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SEC Death Unit

MORTEM OPPETARE

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a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by Joseph_Bennett

Groups

"Take Hold of the Future, Your Future"

Description

I am a soldier. My skin is my armor. My face is my helmet. My name is my number. I am fulfilled, for I am an agent of the company.

"Force Operation Teams," or "Death Units," are PMC divisions inside the regular industrial and consumer arms producer, the SEC. They primarily work as recovery and termination specialists, and are some of the best private mercenaries when it comes to success rate, highly boosted by heavy investment in new technology and combat hardware.

They have a rough total of 30x12 (360) total soldiers at their disposal, and prefer not to be involved in large-scale battles for that reason. There are a total of 12 “Force Operation Teams,” each of which is specialized in different fields and which several may be selected from to perform specialist missions. Each team is divisible down to groups of 5 based on requirements of scenario. They are as follows -
FOT 1 - Security and Defense (On-ground) Simple defense specialists, often to protect individuals or assets from attack. Glorified well-trained security guards, occasionally seen around office spaces or protecting ground shipments.
FOT 2 - Security and Defense (Air Transport) Primarily specializes in air/space combat using fighter vessels.
FOT 3 - Security and Defense (Armored Vehicles) Armored transport or heavily armed stationary defense (using AA or the like) These are the guys inside the armored train to protect it, while FOT 1 is defending the stations and FOT 2 is defending from aerial attack.
FOT 4 - Search and Rescue (Human Assets) Rescue of essential live assets from dangerous situations or hostage rescue. Very impersonal, ignore other victims in favor of marked assets.
FOT 5 - Search and Rescue (Physical Assets) Usually simply rescue of a valuable prototype or information. Very violent, usually, as this is not usually a humanitarian mission and the asset is regarded above all.
FOT 6 - Search and Destroy (Live assets) Gruesome work, regarding non-sapient targets, such as monsters or natural/unnatural creatures. Some missions are simple, and require simple execution of low-threat enemies, but occasionally there is a major predatory intelligence. This team suffers some of the largest losses, but is also paid very well and given reduced payment when it comes to healing services or early-stage-reanimation (ESR).
FOT 7 - Search and Destroy (Physical Assets) Often a form of cleanup crew, sent after some information or other that needs to be destroyed to defend either an individual or company. They don’t deal in wetworks, but are still armed and carry explosive charges. Occasionally, they will be mixed with FOT 5 to collect the information or items to use as later blackmail.
FOT 8 - Assassinations (Low-Value targets) Usually targets that won’t be heavily defended, often civilians or former workers of companies that can’t afford heavy security. Occasionally, the team will pose as assigned security for the person, often a whistleblower. From here, it is a slow climb upward until you reach FOT 11 or 12.
FOT 9 - Assassinations (Defended Targets) Basically a graduation from FOT 8, where instead of shooting people as they hide in their home or commute to work, you go after opposing CEOs or Board of Executives. Basic Breach and Clear operations, and try to minimize harm to non-involved persons to prevent legal action (even though all of their work is heavily illegal, they just kill those who involve them in legal action and threaten those in government, which often works) and simply terminate groups of people or individuals.
FOT 10 - Complex Missions (Multi-Operation) Often work with multiple other FOTs to execute more complex missions regarding multiple-situation operations, sort of an administrative role as “officers” that oversee higher-level operations.
FOT 11 - Black Operations (Wetwork) Clandestine operations regarding termination of secret threats to the organization, often with either associates or threats with other organizations akin to law enforcement. This team is specialized in cloaked entry, often disabling surveillance through EMP charges or using light invisibility magic to cover their entrance and exit. They don’t fear repercussions, as in the field they have no names, with the sole exception of 11-AV, a figure revered in the death units for his extreme ability to respond to threats, giving him the green and red armor, marked with his name. Doesn’t exist in any records involving the company, receives orders directly from the Shadow Board.
FOT 12 - Black Operations (SND) Very simple operations, often involving the destruction of ships or vehicles, which could be carrying passengers. Efficient and ruthless elite unit involved with only the shadiest dealings. Does not exist in any records relating to the company, only takes directions directly from the Shadow Board, and is not for public hire due to the nature of the work, and the effect it could have on the reputation of the company.
FOT 13 - Black Operations (Abnormalities Operations) Highly specialized combination of FOT’s 11 and 12, involving unnatural occurrences, from supernatural beings to the old gods. No official record exists, take orders only from the Shadow Board. This division utilizes armor with blank faces and solid gray or black coloring. Utilize incredibly specialized equipment, including energy rifles that fire large orbs of self-sustaining plasma that effectively cut through anything until the energy disperses at a set distance.


Despite having been formed rather recently, the group holds a decent amount of power from their startup, but has the potential to crash and burn violently.




The working uniform of the SEC is usually a black and gray suit, and can be seen worn occasionally by members of the FOT on spec-ops missions, often concealing armor. It's occasionally tweaked when outside of regular conditions, such as extreme cold or heat, but sticks to the formula for the majority of time.

Image Image

Usual Equipment - Weapons
- C-CARS/C-CARA
Essentially an FN-SCAR chambered in .308 Corporate, a specialty ammunition made by the SEC. General-issue rifle among all low-scale operations and is a personal favorite among many of the lower FOTs for its reliability. There are two versions, semiautomatic and automatic, each with respective names, as well as the C-CARM, one with adjustable firing rate, although seeing it is rare, as many higher FOTs prefer other weapons. The C-CAR (Corporate - Combat/Assault Rifle) is generally a dependable rifle, although it can jam frequently if not properly cared for or if in weather conditions such as extreme cold or rain. A wide variety of attachments include NVG scopes, flashlights, IR laser sights, side-mounted grenade launchers, underbarrel shotguns, etc. 20 round magazine is standard issue, although there are higher-capacity issues.

