his main engines and plotted a course towards the enemy ships, priming his main guns as the targeting systems marked their targets. He pressed the trigger button and the twins cannons on opposite sides lit up and fired towards the enemy ship at the center. The ship blew up and he flew past them through the flames making the enemy change direction towards him, firing at his ship.

"Well here we go" Robert murmured under his breath

Robert woke up with a stir. He looked around at the repurposed storage room full of bunk beds and sat upright. "Times are tough i guess". Every single night, the dream replayed itself over and over again, trying desperately to figure out what he did wrong. He sat at the edge of the bed and looked at his left hand. The stump was there clear as day and the way he lost it was a sad sacrifice. he stood up and went to take a shower. The warm water warmed his cold mind up and he closed his eyes to soak in the soothing touch of the water. Flashbacks of the fight always seemed to creep up on him every time he closed his eyes, even for a brief moment.

He wore his uniform and wore his prosthetic arm and stepped outside of his cabin. The sights of the new recruits and the shouts of the commanding officers always soothed him one way or the other. Not that he was complaining or anything, it was just satisfying. He passed many high ranking officers, saluted as a sign of respect and proceeded to the mess. He was very hungry and he needed something filling if he was to muster the strength to fight through the day.

He grabbed a heavy serving of various types of food and sat down alone. He needed the peace of mind early in the morning coupled with a strong cup of hot coffee. He was not always a fan of coffee but recent circumstances have forced him to improvise. "Better than Whiskey i suppose." He consoled himself. As he was eating, he managed to hear a very interesting conversation about killing demons. He smiled at himself, knowing better they will do absolutely nothing when confronted with real danger.

He was interrupted by the sound of a very silk voice, he looked up to see a red head elf? He smiled. he had missed the elven race. Always a cheerful lot and ready to kill when you crossed them. They are to be feared. That he was sure of. Looks like it was medical inspection time and the Staff Sergeant was called up first. Looks like the medic acted like a psychiatrist so looks like he had someone to talk to, on a professional level that is. he looked around at the new cadets and said a silent prayer. "Dear Lord, look after these new cadets ."

 

[idalie]

Seirye "Stitches" Yllagwyn & Noramar Seddu-Xaa
(Collab post with DarkianMaker )
​

"Ah! Thank you, right this way, ma'am." Seirye beckoned, a skip in her step as she led the older Xenos toward the medical office, not far from the cafeteria, although a private and respectable area. Everything had been cleaned and disinfected to the nines, gleaming white which took away from the slight blemishes here and there indicating it's age of being in operation without renewed funding. In the small room was a bed to one side, chairs, desk, and a small wall of medical cabinets sitting tight against the stainless steel sink. Yllagwyn put down the clipboard on her desk and moved to the disinfectant, washing her hands thoroughly before drying them. She flashed another, reassuring smile toward Noramar. "I'm sorry to have to pull you up like this on your first day, but you know how it is. Not a moment's rest." Stitches arched her brows, beckoning for the Xii-Marth to sit on the edge of the bed specifically.

"Would you mind removing your chest pieces? I just need to check your vitals and general health, it won't take long." The medic smiled. Nevertheless whilst the taller woman was busied with that task, Seirye returned to the workstation to rifle about for the specific file and medical encyclopedia to cross reference the Xii-Marth anatomy. It hadn’t been extensively researched in the academy considering it was in Aiur territory, leaving the elf with a basic knowledge after a crash course in her trauma surgery by a few of the older combat medics.

Drawing the metallic snake of a stethoscope around her neck and briefly glancing down at the illustration, Stitches moved up. “It’ll be a little cold, I apologise. But tell me, I noticed you have children -- you must be proud of them. What’re their names?” The elf arched her brow, a classic case of sociable distraction from the matter at hand, used by any and all GP or nurse who knew the business.

It wasn’t the first time Noramar had one of these check-ups and neither was it going to be one of her last. “Don’t worry about it Corporal, it’s second nature to those who know the rhythm of the machine of war” She said with a smile as she released the clasps that held her armor tightly secured to her body and took the whole thing off until she just stood there in her jumpsuit. She looked quite more feminine without the armor on and she sat down on the medical bed.

