Futuristic NCQuest: Mecha flavored action, Story

[Windsock]

NCQ: An IntroductionThe year is 2471. Two hundred years ago, Mankind subjected itself and the entirety of the Earth to the 'Great Disaster', a cataclysmic event that shattered continents and changed the landscape forevermore; precipitating a century and a half of undiluted chaos that has only recently stabilized. Mankind continues to survive and reclaim the reborn planet. Humanity has been split into two broad groups, which nonetheless maintain rivalries in their own spheres as well as without: The Ruling Companies and the Ruling Nations, collectively known as "The Ruling Powers" by the rest of those seeking to control their own portions of the world, the various unaligned polities and city-states.

The Ruling Nations are descendants of those who were forced to survive on the surface, who nonetheless banded together and took control of their homelands. The Ruling Companies trace their lineage to the mega-corporations that foresaw the Great Disaster and slept away the apocalypse in underground city-complexes, 'Burrows'. The rest are those that eke out their existences between these two greater groups.

These entities oversee an uneasy peace in the modern era, but skirmishes and brush-fire conflicts are an everyday thing; minor territory exchanges and disputes rule the day and not a week goes by where hundreds or thousands have died across the world in some meaningless battle somewhere or other. Nonetheless, this cold world is mediated by a variety of international and inter-corporate groups, the foremost of which is a guild called MAVERICK.

'MAVERICK' is the organization which oversees, controls, and employs 'Neural Combatants' and their pilots, 'Pluggers'. NC's, as they're called, are the modern expression of the tip-of-the-spear, a mechanical champion that's the star of most modern conflicts. The battleship of the day, Neural Combatants are fifteen meter tall humanoid-or-semi-humanoid war machines that only a select few, compatible with the necessary surgeries and cybernetic implants to control these combat-mecha, can utilize. But their power is fearsome; and Pluggers can change the tide of wars in a single day.

This story follows the latest inductees into the organization, the class of '70 who discovered their Gift and forsook their old lives to become who they are today. The curtain opens simply; as these individuals are brought to see the latest batch of NC's made by an affiliate of MAVERICK and pick the ones they'll start their careers with.

 

[Windsock]

Episode Ø: To be 'MAVERICK'

It was a warm day, where the sun was beating down and the ground visibly began to crack. It was a place that used to be called Denver, Colorado, centuries ago; and to most people it still was. But it was never going to be precisely the same place it was hundreds of years ago. The mountains that used to overlook the crumbling city were cracked, divided into smaller and smaller hills, and on these hills there was a facility. The facility was somewhat hidden, in a crevasse between the mountains that was built intentionally, hiding most of it from sight and giving a measure of defense and privacy.

The facility, perhaps a few hundred acres, was owned by General Requisitions, quite probably the largest Ruling Company of them all. Due to their sheer size, and the resources they commanded, MAVERICK entrusted them with the work going on in this base. This facility was where GR was constructing new Neural Combatants per MAVERICK's request, and the base was winding down as their work neared completion. Nonetheless, the area around the hangar-like building was bustling with activity. The flattened foundation it rested on was abuzz with workers moving supplies, guards walking their rounds, and an all-terrain security jeep exited the sole gate of the thick chain-link fence.

It exited onto a roughly-hewn road, where another vehicle was about to come down. Coming in from the remnants of Denver itself and driving onto the facility's access pathway; It was another all-terrain style vehicle, suspended high over large, extruded wheels. It was obviously built to handle the tough terrain of the new-world, just like the jeep it passed. It was painted a darkened black, contrasting a bright blue logo that was etched onto its doors.

MAVERICK
NC DIVISION

There were a few people inside the truck, as it gently bounced down the bumpy road. Its heightened chassis dampened the shock and for the passengers in the back of the extended cabin it was a surprisingly smooth ride. The security jeep slowly went past, the driver waving to the personnel transporter as it went by. The people in the driving cabin didn't respond and simply flew past. There were two people in the cabin; the driver, wearing a full repertoire of light security gear himself, and a woman. The woman was dressed far more normally, and was managing to read documents she had on a clipboard.

The driver looked over for a second, before speaking. "What's it like, anyway?" The woman looked up for a second, before looking back down at the documents. She was already busy, mentally. "I don't understand your question." The man shrugged, "Well, you know. Working with them. They nice to you?" It took her a while to dignify him with a response, writing something down with the small pen attached to her clipboard. She looked up to the facility and chewed the end of the pen. "Mostly." she said, before she started to do one final check on all of her paperwork. The truck pulled up to the security checkpoint just outside the gate, and an armed guard asked for documentation. The girl handed it over to the driver, who handed it over to the guard who asked for it and the man nodded. "Seems to be in order," the guard said, handing it back. "Go through."

The black all-terrain truck drove onto the cleaner pavement as soon as the gate opened, providing a distinct change to the handling appreciated by the people inside and letting them know, without words, that they were finally at the facility. The truck pulled over towards the parking lot next to the main entrance to the factory-hangar and the two stepped out, going to the back of the vehicle and letting a small group of people out. These people had the emblematic feature that made somebody an NC pilot; a small port in the neck. Pluggers, Linkers. Mavericks. The group of Linkers were shuffled through the double-doors, into a waiting room, and the first woman talked to the man behind the desk.

Afterwards, the woman, Sarah Nielsen, called out four names. "Friedrich-Alexander Von Streuben. Jennifer Peyton. Hazel Scott. Axton Tambor. You're all processed and may enter." The four, an eclectic band of Linkers, walked through the reinforced door and saw the interior, where the machines that would soon be theirs were kept.

It was a man-made cavern, that held man-made dragons. There were nine of them, in a row; monsters that were sleeping after birth. Each one was laid to rest side-by-side like patients in a laboratory, which in some way they were. Every single one was obviously based on the same template, but even now it was seen that they were all individual specimens, merely bred from the same stock. These siblings visibly differed already. Resting on tarps and covered in gantries and scaffolding, each unit had a flag with a number on it nearby. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. There were three sets of triplets.

And their metaphorical father jogged up to the Linkers before him, who themselves had Ms. Nielsen with them. The man, James Andala, was grinning ear to ear, wearing a jumpsuit that had a nametag and called him 'NC CONSTRUCTION DIRECTOR', the dull gray fabric trimmed by burning bright gold. He looked back at his work, and the several dozen technicians of all kinds crawling about the machines like ants would crawl over a larger animal. He put a hand out towards his babies and smiled at the Linkers before him.

"How about we start that tour?"

Ms. Nielsen smiled a slight, polite smile. "I believe that's what they're here for." She looked over the four, and told them as a group; "I'll be helping to process everyone else. Come to me if you need me.", She bowed before walking back through the doors.​

 

[Malphaestus]

FREDRICH-ALEXANDER VON STREUBEN
To some's surprise, he also responds to "Tower-Upright."

~~~~

For most, if not the entirety, of the journey, Fredrich-Alexander found himself with little to do beyond maintaining closed eyes and fiddling with cards in the one hand not tucked into the pockets of his longcoat in an almost meditative disposition. For the people he traveled with, the cards in question were as obvious as his own physique and presence, a select asset from his otherwise mildly obtrusive and obnoxiously glittering and gilded deck of tarots. They were a hallmark of sorts, perhaps even the only thing people truly knew about him, not that he cared, himself, much. The Ace of Pentacles shone bright nonetheless.

The roads were bumpy, and he felt them harshly, so the convenient transition between the brutish terrain on the ride there, to the smoothened and soothing concrete road was a blessing which he only kept in mind to himself during its arrival. Whilst the vehicle was made with the express intent of providing a good all-terrain ride through the complicated terrain of the modern age, Fredrich-Alexander couldn't help but experience a vehement motion-sickness throughout. An eagerness thought lost to him returned at the transition, much like the others alongside him, because soon they would be met with the apex of what the world had to offer. He would soon be a part of that very apex, and a slight smile was painted upon his lips at the notion as the transport patiently made its way into the complex.

The road there would soon end, satisfyingly enough, when the order to disembark came as the ramp lowered on the back of the armored transport. As the light flushed the otherwise rather dark and damp interior space behind the driver's cabin, Fredrich-Alexander flicked with his left and raised his right hand from his pocket, catching the briefly airborne card before immediately shoving it into his pocket in a continuous motion. Stepping up, likely first among them as he sat quite close to the back, eager to leave the confines of the armored coffin, he quickly jumped off the back end and landed squarely on the ground, moving towards the side of the vehicle where the majority of people seemed to be congregating, their female handler included.

He raised his hand and placed it against his neck, as he bobbed his head around, clearly want to remove some of the staleness brought upon him due to the unfriendly dimensions of the truck's interior. In so doing, his hand naturally passed over his cybernetic implant, though well-made and masterfully engineered to ensure it was inobtrusive to the body, it still had some strangeness associated with it in its 'feel.' It was a recent addition, naturally, to his body, and still felt strange, though as he wasn't a stranger to body modification, its presence likely irked him less than most. Still something which would take a bit of time to get used to.

He made his way around the facility as instructed, passing by the scurrying employees of the shoppe's entrance with his passing, before finally entering into a form of waiting room. Before even getting seated, the swiftness of their handler's administrative skills were made known when his name was called and he moved, again, where he was ushered. Mild annoyance presenting itself in his naturally dull glance. He didn't walk fast, but their handler certainly stepped with righteous fury, and spoke with a mechanical efficiency, ultimately resulting in his attempt to take a seat being thwarted, thus his displeasure, and with that displeasure looming he followed in her wake again, adjusting his slow steps to a more workable tempo as the other Linkers followed.

Perhaps it was for the best then, that his personality clash between this handler and himself would be tossed to the back-mind when, after having entered the vast interior of the Neural Combatant Division headquarters hanger, he laid his gaze upon the most epic of sights throughout his here-to largely uninteresting lifetime.

The Neural Combatants.

Nine engines of war unlike any other glistened his sights with their lumbering might, though their colours may be dull and industrial, their presence made their dull become as bright as the sun. Though he couldn't help himself but be enamored with one in particular.

He was almost consumed merely looking at these titans, and those servicing their wrathful might, so consumed that he couldn't help but ignore the man quickly taking center-stage until he made his presence known.

With a swift flick of the eye, Fredrich-Alexander scanned the man's attire, and naturally arrived at the proper conclusion. James Andala, an eccentric of high position and higher merits. He'd heard about him all the way from MAVERICK's training program in excruciating detail. An individual who seems to leave quite the impression of anyone who he associates with.

Fredrich-Alexander nodded simply, before putting his hands back neatly into his longcoat carrying his already-made personalized emblem, the emperor's tarot upright, on its back.

He paid no mind to Ms. Nielsen's departure, and the information she provided briefly before doing so. His hopes were already far too high to warrant any thoughts but those of the NCs before him.

~~~~

Ace of Pentacles
A new financial or career opportunity, manifestation, abundance. ​

 

[Viper Actual]

Becoming a Neural-Combatant pilot was supposed to be a big deal. Everyone had heard the stories about them. Pilots going in and out to save the day with their massive machines of war. Granted, children's stories always failed to mention those less-glamorous moments. The political and economic aspects. The greed.

Jennifer didn't think much of it.

To her there were no stories, no idolized image to live up to and no flair to add to her increasingly extravagant lifestyle. None of it. To her this was a job like any other. It would pay well and get her some new contacts then, when all is done, she'd retire and move to the next job. It was only difficult for those that focused too much on all the other things in life. Without worries like family it was remarkably easy to do what Jennifer did.

If you worked hard and focused on doing exactly what you had been told there was never a reason to worry. It made people view you as reliable and being reliable paid more. There was of course a cost. Jennifer's career was one without enemies and without friends. She never attempted to do the whole 'social networking'-thing, not because she couldn't but because she didn't see a point to it.

All it did was divert focus from the job and create conflicts of interest. If she wasn't focused then how would she be the best?

Glancing over at the others in the truck Jennifer spared each one of them a quick glance. Like most people she had met in this particular branch they were either real originals, ex-military or the silent types. She didn't care- as long as they didn't try to be all buddy-buddy with her. She did care if they were bad at their job. That would be bad for several reasons, not to mention in regards her own self-interest.

The rumbling of the truck and the sudden burst of chatter indicated that they were finally at their destination. Seated in the middle of the truck Peyton pulled on a black baseball cap followed by grabbing her olive-drab duffel bag from the floor with both items having a personalized patch sewn onto them. As she got out she adjusted the baseball cap. Dressed in a grey softshell jacket with a pair of black cargo pants and all-terrain boots her outfit coupled with her long, black ponytail gave off a very strict and cold vibe. She didn't pay the others much attention and only seemed to move once she heard her name being called out.

As ordered, she complied. The three others with her looked "normal" enough. Hopefully they weren't total amateurs with no care for strategy and professionalism. Walking through the maze of corridors and rooms Jennifer made sure to memorize every tidbit of useful information she could gather. It was an old work habit, one she would most likely never get rid off.

Once the group arrived at the hangar Peyton's eyes rested on the NC's for quite a while. They were even more impressive up close. In response to Mr. Andala's question she frowned slightly. A tour?

Clearing her throat Jennifer spoke up. "Perhaps we could enjoy this 'tour' at a later occasion? I am eager to get to get to work, sir."

 

[Windsock]

James shrugged at her chilled reply, his smile dampened by the sharply disinterested remark, barely blunted by a feigned eagerness. He was somewhat insulted, and he was wondering if she actually understood there was a bit more freedom in this lifestyle than she was actually used to. He breathed deeply, audibly, visibly, and cleared his mind. "Well, half the job is getting to know your machine, you know! Not to mention you'll actually need to pick one out yourself. Come, walk with me and I'll explain my creations." He was being just as polite to her as she was to him; the sort of politeness that secretly comes with 'Get on with it!' or 'Shut up!', but still polite.

He motioned for them to follow, and stood high and proud as he walked, overlooking his work like a craftsman who just finished a sword fit for a champion. He did just that, quite literally; there were racks of equipment already, and at least one was a sword actually sized to be held by an NC. Of course, the vast majority were firearms of some kind; just exceedingly huge. "The original template called for fairly standard specifications, if particularly high. The higher echelon of your MAVERICK folks wanted me to really test my mettle, and I did. All the NC's here, we're looking at a good few billion dollars worth of hard work and material. You lot better be thankful MAVERICK is footing most of the bill!", he joked, barely getting a response. He rolled his eyes and continued.

"I'm very proud of my work here and I think you'll all love piloting these machines. As you can already see, they're all siblings but siblings start looking and acting different just as they're born; and it's evident here too." He went up the stairs to the scaffolding sat about the first NC, solid steel girders propping up walkways. Passing a woman who was running a diagnostics, James nodded to her and told her to continue her work. The first NC was obviously labelled #1, and a thick tarp was laid over its head. "This one is still having its sensors tweaked, and you'll see why... now.", he explained, as he handled the terminal to a robotic arm that went at the covering; gently prying it off and revealing that the units' most obvious feature, besides the head's armored visor currently laying elsewhere on the floor, was that it had four eye-sensors. Two where you'd expect them, and two more right above, a bit off to each side. "Behold! One here, she grew twice as many sensor-subframe-links as expected, so we figured we'd indulge and work around it. She's already getting used to it and we're just tweaking the armor shape, fully functional as-is."