- P-12C PDW
A simple 10mm handgun. Very compact form, and is capable of short burst fire, best utilized in close ranges because of its inaccuracy and distances farther than 30 yards (encouraging FOTs to use primary weapons at longer distances, saving resources). Ammunition is usually circumstantial, with everything from hollowpoint to light incendiary rounds. Essentially a low-capacity automatic pistol, although there are semiautomatic versions that are commissioned alongside it.

- SER
The "Specialty Equipment Rifle," the most modded rifle platform among Field Operation Teams 1 through 5. Very adaptable platform, essentially the faction's M4 equivalent. Very popular among security forces of the SEC, as well as lighter SND and SAR missions. Known to be dependable and very specialty-designed, and the standard hard-magnet attachments allow for quick adjustment in-field.

- SE-CK
"Specialty Equipment, Combat Knife." Easily one of the most used weapons among the black-ops groups. When unsheathed, a very quiet, dull whine can be heard, the sound of the battery in the handle causing the blade to vibrate. It causes extreme tissue damage on insertion. Some modified versions, used in very specific situations, replaces the vibrating blade for a CO2 canister that delivers a large burst of compressed gas on a button press out of the tip of the blade. The SEC is very adamant that this is never used in sentient-target work, and only in dealing with FOT 6 jobs regarding dangerous animals. Mix-ups are acknowledged, however, although this is doubtful.

Usual equipment - Gear

The usual equipment of FOTs vary across the organization. Usually, security work groups wear anything from grey suits and plate carriers to full plate armor. However, average combat-oriented units wear simple appropriate camouflage and plate carriers, always identified with the SEC Death Unit logo on the shoulders, a green skull with gas mask filters coming out of the jaw (Profile Picture).
Black Ops groups, however, are usually not identifiable and wear full-black body armor designed to conceal their features and offer protection from almost all energy and kinetic weapons, such as plasma rifles or disruptor blasts.
In certain cases, such as with BLACKOUT V or higher operations, the PMCs will wear specialized outfits and carry special equipment not made by the company, such as the Oberan AK600 and PKM-21, as well as several handguns of varying make.

So begins...

SEC Death Unit's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: SEC Death Unit Character Portrait: The Kreznik
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There's a light but steady crunch as a dozen masked individuals walk through the forest. They all wear flat, black colors, seeming military, but with no identifiable markings beyond the letters SEC etched in silver on their shoulder plates. One of them, in the center, is followed by a hovering box, about half the height of a person, in which a light thud can be heard over the hum of the hovertech, followed by a larger buzz and a muffled cry.
They steadily walk through the forest, rifles at ease until they hear the song. Slowly, the lead individual raises a fist, and those behind them halt, coming to a quick stop before the signal is given to regroup. They each move to be closer to the people around them, forming a triangle, the box in the center.

"10-Charlie to TOC, we have an unidentified noise coming from somewhere. Continue with extraction?" the front individual whispers into a radio.
The radio buzzes with static in all of the member's earpieces with a response. "TOC to FOT-10, do you have eyes on the origin of the noise?"
"Copy, turning on ORDs to scan." Each of the soldiers press the lense of their face shields, and with a click, they begin to scan their surroundings, rifles raised.
"The fuck's that grinding noise?" one of the soldiers whispers to the person next to them, met with a shrug. Across from them, one guy raises his hand, throwing up a fist and then pointing. All of the Death Unit immediately turn, some crouching to allow for those behind them to get a bearing on the target.
The guy who called in the sighting whispers to the officer"Fuck, UL, ORD's are going fuckin haywire just staring at this thing. Can't get a solid recog," as the unit leader raises his hand to his ear to call it in.
"TOC, we have eyes. Distance is forty yards, armed with greatsword. Coming straight at us. Uh, fog is... following them... Sending visual.
"Copy, 10-Charlie. Visual received, hold ground until extraction. 20 minutes until FOT-13 can be there."
"FOT-13? Why the hell-" one of the soldiers says before being cut off by TOC again. "Be warned, FOT 10, base Optical Recognition System says this is almost definitely anomalous. Refrain from engaging unless absolutely necessary. Respond with Anti-Armor if provoked. Keep captive secure above all else. TOC out."
At the finishing of this sentence, all of the soldiers immediately and silently drop their magazines and replace them with ones marked with red tape, pulling the container into the center of their two-layer semicircle.
"Safeties off."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: SEC Death Unit Character Portrait: The Kreznik
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The enigmatic figure continued their advance for a short distance, seemingly paying no heed to the soldiers stationed ahead. Abruptly, they came to a halt, with a slightly jerky motion. The lullaby stops, replaced with a vague and somewhat confused wheeze. The figure exhibited an odd, twitching motion as the encroaching fog swirled around her feet, causing her to seem to stand even taller. Her neck contorted, first tilting to one side and then to the other, while her inscrutable eyes seemed to acknowledge the presence of each soldier. Finally, her gaze settled on the enigmatic box before her.

In a moment of confusion, though difficult to discern through those inky voids and her featureless mask, she emitted a strangled, choking sound, almost like a suppressed exclamation. Lifting her makeshift blade, she directed it toward the enigmatic box, the trembling of her muffled breaths now audible as they escaped her concealed form. She slowly turned her head to the side, her obscured gaze directing her attention downward through the blade's edge. Her slight tilt of the weapon seemed to convey a sense of curiosity about it, or perhaps a silent demand for an answer.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Aschen Marine Character Portrait: SEC Death Unit Character Portrait: The Kreznik
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"What the FRAK is on the wide spectrum!?"

A raised fist brought everyone in the seven man group of Imperial Aschen marines to a standstill, they were wearing a faded dark green fractal camouflage pattern, along with their armored vests, gauntlets, and knee guards. Bounding overwatch through the trees, the Marine sergeant stopped to try and get a better look, eying through the trees with high-power auspex wide-spectrum goggles. Squinting, he couldn't make out the shapes.

"EVE, I need an analysis."