She gave the office a good lookover before she rested her eyes on Yllagwyn again, funny how they were on the same eye height if she sits down. “Oh the clutch of busybodies.” She replied to Seirye’s question with a chuckle. “I have three of them, the oldest a boy and the other two girls. Eidyan, Miyoond and Maikyar, in that order.” She said as she smiled about her children. “Eidyan passed the Xaa rituals last year, Miyoond passed them last month and Maikyar is still training to be a doctor with the Yuu.”

The flat surface of the stethoscope was first pressed toward the middle of the Xii-Marth’s sternum, listening to the steady heartbeat before it altered down to one side of her abdomen, then the other, until bending to press to her back; listening to the inhale and exhale of the four lungs whilst Noramar talked. “Ahh, a doctor hm? A girl after my own heart.” Seirye flashed a grin. Pulling away, the medic grasped both wrists of the Xenos, checked for any discolouration of the face or evident medical conditions until relaxing. “You can start getting dressed again, physically you’re a-ok for duty! No worries there. Remember, if you have any issue with sickness or injury, I’ll be open to private check-ups. Most of the time you’ll find it’s nothing more than a general malaise, but always be sure.” Came the awaited lecture, it wasn’t thorough but generally ensured nothing majorly dangerous was being carried, besides familiarising the squad medic with each combatant. It was the after battle check ups which would eventually fill the purpose of keeping proud soldiers from acting on stupidity alone.

Moving back to where the chairs and counter where the elf selected Noramar’s file from the top. “I just need to ask a few questions regarding your mental health. Don’t be nervous, I know you’ve had some experience with these. When you’re ready, feel free to stay on the bed or the chairs. I just need to confirm a few facts.”

Seirye cleared her throat rather daintily, “How long have you been in active military service?”

Noramar felt at ease, Seirye was not a nervous wreck like the last medic she had to deal with and she seemed to clearly know a bit about Xii-Marth physiology. She calmly put on her armor again, securing the straps nice and tight. Within moments she had changed from feminine Noramar into combatant Sergeant Seddu-Xaa. She chuckled as she sat down in a chair opposite Seirye and took a good sip from her tea.

“Depends on whether you only count Confederate military service or all sorts of military service altogether.” She said with a relaxed look on her face. “I’ve been with the Confederate Armed Forces for 19 years, 14 years as a pilot, one year as a recruiter, another year as a trainer and then the last 3 years as a pilot again. Then I also spent 12 with the Hegemony Xaa, 3 years in warrior training, one year in the marines, 5 years in marine HQ and finally 3 years in advanced fighter combat training.” She just gave the whole list verbally as simply as if telling someone what she had for breakfast. “So 31 years in total give or take with the few recovery periods.”

“Hm, yes, the recovery periods.” Seirye inquired with a quiet hum, “I’ve seen it mentioned here you suffered from post-traumatic stress? Would you mind me asking how that’s been for you, adapting back to a combatant position? Have you had nightmares about it or thought about it when you would’ve preferred not to?”

“I have indeed suffered from post traumatic stress, fighting face to face with the Demons does that to you.” Noramar replied. “The first time it was hard and I was kept off combat duty for a long while. Still have nightmares about that encounter to this day.”

The medic made a small note of the Sergeant’s answer, plucking up the nearest pencil (which happened to be from her bun) causing the red bob to fall, curtaining both cheeks with a wavy frame. “I see, and do you try hard not to think about it? Or go out of your way to avoid situations that may remind you of it?”

“Overall when I start thinking about it I’d rather suppress the thoughts, but I do not avoid situations that may remind me of it.” Noramar replied calmly still. “Close combat is what saved me after all.”

“Good, good. Just a couple more questions and you’ll be back out and mingling with the squad.” Seirye beamed, “Are you constantly on guard? Watchful? Easily startled? Especially against any loud noises or paranoid toward new faces?”

“I’m always alert yes, a demon boarding can happen at any moment without warning.” Noramar replied. “I’m especially paranoid about Rantarans, they just creep me the fuck out and always seem to be up to something the bastards.”

The elf let out a small laugh, “Ah, Rantarans. Nothing new there then. I believe there’s a general dislike on the station?” She made a slight face at her clipboard. “But I won’t weigh in on it, I suppose I have some neutrality to keep.” Yllagwyn joked, “However, do you feel numb or detached from others, activities, or your surroundings?”