After his explanation, he smiled at his 'daughter', and then turned back at his audience. "So many things can go 'wrong' that you really have to work around things. Some of the most complicated machines in the world."

 

[SkyHawk MK III]

The outside of the passenger vehicle provided nothing but cracked earth and a hot sun which never wavered with it's heat. Hazel looked around at the others, all minding their own business, which suited her for the time, conversation could be had once they were all settled in. One particular individual of the group had caught her attention for a while, more of a confused reaction at the man who's height clearly dwarfed some of the rest, was playing with a pack of cards. Hazel couldn't tell what sort of cards they were but the man none the less had quite a few up his sleeve.

With her tool belt resting on her lap, she took out a lighter stored away in one of the compartments and flicked it open, igniting the flame that glowed a bright yellow with a hint of white ever so softly. Lost in her own thoughts of how she got here, where she'd go, while staring at the flame, almost like it hypnotized her until that day was brought back into her memory. She could remember it so clearly, seemed like yesterday. Shutting the lighter just as quickly as it was opened, she clung onto it in one hand, fiddling with it while turning her attention to the outside once again.

The stories were all well known about NC Pilots. Exceptional beyond expectations, almost god like in some stories, fighting with large metal monsters which could and often did, dominate the battlefield in an instant. To be called up to become an Linker was something that no one would want to turn down and when the opportunity presented itself it sure hell beat working in the civilian sector though she would miss her co-workers and friends to a degree, maybe this group would be enough to plug the hole in that particular circle.

With the vehicle coming to stop, Hazel placed the lighter back into the compartment and fastened the tool belt back onto her waist once out of the vehicle, ensuring that her hair covered the burn mark. Following the rest into the factory-hanger, it was no surprise that the place was constantly busy, almost looking like a disorganized mess rather than perfect mechanical operation.

She half expected the woman leading the group to start jogging as they entered the waiting room and soon were swiftly escorted once more in the matter of seconds once the woman had sorted out the necessary paperwork with the man behind the desk. The man who had been playing with the cards in the passenger stepped out first as his name was called, it was no surprise that he was intimidating as he was at least a foot taller than Hazel herself and wore a neutral but serious look.

Finally Hazel was called as the third of the group, looking at the rest and recalling them in the vehicle, none of them seemed to show a bit of their personality, apart from Friedrich-Alexander and the woman known as Jennifer Peyton. Peyton worse a baseball cap with an symbol which Hazel hadn't seen before, interesting none the less, Peyton didn't look much like the conversational type, regardless of what it would be.

After arriving at the hanger there they were; Nine magnificent machines.

During her time looking at each one of them, distracted by the size and the sheer intimidation value of each one, a man approached the group with a beam on his face which could power the planet if he tried hard enough. The construction director was certainly proud of his creations and Hazel would feel the same way after producing these creatures of warfare. Though she wondered how he felt when one was destroyed. Then again, bringing that up would probably make James create a seemingly endless waterfall of tears. Nodding at the idea of a tour, which she would prefer over jumping into things right away, Jennifer brought up the fact that she'd rather get into things now instead of the tour.

James looked insulted, to say at the least and Hazel wouldn't blame him. Almost feeling like a child in the candy shop, James lead the group around regardless of the small protest from one of the group. While the jokes that James made were not exactly award winning, he sure did enjoy working on these marvelous creations and loved to talk about them, presumably around the clock if he had the chance.

 

[Pacificus]

Axton did not like this climate. The air here was thin and dry. Not to mention the high altitude. His lungs, so used to the dense and extremely humid air of the Florida peninsula, rejected it. Only just that morning had they finally become acclimated to the air enough to keep from coughing every few minutes. Now, he sat in the back of a black armored truck. He was fast asleep in an upright position, his Marlins baseball cap tilted down over his face. His legs were crossed and kicked out in front of him. Not a care in the world.

It wasn't until the vehicle stopped and the door opened, that Axton was wrested from his slumber. Sunlight poured through the open door and right through his cap. The others began filing out. Axton was the last one out of the vehicle. He adjusted his cap so that it sat with the bill covering the back of his neck and stretched his arms out. As they were led into the main building, Axton took in the sight. It didn't seem like anything special. Just a massive hangar. He followed their female handler inside. The lobby was nicer than anything he had ever seen. It was insanely clean and polished. But it smelled very... chemical-ly. He scrunched his nose at that. Axton moved to have a seat, but didn't make it far before his name was called and he, with the others was ushered into the main construction hall.

It took his breath away. The space was massive. And right before them stood the modern incarnation of the Dreadnought. Even lying down, they were massive and intimidating. It dawned on Axton that one of these would be his. The hardware on the back of his neck started to itch. He wasn't sure if it was with excitement or nervousness. He reached back and ran his hand over it. His mixed feelings about it came to surface, but were quelled by his awe at the engineering prowess before him. He listened intently to Mr. Andalas words as he explained a few things. Axton hardly understood more than the basic theory of how the machines were built, but he was still able to keep up with what the doctor was saying, if only barely. He crossed his arms and nodded, as if he understood exactly what the director was saying.

SkyHawk MK III
Axton was standing right near a female who was slightly shorter than him. He leaned in and asked in a low voice, "Do you know what a sensor-subframe-link is? I, uh, forgot."

 

[SkyHawk MK III]

Pacificus

Hazel heard a whisper in her ear and turned to look up a tad at the man who asked her the question and responded in a quiet voice "It's a structure component which supports the sensor link, kinda like how a car has subframes to supports, oh lets say, an engine for example. In addition to this, subframes can support other parts of the machine, though I'm unsure if it does or not. Hope that answers your question."

With that, Hazel turned back to James, enjoying the tour.

 

[Windsock]

Spoiler: Meanwhile; in the foyer

With writing from YsFanatic !

Back in the reception room, Sarah was processing documents with a man by her side; a man in a wheelchair. She finished writing something down and turned to the man, a man she started to recognize. "...Sorry, but... Your name. Did you ever work as an intern at the Technical University? Los-Angeles Burrow?" She asked, a certain look in her eyes. It was almost completely out of character for her, up to this point; it was unbroken, simple.. surprise, or even a slight joy.

The man gave a distracted 'hmmm?' as he finished signing his name on one of the forms. The cripple hadn't realized that he would need to fill out so much paperwork just for a new wheelchair. A moment later he realized what he had been asked and looked up before responding. "I did, but only for a few months." There was a brief pause before he continued, eyes narrowing slightly in concern. "Why? Does that affect something with my status here?"

The woman nodded at his replies, and simply smiled; an honest one motivated by something besides a basic politeness. "No, not at all. I'm that same Sarah. Nielsen. I'm happy to see you again, Adam.", she admitted, before she returned to helping with the paperwork. "I was actually thinking about you the other day; never crossed my mind you were that same Adam. I think you'll be fine in this line of work, that's all. You work hard. And you wouldn't need..", again she looked at him, his legs, his wheelchair. "...Any special.. accommodations. Just that neural plug."

Adam blinked in surprise and was silent for a moment as he collected his thoughts. Sarah's pleased response caught him off guard as such kindness was mostly alien to him. Looking at her face more carefully he came to the realization that she did actually look familiar. He hadn't paid attention earlier as the paperwork was his only concern at the time. "I think I do remember you. Weren't you two desks over from mine?"

Sarah actually quipped, pleased greatly by his memory. "Yeah! You remember how you kept running over my feet?", a small chuckle escaping from her throat. She returned to a semblance of normalcy, for her, a more blank expression. She finished up the documentation, and handed it over to the man at the desk who was curiously listening in. She paid the desk-jockey no mind, and looked back at her old co-worker. "I'm a bit scared for you, though. How well did you do in the simulations?"

An embarrassed chuckle escaped Adam's throat when she brought up the 'driving' issues he was having at the time. He remembered the frequent apologies he had made before scooting away whenever that happened. "I've gotten better with my steering since then. Mostly." Leaning back in the wheelchair while Sarah turned in the paperwork, he couldn't help but wonder what the reason for her kindness was. Did she want something or was it... No, he wouldn't dare hope for that. Still, she was at least being nice, which was a step up from how things normally went. Even if the kindness was fake, he'd enjoy it while it lasted. "I did well enough that MAVERICK is willing to pay for my meds." Adam gave a small shrug. "I have no doubt they would have kicked me to the curb if my scores were not good enough to justify the cost."

She gracefully nodded to Adam, happy with his answer. "I'm glad you found something important to do with your life, Adam. I'll help you where I can.", Sarah said, before looking to the door. "Anyway, that should be all of it. Meet with Andala, he should be in there giving a tour. Gold highlights on his jumpsuit; can't miss him." As he carted off, she remembered something. "Oh! He looked up your personal file and knows about your.. needs. Ask to see Unit 3, that one is yours." Sarah waved him off, the final evidence of her bout of chattiness, and went back to her monotonous work of helping someone else with documents.

"Gold highlights, got it. Thanks for the help!" Backing away from the desk, Adam started eagerly wheeling himself to the doorway as he couldn't wait to get started with the next part of the process. Then he heard Sarah's last comment, his arms freezing for the briefest of moments before he resumed his movement. He hadn't expected them to modify a unit for him. It made sense, but it still wasn't something that he had thought would happen before he had even accepted his first job. This gave him hope that maybe, just maybe he had found a place where his disability wouldn't matter.

As James' endless enthusiasm for his work was being bombarded by folks who cared more about actually using his machines than getting to know them and the personalities he couldn't help to ascribe to them, his head perked up as he heard the door to his forge open and close. That sound.. he knew that sound! A new client, one that only he could help. The client he was already making sure to facilitate; Adam Davion, if his MAVERICK file wasn't lying about his name. As almost everyone who heard of him knew, James was the right kind of weird and competitive that he actually liked working strange jobs; and making sure an NC was usable by someone bound to a wheelchair was just the kind of challenge he adored.

Still, he looked to the four who he was forcing to follow him and waved his arm around, conveying the rest of the facility. "You know; it's pretty obvious to me the majority of you would rather look around on your own. Go inspect the NC's yourselves; if you'd like to know more, come back to me or just ask anybody working on them! Knock yourselves out!" One polite bow later, and he left them to look around themselves. He hardly noticed Hazel following him as he was already rushing to the new and actually needy individual who he had an idea of what to do with. He waved to Adam, a happy sort of wave that looked more at place on a beach somewhere.

"You must be Mister Davion!", he shouted with excitement, accentuated further by his rapid walk. "It's so good to finally meet you, I heard great things on your public file! You know, with MAVERICK?" He looked back at one of the gantries in particular: gantry #3. There was something particular about NC #3, already; it had a crane in the middle of the scaffolding, a large iron chain ready to suspend the NC's torso on command.

He went over to the younger, handicapped man and just barely leaned down; to facilitate a vigorous handshake. Accepting the man's response, he turned back over to the machine in gantry #3 and walked briskly towards it, again beaming with a proper pep in his step. "Read all about your needs already! Did most of it myself; I had to do an all-nighter on my own to finish the cockpit mods!" He went to an access-lift that he mandated to be installed specifically for the scaffolding of gantry #3; ushering Adam to the lift before clicking at the attached terminal. "Here, I'll show you."

They were raised into the air, right above the head of the #3 and gazed in magnificence at its gleaming, metallic form. "He's gorgeous; isn't he? Anyway, if you look closely at the neck there;", he pointed, highlighting the armored, gorget like neck-plating of the giant metallic 'man'. James was obviously excited about his handiwork. "Those plates cover some pistons; the whole assembly of the head is on a gantry. Had to extend the wiring, piping a few good feet; it might feel strange at first. We had another Linker do a test-run and he said he felt like the head wanted to flop around, but you'll be able to just drop down in it. The usual is a front-loader where you just use a ladder, but I doubt that's practical in your case." He looked over for Adam's reaction before continuing a second later, snapping his fingers.

"Oh! The cockpit sphere, the 'cocoon' it's usually called; that's on a gantry too.", he motioned his hands to help demonstrate his point. "It'll be able to move up to meet you as the head slides back. Then, the head slides forwards, and the cockpit goes down to its proper position. And you'll be fit for fighting! I think we did particularly well with our limitations here, too; we managed to make the whole thing much more solid from the front, you're basically a solid plate!", he hit his chest to accentuate his point. "Any questions, Mister Davion?"

Before Davion asked, he'd notice that James' head perked up once more, hearing the double-doors to his workshop and looking back. He waved to the new person, an even younger man who barely looked out of high-school. "Another Linker; that must be 'Lancelot'. Don't worry; I already made sure #3 was in your name. Anyway... where were we?"

 

[YsFanatic]

Adam couldn't help but whistle when he saw the NCs. Simulations and videos helped prepare him for the sheer size of the metal giants, but it was nowhere near the same as seeing them in person. Looking down from the machines he was greeted by a man waving to him, a man wearing the gold highlights he had been told to look for. The cripple gave a short wave back before wheeling himself in James' direction. The engineer's enthusiasm was infections and Adam felt himself grinning when the two exchanged handshakes. “Nice to meet you too, sir.”

Following James to the lift, he wasted no time getting himself secured for the ride up. This level of accommodation was already more than he had ever been shown before, and it only made him for more excited for what was next. Adam's grin turned into a look of stunned surprise as the modifications to the NC was explained to him. Modifying the machine to this degree just to help him was something beyond his wildest dreams. “Sir, this is amazing. Thank you very much for this.”

Recovering from his initial surprise, Adam started looking around at the rest of the machine with a few glances spared at the other NCs as well as the various Linkers and support personnel going about their business but turned his attention back to James before long. Any questions about the boarding process for the cockpit would have to wait until he actually got to try it, but there was something else he wanted to ask. “Is there anything else you can tell me about this unit? Any quirks or anything else I should know about before I climb aboard?” Every wheelchair he had ever used always had some kind of quick that set itself apart from the others, even those of the same model. He fully expected the case to be the same with an NC given just how complicated the machines were.

 

[Tanya Degurechaff]

Spoiler: Auteur details

Original text from a private thread with Tanya Degurechaff with narrative duct tape and new tyops editing done by me, Windsock .

Niko’s entrance was a bit delayed compared to the rest, though regardless, he was here, now. A friendly looking man, presumably the ‘James’ fellow he had been told to look out for, was waving to him. Naturally, Niko waved back, approaching the two.

“Sorry I’m late, got caught behind a larger stack of papers than I expected!” The young man explained, having quickly caught up with the crowd. His handwriting was... Slow, to put it lightly.

Finishing up with Adam, James was happy to see another one of his clientele enter the building, another person who seemed ecstatic about the opportunity that NC's provided. Motioning for the new kid, Lancelot, to come up here, he nonetheless continued to talk to Adam, answering his question. "Oh, we've noticed that #3 is probably the most durable one overall, but the added weight of all the reinforcements and the nonstandard cockpit.. definitely not one to do acrobatics. Pretty energy efficient so he's still fast on the ground though. He's probably just scared of heights! A definite ground-type. Oh, meet me in my office later if you'd like to request any work on it." Finished with his explanation of unit 3's quirks, he politely dismissed Adam and looked over to Lancelot as the boy came near.