"Unable to comply, orbital data is missing, immediate tactical situation has too many variables."

"Right, weapons hot." He whispered, before moving his fist into two fingers, then he gestured forward as the Marines moved silently through the forest, and using the fog to their advantage, shrill electronic whines shrieked through the forest.

Following the shrill whines, there was silence.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Aschen Marine Character Portrait: SEC Death Unit Character Portrait: The Kreznik
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Seeing the Kreznik react to them in such an abrupt way, the group takes a single step back before one shoulders their rifle, aiming downrange before being slapped by the guy next to them.
"Fuck. That was a reaction," one of the men whispers, before the group erupts into chatter.
"What do we- Wait, fuck, one sec.""Shit, Charlie, we need to-" "Hey, someone call TOC-"
"CLEAR COMMS," comes the command from Charlie, the Unit Leader, and all immediately go silent.
"Echo, try talking to this fucking thing," orders Charlie, and a smaller man stands up from his kneeling position lowering his rifle as he withdraws a recorder from his vest, pulling down the lip of his balaclava as he does so. He turns slightly, looking at the Unit Leader, and whispers urgently, "What the fuck do I even say?" before being lightly shoved by the man behind him so that he stumbles forward, quickly letting his rifle fall onto his harness.

He holds out the recorder in front of him, and says, "Hello, we're the SEC Field Operation Team Ten. We're escorting a, uh, package out of here. We don't want any trouble, we'll be on our way sh-"
He's interrupted by a screech, causing him to drop his recorder before quickly stepping back into the line, fumbling with his rifle. The group is still for a moment before the crackle of comms interrupts them. "TOC to FOT-10, you have potential threat inbound from the fog. Audio analysis picked up disruptor charging, hold point. Radio beacon on, extract is in 18 minutes."
The group immediately rushes into action, six of them holding the Kreznik and the fog behind her at gunpoint, tightly gripping their weapons, as the others rush to activate a cylinder-shaped object that quickly projects a flat rectangle of white light in front of the forward line, seemingly some form of shield.

One of the soldiers, emboldened by the shield, yells out to Kreznik. "Hey, fuckin' metal face! Tell your buddies to fuck off, we ju-" He gets a stern look from Charlie, and quietly mumbles to himself before tightening his grip on his rifle, a SCAR-like platform with several mounted attachments, all painted a flat green and crimson.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Aschen Marine Character Portrait: SEC Death Unit Character Portrait: The Kreznik
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"Unidentified Xenos, twelve o clock, EVE I need an analysis!" The Sergeant hissed as something lit up on his auspex. "I've got energy surges, looks like shielding, we might have been had... we need to go loud!" He crouched low and signaled his other men to take position around cover, and behind the trees amidst the dense fog. "Multiple hostiles, directly ahead, one confirmed Xeno and possible local forces, we have the advantage."

"One shot one kill, conserve your fusion cells." The Sergeant whispered. "Weapons free, take them out so we can advance to the next objective."

Everyone acknowledged the order, and used their high powered holographic sights to pierce the dense fog and make out the soldiers and the unknown entity in the distance. A young corporal fired first, and the SEC Death team would be alerted to their presence first by a green flash that pierced the dense fog, immediately followed by a deafening crack as trees splintered into fiery chunks that spread all over. There was a second green flash, and another Disruptor bolt seared overhead, striking another tree in the distance, and splintering it. These inaccurate, and somewhat wild spread pattern indicated that the Aschen were perhaps near the Disruptor rifle's max range of about five hundred meters.

The cracks were muffled, a third streak of green light struck the ground in front of the barrier, leaving a pool of molten fulgurite that quickly cooled to ambient temp.

Under cover of fire, the team of Marines slowly began to advance, one group covering the other, using their weapons to try and garner the slightest hint of enemy suppression.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Aschen Marine Character Portrait: SEC Death Unit Character Portrait: The Kreznik
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The Kreznik's form twitched and swayed as she continued to manipulate the blade, gradually lowering it while observing the smaller man's approach. A curious wheezing and rattling noise emanated from her concealed form. As the man spoke, she made no immediate response, appearing to listen intently. However, the atmosphere grew tense as shrill whines filled the air, and her head snapped upwards in response. The fog surrounding her churned, and she emitted a hollow grunt, followed by a sharp exhale that produced a steamy haze, resembling hot breath in cold air, escaping from the sides of her mask. She seemed to no longer regard the SEC soldiers and instead turned the direction the sounds came from.

The Kreznik, while not initially concerned with these individuals, now saw them as obstacles and distractions. These were not the subject of her grudge, but that wasn't to say they were untainted. Far from it. But beyond that, she smelled something familiar, irritating, an itching feeling, making her twitch again as she cast vague eyes at the box again before shifting back a gaze, the fog swirling her form. The mysterious box was... a curiosity, leaving her to wonder what its contents might be. The situation was increasingly growing... noisy.