“Hmm, feeling numb or detached...” Noramar had to think on it for awhile since she never really thought about it before and then she reluctantly spoke. “I can say that I’ve been unable to form and maintain bonds with others except for my children, never really thought about it before...”

Seirye eyed the Xenos, not critically, but in the way doctors usually do when trying to suss out patients. Nevertheless, the elf drew a little question mark on the dotted line. “Well, if you do start feeling that way, just make sure to return here. We’ll be talking after missions, during, whenever you need.” Again came the reiteration. “But I see nothing wrong with anything that you’re currently doing and as far as I’m concerned, you’re fit for duty.”

The elf, proceeded to swiftly scrawl her signature on the bottom of a document stating as such, stamping it approved. Thus, slotting it into the Xii-Marth’s file, she pulled out the larger bottom drawer of the desk and dropped it into the corresponding alphabetical section of surnames. “Oh, on the way out would you mind calling for a -- Ms Mackenzie Capelli? Make this whole business quicker.”

“Well good to hear Corporal and I’ll take you on on that offer.” Noramar said with a smile as she got up and walked to the door. “Oh I will, don’t worry.” She then walked back to the cafeteria and called out to Capelli. “Capelli, the medic wants to see you now!”

Hextremus

 

[pilgrim_]

Surprise is an uncommon emotion in a race accustomed to moving to completely new planets and working out how they could be ambushed on entering a location, over an evening drink. Hruska could not help but stare at Capelli though, his stalking reptilian eyes now displaying a cartoonish roundness in response to the entire scene he was witnessing.

Normally, intent was not enough for an act to be considered good in his society. There had to be some result that fulfilled the collective; accidentally losing a day's hunt was a bad result, regardless of intent.

He wasn't sure if the result of Capelli's compliment was good, but it certainly wasn't malicious.

The Kurresh watched Noramar leave with the Aiur after their brief conversation, not paying much mind to either as he was lost in thought trying to unravel the mystery of how such a misguided, mentally ill teenage human ended up being enlisted.
Teenage humans were generally more susceptible to general strain and more impulsive; and females particularly suffered from the former.

Perhaps Noramar would have some idea of what to do with her. Perhaps the medic would notify them if she needed supervision or assistance.

He looked at Capelli, then at his meal, and reverted back to his casual demeanour of apparent suspicion and hunter-toughness.
"Your voice is nice too, human," he said matter-of-factly, and left for a table to have his meager lunch before his medical checkup.

 

[Unicorn666]

"Dishonorable. If the enemy does not know who it is that releases them to the Wheel, the kill is dishonorable. And those who are dishonorable are not treated well by the Wheel.. Besides, impersonal kills are far less satisfying than eviscerating someone with your own two hands. The strength you put into your attacks, the drive of the fight bring a smile to my face."

The Nafarian replied to the two Automated before turning his gaze to face the medic that had entered the room. As it turns out, a physical and psychological evaluation is in order. Although Raz was part of the squadron, his name was not brought up at all. Perhaps, they do not require to evaluate him? Or so it would seem, at least. The cadet was not interested in any case.

"Which part of the body, do you think, is the easiest to tear apart from the body? The limbs, the head or organs? It is easy to tear off the head of your opponent and drag their spinal cord out as their terrified grimace stares at you. I think it is harder to tear apart limbs from the body. It requires more effort and strength, but it is just as satisfying to hear the agonizing screams of pain your opponent may make. What are your thoughts?"

The winged cadet proposed a new topic of discussion for the trio, their voice as excited as before. These two were quite a pleasure to talk to, despite the fact they were nothing but machines and several complicated 'lines of code' that Raz couldn't understand even if he wanted to.

 

[lilcherrykitten]

Angrissi narrowed her eyes at the human who came to sat with them, the sound of the chair dragging against the ground causing her ears to twitch in annoyance. She listened closely to what he interrupted to tell them, his accent strong and almost incomprehensible to her although over her years she had gotten used to many different accents from many places. The man was from Faeron too, that surprised her even though she would never admit it. He seemed too... willing to be fighting for the Dominion. Most of the creatures Angrissi had come across in Faeron were against against the war, not willing to put their life to it.

He was from the Dominion. That makes more sense. She thought, nodding in understanding. As he extended his hand out toward her, she looked at it for an almost too long moment before reaching out to grab it in a strong grip, her claws digging ever so slightly into his skin.