"You must be Lancelot!", he exclaimed. "Don't worry, that's what Handlers are for anyway. How can I help you, young man? What sort of unit did you have in mind? #3 here is already taken, though." Niko replied with a smile, "Yep, that's me." before looking up to the unit that had been mentioned. It definitely looked tanky, that was for certain. Made sense to him, pilot safety was an important feature, and what easier way to do so than tried and true armor plating? A simple fix, but in its simplicity was ease of maintenance, reliability, and not too steep a cost compared to more experimental technologies. Though admittedly the young man hadn't been around to see the internal complexities of Unit 3.

Niko asked the director, "Oh, do you have anything that flies well, Mr. Andala?" Seems he had an idea in mind already, though in all honesty, he hadn't even taken the time to think about it prior. Just the first thing that came to mind, was all. James rubbed his scalp, pondering which unit would be best to fit that description. "A flight-type? Yes, I think #5 seems particularly well suited for that sort of three-dimensional combat. Here, come with me." And the two walked together, to gantry #5. '#5, huh?' Niko thought to himself, following James to the machine in question.

James laid out the details of his fifth 'child' as the two meandered over; "#5 is probably the most.. petite of all the units, but she has a big heart!" With that, Niko listened in on the explanation. "And I mean that literally; with how her musculature, synapses, and framework developed, managed to put in the most cooling potential, even if we needed to extrude some of it outwards. Her reactor can run hotter; gives her more energy output, more thrust, flight potential." Despite Niko's attempt at appearing professional from then on, the excitement in his eyes was unmistakable. Better cooling efficiency? Amazing. Even if it came at the cost of having some external measures, the added mobility more than made up for it in his eyes. He was going to need it, with his close quarters approach to combat. Still, he'd have to be careful not to get them damaged... And that may mean having to use the world's uneven terrain to his advantage.

When the two came up to the unit, he was certainly correct about #5 being the smallest. #5 was a short, mildly built middle-child. The average was about 15 meters, but this was slightly less than 14 meters. It didn't take much longer than first glance at the design for Niko to immediately speak his mind; "So cool!" Afterwards, he realized he'd spoke out of turn, folding his arms which had been performing a fist pump moments earlier. He cleared his throat. "...Sorry, please continue." Even for something a good head or so shorter than its siblings, it easily had its own sort of presence; on its back were two long rods, jutting up so that if it were standing tall, the pylons pointing up from its back would let it technically stand the same height as the others.

James pointed them out. "Moveable weights; they'll let you maneuver better if used correctly, changing your center of mass and how your thrust interacts with it." #5 had more to offer than just that it seemed, with adjustable poles to shift the center of mass. Niko could already see themserving another purpose besides flight assistance, in the sense of making it harder to be knocked off balance when used properly. "And, even better.. they're actually folded up radiators!", James gushed, before handling a nearby terminal. "Check this out!" and soon afterwards, the 'wings' demonstrated themselves.

Trying to unfold like a paper fan or the wings of a beetle over a few seconds, they couldn't even extend to their fullest extent in the small confines of #5's gantry. But all that fake professionalism Niko was trying so hard to maintain had gone down the drain. James didn't notice at first, busy explaining away the demonstration. "Well.. when you're actually out and about, it's quite the impressive sight. But, you get the picture, I'm certain. Anyway, we were thinking of turning those into actual wings, or fully proper radiators; currently they're somewhere in the middle, admittedly they're not really well optimized for either function." James looked to Niko, scrying for his reaction.

And Niko was ecstatic. "This is perfect, it speaks to me!" And To an extent, it did resonate with him. This was exactly what he had pictured when he asked for an aerial design, something that reminded him of nature to a degree... But bigger, and metal. The lack of specialization with the wings could be looked into later, after some tests had been conducted with it. The benefits far outweighed the negatives, to Niko.

James, too, was elated at this young man's display of happiness. Finally, there was at least one other person who was about as excited at piloting things as James was at building them! Maybe. Still, James continued the discussion. "Glad to hear it's just what you wanted! If you'd like any further mods to it, walk me through them and I can see what I'll be able to do before we finalize it and give it to you. Oh, and what sort of weapons would you like, too?" James was looking elsewhere in the hangar, at the various racks of weapons and bolt-on equipment dotted about the facility, that were either built by his team or just donated by Linkers who didn't want them anymore. "We built a few of our own and there's a good few specimens that were actually given to us by MAVERICK members. There's a few funny ones, too, anything speak out to you? Try not to take more than four, though, would ya?"

James was correct about the downright motley collection of options available; there were rarely any twins of weapons on the pallets strewn about the hangar. NC sized rifles, pistols, cannons, bazookas, swords, two-handers, axes, hatchets, a good few shields, a handful of various energy weapons, and another smattering of pieces weirder still. There were definitely enough to go around, with some variety.

"Hmm..." Niko appeared to be in thought when questioned about the weaponry. Still, it was a pleasant surprise to see that his excitement hadn't put James off. The variety of weapons was more than staggering, though he wasn't sure what he wanted. He knew very well what being a pilot implied, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to try and change how they were viewed. He didn't want to kill if it wasn't necessary, but a majority of weapons made that hard to do. At the very least, he knew he wanted a blade. They were a lot more selective than a shell that might fragment unpredictably, or a beam that would fry the crew of any vehicle.

He finally saw one he liked. "I'd like this sword here." He requested, pointing to a classic sword with a modern military touch. It had all the features of blades of old, from the crossguard, to the pommel. The crossguard itself appeared to double as a spike for a war pick, while the pommel was weighted and could be used as a mace... Or throwing weapon if unscrewed. James silently approved, nodding at the tasteful choice.

With his first selection out of the way, it was time for a ranged option. Still nothing that wasn't guaranteed to be lethal in sight... He looked for a little while longer, before coming across an odd looking gun. It wasn't quite an energy weapon from the looks of it, but there was no way it fired shells either. "Excuse me, what does this one do?" Niko asked as he pointed to the odd weapon, with obvious curiosity in his tone. "Huh..." James grunted, followed the path of Niko's inquisitive finger.

He finally saw what the young man was pointing at. "That one? Oh, yeah! That's a battlefield-use fluid-ambiguous multireservoir ranged injectio-...", James ranted, before stopping himself at niko's reaction of "...Oh, alright." He remembered the fact he overheard a confused, whispering question from another of the Linkers earlier. He decided to dumb it down, this time. "It's an NC sized sprayer that was donated to us. It's got two canisters you can fill with whatever, and switch between them or just a double-load of one filling. The guy who was using it was a support specialist for a group of NC's, filled it up with field-use hull sealant and an emergency cooling agent. He retired so he donated it to us. There's another one somewhere around here.." He started to trail off, looking around.

Upon the sprayer being explained in less jargon, Niko seemed a bit more interested. A support weapon, if it could even be called a weapon to begin with. The hull sealant sounded like a nice thing to carry around on missions, especially for someone who'd be up in other's faces. Not to mention it'd allow him to provide quick patch-ups on allied forces to a degree, or at least to keep the components or crew out of the elements. Hull sealant sounded like one of the fluids he'd use, though he saw potential in the term sealant itself.

"Well, the other sprayer is somewhere. But, as I said, you can fill it with most anything as long as it's a liquid. Only limitation is that it can't make a misty spray; always shoots out a strong stream." He looked back at Niko intently, his own curiosity striking him. "What's the big idea?" Niko started explaining his plan, with a question. "Is there... Another type of sealant? Like a gunk, some sort of outdated sealant that made it harder to move, so people stopped using it? I'd prefer having the option to immobilize." Niko asked, hoping there'd be at least some options there. He thought it'd be a lifesaver for sure, in more ways than one. James smiled at the simple, effective idea.

If he could pilot, that'd be something he would try."Real cute, kid. No, I don't think anybody just makes that sort of thing, but I'm sure you could..." His eyebrow raised, he was surprised at the practicality of the idea after a moment. "Now that I think about it, you could 'buy' expired hull sealant. That stuff's almost tar already and a lot of Shoppes would appreciate you getting rid of it for them. Smart, kid." Niko liked the idea too.

"Sounds like a plan. I'd like this sprayer with hull sealant and the sword, then." Niko requested with a firm nod, accepting the suggestion. He'd probably have to buy the expired stuff off of someone else unless they had any, but at least he had a plan now. From the sound of things, it would be easier to buy off of people as well... Which was fine for him. Money wasn't his primary concern, but he did need to stay out of debt to be successful.

"Thanks for your help, Mr. Andala." There was that beaming smile again, Niko looked like a kid who just got told they were getting pizza tonight. Mr. Andala, happy with his work, bowed to the young man. "I think I'm required elsewhere, now. Anything else you need, I'll be in my office later." And with that, he was off.

 

[Windsock]

Spoiler: Auteur details

Original text collated from a private thread between Malphaestus and Windsock . Trashed edited by Windsock.

James was pleased with Niko's enthusiasm, but he noted at the far end that NC #9 was being gawked at by that freakishly tall man from earlier. He decided to check it out, and walked until he was right behind Fredrich. Who was still standing there, staring off entranced by the NC in gantry #9.

NC #9 was singular among its peers, even besides the fact that every unit had a unique mutation or two. Unit #9 was... seamless. Regal. All of its panels were fit together perfectly; its yet-unpainted armor was entirely scratchless, and dirt seemed to intentionally float away. It was easily the most visually 'well-behaved' of all of the specimens; and it was the one that developed closest to James' original template and expectations, but nonetheless expanded on its capabilities further. The only thing it had was that It was just a bit taller, a bit stronger, a bit more exaggerated in form.

Unit #9 had an aura could easily be described as 'princely', the one member of the litter with nothing special about it, besides that it was simply... good. Everything was masterfully fit and balanced to the highest specifications; It didn't even have so much as an oil stain. Its presence was of a simplistic, subdued perfection that seemed irreproachable, not to mention otherworldly. All this radiated the same sort of energy one would see in a dream, or maybe a piece of avant-garde cinema; a reflection of something not fully knowable by the vast majority of humanity.

James built the damn thing so he was unaffected, and reached up to pat Fredrich's shoulder. "He has a hell of an attitude, doesn't he?", referring to his handiwork. A slight smirk made itself known to those onlooking the first true meeting between the two of these individuals. Fredrich-Alexander had kept a low-vibe through the entirety of the tour, and the entirety of the road here, all so that he could truly appreciate this. He didn't need many words to express his utmost fascination, and surely James Andala, a man of legend within MAVERICK didn't need more to understand what even Fredrich-Alexander himself couldn't.

"Quite," he spoke mildly, his moderately deep voice carrying with it a sensation equally comparable to calm as to awe. He simply couldn't say much else, the specimen before him was too extravagant for words, but nonetheless he uttered the challenge to its parent. As he looked for the man, he noticed Hazel was standing nearby, listening in the distance. He acknowledged her presence, before refocusing on the dialogue at hand. "Care to go through some of the specifications, development, that sort of deal?"

He was calm in his demeanor, but the fated card had made itself return into his fiddling left hand once more as it was flipped, turned, and rolled against his palm. A child-like fascination consuming him once more as it had when he first entered into the hangar. This entity, the Nine, was the subject of that consumption. He felt compelled, thralled, by some inner force to know it.

James nodded and acquiesced to Streuben's simple inquiry, walking to meet at his side. "I'd love to. #9 here, I know he looks all prim, proper, elegant, but don't be fooled for a second. As soon as you look under the hood you'll see he's a damn monster underneath. His synthetic muscles, nerves, all of it grew faster than expected, and it sure seemed like his systems were fighting us the whole way." James' inflection was different, different than he sounded so far; something besides an excited, but wizened forge-master. But, he continued as he walked.

James went further, over to the unit's head, as the whole mech was resting prone on its back. "But the result, well, you can see the result already. This is, overall, the most developed and properly mature of the whole litter; which is incredible twice-over because he's the youngest. His overall capabilities are very well balanced and he can certainly be said to have no weaknesses..." WIth that, the NC Construction Director paused. "if you get over the fact his control core, the actual linking system?" He stopped at the NC's cranium, pondering something to say while he stared deeply into its clean helmet-plating. "He's like one of those horses you see in all those legends." he explained, his hand nervously smoothing over his own scalp.

"Yeah, his actual control hardware, and the software. Both are a damn mess. You're linking up with a bigger beast than you are and telling it what to do, when you climb into that cockpit and plug in; and this machine is just smart enough to 'hate' that." He went and rubbed his thumb over a piece of the armor plating, looking at his digit afterwards. "Systems just don't want to link up with the actual Neural Plug well at all, even if it's otherwise a magnum opus. He's already a mean, arrogant bastard."

He stepped back before continuing on, looking at the rest of the Neural Combatant. "Metaphorically speaking, anyway. He won't let you tell him what to do unless you show him you're the boss. For sure, he's gonna be hard to control, and the actual Neural Linkages are gonna be a maintenance nightmare. Might even zap you back sometimes." Andala stopped talking, letting Streuben digest all that information. After a moment of silence, he looked at the pilot straight in the eyes. "You sure you want this?"

Fredrich-Alexander was deep in thought. Truly, the Nine appeared a beast like none other, a war machine to turn into a titan, but the disadvantages that Andala presented with some moderate uneasiness did rub off onto him. But, every fiber of his being beckoned it, demanded it, and so Fredrich-Alexander raised his head and looked down upon it, looked down upon Andala, and spoke once more. Simply, calmly.

"Pain is momentary. Glory is forever, Andala."

James nodded at the taller man, crossing his arms. He didn't say anything, letting the pilot continue.

Streuben lowered his head to a more neutral stature, before asking something. "You're saying its only definitive issue is its feedback inefficiency then? With the neural uplink."

Fredrich-Alexander continued to spin his card fervently. Rapidly.

With a simple "Yup." James shrugged, in some way defeated. "Everything else about him is probably the best, overall. No real specializations, but he's a good third or second-place in every category. Of course, out of this batch. There'll be folks with even better all-rounders than you out there." He took one last, longing look at his 'boy'.

It was an understated look, somewhere between anxiety and dissapointment, completely foreign to his jubilant face. "...Whose NC's aren't trying to fight them, too. But... this'll go toe to toe with most anything and survive." Afterwards, James looked around, at various weapon and equipment racks still strewn about his facility. "So, you'll go for #9?"

A moment's pause was exchanged between them as Fredrich-Alexander merely stared at the lying behemoth, an entity of steel with a fittingly titanium identity if what the Construction Director's word was anything to go by, which indubitably it would be. He scanned the Nine's surface, a form and function not unlike his own. A pair could indeed be made here, maybe he even needed one to be made here. Its angles soothed him, its head spoke to him with its silence, and its hands gripped him without motion. He was magnetic to it. He had fallen for it, simply enough.