Then... the sound of something... a hiss, as something zips by, the fog disrupted, swirling, a green beam of light piercing it creating small rolls. A smell of ozone catches her nostrils even behind the mask. Those vague eyes, the senses, heightened, could catch it, a glimpse, and it was... hot? Magic? No. It was something very much of the tangible realm. Tech weapons. Another zips by, and another, soon there were trees being splintered by the volley, and yet the Kresnik stood, swaying just to avoid being hit, judging by each flash. Being hit, even for her would be unfortunate. An irritated wheeze escaped her as she weighed her choices, her enemy was not of mortal flesh, despite how tainted their souls were. This was less than ideal. And that box.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Aschen Marine Character Portrait: SEC Death Unit Character Portrait: The Kreznik
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As the molten metal beams zip and fizz overhead, the unit quickly erupts into motion. One of the soldiers presses a switch on the side of the box, dropping it to the ground to prevent it from being struck, with a cry from inside of it, seemingly in pain. There's shouting for long-range, and all of the soldiers quickly switch their ORDs to thermal view, allowing them to see outlines of the Marines. They each get down onto their stomachs, some just lowering themselves to their knees, and begin to return fire.
The rounds they fire, 308 Corporate, are specialty designed by their own company to function well at long distances and to break through armor, primarily in assassinations. There's no issue with range, and they begin to return fire in bursts from each section of the group, doing their best to strike center mass from the distance of 500 yards.
"Do NOT fucking shoot that creep with the horns," commands Charlie, and the group does their best to divert their fire past the Kreznik.
A bolt strikes the shield, flinging flecks of fulgurite through that strike some of the soldiers on their helmets and backs, burning slightly before cooling.
"TOC, we need firepower on extract, get in some Tyrant choppers or something, we fucking need them!" the unit leader yells into his mic.
"TOC to FOT-10, we'll be sending in FOT-11 and 12 to assist, but extract time has been pushed back six minutes. We're doing our best."
One of the soldiers crawls over to the UL, and pulls down the lip of his mask to yell into his mic over the bursts of gunfire. "SIR! WE NEED PERMISSION TO USE THE GRENADES!" The unit leader gives a moment thought and then nods, pressing a button on his headset three times. Four operatives raise themselves to their knees, pulling shortened grenade launchers from their belts that they attach to the side of their rifles. In sync, they all raise their guns and fire a volley, throwing forward four high-explosive rounds that detonate midair about seventy yards from the Aschen troops, and then move to reload.
"Extract in 22 minutes, FOT. Hold your ground."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Aschen Marine Character Portrait: SEC Death Unit Character Portrait: The Kreznik
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As the unknown squad returned fire the sergeant cringed as he moved quickly to try and find cover from the hail of bullets that were incoming. His weapons weren’t suited for engagements at these ranges and with the low visibility they were faced with, and as bullets struck trees, and ground alike which kept his men huddled behind cover, he had to act quickly while grenades began detonating all around him.

I am unable to vector any assets to assist you at this moment, but I have began analyzing the enemy communication frequencies, and have analyzed their equipment… standby I will begin electronic countermeasures.

Quickly, and cleverly EVE Concocted a feint to try and get them to either pause, or disengage from the Imperial squad, using their communication systems, she began to send uncoded bitstream signals in the hopes the SEC squad or their handlers would be listening.

Attention all available Imperial fleet assets, strike team under attack by unknown enemy hostiles, please vector orbital strike assets to these coordinates… After a brief pause, a male voice would soon be heard. EVE, acknowledged distress signal, Punisher Class Battleship, Pugilist Grenadier is vectoring for orbital strike, standby for coordinate lock and heavy support… Making it seem to those listening in that the Marine team was calling for an orbital strike from a capital ship that may or may not exist, a plan that would aim to give them pause.

Failing that, the Demolitions specialist began creeping over an earthen berm as he leveled the sights of his 90mm Fuel Rod Cannon on the shimmering barrier in front of them. Serving as a spotter, and using a special wide spectrum scope to cut the fog, the Designated marksman honed in the sights of his beam rifle, and fired a single shot, sending a powerful, and brilliant pink beam of light searing towards the heads of one of the SEC Personnel, only to have the beam become distorted by the fog, and burrow through the thick trunk of a nearby tree.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Aschen Marine Character Portrait: SEC Death Unit Character Portrait: The Kreznik
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The Kreznik found herself in the midst of a battle between two factions, and as she observed the chaos around her, she couldn't help but wonder what had sparked this conflict. Perhaps it was a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Regardless, she was burdened by the situation and the chaos that surrounded her. Her fog, at the very least, served as a deterrent, preventing further loss of mortal life in this already blood-thirsty land. But even that, as disruptive to tech, magic, and simple visibility alike, would only work so well. Either persistence or demoralization would win. Perhaps she could help push it in towards the latter.

As the Kreznik planted her blade into the ground, her form began to merge with the swirling fog. The mist itself took on a life of its own, pulsating and moving as if it had become sentient. Within the fog, vague humanoid silhouettes appeared, moving in a synchronized and eerie dance within the forest. Stilted motions, twitching, warping with the pulses in the fog. At first it was only a few, but as this goes on would increase.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Aschen Marine Character Portrait: SEC Death Unit Character Portrait: The Kreznik
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"They're on our fuckin comms system!"
One of the SEC units yells out to his comrades, "HEY! TARGET THE ORIGIN OF FIRE!" and immediately the wielder of the fuel rod cannon is met with a barrage of bullets and a two launched grenades that explodes above his head.
10-Charlie quickly reacts to the message received by contacting TOC. "TOC, you receiving that shit?"
"Copy, FOT. Switch shielding to overhead bubble, high concentration. Doing ASR scan now."
One of the men crawls over to the shielding beacon and pulls two levers, aiming the shield slowly overhead and then condensing it, which all of the soldiers move under before it turns into a half-sphere.
"Sir, battery says we have only 11 minutes left with this thing, what do we-"
"Shut the fuck up, I'm thinking," commands 10-Charlie, and the rookie turns and begins to return fire.
"Hey, Delta, do you have any leftover SMAW rockets from the takedown?" "Yeah, let me dig it out."
One of the units, spotting the sudden increase in silhouettes in the fog, notices that the Kreznik has disappeared. "Oh, fuck, uh, U-L! We have a FUCKING PROBLEM!" The unit leader turns from his crouched position, and seeing the outlines of humanoids, whispers an oath to himself. "Fuck, need immediate- NEED IMMEDIATE ILLUMINATION, LOAD STARBURST ROUNDS!" The soldiers with grenade launchers quickly load white phosphorus grenades, firing them into the air above the fog, quickly illuminating the area with streaks of burning light.
"TOC, situation is getting out of hand. Need air support fast, consider anti-air fighters."
"Sorry, FOT-10, we can't move any faster. AAF is not an option, mission is supposed to be quiet. Evac is in 17 minutes, get to the extract point ASAP."