"I did what I needed to do to survive. Faeron isn't a kind place to live. Most of us are criminals in some way or another, wouldn't you say?" Angrissi tilted her head to the side, curious as to how the human would respond to that. What she said wasn't incorrect, most of the creatures dwelling in the slums had faced hardships in some way. Thievery and petty crime was not uncommon. There was a reason that the Dominion humans looked down on the residents of Faeron Z, after all.

Pavan idalie KhazTheGiraffe

 

[Pavan]

As much as the interaction in front of him fascinated Durall, he suddenly found himself with more pressing matters. The small Communicator in-bedded in his neck has just sent out a small shock. The shock was not large enough to hurt Durall but it was not small enough for him to ignore either. He was being summoned. "Durall apologies. Durall just remembered that Durall needs to run some diagnostics. Durall will return shortly." Durall stood and walked towards the hangar. Halfway there he ducked into a side passage that lead to a block of storage rooms, and finding one unlocked and empty stepped inside. He put a small earbud in and then pressed against the communicator in his neck. After a moment of fidgeting he felt a click and noise came through the headphones.

"Runn Reporting." "Taldoor Reporting" "Agron Reporting" "Til-Kai reporting" As all agents reported in Durall kept glancing towards the door of the small room ready to cut the transmission if anyone entered. "Greetings Rantans, Onkar brings a message from the collective. The mission has been adjusted." Not surprising since Durall's original assignment was to watch out for The Aavklari and he had yet to see any at this post. Durall waited while Onkar delivered post specific objectives to the other three agents. He had only worked with one of them. Jezra Til-Kai, also came from The Blue and signed up around the same time as Durall though they only met after they graduated training and were assigned to protect a Terran dignitary from a assassination attempt. The assassin's body was launched into space a few days later. The Terran never even learned that he was ever in danger.

"Durall's post is the most vulnerable being the first point of contact with the enemy. The Collective wishes to locate weaknesses within the squadron. In particular Cadets Cappeli, Mctavish, Lirtra and Juliet. The last three come from Faeron Z and have criminal records or connections. And Cadet Cappeli.... Is Onkar is sure Durall will understand upon meeting the Cadet. Durall's requests for additional equipment has been approved and the items will be left in Durall's quarters. Good luck Rantans." The transmission cut out and Durall let out a long sigh. He had been on the station for mere hours and hadn't even met all his squad mates yet but was required to spy on them. As the Collective wills. Durall turned back to the door and stepped back into the hallway.

idalie KhazTheGiraffe lilcherrykitten

 

[Archon]

The scathing scythe that was their glorious leader's command cut through the air with as much force as piss in the breeze, weak and sloppy, with less bravado than Faeron Z's lowest level of underling could muster on a bad day. Julith remained adrift to the scene, her mind floating through a fleeting attachment to the Crusaders back home, steel-clad arms crossed in agitation, her chest heaving slightly to miniscule ragged breaths. She could do nothing more than steady her nerves with deep controlled breaths, fighting back the hopelessness and anger directed at her current ill-fortune. Thinking happy thoughts was hard when so scarce to choose from, but her mind remained glued to the acceptance her last allegiance offered. The symbol of her admiration was emblazoned powerfully along her war-torn leather jacket, the sigil of the Crusade bared proudly for all to see.

When the Commander's banishment of the squadron was announced, Julith was pulled from her thoughts back to the waking world, where her instinctive reaction was to direct a judgmental glance to those in her immediate presence. Ever the analyst, she could place no names, but already chalked up those she wanted at her side in a demon assault, and those she wished to dismember on the spot. The rhythmic focus in her altered eye caused an involuntary twitch - a result of scanning the immediate crew - and the metallic beasts making up her arms whirred in a low thrumming as she cracked the artificial knuckles at her behest. This was a goddamned nightmare.