With his dull eyes it might not seem it, but he was bewitched; he would ensure that the Nine would face the same destiny as himself. He looked down at his hand and observed the card in it. A slight shift of the lip, and a flick of the card, turning it around, and there was the Star, upright. It shone with a glittering splendor which, in this moment, seemed brighter than ever before. He returned it to his pocket and returned to reality by meeting James Andala's gaze with his own determination and iron will.

"Yeah, that sounds about right," he uttered, his voice carrying just the right amount of determination behind it to appear decisive in nature. James went back to business, recovering from a defeat. "I hope you're as tough as you think you are, kid. Anything you want to add on before we finalize and let you have it?"

Streuben thought about it. "A ballistic close-quarters package. Like the ones from the simulators, you probably know the type. Just make sure it's more versatile, maybe the Nine'll like it." Looking back at it, he stretched his neck and moved his head around not dissimilar from what he did having left the truck not so long ago, even rubbing the itch which the neural link had begun to give him. A certain eagerness welling.

"Rifle, cannon. Both ballistic," the man continued before a moderate pause. He was contemplating the weight of his next words, after all, whilst the NC was as much of an importance as his own life, the tools of his new life as a Linker were not simple choices to make. These knives and talons which he has picked until now provided a solid foundation for his work.

But the essential topping did not yet exist in his chosen repertoire. James Andala could likely understand the importance himself, even though he might've never truly utilized an NC for what it was meant to do. "Simulations say I'm good with energy weapons. Look up my file and see if you can fit me with something that compliments the rest."

James Andala considered this man's selection, with a measure of his enthusiasm returned to his voice. "Yeah, I can see #9 using any kind of weapon well. I've already got two rifles in mind, one already has a bayonet installed. Donation from a close-combat Linker. #9 Might appreciate it if you let him stab something. I'll bolt both on for you." He took a moment to continue his thoughts.

"There's a new-model cannon we just finished chopping up for NC use. An old particle accelerator too. Both should work well." He looked at the particle weapon he just mentioned, resting on its own rack all the way in the distance at the other end of the hangar. It was currently deactivated, but it was still one of the least pleasant weapons to think about. It launched thick, deep gouts of lightning; with a burst of unavoidable, deadly radiation as a byproduct. On one hand, he wanted to get rid of it.

On the other, he hated the thought of anybody actually using it. "Just don't use that accelerator near people. MAVERICK'll penalize you." After a moment, he did consider its other secondary effect. "Could save lives too. Has an electromagnetic pulse to it; easy way to disable most enemies without killing them." He still couldn't help but to think of the radioactive back-blast, but then he started to laugh anyway. "Ah hell, you're fine with the idea that your NC could zap you anyway! Radiation is the last thing on your mind, huh?"

"Someone has to take this beast off your hands, so why not add another worry for me to work with," Fredrich-Alexander said, clearly joking, but without any semblance of tonal shift or vowel enunciation. Lowering his hands, and putting them back in his pockets, taking a relaxed posture, finally setting into this new groove of a new world in its entirety. "I'll make your worries become praise before too long."

James smirked at the style of dry, understated humour. "Yeah, do your best with that," before looking at the #9, feeling better about it. "I'll log your requests. I should go and help the other pilots decide on a machine." He looked around. There was already Hazel, still looking on inquisitively. "Speaking of..."

 

[Windsock]

Spoiler: Auteur Details 1/2

Huge thanks to Malphaestus and SkyHawk MK III for this HUEGE omega-super-heavyweight triple poster! Careless butchering minor editing done by me, Windsock . Not as edited as the others, trying to edit all of this in the same way was completely untenable for me. My brain exploded, maybe more than once. Sorry if it looks awful! I'm not kidding in this case when I completely butchered the editing.

Spoiler: Auteur Details 2/2

Not done editing yet, but the result of another collab will be posted in this space. Introducing AnonyMouse 's character and a character from her backstory, a GM/NPC pilot. Editing that was done by myself again and broke my brain, too; any good part of it you see was certainly AnonyMouse's work. Not my best writing, but it'll have to do. I have to write more characters, so give me a break! actually don't

Andala was about to talk to the two pilots before him at gantry #9, until he seemed to remember something. And with that, his pocket started to glow and ring. He cursed himself, "Sorry, Miss, I'm sure that's my boss. I have to take this, I'll be back soon!" Right after a polite but hasty bow, the Construction Director was off to his office.

So, it was just the two of them, around the cradle of Andala's most troubled creation.

Hazel stood just a few feet away from Fredrich, looking over #9 sitting in the gantry, also captivated by its seemingly monstrous characteristics that had attracted Fredrich in the first place. The shape and size was nothing like the others, it was clear that each of the NC's had their own 'personalities' so to speak. Looking up to the tall man, Hazel spoke up; "That one's going to be yours then? It seems to be one hell of a beast by the looks of it." It wasn't much of a conversation starter in her mind, but at least she tried, all that really mattered.

While she awaited a response, Hazel looked down at the rest. They were all different ever so slightly, and she was wondering which of the war machines the rest of the party had chosen to be with.

Streuben couldn't help but agree that the #9 was a beast, but could not discount the possible worries it would entail either. Still, with someone to talk to, he had no reason not to oblige to the talking and therefore speak his mind. It wasn't something that he particularly disliked to begin with, and getting to know his fellow Linkers seemed like optimal grounds for some discourse. Turning his head and shifting his body to meet her, he gazed at Hazel and couldn't help but notice a few curiosities with his sharp, uneventful glimpses.

Her interesting hairstyle, for one. "Yep, the Nine's something else." He would likely have his hands full dealing with it, if the cautionary advice and the initially disagreeable demeaneur of 'his' creator was evidence worth pursuing. "But I'll make it work, of course. I always do," he finished off. Highlighting the latter with words spoken in what might as well be a single decibel louder than neutral.

"With it I'll be able to provide some much needed... 'everything' capability." James Andala did say that it possessed an all-around disposition, and whilst a 'champion of none, but an expert of all' might seem disadvantageous amongst its peers... It still holds much needed support, as well as general performance capabilities which any team would likely seek out. It seemed like the perfect bed to start off with, but he didn't know how severe the neural link issue was yet. So he still could not speak with any degree of absolute certainty to that disadvantage.

He paused briefly, as he grasped at the right words to use to describe his own feelings, but failed. A small sigh left his lips as he settled for the second-best description he could come up with, and he delivered it to Hazel with a modicum of oddity.

"...Not that I cared about that from the get-go. I just, wanted it."

Free from his own thoughts for now, he decided to pursue the topic of Hazel instead as he turned around with her, momentarily leaving the Nine out of his sights.

"Hazel Scott? What are you thinking?"

The choice of NC was not something which most would find easy, and Streuben was not under the illusion that the others would have as easy a time as he and some others did in their machine choices. Though he'd read her file, he had a bit of an expectation in how she'd respond.

Hazel turned back to face Fredrich as soon as he spoke once again, listening and nodding to his answer. Though she did slightly catch the small rise in voice, almost like he had something to prove to someone or to to the rest of the pilots here. When asked about what her thoughts were, she nodded over her head to gantry #6 "I'm thinking about getting my hands on #6 to be fair, seems like an alright NC to me though I'll have to ask James about it when I get the chance to." Noting that Fredrich added on her last name, she continued. "You don't have to add my second name, Hazel is just fine. Or 'Ordnance'. Either way, I don't care."

Thinking for a second or two, she turned her attention to the cards that Hazel had seen Fredrich mess around with during the trip here. She still couldn't pin down what it was, but they surely looked something out of this world to her. "If you don't mind me asking, but what were the cards that you were looking at while on the trip over? I've never seem anything like them before. They definitely didn't look like any old pack of cards you'd use in any game of poker." Hopefully, her inquisitiveness wouldn't be a conversation killer. It wasn't much, but at least she'd get something out of him on a personal level, which for all she knew could've been a rarity.

Brushing her hair a bit, a part of Hazel's hair revealed the burns on her face. Realizing this, she pushed the hair back to the original position and turned away to face unit #9 again. She'd knew Fredrich would ask questions. Either it be now or in a few hours, everyone practically did. And she'd have to do the same routine as she did again and again, acting like there wasn't a inquiry at all, and just try to move on with the conversation.

Before Fredrich could ask about the burns, in a fortuitous event the blooming discussion between the two was interrupted, by that same man that facilitated it in the first place. Andala was done with whatever he needed to do, and was eying Hazel. He was back in the swing of his overbearing glee to get people on their way, and out of his forge.

"Terribly sorry about that! Miss Scott, right? So, what unit were you thinking of?", he excused, and asked. He gauged Hazel's current mood, sensing an awkward air that she probably wanted an excuse to get out of it. So, he continued briskly, giving her that excuse he was sure she needed. "If I'm right, I think you'd want unit #4 or #6; would you like to see them in more detail?" He was familiar with pilots that had certain vulnerabilities; and this was the same sort of impression he felt in the room. So, James started ambling towards the gantries he mentioned; already expecting Hazel to follow him.

While a bit annoyed but still thankful, Hazel's attention was now on James, who probably just saved her from the awkward interrogation that might have been brought by Fredrich. Looking to James, she quickly moved onto the topic about the choice of NC. Nodding at the question, she replied just as quickly. "Yes, I was thinking about having #6. I'd love to see it in more detail if you don't mind." And so, Hazel followed his brisk pace to the gantry that she was interested in, walking past the few others which still needed pilots.

Andala led Hazel through, towards the gantry labelled #6. The unit inside was another particular one; contrasting greatly with its elder sister in gantry #5. It was a little short on its own, perhaps. But it was stockier, more densely built. "#6 here, he's pretty normal, mostly. His most striking change from the rest is how his 'musculature' developed. Really dense, just as heavy as he looks. Hard to move when he's not working with you." He walked up to the unit, and kicked it. It it didn't produce an echo or a ringing or anything, just a solid thunk. He laughed at his own impromptu demonstration, before elaborating. "He has a really good resistance to concussive forces; and still maintains a good precision of movement even if he isn't all that fast."

He looked over to the #6's right arm, the dainty hands and fingers it ended in. "Pretty good responsiveness all around. The hands are pretty much as good as mine!" James accentuated one of the jutting fingers, showing its long, gentle nature. "Could go further with it, but we didn't manage it ourselves. Heard you were a bomb technician, right? Could do something with those." He then nodded at the shoulders, where every other unit had a clamp to hold equipment or weapons or whatever else.

The #6 itself came with two to a shoulder; another one on each holster, and its backpack held two more. "As you can see by all those clamps, he's built so that he can handle a lot of extra weight. You could hold a ton of specialist equipment here; prepare for anything. If you're part of a team, could easily hold extra ammo for your buddies." He tapped the unit once more, on a welded-on rod of a roll-cage like apparatus that was built all over the units limbs and body. "Not much danger of cook-off, he's too tough to worry about that seriously."

Still, the unit had its fair share of flaws. James provided the details, explaining away that it wasn't invincible. "You're not exactly limited in overall mobility here, and there's certainly no way he can just get shot and die, but he isn't indestructible. He ain't quick either." He then thought of a perfect analogy, snapping his fingers again. "I'm sure it'll be like wearing a bombsuit;", he started to explain.

"You might be able to sprint but you'll definitely hate having to do it. All that weight makes it very stable and precise; not one to get knocked over or lose its balance, and he could unjam a weapon in the field. Gives you, or your buddies an excuse to use those finicky kinds of weapons, you could make sure they work."

Hazel smiled as James explained #6's capabilities, what 'he' could do. Like a 'bombsuit'? Already, it sounded just like the sort of NC that she wanted. Capable of holding its own without issues, still letting Hazel work with the smaller things like her own explosives. And it still had a number of options to improve it at her will later. "I must admit, James, he's definitely the type of NC I had in mind. I'd love to see what's under his hood as well, if that's not too much to ask?" She was curious; she never saw the innards of a Neural Combatant before.

The Construction Director contemplated her simple request, and found it easy enough. "Opening him up..." And Andala went up to a nearby pair robotic arms; like you'd see in a car factory. He clicked something on the monitor attached between the two, then the two arms went to work; tilting #6's upper body a bit off the ground. A laborious few seconds, but soon it was done. "Like the rest, you can see he has a backpack reactor there; that's the radiator's grille, specifically. Simple stuff, didn't really splurge here." He then went and found some of the bolts holding the unit together and started undoing them; "Oh, don't need a HAZMAT suit or anything until the reactor completely blows. All their casings are real hardened, I admit I'm pretty weird but I do manage to think of that stuff!"

After working some of the connectors holding the clavicle together, he pried open a panel and slid it over, revealing just a bit of #6's cockpit pod and the rest of its inner workings. Like the rest, its cockpit was a spherical unit held within a box frame; synaptic connectors, somewhere between wires and nerve-flesh were strewn about it, connecting it to the various other systems. It was pretty full looking already, but there was obviously still space to put further internal equipment in there. "As you can see, pretty damn dense. All his pseudo-cells grew pretty quick. Not in a bad way like #9, but still an early bloomer, as it were. Anyway, his reactor isn't much different from the others; thorium-based, standard operating temperatures. Rated to go for five years without refueling. Can't go that long without maintenance though! MAVERICK'll have your head."

He extended a pointing-stick somewhere betwixt his countless pockets and 'utility belt', and poked at the various bits and pieces inside #6, pointing them out further. "Down there, that's the actual electrical generator to turn the heat into electricity. Just a steam turbine, really. When you need thrust, it stops making steam and starts using the reactor itself as a combustion chamber; half the reason why you only see the NC's that fly and the NC's that use the good kind of energy weapons, never both." he prods one of those 'synaptic connectors' from earlier. "And that...", he said as he touched it. It, was something like a standard electrical wire, cavorting with some weird bio-tech equivalent, or maybe a vine dipped in motor oil. Admittedly, it was kind of gross.

Completely irreverent of its icky nature, and happy with his poking, he continued. "Synapse! Well, Psuedo-cells. Artificial 'muscles' and 'nervous systems'. Not exactly a living creature like you or me, not exactly dead metal like the rest of the machine." He thought of another analogy he could use, but couldn't find a good one. "...Machines that 'grow' according to organic principles, maybe? I know we gotta make them in a lab; impossible to mass produce yet. Real finicky, until they're done. Well, they're still what makes an NC an NC, alongside their muscular equals."

He stopped poking at his 'son' and talked to Hazel once more, letting her look inside on her own. Leaning back; "With how 'overgrown' they got, not a disaster at all. As I said, he's really responsive; somethin' about the thicker wires hes got lets all the signals run 'cleaner', 'faster', generally just better all around. Like how thicker power wires are more efficient and more resistant to frictional losses?" He scratched his chin, looking between his robot and its likely pilot.

"How's #6 look?"

Hazel smiled at the jokes that James tried to make along the way as he explained it all to her, following his directions and peaking inside the NC itself alongside him. There was only one word that Hazel could describe the inside; Insane. The amount of technological marvel and manual, hand-tooled effort needed to build... It almost seemed like magic to meld wires and 'flesh', filling the insides, all of it working together. This was her only chance in a lifetime to work with these beasts of unflesh and metal, and she was sure she made the right choice in her mind.