"WE CAN'T FUCKING MOVE, YOU-" 10-Charlie shouts into his mic before being cut off by a loud buzz of the line going dead.
"FUCK!"
The Death Unit begins to slowly concentrate fire towards the disruptor rounds, some of the soldiers dropping out to change magazines, two of them carefully loading a SMAW rocket launcher.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Aschen Marine Character Portrait: SEC Death Unit Character Portrait: The Kreznik
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So far while everyone was pinned down, there seemed to be no casualties, and the sergeant was hard at work trying to figure out how to mount an advance as rounds were striking all around him. The fog was beginning to change, and warp, entities forming within which distracted the Marines, and stray disruptor bolts whizzed into the fog in attempts to strike out at the entities out of a primal fear of what was coming.

"Hold your fire!" The Sergeant called out, raising his hand causing his men to duck further into cover and cease firing their weapons which granted the Death Squad a brief reprieve, even as both the Anti-Armor and Marksman both were suppressed by the hail of incoming fire.

"We need to flank them." The Sergeant whispered as he unclasped a spherical device from his load bearing vest, a powerful ECM Grenade designed to break an enemy's line of sight. Hurling it with all his strength, the grenade detonated between their positions releasing a charged chaff that was intended to jam thermals, and most other forms of sights, hopefully blinding them for a short time as the Marine Sergeant waved his hand, and directed his men to move immediately south, and perpendicular to the SEC Team to acquire a better field of fire.

Their weapons silenced, and the smokescreen up, the Marines began to move slowly away from their position, using the low visibility conditions to their advantage, even if the figures in the fog were frightening. "Only open fire if attacked, we must not give away our position."

Setting

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Character Portrait: Aschen Marine Character Portrait: SEC Death Unit Character Portrait: The Kreznik
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0.75 INK

As the silhouettes moved in the fog the light of the bursts of the white phosphorus grenades illuminated some form of smooth white figures, only humanoid by standing on two legs and having two arms, faceless and literally congealing out from the fog itself. Their opaque forms were thick enough that light was absorbed, illuminating their uncanny shapes. Some writhing, some contorting, as they moved, vague eyeless faces turned to each person as they moved in a disjointed writhing dance. Despite their lack of any visible mouths and nostrils, a cacophony of breathing became the new ambience of the forest, along with sickeningly wet steps upon the earth.

Image

As this chaos unfolded, the form of the Kreznik seemed to... no, did manifest from the fog, having repositioned behind the SEC. With course breath, more frustrated than before, she outstretched her hand once again and pointed at the box pumping arm more furiously, a guttural utterance emitted from behind the mask. She then outstretched another arm, and with a grinding sound etched with a finger deep into the trunk of a tree, one word:

"WHAT"

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Aschen Marine Character Portrait: SEC Death Unit Character Portrait: The Kreznik
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1.00 INK

The Kreznik frozen in place meets eyes-to-eyeholes with the rookie, and for once now gives him particular focus. As around, the SEC shoot the fogged forms, them falling to the ground in a manner too reminiscent of dying humans, albeit bloodless and only a vapor escaping the holes in their bodies, before writing a bit and twitching before bursting into a fine steamy mist. It was as if they both are and aren't, a vague existence as their very being itself is vague. Aside from that, they seemed unaffected by the flashes of light and loud noises of gunfire, lacking eyes and ears, fittingly only sensing, perhaps, by vibrations in the mist, or maybe even more eerily, by sensing life itself. As they were shot, as if triggered by the aggression began to rush the marines and SEC alike who were further away from the Kreznik. Manifested as they were by her, they seemed to operate only on a very basic automatic impulse.

The Kreznik, after hearing the rookie's explanation finally moved, leaning in closer to him, practically hovering over him as the obscured face was only centimeters from his own, and, taking a hand lifted the mask slightly, just enough to reveal grayed skin and chapped lips, though, strangely, quite human. A hissing exhale of steamy breath, then inhales again, readying to finally speak, it seemed.

"Tai-nt-ed..." a strangled hissing whisper escaping tortured lips, a statement, not a question.

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Character Portrait: Aschen Marine Character Portrait: SEC Death Unit Character Portrait: The Kreznik
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Moving slowly through the fog, the squad of Imperial Marines kept their voices hushed while listening in on the communication from the SEC. They considered the comms for a moment, and all of them looked to each other. Seemed to them to be a local Terran force.

"This is the 2nd Marine Squad, Imperial Aschen Navy, it is you who are outnumbered and outgunned, challenge us at your own peril. Disengage if you wish to live." The message was stern, and heavily accented with a strange lilting accent. While the EM Chaff began to dissipate, the men had already moved, bobbing and weaving through the mysterious shapes in the forest.

"Switch to Antimana, give it a try, see if we can disperse these things while our enemy considers their options." The Marine said quietly as he unfastened a chrome sphere from his load bearing vest, and tossed it into the fog as hard as he could. Following a three second delay, a powerful disruptive antimana pulse fired outwards in all directions, in hopes it would disperse the creatures that were closing in on them.

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Character Portrait: Aschen Marine Character Portrait: SEC Death Unit Character Portrait: The Kreznik
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"Alright, you heard them. Easier to send an apology, I guess."
There's a general nodding from around the interior of the barrier, a clock ticking down on the rod stuck in the ground.
Eight minutes.