The cafeteria was hardly an awe-inspiring sight, a tacky misbegotten pile of cheap garbage, assorted with food made from sludge. A sight so ghastly it made the cooked rat back on Faeron Z look like a feast. Either that, or her time with the Crusade's accommodating meals made her soft and weak, like that Dominion brat - more fit for the airlock than these halls - but it wasn't her place to pass judgment, unfortunately. Pacing to the furthest stretch conceivable in this collection of miscreants and failures, Julith planted herself in the corner with an isolated stance, features hard and bare with a gaze that burned brighter than any inferno could muster. How far she'd fallen, to be nothing more than a lackey to be discarded by the Dominions ever-changing whims, a far cry from her former days demon slaying monster hunting among true warriors. Such morbid thoughts snapped her back to the slums of Faeron Z, the infinite struggle for survival where everyday was expected - sometimes hoped - to be her last. Things could be bad, but never that bad. For a moment, Julith's eyes closed in reflective meditation, a spiral of the past causing a hurricane of internal emotion that threatened to rip her asunder.

No. She was a survivor, no demon or petty emotion would ever breach the impenetrable iron will she'd forged through suffering and grit, this mismatched group of degenerates and her positioning in their number was just the next curveball in a long line of shit she'd been cursed to wade through, lying down to die wasn't in her being. Wishing the world away and wrestling reality with your hopes and dreams? It was weakness. She had to suck it up and deal with circumstances as they were, and she would, If she could remove her scorching grimace... Baby steps, naturally.

 

[SirDerpingtonIV]

August 5th, 5792 C.Y

Mugs took a seat at one of the long cafeteria tables, crossing his arms and resting his elbows against the table as he looked around at the other members of his squadron. A few of them had seen combat before, something which he could appreciate. He glanced down at his food, little more than some sort of grey-brown slop, likely nutrient paste. He certainly hadn't missed eating this garbage, although he knew some of the aliens didn't mind it. Some of them didn't seem to eat at all, like the Xekiid. He'd never seen one, but even the stories he had heard were enough to chill his blood, and simply be glad the creatures were on his side.

He watched the discussions among his fellow pilots, nodding with approval as he noted a few of them seeming to get along. He sat a bit off from them, content to simply enjoy a meal alone, likely his last considering how loud and sociable all these new pilots seemed. As open-armed as he was, a man could always enjoy a few good moments of silence every once in a blue moon, couldn't he?

----------------------------

Krex’Killik sat also by himself, for different reasons. He held a small holopad infront of his face, watching one of his favorite holo-dramas upon its "Screen". Many enjoyed the full virtual experience of shows, games, movies and such things, but Krex preferred simpler entertainment, all that virtual nonsense gave him wretched headaches, as it tended to for most of his kind. He did not bother interracting with any of his crewmates, for they would be loud and annoying, and disturb his holodrama, of which he was very interested. The insectoid alien clicked his mandibles together disgust, as that treacherous Mayna finally admitted to having an affair behind her husband's back. "Knew it," he clicked, absorbed entirely by the drama he was watching.

--------------------------

Alexei sat on the floor by the far corner, absorbed in his own thoughts, imagining and re-imagining in his head, the final meal he had enjoyed with his comrades before the battle that had stolen their lives. He had read an old book from long ago, that had stated that memory is a sort of immortality on its own, and to be close to his old friends again, he had to agree. Peptov's humor would have put a smile on his face, and Sergeant Lyd's gruff bellowing would have removed it. He still remembered Peptov's sacrifice, throwing himself into battle to provide his fellows time to escape, managing to take down the Cannoneer demon on their position, only for another to appear and blast him apart. It was nothing, it meant nothing, his life had been throw away for nothing, as had all their lives on the surface. He'd switched to the Navy because he knew they had more effect in the war than any ground soldier could ever hope for, as they simply died in droves, merely to delay the demonic advance. Things would be different here.-

--------------------------

Cadet James Willamore approached his friend Augustus, a wide smile upon his face. "Hello Augustus, oh I see you've found Lucius again!" The man held out his hand excitedly to shake the hands of both Lucius and Augustus. "Isn't it exciting to be out here, fighting the Demons? Though... I would wish that our base was less.... dirty," he mumbled, a shiver running through his body. "The food smells and the people give me weird looks, especially the commoner looking humans. I don't understand though Augustus, I thought we were friends of the common folk, protesting in their name? Why do they hate us?" he asked, brows raised, abhorrently oblivious.

"One of our squadron members in particular, the woman"Erin" I believe, glares at me a lot. It's impolite to disrespect a nobleman, but I'm not surprised that she doesn't know proper manners," he grumbled, glaring at the short-haired woman from across the room, who promptly preformed a rather crude gesture with her hand. James scowled, looking to Augustus. "See! Disrespectful!"