The only thing that really bothered her was the reactor. Sure, by James' own word you wouldn't need a HAZMAT suit, until it completely blew into smithereens. Yet, she couldn't help herself but to wonder if a suit would come provided, 'just in case' such a thing should occur? Hazel doubted that MAVERICK would rather let any Linker just die instead of providing them the gear needed to survive, but, then again...

Hazel's train of thought quickly stopped in the tracks as James' asked her a question which she knew the answer immediately. "Gotta say James, he's looking pretty damn good! Definitely the type of guy I'd roll with. Though I'm wondering, by any chance does the NC come with a HAZMAT suit inside just in case that the reactor blows sky high? Not that I don't doubt your capabilities, more of a 'better safe than sorry' approach."

Andala almost rolled his eyes, but managed to stop himself in time. He heard the same dozen questions; No, it wasn't a full-scale plutonium weapons plant. It wouldn't go with a big city-busting boom like a 'Disaster Bomb'. Still, he let her off easy; it was an honest question this time. "I promise it isn't that high energy. It's really quite fail-safe, fail-gracefully design, I assure you. Still, even if it blew, you'd be fine in your cockpit; in use, the majority of the time they're filled with an oxygenated shock-absorbant fluid, it shields you further from any accidents and the shocks in fighting too. Radiation too, just as good as water at that. Even if you decide against the juice, as long as you don't snort whatever's left of the reactor I'm sure you'll be fine."

He then considered the piloting gear an NC came with. "Well, if you're really that spooked about it, you could get a custom piloting suit fitted for you. I'll see what I can do, but nobody in my team is exactly a tailor." He walked over to one of the weapon clamps. "Glad you like him, though. But, what sort of weapons, special equipment you'd like? I know he has eight clamps, but I'm only authorized to hand, at most, four of your choice over to you this time." He raised his hands with a "Sorry!"

Hazel nodded at his answer, it would make sense that all possibilities were covered, though something about James' reply made Hazel feel a bit stupid for asking in the first place. Doubting the man wasn't exactly going to get her into his good books anytime soon, especially when it came to machines he was considered an expert in. She thought through his answer, but ultimately decided not to go through with the idea of a specialized suit. "I'll be fine without the suit, James. I'm sorry if I sounded like I was doubting you somehow." She was still undecided about the weapon mounts. With 4 in total, it was going to be difficult just choosing what to have.

Looking over the NC, she pondered for a while, before asking with a grin. "An up-scaled rotary grenade launcher wouldn't be too hard to cook up, would it? I'm thinking about putting the rest of the weapon mounts to good use as well." Hazel would still have to go over what she wanted specifically, though she had a general idea of what was more suited to her specific set of skills. James thought about it. "Hmm... Yeah, there's a five-shell revolver model around here somewhere that another Shoppe made. Denver-Vegas Armory or something."

"In addition, something along the lines of an assault rifle wouldn't be too bad. Gives me range from my targets if need be." Stopping again for thought, before continuing once she came up for the last two empty slots. "Explosives would be good. Kinda like C4 or something similar, just up-scaled like everything else. The last part, probably something along the lines of point defense? Something small but does the job well." Hazel let out small sigh, running through what she had chosen to ensure that she hadn't missed anything important. Nothing came to mind. "That seems to be all really, thanks for the show around for #6, and the rest of the area. I enjoyed it, James." The man nodded, agreeing with her well-thought selection of destructive devices.

Fredrich-Alexander followed James and Hazel as they boarded the gantry and properly examined the 'creature' for themselves in expansive detail, with his own gaze. Her choice of arms were certainly interesting, though not something entirely unexpected, and the revolver seemed an apt weapon assuming it would be fit with the equivalent explosive munitions; which he didn't doubt.

He looked on as the two went about their regular procedures and examinations. Having seen the interior of the Six, he attempted to memorize it for comparisons later with his own Nine, to see how serious the neural issue actually might become. With that though, he did not feel any regret towards his choice, he merely wished to be armed with the tools and know-how needed to properly understand his own circumstances and those of the Nine whenever whatever arises in the future comes to pass.

He remained footed on the ground, thinking about his cards briefly as Hazel had previously made mention of them before their interruption. They were simple in truth, and maybe the woman would be dissatisfied with the premise. He spun another around in his hand, one which he had pulled out, without anyone's notice, from the aether.

After finalizing everything with James, Hazel headed back over to where Fredrich was, sticking a thumb over her shoulder in glee. He seemed distracted by something as Hazel spoke, though it wasn't anything unusual to her. "Finally got it all sorted. #6 is gonna turn out just the way I like it. I doubt it'll be a match to yours, though it'll put up a fight if required." Giving a warm smile after her small prod at humor. "You never said what the cards were for, I'm still interested in why a man like you would carry them as well. Just for aesthetics or for another reason?"

"Good," Streuben responded simply, as he affixed his eyes upon her, thrown out of his own thoughts by her, in his eyes, abrupt reappearance. Whilst the humor did not immediately appear to enter his mind properly, although he did shift his body slightly to the left in some weird manner of reactionary movement. It wasn't bad, Streuben's ability to reciprocate was, however. "The Six seems a beast itself, just of a different kind." It might be argued that the most important aspect of an NC is responsiveness, and as luck would have it Streuben had experienced simulation practices with compromised neurology within an NC; they were hardly easy to deal with, so he definitely appreciated the Six for its own interior developments.

Having appropriately adjusted, he raised his hand and showed the card within his hand to her, the 'Emperor's tarot', and proceeded with his introductory explanation. "Simply put, these cards have a history dating far back into some rather obscure times, but the idea is that they can tell any individual's fortune." Proceeding to effortlessly manifest another card within his other hand as he raised it, again from the aether in a mindless fit of wizardry. The Empress' tarot.

"Each card has meanings depending on whether they face upwards or downwards," he continued, followed by a moderate pause and a subsequent mild sigh before resuming. "And that's it." He didn't exactly know how to do it properly, but it didn't matter. Whatever his way was, would be the right way. He put them back within his coat pockets, taking the time to rest his hands within them as he did.

"I use them because they help," he finished rather bluntly, but with a shallower ultimatum than what would otherwise have been expected from a user of fortune telling. "...I drew... these, too, and paid for their premium."

Watching as Fredrich played with the cards, explaining the meaning of them in the most simple form possible, Hazel listened intently as he did so. While not the most comprehensive explanation, it would satisfy her at the least now that she understood the cards purpose. Thinking it over carefully, Hazel chose the words to use; "You must be a strong believer in those cards to tell your own fortunes accurately. I'm not really the one to believe in such things, but to each to their own, I suppose." Hazel didn't believe in such things, if that was the case. Regretting her choice of words to some extent, she quickly added; "Uhm... Sorry if I've got the wrong idea about you believing in those sorts of fortunes, I just find it hard to put any of my own faith in it, that's all."

As the two were deep in conversation, James wordlessly excused himself from their discussion about other things and memorized Hazel's requests for later. He sensed somebody else needed his presence; so he sought the source out.

Spoiler: Meanwhile; In the foyer

For auteur details, read the second spoiler above.

Camille was the last to be processed, standing near the entrance to the building. All of a sudden, there was a slight, but instantaneous creak as the double-doors to the lobby were pried open by a single boot; belonging to a woman who was busy with her hands, eating a tube of something and inquisitively looking forwards into the room. Camille would likely instantly recognize her; this was the same woman that scouted her out after her entirely unexpected victory against insurmountable odds; that same woman who sat and watched as Camille struggled below.

This woman wasn't anything entirely special from her looks alone; the most obvious thing about her was the remnants of a hairdye from long ago, faded out to obscurity. Faded green tips on natural black hair. She was mildly tan herself, more from standing in the sun than a natural tone. Another thing of hers was green; her eyes, which seemed to drill into a person. She was easily taller than Azata, but it's not like that was a difficult achievement.

In person, the experienced NC pilot hardly seemed the type to do anything at all; even now this woman, 'Rosa Slyidina', was merely eating a tube of something, perhaps yogurt or a candy, as she walked into the room. She was hardly dressed for the occasion; wearing some kind of thermo-regulatory suit that you'd put on under an actual piloting suit. She eyed at her metaphorical protege; and was about to say something before she remembered it was rude to eat and talk at the same time. She took a moment, and asked sarcastically; "Bet you weren't expecting to see me again, huh?"

Her habit of never putting her back to the door meant Cammy spotted the woman the moment she poked her ugly mug into the room. "Bet you weren't expecting a knuckle sandwich to go with that tube o' slop you're suckin' on," she muttered under her breath, probably too quiet to be heard. She had just finished the last of her paperwork and hastily scribbled her name on the signature line, before slapping the pen down and turning to face the woman.

The only other people in the room were the two paper-pushers; that Sarah Nielsen and that nameless desk jockey. They seemed to slink away; knowing full well the strange relationships pilots could develop and not wanting any part in this one.

"I was, actually," Cammy said with a grin. "But, unless you got my NC in your back pocket, we ain't got nothin' to discuss. I'm here for the goods, not the bads, so move along. Break room's that way," she said, jabbing a finger in the direction of the nearest hallway. She had absolutely no idea where the break room was or if such a thing even existed. With some luck, maybe there was a vat of acid or a swarm of angry bees behind one of those doors.

Rosa rolled her eyes, finishing up the 'tube of slop' and chunking it towards a nearby trash-can. "Sorry, gutsy. Only NC I brought was my own. They're not really portable." She went up near the desk Camille finished working on. She took slow, long strides with an interrogative attitude. She caressed the edge where her own cheek and her jaw met; reminding the shorter, meaner woman of what happened when they met without a word. "There actually is something 'ta discuss'.", she spat, starting to reveal her own intentions. "I'm thinking on what to do about you."

The woman leaned backwards on the desk, resting her hands on it. She hardly noticed as Ms. Nielsen surreptitiously slid the last of the documents over to the receptionist. She was looking out the doors, obviously in a trance of cognition. She leaned over her head to look down at Azata; squinting like a police officer sizing up a perp. "What exactly are you planning to do?"

Camille leveled her gaze with the woman, undeterred. "Same thing I've always done: my job. And you'll do the same thing you've always done: absolutely nothing." She smirked. "Just admit you didn't think I'd survive the implants, the training, any of this. The same way you didn't think I'd survive those bandits. So stop posturing. It makes you look weak. If you've got something to say, spill it. And if not, move. I have a job to do."

Rosa was hardly intimidated, nor impressed with the ex-mechanic's rude dismissal. Trudging onwards nonetheless, she bluntly spelled out her own plans to the shorter lady. As she leveled her head with Azata's from either a sense of respect or her own disregard, she cut straight to the point. "I'm thinking of fully sponsoring you. I'm starting to appreciate the value of a wing-woman I can rely on. If I got to teach them."

She, alarmingly, pulled out another tube of whatever paste she was eating and offered it to her hypothetical student. She revealed another part of her reasoning as she did so; "And.. it's an excuse to offload equipment I don't want anymore. Bring you along on the meaner sounding contracts. Split that fat money." She didn't even look to see if Camille accepted her offer, or the associated gesture. "What do you say?"

Camille stifled a small laugh. "Okay, okay.... let me make sure I got this staight," she said, speaking very slowly. "First time we met, you basically watched me die, didn't lift a finger to help. I survived that." She shrugged nonchalantly. "Second time, you rolled up on me when I was drunk off my ass and convinced me to sign up for this. I survived that, too. Cool."

She took the offered candy or whatever it was and studied it for a moment before shoving it in her back pocket where she would probably forget all about it until she sat on it hours from now and made a mess.

"Listen. The way I see it, I've proven myself to you, but you haven't proven anything to me," Cammy said. "I don't trust you. Hell, I don't even like you. You talk down to me, loom over me, offer me sweets like I'm a fucking child..." She took a deep breath. "...I'll think on it, alright. Thanks for the opportunity, but I need to ask around first, see what the word on the street is about you. You seem pretty sketchy, but I bet half these people say the same about me, so, whatever. You got a business card, or somethin?'"

Rosa smiled when Azata took her offering, both the literal, physical one and the abstract one. A smug kind of smile, but a smile nonetheless. "I don't exactly have a card, but my MAVERICK code is Three-Eight-Four-Zero. 3-8-4-0. Rosa Slyidina. I'm sure when you get fully registered, either'll work if you look me up." She took a moment, before deciding to further explain what she meant by 'Sponsor'. "Consider me what you want, but sponsoring you means I'll have to make sure nobody shoots you in the back. No 'Newbie-crushing' either. But, if you want a fuckin'..."

She rubbed her cheek, thinking of a good example of something completely superfluous. "...turbo-zap... plasma pulse... electro railgun..., Whatever! You're on your own with that. Never worth it anyway." She turned over, with a look of actual curiosity. "MAVERICK itself is gonna pay for this one, though. What sort of unit have you been thinking of, anyway? Heard that Andala's latest toys are pretty good, might be something neat in there." She nodded her head over to the doors to the actual hangar.

"See, now we're talkin' to one another like adults instead of you trying to strap me into a high chair and spoon-feed me a sippy cup of alphabitch soup," Cammy remarked. "Was that so hard? I may not look it, but I know how to talk business... assuming that's what you're actually here to do."

As she talked, she 'borrowed' a pen from the receptionist's desk, yanked up her sleeve, and scribbled 3-8-4-0 on her forearm, right next to the tattoo of a cat riding a unicorn. Yeah, she definitely looked like someone who knew how to 'talk business.' Totally professional.

"As for my NC..." she flicked the pen back across the desk. "You already know my style. Hit 'em fast, hit 'em hard. Rope a-dope 'em with the ol' moonshine missile, the redneck rocket, the tequila torpedo. Big boost. Big guns. Big hurt. I want max speed. Period. And some firepower for shock value. But, uhhh..." she sized up Rosa, her eyes traveling over the woman from head to toe, "That doesn't really seem like something in your repertoire. So, unless you got some surplus rocket boosters in your spare parts bin, 'Sly Diva', I've got a date with Andala. Wanna tag along? Ain't like you got anything better to do."

Talking about her vision for an NC was probably the most enthusiasm she had shown through their entire conversation. She had plenty of time to think about this during training. She had no idea what machine she would get, but Cammy was ready for anything. Rosa was, too, and decided to humor the rookie pilot, as a show of good faith. "I'll tell you if your ideas are stupid, sure.", and with that, the two were off to the wonderful wizard of oz.

 

[Viper Actual]

Peyton could tell she had insulted the man. An unfortunate and unwanted effect though she wouldn't apologize for it. Like had stated himself MAVERICK was paying for the bill, not to mention their salaries once they took to the field.
Sensing the overly-polite attitude from Mr. Andala, one with the same caliber as her own, she decided to simply nod and listen.

As the man spoke about this particular group of NC's Jennifer paid close attention to every word. She wanted to know their strengths and weaknesses but just as the chatter was getting interesting the man urged the group to look around the room by themselves as he rushed off to greet some latecomers of which one was in a wheelchair.