The Unit Leader, 10-Charlie, does a quick mental assessment of the situation.
They've run through around 28 magazines, each 20 rounds. They don't know if they've hit anything beyond the visual confirmation of targets dropping. There's a zombie or something at the back of the protective barrier breathing down the back of their necks, and they don't want to shoot that thing for obvious reasons. The airstrike that was called in by the Imps wasn't coming, he figures, as TOC would have called it in already. Well, unless they killed comms, but that meant they couldn't talk to them in the first place. There were... things... in the fog, and they seemed to go down with a shot or two. The objective was safe, so if they could keep it that way, then they could get out of here. The Imps seemed to have thrown a grenade, by the smell it was probably something anti-maj, so maybe that would help.
"Fuck," he whispers, running his hand over the top of his helmet.
"Alright, team. Kill the shield and set it to widening, high freak. Rifles loaded, we're getting the fuck out of here."
He calls the rookie over to work the shield, holding a hand up to signal the timing, as the rest of the Death Unit load their C-CARS with fresh magazines.
"SEC to 2nd Marine Squad, sounds good. We'll be disengaging shortly, have fun with this. Security and Exchange Company FOT-10 out."
He gives the signal, everyone withdrawing to close in on the barrier rod, forming a tight circle around it, one of them taking the time to activate the containment cube. The force shield slowly withdraws, the light making it up dimming as it does so, until it's a close circle around the soldiers. Then, unexpectedly, it brightens tenfold and widens drastically, forcefully shoving even the fog backwards as it continues to widen, likely the Kreznik as well. "Alright, MOVE, MOVE, MOVE," shouts the UL, and the soldiers uproot the stake and begin to sprint with it across the woods in an attempt to make a path to the outer edge of the fog. The units, shooting and moving, do their best to clear out the figures in the fog before they hit the barrier, the timer rapidly ticking down as they sprint towards the clearing across the treeline.

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Character Portrait: Aschen Marine Character Portrait: SEC Death Unit Character Portrait: The Kreznik
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The Kreznik experienced a momentary surprise, a guttural grunt escaping her as she collided with an unexpected barrier. Frustration etched across her otherwise inscrutable features, she steadied herself, determined not to yield control of the situation. As the obstacle ceased, the target she pursued started to move along with the mercenaries in their retreat. Disregarding the approaching adversaries that effortlessly dispatched the feeble fog spawn with their various advanced weaponry, she pushed forward to steadily match the pace of the target. She didn't need to actively act as an aggressor, simply outlast. All the while her blade seemed to move of its own accord, grinding against the earth towards her.

Extending her arm, she nonchalantly seized the hilt of the blade, dragging it along as she followed in the wake of the shielded target. The question loomed in her mind: What purpose did these mortals have with a tainted being? Did they not understand the risk or did they just not care?

Meanwhile, the fog, which had been an extension of her essence, moved in tandem with her. The manifestations within it met their demise easily against the firepower of the Aschen marines, but their purpose, along with the distorting fog, was only to delay their approach anyways. Sooner than later that distance was shortening, however.

The setting changes from Lornaine Forest to Region 67

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Character Portrait: Exogarden Forces Character Portrait: SEC Death Unit Character Portrait: The Question Character Portrait: Tendias Character Portrait: Tezon Character Portrait: Shenoru Kentabe
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Security and Exchanges Company
Combined Field Operation Team 12-13
Kurdi, Garden Zone, Sagittarius Arm
22,834 lY from SEC Paramount-2
Local Time: UNCALIBRATED


“It was freezing. Bare rock, ice, snow. I felt blessed, almost, when I first saw the surface from the ship, the palette of blue and white giving me chills. It was like it was telling me, or warning me, about the planet itself. It was haunting, but beautiful.”


Thirteen mercenaries.
They were each paragons of company training, every one of them having spent longer than six years in the programs that the SEC offered, and the best, at that. They were the elite, but they didn’t look the part, each seeming more similar to a white-collar worker, with a quiet, sober feeling apparent in all of their faces and the air around them.
Some of them stood, others sat quietly, but they were all close together, grouped around a minimalist seating area. A few were lightly resting, leaning on the backs of the others reading magazines or sitting quietly with wired earbuds plugged into their ears. Each of their jackets had their names, sprawled across their backs and on the breast of the coats, followed by a small circle-and-bar logo with the company letters stitched carefully over them.

“Waller. Hey, Waller.”
One of the mercenaries, dressed in the plain gray parka and pants, same as the others, grips onto an older comrade’s shoulder, shaking him slightly from his sleep. The man, Waller, holds his eyes closed for a moment, then snaps them open, tilting his head slightly to look into the younger coworker’s face. He says nothing, just looks expectantly at the boy.
“We’re not going to get boxed up by the soldiers here, right? They don’t mind if we’re carrying… cargo with us?”
Waller thinks for a moment, then responds. “Well, son, if they’re doing cargo checks I’d assume they’d be looking for things like our hardware. I don’t know if they specifically care, though. Were you sure to ask Command-” “No, Command hasn’t gotten back to us since our ship hit the docks. Is that a usual thing?”

Waller doesn’t respond for a moment, but points at one of the drones some distance away. “Ask them.”
It wasn’t long until they had to board the Elevator, and the mercenaries aware of that shook awake some of the others, each rising silently and picking up their bags from the pile they had beside the bench-like structure. Hall, the fellow who had woken Waller, walks unsurely over to one of the drones that isn’t preoccupied, and pauses awkwardly in front of it.
“Uh, hello. I’m Ben Hall, with the Security and Exchanges PMC group. We were contracted to show up here, on, uh, Kurdi, and we brought along with us some firearms and combat hardware. We don’t have any in our carry bags or anything, but they’re in some of the containers we sent ahead of us for… freight shipping, or something. Are those going to be OK? I mean, will we be able to pass because of it?”

The other mercenaries, standing some distance behind him, are gathered around, staring up at an airscreen. A woman, the name “Bailey” across her parka, turns to Waller and quietly asks, “Did the management board for this mission even brief us on what ship we’re leaving on?”
Waller shakes his head, then whispers back, "I don't even know who we're supposed to meet here."
Turning and addressing the group, Waller raises his voice and asks, "Has anyone gotten in touch with an Administrator board, or the briefing team from Command?"
There's no response from anyone in the group.
"Great."