An interesting addition. Peyton studied the man briefly before moving on. Her eyes stopped at one of the NCs as it was...different.

Cautiously, like a cat prowling on prey, she approached the dormant machine and placed her hand on its cold metallic surface. Even if she had been blindfolded she would recognize the very texture of what her fingers touched. Stealth panels.

Indeed, the entire NC seemed to have traded traditional armors for stealth panels and dark synthetic fabric. Peyton adjusted her ballcap as she looked up, studying the entirety of the mech while a technician appeared to be putting down some finishing touches up top near some sort of communications equipment.

Placing her hands on her hips Jennifer continued to study the machine as numerous thoughts, ideas and plans ran through her mind.

 

[YsFanatic]

While Adam would have loved to have talked to James about the NC some more, the man was unfortunately very busy as evident by how quickly he left to talk to one of the other Linkers. Pushing a button so that the lift for his wheelchair would lower to the ground, the cripple watched the others pick their machines with interest while he waited. Then he noticed the pilot that James had walked off with was picking weapons and Adam realized with a start that he hadn't given any thought to equipment.

The cripple closed his eyes for a moment as he mentally cursed himself for not thinking about that until now. Undoing the restraints keeping the wheelchair secured as soon as the lift stopped moving, he then hastily wheeled himself to where he could examine some of the weapon racks. Thankfully a number of the weapons and other gear were either similar or identical to the ones he had learned about and practiced with in training. The more exotic looking pieces of equipment only got a quick glance as Adam knew that he was better off sticking with the basics right now. He had a pretty good idea what rifle he wanted to use, but for the other gear Adam wasn't sure what to do yet.

He was tempted to ask one of the other Linkers for advice, but that would mean that if he ended up against them in battle they would know what he was armed with. No, if he asked anyone it would be one of the staff here. But that would be after he took a look at everything that was available as it would be foolish to make his selections without reviewing all of the options.

 

[AnonyMouse]

Spoiler

Written in collaboration with Windsock

With the paperwork and beaureaucratic nonsense out of the way, Camille was all too happy to move on to the main event. She shouldered through the double doors and into the cavernous main hangar where the nine fantastical machines waited. As she gazed up at the blinding lights and harsh angles of the scaffolding and gantries, she felt more at home here than she had in months. During the implantation of her cybernetics and the training sessions, everything was so cold and clinical and controlled. Not to say this hangar wasn't also a clean, highly-controlled environment, but there was something very 'alive' about the industrial atmosphere of this place.

She picked a direction and began to walk, slowly at first, but quickly gained speed, looking very much like she knew where she was going, despite not having a clue. Cammy often did that; for someone who seemed so random and manic, she sometimes behaved very purposefully, sort of like how birds fly south for winter or ants go straight back to the colony. They just know where to go and how to get there. Her brother used to joke that, when she's in one of those moods, she could walk through a rainstorm and not get wet.

Cammy noticed the Director speaking with another Linker next to the machine numbered six. The gold stripe on his jumpsuit made him stand out from the rest of the technicians scurrying about. But he seemed busy, which gave her an excuse to kill time, push some buttons, pull some levers, and generally see how much trouble she could whip up before he had to notice her. She marched right across the hangar and didn't stop until she reached Number 8, where she planted her feet, parked her hands on her hips, and stood with a posture that silently said, 'well, well, well, what do we have here?'

The first thing she noticed about #8 was that it was lying face down. While every other NC was either lying on its back or sitting up, this model looked as if it had crawled into the hangar on all fours and collapsed here, in Bay Number Eight. A thick tarp was draped over its torso, covering the head and most of its limbs, leaving only a little of its legs and feet poking out one end and its hands protruding from the other, ending in long, claw-like fingers. So much of it was covered, leaving just enough exposed to make her imagination run wild.

There was a massive crane on railroad tracks, the kind that might move huge shipping containers in a port, positioned over #8, with its chains dangling above the machine's prone form. Cammy began to wonder if this NC had even gotten here under its own power. Maybe it's broken. Maybe it's incomplete. Maybe no one can pilot it. There seemed to be fewer technicians near it than the others, so the questions just kept building in her head as she circled around it.

"Hey," she said to Rosa, despite not really looking in the woman's direction. "Do they ever, like, completely, epically fail at this stuff?" She reached the NC's hands and knelt to study its long, multi-segmented fingers, each ending in a hardened tip. She could easily imagine it tearing into armor like a wild animal, or burrowing into solid stone. "I mean, have they ever made an NC that just doesn't freakin' work? A total flop. A billion dollar doorstop." She grinned a mischievous little grin. "I kind of hope this one's fucked... just a little. Maybe they'll come down on the price."

Rosa was well aware of Azata's intense visual interrogation of the NC labelled #8, and was obviously humored by her questions. Smart questions. "No, it's hard to totally screw up a Neural Combatant. They're too big to not work at all, and get bricked. They've got this not-quite-organic shit in them that keeps trying to work on its own; that's a charitable interpretation, but it works. And keeps on trying to work." Rosa maneuvered over to the unit's long, tendril-like fingers.

"Well, damn, where's the fun in that?" Cammy retorted. She stood up and wandered closer toward the tarp. "I ain't never had a machine that didn't act like it wanted to break down every five fucking minutes. It adds 'character.'"

Rosa poked one hardened fingertip, and even now, just barely, it reflexively reciprocated. She certainly wasn't expecting that, and shot her hand backwards like she brushed it against a hungry velociraptor by accident. That was a sign the NC was used before; it had reflexes 'left-over', and its systems were still expecting some level of input. "They must've had this weirdo help work on the others?" she said. "It has to work at least a little, if that's the case."

Camille watched the machine's response with a look that seemed more annoyed than surprised. She narrowed her gaze on Rosa, but didn't say anything right away.

Rosa leaned in to look closely at the boney, whipping fingers, and how they connected to the arms. She glanced over to her 'protege', and then decided to curb Azata's enthusiasm, if only a little. "You know if this was totally bricked you'd still need help getting it working, right? You can't just use duct-tape." Slyidina already knew it was a failed bet.

"Okay, first of all, I never use just duct tape," Camille said, more than a little arrogantly. "Second of all, stop touching my NC! I haven't officially agreed to this sponsorship thing yet, so seein' your grubby mitts all over what's about to be my stuff kinda pisses me off, alright. You're still in the tryouts phase, lady, so fall back, or I'ma start screamin' 'stranger danger.' Actually, maybe that ain't such a bad idea. Might get Andalla over here faster, so I can have the keys to this thing."

Rosa, in a way so obvious to be rude, rolled her eyes like she heard the most inane question the third time in a row. She was happy and content with the inquiries and the language up to this point; the sudden, uncharacteristic exclamation of 'no touch!' rubbed her wrong. "Look, kid; if you're already that damn funny about it you can poke your oily little fingers and your wrenches or whatever, wherever you want on my NC later." Slyidina then lifted some of the tarp elsewhere for a better look; like she was entirely comfortable in the situation and didn't care for breaking any unspoken rules, either. Flinging the corner of the sheet away, she gawked as more of the #8 revealed itself.

Not all of it, but it was getting obvious how else it differed from the rest. Besides the arms, its backpack was entirely unique; flatter, more like a weapon-rack on its own instead of a place to put the reactor. She didn't see any equipment mounts on the units' hip-holsters either, it was just an exhaust vent on the #8. It was entirely dedicated to carrying weapons on the back. Remembering the lack of rigidity in the arms, it started to make sense; if it tried to use anything hand-operated that had any kick, it'd have a hell of a time keeping anything on point.

"Back in my day, a run with an NC this funny, they just recycled the damn thing and tried again. That Andala's a weirdo; he keeps calling them his 'babies' too." She flicked the closest arm, watching it waggle ever so slightly in reflex. "Really hated it when I bought one off of him and scrapped it for parts right then. I'll give him that, he makes good bits. You'll probably like him, he thinks they got 'character', just like you."

"They do have character. Every machine does. If you'd ever worked on anything, you'd get that," Cammy said as she moved closer to the machine's torso, as if searching for a way into the cockpit. Although it was lying face-down, it had a slight arch in its back as if it had been 'parked' in a way that still allowed the pilot to exit. Her hands searched along the metalwork for seams or breaks until, at last, she found an opening.

"There it is...." With a slight click, the main hatch swung free. About one-third opened upwards, while the remaining two-thirds swung down. The opened doors had metal rungs for a pilot to grab onto and lift themselves into the cabin, as if the machine's creators knew this NC would spend much of its life down on all fours and would be boarded in that position.

Cammy crawled out from under Number 8 for a moment, to see if anyone had noticed them. Two technicians were watching from high up in the scaffolding, but didn't say anything. She waved at them and one simply stared, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, while the other wandered away, presumably to do something else.

"Alright. Step back, I'm doin' this," Cammy said to Rosa as she took off her hoodie and tossed it aside. "I didn't sit though all their boring ass training courses and get this fucking thing built into my neck so I could window shop. I came for an NC. I'm gettin' a fucking NC. You gonna be the adult in the room and stop me or just stand there and watch?"

Rosa was already trying to reach under there, evidently attempting to be the actual adult in the situation as requested. "What are you doing?!" She nearly screeched, "You can't just plug in!" She grabbed at Azata before she could fully enter, sliding her out from underneath the #8 like a slab of meat out of a freezer. Rosa started ranting at the other woman, laying down a simulacrum of 'the law'. "Good lord, you're impatient... You need somebody there to actually tune the damn machine to you, specifically! Else you'll puke your damn stomach out." Rosa rubbed her temples. "Look, I'll go get-"

And before she could finish her statement, that man who ran this operation came running in. He nearly slid the final few steps, before he tried to get a measure of what was going on, and 'laid down' the actual 'law'.

"Hi, how ya doin?'" Cammy said sheepishly, with a coy little wave of her hand, as if she hadn't done anything wrong.

"Excuse me! I'm sorry I didn't get to you sooner; but what exactly are you trying to do here?" Andala apologized for his absence, even though he wasn't specifically requested yet. He started to recognize that face from a file or somewhere, as he stared down at it. "Miss... Azata? Is that right? Please, don't just jack the machine out of nowhere. You'll... puke on my... floors...-" He started to trail off, before he then consciously noticed the other woman. Already, a deep exasperation was self-evident.

"-Miss Slyidina. Didn't know you, specifically, were the sponsor for Miss Azata here. I should've expected you." Slyidina didn't say anything, and simply brushed him off. Helping her protege to fully stand up, Azata was met with a polite bow from Mister Andala, and he continued on his own when she was ready. "Well, nonetheless. If you're so insistent to run a performance test, let me see if I can cart the feedback regulator out here." He then went to explain the need further. "Oh, uhh... Jacking, linking, plugging, whatever you call it; when you connect to an actual NC's systems for the first time there's a lot of mental data streaming into your consciousness that you won't be used to."

He scratched at the back of his own neck, absent-mindedly trying to level with the Linker, to think of a way to better illustrate his point. "You won't be able to filter any of it out and.. well, you'll hardly be able to focus on actually controlling anything. That's what the regulator is for, it just filters the little data out until you're used to the big, important data." He leaned down and looked at #8's cockpit, and then back to Azata, "As you can already see, he-"

James noticed Rosa rolling her eyes, but managed to continue.

"-He, is less... humanoid, so those issues are further exacerbated. I'm sure having five or six elbows will be difficult to manage." He waved over to another piece of arcane equipment on the hangar's floor, before another polite bow accentuating his own request for patience. "Please! If you insist on trying him out, at least let me get the regulator for you and have the hangar doors open. It'll take all of three minutes."

"Nah, it's fine," Azata replied, brushing some imaginary dust off of herself. She turned to look at Number 8. "So, plugging in without a regulator, like, expands your mind or something.... like a big acid trip?" She stifled a childish giggle. "If that's the case, I'll be fine. Six elbows? Bruh, I've had six heads. Shit's craaaaazy. Buuuuut... that's beside the point." Her attention promptly snapped back to the Director and she took on a far more serious tone.

"Sorry for making you guys freak out. I'm not impatient," she said with a very pointed glare at Rosa. "I just don't like waiting without a damn good reason for doing so. Tell me what I gotta do, so I can do it. I want this NC. You seem to wanna give me this NC." She shrugged. "So... what're we waitin' for? Let's kick some tires and light some fires."

James was, almost imperceptibly, humored by the colorful analogy. "Well, I've definitely heard it's worse compared to a bad trip..." A mild smirk, before it was back to business. "I read you were quite an engineer yourself so I doubt I need to go into details how this differs from the others and what that'll mean for you in practice when piloting it. Arms grew like they did so it can't handle recoil well, necessitated moving weapons to the back, had to move the radiators, et-cetera. I'm sure you've figured out the rest just by looking how it compares to the others."

He started to walk around, towards the #8's head. "Well, we're nearly done here, to be frank... the majority of the pilots have settled on things and MAVERICK'll let you do a test run today if you're so inclined. But you know how fussy MAVERICK is about things, just in general; if you really just run off with #8 they'll probably brand you as an Irregular, you know?"

Rosa spoke up at this point, firmly grasping Azata's shoulder in a vice-like grip. "You don't want to be an Irregular."

And James happened to agree. "Yes, you'd be most wanted and I'd be obligated to do anything in my power to make sure you get captured, or worse." He scratched his thin at the thought. "Well, the #8 is yours as far as I'm concerned, just need to make it official. It'll be done by next week, so that gives me time to work on anything else you need for #8. So, any finishing tweaks you'd like done on him? Oh, weapons too. We've a basic selection, and a couple of oldies from retired pilots."

"Tweaks?" Cammy said, swatting Rosa's hands off of her. She didn't particularly like the way they both seemed convinced she'd try to steal an NC. How did this conversation go from 'tell me what to do' to 'don't steal the giant robot' so damn fast!? It's enough to make a person wanna steal a robot or something...

"I'm sure I'll think of more once I've had some seat time," Cammy said noncommitally, "but there's one thing I know I wanna change, something that really bugged me in the training simulators. They were way too... what's the word... 'immersive.' I'm a driver. That's what I do. I build shit and drive the wheels off of it. And I'm pretty damn good at it. I can feel the road through the steering wheel and know when the traction's there and when it isn't. I can feel every gear through the shifter and every misfiring injector through the accelerator pedal. It's all instincts, muscle memory. Raw. Visceral. Real."

She draped her arm over Andala's shoulder, which was truly a feat because the man was nearly a foot taller than her. "You guys did good," Cammy said. "I mean, you did really good... but not good enough. You can't fake this shit and even if you could, you're goin' about it all wrong. You can't pipe it into my skull through network cables and goo, overriding instincts with data. You're trying to make the pilot and machine become one and it fucking suuuucks! That's not how this is supposed to work, guys! C'mon!" She made a wide, sweeping gesture toward Number 8.

"I wanna pilot the machine, not be the machine. Nobody wakes up in the morning and thinks, 'gee, I wanna be a giant robot today.'" Cammy took a step back from him, to think. "I don't think it's 'fixable.' It's baked into the machine. That's just what NCs are..." she rubbed her chin for a moment, then snapped her fingers at Andala. "But I know we can do better. Dumb it down, James. You said yourself it's throwing a lot of information at the pilot; well, how much of that do I really need? Do I need to know my ammunition count? Thruster temps? Altitude? Speed? I mean, those are just examples. You could translate that into numbers, throw it in front of my face as a gauge, like a dashboard or HUD, instead of sending it straight to my noggin. Get it? In theory, that would free up my processing power, quicken my reflexes..."

She rattled off most of that explanation without stopping for air and was afraid she sounded like a crazy person. When she finally paused, she was looking at James with a starry-eyed desperation. It was the look of someone who had an artistic vision and wanted someone --anyone-- to help her make it a reality.

The man gently slid Azata's hand off from his shoulder, but he did smile as he did so, just another little smirk. He had a quiet, contemplative look about him as he considered her plea, and a simple nod was all afterwards. "Yeah, I get that. It's just as important as making it move with you." He looked over to #8, letting Azata catch her breath better before he continued on himself. "I've heard it before, you aren't nuts. It's another line of thought about NC's. Treating them as their own beings, distancing the relation and treating them more like a vehicle instead of a suit of armor or a skin you wear.

"A lot of ex-military types follow that logic, and plenty of mechanically minded people like you or me. People who can't forget about holding the clutch, reading gauges, spinning the wheel. I get where you're coming from. Want to keep their training, their own talent." He considered something while looking at the #8's arm. "Yeah, I got a few ideas already."

He went through another series of motions, miming a driving stick, a wheel, a flightstick. "We've got another fork of the software that's better suited to that taste. Not as up-to-date but that's more in line with you anyway, I'm sure. Could route some manual controls and an interior screen or two, should be much more hands-on. You'll still be able to have a heads-up display in your own vision, directly, but you could switch that off if you just consciously think about it. It'll be like data and imagery just sort of floating there in your vision, and anything that isn't immediately important would be on the screens. Switch all that around as you please."

He thought about something else, with another set of hand motions. He put his hand up to his left ear and pointed his fingers like an antenna for a second. "Could fit your piloting suit with a headset so you don't just 'hear' radio communications either. Well, in that special Linker way! Headset and all. You're right that it's just how NC's work, so you'll still just sort of help the machine balance, that sort of thing, but I'll see what I can do."

All of a sudden, he wrapped his hand around Azata just as she did to him earlier. "I'll get to work on it A-S-A-P, don't worry! Maybe some pedals for the thrust, a few boards of buttons, a stick or two for controlling each arm..." He started to get lost in thought, entranced by this particular challenge.

"Nice," Azata said with a big, stupid smile as she weighed all of the mods and the effect they would have on piloting. "I think this is gonna be my kind of fun. You won't regret this, sir."

 

[Windsock]

EPISODE Ø/1: An Intermission

The year is 2471, the month is March, the day is the third. A peerage of MAVERICK members, a class from 2470, have just acquired the rights to their own Neural Combatants as tweaked to their standards, their construction directed by the man named James Andala; a known master-eccentric of the craft. Old relationships, and the fleeting beginnings of new ones were both remembered and forged; chance encounters blossoming into new, slight bonds of familiarity. Adam Davion recognized an old co-worker and recieved a promise of cooperation from Ms. Nielsen; Friedrich and Hazel discussed the meaning of tarot cards, Azata initiated a rocky relationship with a mentor she didn't quite want, among others. But, their new lives continued.

Each of the new Linkers were provided a certain set of necessities by MAVERICK itself; but, they were all effectively free to their own lives. Mostly. A major exception to this rule was the fact they could only live wherever with MAVERICK approval; and by a quirk of fate they all eventually ended up in New-Maryland; a varied, yet temperate region bordering the Atlantic, at the east coast of the North Americas. Maryland as it is now was under the control of its own regime, centered about an independent city-state around the new Baltimore.

The notification they were to be sent here was provided by mail, either physical or electronic; shortly thereafter followed by a transport to their new home. The message, as it were, read effectively as thus;

MESSAGE FROM: 'XAVIER CROWLEY', DIRECTOR OF RESOURCES, MAVERICK
MESSAGE TO: NEW LINKERS
SUBJECT: TRANSFER ORDERS

Salutations to all new Linkers of our organization. I hope to see you comport yourself with good judgement for the greater interests of world stability. Nonetheless, I must notify you of your official posting; you've been transferred to New Baltimore on the east coast. Your NC will be transferred from its mooring at the GR-NCD to one of the three new MAVERICK bases in the state; expect it to be there by the time you arrive. When you do arrive you will be provided with the minimum items essential to your new life-style; a PDA connected to the MAVERICK network, a selection of your choice of housing considered trustworthy by our organization, and various miscellaneous necessities; including an assigned Handler who will act as an additional liaison to the main body of our organization.

You'll be considered official MAVERICK members as soon as you land. Due to this, you will be able to live as you please, within the rulings of MAVERICK. Your provided PDA, or any other secured electronic device that can access our network, will be where you can communicate with the rest of the organization for NC related functions, acquire mission-contracts, and converse with your peers electronically. You will start as a 'Fifth-Rate', or lowest class of pilot. Even though you will be considered a full-member, you are currently limited; expect only the simplest of mission offerings, such as a final performance test offered by MAVERICK itself.

Relatedly, be aware that you are in our debt. After taxes and regulations for your NC itself, the alotted housing, and provided necessities, you owe MAVERICK roughly six hundred million Inter-Corporate Dollars. All missions will have their pay docked by fifty percent until this sum is effectively eliminated, and you may deign to pay into this debt whenever you wish. Your assigned Handler will help with this matter. MAVERICK allots all new pilots several years to pay off this debt; and this is usually considered enough time with judicious budgeting and smart planning due to the high price of contracts.

I hope to see you achieve great things and help to maintain world peace. That will be all.

And with that, their new lives started.

We begin with the new Linkers starting to settle into their new homes, awaiting a meeting with their assigned Handler and perusing their new abode and opportunities.​

 

[Windsock]

The date was 2471, the Third of March. The place was an old place; from before the Great Disaster, reborn after the fires. The place was New Maryland; a simple place, not beholden to any greater power of any origin, a self-sufficient city-state, and its outlying territories. It did lay claim to the entirety of Maryland, calling itself a 'Republic of New-Maryland', but the Republic could hardly maintain order around the capital of Baltimore.

The capital city of the young Republic and the wide-area about it was certainly a nice place to live upon the surface; it had the same dangers and difficulties as anywhere else, but it was still a place where anyone could make a name or just a small fortune for themselves. It was a popular destination to visit, and easy enough to reach being as it was one of the few cities connected to the rest of the continent by way of one of the few highways extant Post-Disaster. The fact it was on the east coast and had several dockyards leftover from the Disaster just made it too easy. Add to that left-over oceanic development; most distinctly, floating platforms off the coast large enough to put neighborhoods on, and it was a fascinating place to live and work.

The Republic was doing well for itself and on the upturn; even if it had its fair share of problems that it couldn't solve on its own. This state of affairs was a fine opportunity for the world's one and only NC Guild, MAVERICK. As the Guild was expecting an entirely new round of pilots, it was already looking for somewhere to put them. Linkers are just too dangerous to let live just anywhere; so it had to pick somewhere in particular if it wanted to minimize the destabilizing effects of NC's, as is its stated mission. Balancing that with the fact that NC's are just too damn useful and everyone wants one was a delicate tight-rope, but MAVERICK has managed that for many, many long years already.

New-Baltimore was perfect for rookie Linkers, and MAVERICK knew this. A fine sweet spot between civilization and barbarity, the locale was, and just a few years ago MAVERICK began negotiations to develop bases and facilities here with the tiny government. A variety of pre-existing infrastructure already fit to transport heavy military machinery like NC's, the fact that the greater Powers already had embassies and corporate branches here, and it was just the thing. An easy time for MAVERICK administration itself, and an easy time for its member Linkers. A win-win for everyone, inside and out.

Except for the various minor, inflammatory actors such as pirates, brigands, and bandits that were going to get slaughtered, but nobody cared about them for good reason. There were a few separate groups; 'honest' pirates who strapped the biggest guns they could find to their boats coming from the Atlantic, the occasional band of technical-riding highway devils, and what's been theorized to be rogue elements from some Ruling Company or other that managed to keep actual military-grade equipment running skulking about.

It would be easy living, with easy contracts. And so, MAVERICK's newest round of pilots were all assigned here, one way or the other.

Episode 1: Landing, an Overture
Those new pilots were here for just a few days, living the start of their new lives but surely itching for action as they went through their early morning routines. They were living scattered, but all nearby; MAVERICK didn't give a huge variety of options on where to live. It boiled down to just the three, and each of them had a taker.

The first was a secure, yet opulent high-rise at the city center of New-Baltimore itself; a ten-story titan that was one of the most visually striking developments in the city; not to mention the on surface in general. It was fully owned and operated by a Ruling Company, Denver-Vegas Industrial, and was effectively a Burrow in miniature; a regional HQ in the basement, and the entirety of the upper floors a maze of luxury apartments, stores, and a top floor that was a commons area and world-class fine eatery at once. On the fourth floor were the apartments that MAVERICK negotiated to allow Linkers in; and one, room 4-14, was the one offered to Strueben, where he was living.

The second was owned by MAVERICK itself, but shared with General Requisitions who actually had it built; a tiny, gated suburban block far and away from the city's heart. It was a pleasant, fenced-in collection of amiable lots; a handful of two-bedroom flats in the exterior, revolving around some common services in the interior such as a single general store and the underground linear line that offered a private rail connection. The houses were really quite pleasant; only a single floor but a full, if small house nonetheless, built to very nice standards. There were a few people living here already, employees of GR, some MAVERICK affiliates, and three Linkers; Hazel, Adam, and Camille. They were all neighbors, at the far end of the block compared to the entrance road.

The final choice was the obvious one; living in a private barracks at MAVERICK's base itself. The dormitories available were great; as far as tiny, cramped barracks right in the middle of bases constantly beating with noisy machinery could be. But, they were cheap; and the base itself was interesting.

The base they were assigned to was a coastal fortress far to the north-east of the city. It was from before the Disaster: two docks side-by-side, one fully ready to be used in the modern era, and the other still being refurbished. Two thick steel wires extended into the ocean from two huge metal stakes rising from concrete fillings; anchoring an off-shore storage platform nearby that was lazily floating about in the gentle waves.

A small, black airstrip flanked the two dockyards, and a hangar was set beside it. The obvious hangar wasn't the one that contained NC's: the real goodies were stored underground. Seven large squares right beside the hangar were armored doors; underneath each was a bay, fit for an NC. And under there was effectively a second layer to the base; a train-station and NC maintenance hub all in one. Remote trains connected the fort to New-Maryland's networks, both public and MAVERICK's own private lines, bringing supplies to and fro that were lifted up by the unused seventh elevator, which didn't even have an NC gantry under it.

The barracks themselves were situated right betwixt the dockyards and the airstrip; basic, long cabins divided into individual rooms. There were three of these buildings, and the ends pointing at the NC's were set up as private abodes for the pilots wishing to stay alongside their machines. Niko Lancelot and Jennifer Peyton were two such pilots; with a vacant one in the middle.

It was only 6:00 in the morning, and the whole city was waking up. Later today, 1:00 P.M. was scheduled to be the first official meeting between this entire lot and their Handlers; converging at the base itself to discuss available contracts. Until then; it was just a morning routine in the lives they've made for themselves.

 

[Malphaestus]

FREDRICH-ALEXANDER VON STREUBEN
To some's surprise, he also responds to "Tower-Upright."

~~~~

What had it been? A few days at least, since he had begun his new life as an officially recognized Linker amongst the MAVERICK hierarchy. And all those days, practically, he had spent looking out the window on his flat apartment ordinately fitted within a grandiose complex of gargantuan proportion, at least by modern standards. He had never witnessed that many buildings as tall and vibrant as this one in his admittedly still short life, but he knew he fit in well within his own new home at the least.

A vibrant decor, highlighted by a fittingly white modern aesthetic with as many shades of white as there are recognized colours, with an adequate four room interior, and most importantly, balcony. How he had longed for one for all his life, sitting exposed to the sun and sky and winds of being elevated further above the surface than what his already tall disposition would normally allow him. With a past of service and homelessness, he had never quite been able to properly appreciate the view from above people. And he did indeed like it quite a lot.

He enjoyed it so much, in fact, that he would conclude his 8 hour outdoor smoking session only now, 6:30 in the morning, as he put out the bud on the ashtray in front of him on the coffee table, made his last longing gaze towards the horizon, and shuffled around the outdoor sofa and into the confined space of his rather lavish and expansive personal space by drawing the sliding door open and shutting it behind him promptly.

He couldn't have ever hoped for something like this with the measly payment of nationalism he had endured within the New Europa officer corps, and certainly not within his hometown or homelessness. He had felt complete for the first time in life, he felt the moment he had first entered the room, but now, some days since, he was left wanting. Not because of the complex's inadequacy, but because of something he could not properly put to words.

As he slowly strolled through his own luxury living, he passed the television and its accompanying news broadcast going on about corporate and national power-struggles, how familiar.

He did not know what to say about the fact that the news were the most soothing aspect of his living in this foreign land known as the Americas, so distant from his roots. But reckoned that 'stuff like this grows on you with time.'

As he finally made his way into the kitchen, an egregiously expansive facility fitted with both island space for complex cooking, but also a refridgerator and oven which seemed to know more about him than he, himself, did. Not that he minded it, in fact he enjoyed it greatly, because it allowed him looseness of mind and calmness of spirit. He could focus on the things which are important, and as he prepared to use the coffee brewer, he did just that, as the bean-beverage maker prepared his pre-programmed routine and he hovered over the kitchen island.

1:00PM,

An important date indeed.

Though, he did not quite remember the details.

All he remembered was the stationary pre-operation drills and statistical analyses he had performed on the newly christened 'Emperor' during his daily preliminary routine down in the hangar.

And as the coffee maker rang its blissful tune, Streuben smiled to himself in subdued joy.

The Emperor is the best card, after all, he thought as he looked over the island as he slowly trodded onwards into the corner where the cup was waiting.

The card lying squarely upon the surface which he was no longer circling.

~~~~

The Emperor
UPRIGHT: Authority, establishment, structure, a father figure.
REVERSED: Domination, excessive control, lack of discipline, inflexibility.​

 

[Viper Actual]

CHIMERA
​

Jennifer took another mouthful of water from her grey plastic bottle marked with a nametag that read J. Peyton.
As she lowered the bottle she took another deep breath in an attempt to lower her already rapid pulse.

Dressed in grey tights, a black sports bra and with a olive drab baseball cap marked with some sports brand Jennifer looked more like a lost jogger than a NC pilot as she leaned against the railing and watched the waves crash down unto the mix of metal and concrete below

Her hair had been tied into a neat bun just below the baseball cap though after a couple of grueling laps of sprinting back and forth several rebellious strands of hair had come loose. This, added with her sweaty skin reflecting off of her like a million beads in the sunlight, was a testament to Peyton's strict training regime.