The setting changes from Region 67 to Deep 17 Station Metatron

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Character Portrait: SEC Death Unit Character Portrait: Lucius Lamech Character Portrait: Hayden Addler Character Portrait: Bashemath Addler
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Company Time - 0822
██/██/2597
RFOT ██-██
Relevant Parties: SEC Reduced Field Operation Team ██-██, Faction of Interest #0983 (“Deep 17, D17”), Subreality ██████████ Entity Group #2214 (“The Fomorians, █████”)
Briefing: Contractors representing █████ came to the SEC with a hire to infiltrate Space Station "Metatron" and execute Administrator L. Lamech and Researcher H. Addler, both of the Paranormal Handling Organization “Deep 17.” Due to █████ being a Class 96 Dread-Type Entity, previous dealings with the Fomorians, and Deep 17 being an organization known to harness Class 80+ Abnormalities, status is BLACKOUT V. No contact with RFOT will be made after mission briefing. Team must be psychically deafened or incapable of aura-detection/telepathy contact to prevent detection and discovery of company involvement. ██-██ must remain uncontacted for a period of 2 months post-mission to facilitate nondiscovery. Failure to complete the mission and relevant requirements will result in █████ ████ ██████████ and atomization of relevant files and equipment.
Insertion in 0008.


It was very unlikely anyone would come out of this alive.

Still, they sent their best, equipped with what would pass as commercial gear. No company hardware, no company support beyond the insertion 9 light years away. The distance was rapidly closing with every passing minute, spent inside a “stolen” 578-R Space Transport, something from the space that still remembered the old Republic.
The ship was a junker, the gear was subpar. They had to wear what passed for “terrorists,” a ragtag collection of weathered industrial-orange mining fatigues and khakis, as well as the deep-rooted balaclava.
There was nothing that could identify them. Nothing that could show company involvement, either. Literally every square centimeter on everything inside the junker, including the people, had been scrubbed of any identifying features.

Nobody wanted to do this, but it was a rock and a hard place for the company. Whoever, no, whatever it was that contracted the SEC, they made the “deal you can’t refuse,” namely, “do or die.” The SEC would like to ask for help, but they got where they were by solving their own problems. The issue now was seeing which side was harder stone.

On the practical side of things, it was at least, however slightly, feasible. They were going into this utterly blind at what gear their D17 opponents had, what level of security, their training, what they even looked like.
But they knew what they were doing. They had killed people before, each of the five mercenaries serving for at least a decade in a company where life was only worth the payment made to the bereaved, on either side of the gun barrel. They had trained for any situation, any circumstance or task. They weren’t superhuman, nowhere close to the soldiers of the Apparatus, the Aschen, or the many, many aggressors across the known universe and beyond. But they were good. They were forged for conflict.

Sitting in the dark cabin of a speeding shuttle made one think.

Two minutes until they hit.

They were now no longer a Field Operation Team, they were the Sons of Yarovit. The cover was as realistic as could be managed in the time frame. They were terrorists, with the intent and purpose of “destruction of causal reality.” There were even a couple copies of a “manifesto” inside the ship, in case of total mission failure, and a few of the newly-made terrorists carried it with them.
Each of the team slides on a black and gold armband depicting a crude shield, and stands arrayed around the ejection surface of the ship. Gripping tighter onto their K’lath-made AK600s, a generic armament especially seen in the Oberan civil war, they stand ready, braced for impact.

Thirty seconds.
The ship, still decelerating from the hyperspace travel, speeds past the outer ring of the station, going at near-untrackable speeds towards the docking bay. Speeding down the short opening and through the inner barrier, the ship scrapes against the walls of the station several times, eventually slowing enough to come to a scraping stop against the floor of the docking bay.

It sits there, resting.
Time.

The setting changes from Deep 17 Station Metatron to Region 67

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Character Portrait: Exogarden Forces Character Portrait: SEC Death Unit Character Portrait: Tatseen Hahn
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The sturdy automaton was blanked faced until a voice brought it to life, a shimmering line zipping across the droid’s rectangular eye. There was a soft chime that came from somewhere in the dense machinery of its chassis. “Please standby … “ A moment later, the large screen mounted on the droid’s chest flickered on. “Welcome, mercenaries, your Trader status has been classified and you will be permitted to maintain your weapons. The SEC has been hired on behalf of the Kola Shield Defense Forces, in anticipation of Red Blizzard operations in the Ice Shield province.”

On the chest-mounted display, various data scrolled forth, haptic systems allowing all the briefings and operations to be downloaded at will and stored later within encrypted storage. The most important being the transfer orders alongside a supply platoon delivering a fresh supply of weapons and equipment to the planet down below.

Then off down the main concourse the short beep of a horn sounded, throngs of civilians parting way for the Pygmy hover-jeep that puttered along the tile. The Central trooper driving softly cranked the wheel, steering the Pygmy to the edge of the parquet. The passenger, an officer, rose from his seat and held onto the frame windshield of the grav-car.

“You the new mercs? Welcome to Kurdi! Central needed more meat on the line, you’ll be going down planetside on this engine here and then on your way to the Shield Base - we’re anticipating a Red attempt to bring down the heat wall.” With that, the driver of the Pygmy produced a ruggedized data-bank, arm stretching out from the cruiser to hand it to the mercenaries. “The locals are back to trying to get all they can out of off-worlders to pay the Reds for protection money - or buy a hostage back, so watch your wallets and the vendors, hear? You,” The officer then promptly shot a hand out to a nearby man at the kiosk.

“- you one of them ethno-reinforcements the Mission sent?” He barked, and the civilian, who was suddenly interrupted from his magazine and cautiously regarding the officer, replied.

“A … Khosti? No, I’m from Bathe.”

“Good, I can trust you to not drop these guys off to the Reds - make sure these nuggets get planetside in one piece!”

“ … y - ? Yessir.”