A sudden alarm from her watch notified the pilot that she had an important meeting in just a few hours.

If she recalled correctly it had something to do with their handlers. Considering that there were ample time left Peyton decided to continue with her own parallel schedule which, right now, included heading back for the barracks to take a well-earned shower followed by breakfast and, if possible, a quick visit to her NC which she was yet to both name and provide with a unique heraldry.

 

[SkyHawk MK III]

The suburb that Hazel was assigned to was surprisingly nice and a welcome one to say at the least, especially with the couple of other Linkers to talk so she wouldn't go somewhat insane. Over the next few days, with her personal items and necessities all put away, her 6am wake up routine kept her mind focused. A 10-15 minute shower was taken before stepping out into the kitchen, fully dressed and ready for anything that the day would throw at her. Checking her watch, noting that in just under 7 hours, handlers would be chosen among other things, she had the time to think of a name and a heraldry to go with it for the her NC. Watching the TV the morning news rolling in, Hazel wolfed down her cereal and the mug of coffee that she made.

Turning back into her room and returning, Hazel pulled out a large, beefy container and set it down on the table in the living area, opening the container revealing numerous wires, explosives and all things that in the wrong hands could go boom. While it was preferable to be working in a much more safe environment, Hazel couldn't scratch that itch of wanting to work with her demolitions kit soon enough. Something that would probably come bite her in the ass someday, but for now, caution was thrown into the wind. With her hair pulled back into a bun, revealing the burn scar, she got to work.

Midday soon rolled around and as such, Hazel started to get everything prepared. Though the meeting was still only an hour away, it was better early than late. Cleaning up the table from working with the demolitions, she put it back into the closet. It was best to keep the thought of Hazel working with explosives in the house away from the minds of her superiors, lest a explosion occurred and MAVERICK wasn't going to be pleased with a dead NC and a 600 million debt on their hands. Checking that everything she had everything, she set off for the meeting.

 

[YsFanatic]

Life had never been this easy before. Sure no one was around to help Adam with day to day things, but MAVERICK had modified the house to suit his needs rather well. Majority of storage was in arms reach, appliances were placed at the correct height, furniture suitable for wheelchairs, and numerous other accommodations all helped to make his new home as comfortable as possible. Even better, he had been able to hire a cleaning service to take care of chores he wouldn't be able to do on his own. The part he was enjoying most of all however was the luxury of having an electric wheelchair that reclined. The fact that it had proper padding meant it was comfortable enough to take a nap in, something had found out entirely by accident while watching the evening news yesterday.

Today however, instead of worrying about the world at large or about the meeting he had later Adam was enjoying the simple pleasure of figuring out how he wanted to decorate the place. He had a few pictures he could put up, but not much else at the moment. He considered possibly getting some plastic plants and maybe a painting or two, but the tricky part would be figuring out what exactly to get and where to put it. With a quick glance at the time Adam realized that such thoughts would have to wait. While it was a while until the meeting was supposed to happen, he knew that he would have to leave earlier than the other Linkers to get there on time. But that didn't bother Adam as he was simply happen for things to get started. With an eager grin he started to get ready to head out.

 

[AnonyMouse]

New Baltimore. What a strange place. Cammy had been in town nearly a week, but spent the first few days on the base, tinkering with her NC, trying out Andala’s modifications and making some of her own. She already vastly preferred it over the simulators. Although Number 8 was still unpainted, patches of Cammy’s unique ‘art’ were slowly covering its body. She was confident she could get it completely coated in graffiti in a month or so, as long as she didn’t run out of paint and permanent markers.

The hangar was her playground and the technicians her playmates. They were super serious at first, but Cammy fixed that right away. It was impossible to be stone-faced in her presence. By the end of the first day, they were all on a first-name basis and by the end of the second, she had grizzled old combat-engineers doubled over in laughter. And, most importantly, they still got shit done. Cammy probably ran more tests than most of the other Linkers. Number 8 was in a constant cycle of testing, tweaking, more testing, more tweaking…

But it couldn’t last forever. On the third day, Cammy’s belongings finally arrived at her house in the suburbs. That was the real reason she hadn’t gone home; MAVERICK provided basic furnishings, but sleeping in a house that didn’t have her stuff in it just felt wrong. The first night, she didn’t sleep at all and stayed upworking on Number 8. The second night, she borrowed some blankets and caught four hours of shut-eye in a shipping crate. By the third day, it was starting to catch up with her.

Cammy had never had a home. She lived her life on the move, a nomad. But now she had a place of her own. She was anchored. Stuck. Trapped! The idea of that scared her a little, but, like all of her fears, she eventually chose to face it head-on. On the evening of her third day in New Maryland, Camille Azata went ‘home.’

* * *​

Camille awoke at 10AM to the sound of an enormous vacuum cleaner outside her house. Actually, it was an electric truck. The cooling fans on its huge electric motors were louder than the motors themselves, so they always sounded like hovercrafts to her. She hated that sound. It symbolized the death of everything she loved about engines and big trucks.

Despite having two suitable beds, she had slept on the couch (again). At the sound of the doorbell, she lazily rolled over, nearly tipping a half-finished bottle of whiskey and almost stepped in an open pizza box. “I’m comin,’” she grumbled as she got to her feet and stretched, like a feline awaking from a catnap, as she shuffled through the piles of moving boxes littering the living room. She was supposed to unpack them yesterday, but got distracted playing with the features of her smart house, which she quickly deduced wasn’t half as smart as it thought it was.

Cammy peeked through the blinds and saw a man in a business suit standing on her doorstep, with a clipboard. But what really caught her attention was the vehicle parked on the street: a flatbed tow truck carrying something large, under a tarp. The tow truck driver was standing by the controls, waiting patiently.

“No fucking way!” Cammy said as she snatched the door open, startling the man in the suit. She was fully awake now, bouncing on her heels and rubbing her hands together like a hungry squirrel. “They said it would be tied up in customs for a year! Oh my god, oh my god, ohmygod, ohmygaaaa…”

“Are you Miss Camille Azata?” the suit said, adjusting his glasses.

“No, I’m the queen of fucking England,” Cammy said as she snatched out her identification and flashed it in front of him. “Yes, I’m Camille! Geez.”

The man squinted at the ID, then at her face, then back at the ID. “Mhm, good.” Once he was satisfied, he made a hand signal to the truck driver, who began tilting the rollback to unload the vehicle. “Sign here, here, here, here, here, and here, and it’s yours Miss Azata.”

Cammy began reading through the thick stack of documents. Something about ‘after extensive inspection the New Maryland Department of Customs and Importation has deemed this vehicle fit for operation on public roads…’ blah, blah, blah. ‘A vehicle identification number has been affixed to…’ blah, blah, blah. ‘The following list of contraband has been deemed unfit for importation into New Maryland and has been removed from the vehicle…’ blah, blah blah.

Cammy tilted her head curiously as she gazed up at the man in the suit. “The fuck did you guys do to my truck?”

“Page five,” the man said dryly.

Page five was actually a three-foot long itemized list of everything they had done to make her truck ‘fit for importation into New Maryland.’ They added headlights and turn signals, because it had none… despite having an LED light bar, four fog lights, and running lights. They drained all of its fluids, including the air from the tires. Added seatbelts and airbags. Added a muffler and emissions control system. Added fenders and mudflaps because its huge, offroad tires were considered a rock-throwing hazard to other motorists. And they bolted number plates to the chassis, so it could be legally registered.

And the cost of all this important work? $22,346.39. Cammy felt her blood boiling and her hands balling into fists… until she read a little further down the page and found something interesting.

Administrative Discount: ___-$22,346.39___
Final Balance: ___$0.00___
[SUM PAID IN FULL]
Work Order Authorized By: ___E.F. Halliwell___
Payment Cosigned By: ___E.F. Halliwell___
Delivery Date Approved By: ___E.F. Halliwell___
Scheduled Delivery Date: ___March 3, 2471___

“You should consider yourself fortunate,” the man in the suit said as he waited for her to finish reading. “Normally, such an… abomination would be sent straight to the crusher. Someone was looking out for you.”

"I don't know anyone with a signature that fancy. Ain't no friend of mine," Cammy said in a low growl. "Why the hell did my truck have to go through customs anyway? We're still in America, right? What the hell, man?"

He stifled an arrogant little laugh, the kind of laugh that made her want to punch him in the face and strangle him with his necktie. "America?" the man in the suit said, peering down his nose at her. "No. This is New Maryland. There is no 'America' here."

Too angry for words, Cammy scribbled her name in all of the places it was required and shoved the clipboard back to him. “Just leave it on the driveway and get the fuck off my lawn.”

She had been waiting all week to say that. It put a small smile on her face, despite everything. On one hand, she was glad to have her truck back. It provided a small reminder of home. But, right now, she didn’t even want to peek under that tarp and see what they’d done to make it 'appropriate for the streets of Maryland.' Ugh.

Cammy slammed the door in his face and headed back inside to put on some coffee and ramen. The sound of the coffeemaker drowned out the infuriating sound of that damn vacuum cleaner unceremoniously dumping her truck on the driveway. A few minutes later, it was gone.

"Stay focused," she told herself as she stirred some sugar and whiskey into her coffee and cracked an egg into her instant ramen. It was still much too early to head to base, but after dealing with the customs agent, Cammy really didn’t want to be here right now. She still had a lot of unpacking to do, but knowing her truck was out there, on the driveway, was just too tempting. Cammy knew if she touched it, or even looked at it, she’d end up wrenching on it for hours and miss her one’o’clock meeting appointment.

An hour later, she was on her way to the train station.

 

[Windsock]

With their various schedules colliding once more as the clock crept to '1:00', all the new Linkers ultimately found themselves on the line to the base, and soon thereafter at the base itself. The private terminal's two lines entered the perimeter underneath the base; meeting at an array of elevators which happened to be the underground hangar which the actual NC's were currently stored.

Nonetheless, that wasn't quite what they were all here for. Not yet, anyway. One by one, or perhaps in little groups, the Linkers climbed topside through the stairwell or just used the sole unused elevator to get back to the surface; and they all moseyed on over to the designated meeting area. Another small building, isolated between the airstrip, the docks, and the barracks; an unassuming 'Operational Command Office', as it was officially called. But today, it was just a place to meet their Handlers. And as the clock truly hit the big '1', the door was flung open outwards by one of those individuals; and he looked like he just came off the set of a horror movie.

The deranged looking man sneered at the small assembly of pilots before him, and huffed, sounding like he was huffing gravel and marbles. "You dumb fuckers are lucky this time. Nearly late just to meet your damn Handlers..." , before he was brushed aside by another man that actually looked like he ate something in the past few months. Quite a few somethings, actually. Contrasting the guttural parody of an accent of his compatriot, the larger man was far more southern, quite nearly 'deep-fried', as he talked.

Waving away the situation, he told the new pilots, "-Forget about it, he's always this uptight. Come on, let's get all of yous situated. I'm Oswald, he's Malthus. I'm specifically assigned to a 'Lancelot', but I'm here for ev'rybody. Oh, Malthus was assigned to a Mister... Streuben?" he eyed the group, and seemingly got the faces he sought. "Damn, you're big.. Well, anyway, come in. All the rest are in there already; just a quick meet-and-greet and then we'll actually divvy up and fig're out the contracts ya'll are ready for. We got together already and figured there's only three that should interest yah for today."

Leading the group into a fairly large, airy room, quite a different collection of various personalities showed themselves. There was Sarah, from before; alongside two other women nobody recognized. All hard at work at hardly working; stuck waiting on the people that just came in. The other women were like night and day; a really quite obviously attractive woman, even though she was perhaps one of the oldest there; and an oddball who apparently didn't care one bit about the usual professional standards, at least the ones involving a dress code. Was that a left-over tourist's shirt..?

Still, Handlers called out names or otherwise found the ones they were to be assigned to, and every little impromptu group found a table to sit at and discuss the deeper particulars of each operation with their clients; but it was fairly obvious the three available to every Linker were really the same ones. The first was a very obvious 'final performance test', offered by MAVERICK itself; more specifically, the contract was filed under 'Xavier Crowley', a name that was familiar as the director of resources, whatever that meant. The contract was simple; rendezvous at a certain point, survive whatever's thrown at you, then go home. Apparently, two senior Linkers would be watching the event; it'd be a good opportunity to forge some connections...

The next contract was almost as simple, but it was an actual mission; rogue elements from one of the Ruling Companies seemed to have made a base nearby, and New Maryland acquired intelligence about the specifics, with help from the Ruling Company in question. A bog-standard 'go and smash this thing' that couldn't go wrong, but the enemies were real human beings who were quite likely not happy with the thought of dying. Actual military equipment was far more likely than scavenged weapons duct-taped to trucks, so it still promised to be a good test of strength.

The final contract available for today was even blunter; another from New-Maryland itself, or at least the department of commerce. It was downright simple; a shipment of some vital resource or other was scheduled to come in very soon; and the other mercenaries hired to protect it were about to check in. Meet up with the freighter, let the escorts pass the baton, and simply make sure it gets into port, preferably on time. Like the rest of the contracts, more information was available if specifically asked but this one hardly necessitated any questions, surely.

There was still time to discuss these contracts, and the air was sufficient to simply walk about and address anything with anyone in the room.

 

[Viper Actual]

The hours leading up to the meeting had been anything but eventful. Peyton's check-up on her NC had taken less time than estimated which was a direct side-effect of the technicians and their busy schedule rather than Peyton's own interest. Regardless she had been given enough time to start familiarizing with her machine and its equipment, as well as forming some basic ideas on how to best utilize it.

Afterwards she had done nothing but explore the base in an effort to get a lay of the land and establish her surroundings.

Once it was time for the meeting Peyton had been first on the scene, followed by Niko, as the two of them were the only ones that were quartered on-base. The time it took to venture from the hangars and up to the office went by quickly and without a hitch- at least that's what Peyton thought.

The initial scolding welcome from one of the handlers didn't really make an impact on her though she did wonder why the man's first move would be to scream at the Linkers like they were nothing more but mere grunts. Still, Jennifer maintained a neutral expression and shifted her gaze to the other handler whom seemed much more controlled and professional.

Sitting down to listen at the briefing, Jennifer intentionally seated herself at the front. She was a professional and ready for work, thus it would be a sincere shame if one of the handlers (especially her own) would mistake her for someone on the lazy-side. As the contracts were presented Peyton did take notes of all of them but eventually set her eyes on the escort mission. A solo mission to prove her worth was just what she needed.

Once the briefing was done Jennifer stepped to the side to finalize her notes. She looked up and watched one of the handlers, the somewhat curvy and attractive woman, approach and just as Peyton readied herself to greet her the woman steered off to chat with one of her colleagues.

Frowning slightly Peyton shifted her gaze and realized that another handler was coming her way. She looked kind and somewhat casual in her flower-patterned shirt, grey pants and general mannerisms. This has to be my handler.

Jennifer did not hesitate this time. She extended her hand and nodded. "Peyton, Jennifer."