When a dull klaxon sounded, the doors of the massive cabins sprawled open for embarkation. While the exterior of the cars were gnarled from the heat of constant re-entry and ascension, the trained eye would even be able to spot the tell-tale pock of weapons fire if one looked close enough.

Onboard was far more welcoming than the exterior assumed though. The cabin cars were obviously meant to be lived in, but any extended stay would have soon become uncomfortable. With bunks and some medium-sized recreational and sitting spaces to storage accessed in every spare piece of flooring and wall on the cabin, it would provide a suitable barracks for a platoon-sized element. Which would, nominally be the capacity the Zofi was transporting today. As well as several dozen tons of food and agricultural equipment, industrial machinery for a nearby steel furnace and six FSV-6 Warrior battle tanks for the frontline.

Several Central troopers, a skeleton crew of the engine, were already aboard and doing a final series of checks. Situated right behind the engine car, the troop car was from where all operations during transit were based. Attaching the engine and troop to the rest of the cargo was the logi-box, the powerful computer center where every square inch of the enormous 200 car dragon could be controlled. Identified as a Corporal (specifically Group Corporal) by his shoulder ranks and ARNHARD by his name tag, he was the first to welcome the arrivals in, a rugged olive drab uniform stained in grease.

“Hey, check out the newbies.” He remarked, which drew the two other trooper’s attention to the door. Another man just behind Arnhard gave a sneering chuckle as he dropped a wrench onto the floor with a clang. The trooper, named OHLBERT, began to fumble for the tool.

“Holy shit, new pilot, and new gunners? Y’know, that Anu herdsman was right about the eels last time so,”

“Shut up about the native myths, Ohlbert. Besides, Al was a damn good pilot, no reason his own blood won’t be the same.” A third trooper spoke, the flashings on his shoulders revealing the rank of Petty Officer, a navy man. Unlike the majestic stag of the Exogarden on his shoulders, he bore the globe and shield of the Interstellar Navy. “Who the hell are you guys again? Those upstart Traders from the Sol constellation or something right?”

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Character Portrait: Exogarden Forces Character Portrait: SEC Death Unit Character Portrait: Tatseen Hahn
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It was relieving to the mercs, at least. Getting in contact with whoever on the board would have been a pain this far into foreign space, but it looks like control had been deferred to the local forces, for once. They didn’t know if the conversion rate for corporate currency was really applicable anyways, and it was never positive you’d get a good ansible station, or even one at all.

The mercs were almost always new to the environment, no matter what it was. Sure, you could get some training in the mostly abandoned forests and mountains in the Sol system, maybe some low-gravity sims or Martian desert. Hell, the only reason they had air-unit hirelings was because of the accessibility of Jupiter, for heaven’s sake. Because of that, they all seem attentive to details around them, some using PDAs to take photographs of maps, ship names, really anything they can see.

Waller, coming out of his thoughtful trance, answers the Naval officer without missing a beat. “Well, yes, sir, I suppose you could say that. We got into the mercenary scene some time ago… But my mind fails me on a solid date. Maybe seven, eight decades, but I’m unsure of what that would be across the veil... Well, I’d hesitate to say upstarts, at least.”

He pauses, looking as though he’s forgotten something, before exclaiming quietly and removing the glove of his left hand, extending it to the naval officer, then to the other two.
Ah. I forget my manners. I’m Waller, William Waller. Bill works, too. Pleasure to be working alongside all of you.”
He pauses slightly, turning to his team, most of whom are inspecting the tanks. A few of them catch his glance, getting the message of his slight, patient smile, and walk over to introduce themselves.
“I’m, uh, Benjamin Hall, nice to be here. Say, you guys really invested in hovertech, right? I was wondering about how ICON managed to balance thrust and weight without getting too bulky. I mean, when we handle corporate jobs-” He’s cut off by a slight look from Waller, an emotionless smile that expresses a slight exasperation. Hall murmurs “Yeah, maybe later, actually,” and steps to the side, looking dejected for a moment.

“Liz Bailey, recon.”

The introductions continue, dragging on for a moment longer than needed despite being only a handful of the team, something that seems to slightly irk Waller, which he quickly recovers from, smiling again. It was policy, in his time, to… What was it… Ah, “Instill confidence in the contract holders through professional behavior, given proper situation and time, regardless of hirer stature in their organization, system, or administration.” It was outdated, maybe, and it seemed many of the younger kids in the company thought that meant bravado, something he tried to settle on the transit here, but it seemed to have been affected by the accessibility of music... Well, it couldn’t be helped. He was much older than all of these eager twenty-somethings, having been in the company since he was 19, around three-and-a-half decades ago. He worked to stay in the service, and he passed every test, trial, you name it… He was capable of everything his younger counterparts were, from a psychological sense to purely physical performance, but he was still a mercenary for much, much too long...

While Waller is contemplating, again slipping into an invisible trance, one of the younger mercenaries, Kevin Parker, takes the opportunity to ask a question.
“Hey, you wouldn’t know what ‘Heat Wall’ means, right? We’re going to the Shield Base or something, figured I’d ask.”
Another merc takes the opportunity to ask yet another question, and from there is a sudden barrage of inquiries regarding their situation.
“Hey, does this railcar get shot at a lot? What fires at it?”
“What the heck is this thing supposed to be?” asks one, holding up the data-bank.
“I read about some of the history of this place, do the traders really try to run everything?”
Waller snaps out of his thinking, and turns his gaze to each of the junior mercenaries, and each of them quiet down pretty quickly.
The slight, annoyed smile returns yet again, and he quietly speaks to the mercenaries, facing away from the soldiers as he mouths the words, Instill confidence. Quiet down.

Turning to the soldiers, he smiles a bit wider, this one more sincere, and apologizes. “I’m sorry, most of our people are new to the Administrative Board being replaced by local management, but it won’t be too big of a transition. Er, about how long is the journey down?”
He thinks to himself, I'll have to manage them for that long, is all.