Zhelir Darkfall's Story

It was a mastery of technology and the manipulation thereof. At the instant Zhelir felt the faint brush of the Energy Beacon being set off, he depressed the activation switch on his own personal comm link, hooked into a wiring harness rigged to a dish that was broadcasting the the Viking, a scout craft/personel dropship that was broadcasting an amplified signal through the Leviathan, a far more powerful craft with a far more powerful beacon.

His voice rang out, proceeding a burst of static feedback. "This is Cap'n Zhelir Darkfall a' th'Leviathan an' Viking. This beacon's been set to home in on Gambit's Bar a' Wing City. I'm callin' back all a' Metro's old saviors, as well's any new fellas that need a place t'congregate. Come join th'party."

He placed the commlink under the bartop, leaving it active to allow the signal to continue its broadcast. The initial message had been designed to override any and all communication systems, and he assumed the job had been done. Afterward, however, it switched over to a general beacon -- it was merely an open message with the Viking's and Leviathan's signatures, accessible to all.

As the Ascendant plunged through the clouds, its orange-and-crimson panels still faintly glowing from its plunge through the atmosphere, Zhelir smirked. It was odd; he had sworn off joining this W.I.N.G.E.D. group because he believed organized resistance to be too slipshod and too much of a powder keg, yet he felt comforted in rejoining his old group, which seemed to do one hell of a lot of resisting. It's probably because we aren't a cluster of glory-hungry fools, he thought half-way bitterly, Our members fight for a cause, not so they can say they played some helping hand in this or that.

The call had initially reached him aboard the Icarus, shortly after his broadcast to the city had made. He had altered the course of the Icarus immediately, and had since then gone over the Ascendant, making sure all was well and working. He had dropped from the ship a minute or so ago, and was waiting to come in range for a secure communications link with his old boss.

A dull tone, quiet and unobtrusive, chimed. He shifted his gaze to the left, his raven hair temporarily obscuring his vision, as a communications channel was opened.

"This's Rain reportin' in. I'm damn happy t'join in whatever's goin' on, but be warned that a good chunk of the city's survivors think I'm a terr'rist right now."

It happened in the blink of an eye. Every computer screen, every neural network, every television and every radio on every planet within reach of New Terra lost its signal briefly, to be replaced by a pirate signal broadcast from the heart of Southern Sea, the massive floating city in New Terra's southmore water region. On every screen would appear the image of a myriad of people, some young, some old, all armed. To the front of the group, a middle-aged man possessed of shoulder-length black hair and a salt-and pepper beard wore a grim expression. When he spoke, his words flooded the audia waves, his voice deep, rich, and sounding as though an accent were being forced out of his words.

"People of New Terra and the surrounding systems, I speak to you now as a fellow being, one wishing to avoid catastrophe. There are a group of people known by the title 'Crimson Knights' that have produced a list. This list, known as the MARK List, details a multitude of individuals marked for death, and is the obvious first move in an attempt to ready our system for the taking."

The man paused for a moment, only long enough to pull a cigarette out from behind his hair, tilt his head downward, and light it with what looked like a gleaming silver cigarette lighter, its surface enhanced even more by the area's powerful moonlight. He raise his head once more, smoke pouring from his mouth as he spoke.

"It is in this time of imminent war that I call on everyone. Every former and present member of Soldier, of the Trantor Alliance, of the Crossbone Vanguard, of Saber Wing, and every other man and woman, human and nonhuman, young person and old person, to take up arms under the name of a once-great organization known as WINGED. We're rallying here, in Southern Sea and surrounding areas. Anyone, everyone who wishes to join WINGED, come here, contact us, whatever it is you must do. My name is Zhelir Darkfall, and I'm here to fight."

With that, the feed would cut, to be immediately replaced by the regularly scheduled programming.

"My name is Zhelir Darkfall, and I'm here to fight."

A single button was pressed, and the override was cut off, returning everything to what most would consider normality.

A raised thumb was coupled with a nod in the direction of Zhelir Darkfall, as hair moved over the left, dark brown, almost black left eye of Yousuf. Lazily, more subconscious than anything, a hand raised to comb the slick black hair back to behind the tan skinned man's ear. One more click of a button and the broadcast signal ceased completely.

"Nice job, Zhelir. You can tell you've done these things before."

Then, with the fingers of both hands resting on the keyboard of the black laptop, Yousuf began to type what would seem frantically to most people, yet he was typing at a comfortable speed. Removing any traces of the masks he had used to hide the signal origin whilst it was being broadcast, were removed in a matter of approximately three minutes; leaving the broadcast with no chance of being traced by any number of computer networks.

They system Yousuf was using was of a level most didn't even know of, even the Trantor fleet, one of the most advanced of armed forces in the galaxy. Yousuf's department was one that didn't operate one single piece of equipment that was even near military or commercial standards. All was much more advanced.

All that was left behind was a single frequency, one that was, should anyone attempt a trace, masked to show a planet that was in truth completely empty. It would, of course, come to the men gathered here, on the South Side of New Terra. Any who had seen the illegal broadcast who shouldn't have done, namely, members or associates of the 'Crimson Knights', would not believe for an instant that the men behind the broadcast would reveal their true position, and would attempt a tracing.

A minute later, and that network was set up; the laptop left running ready for the surely inevitable onslaught of incoming signals and communications.

Yousuf stood, however, and as he passed the corner of the table upon which rested the laptop, he idly moved his right hand to grip at the long, metallic handle of his naginata. Hefting it from the position against the table, he allowed the weapon to rest on his shoulder, the wide, slightly curved blade of the naginata behind him.

Placing his hand into a pocket within his attire, the man pulled out a cigar and a lighter, and by the time he had reached Zhelir, it was lit, and several inhalations had been drawn from the long, thick, brown cigar.

"I guess we just wait now."

It was a smile that was showing through as a slight distortion of the other otherwise smooth skin of his face, and not some other emotion or expression.

"My name is Zhelir Darkfall, and I'm here to fight."

"People of New Terra and the surrounding systems, I speak to you now as a fellow being, one wishing to avoid catastrophe. There are a group of people known by the title 'Crimson Knights' that have produced a list. This list, known as the MARK List, details a multitude of individuals marked for death, and is the obvious first move in an attempt to ready our system for the taking."

Really? I wonder if I'm on that list? Akiro thought, as he listened with curiousity at the broadcast. The headset he wore had a noise-canceling microphone boom attached to it, as he continued listening. "Okay. New Terra, is it?"

"Kaiya. Find the planet New Terra. Plot a course to it. Then shift to this course immediately."

A soft voice answered him, low and seductive, as he programmed the starship's voice system to be, "Yes, Captain Akinora." A few sounds much like blips came, then he sensed the ship shift to the new course. "Course adjusted to New Terra. ETA is three hours, 30 minutes. ETA via Inversion is 30 minutes. Which options, Captain?"

"Inversion." was his reply.

His starship seemed to almost pause, this large ship, roughly 200 feet from nose to tail and shaped much like a graceful deadly bird but made of silver metal with an invisible but very much well made shields. It also held several cannons, one of them a laser, the other two ordinary but powerful, advanced cannons.

And we can't forget about the power that this ship packs. Kaiya, the namesake of the starship has a stardrive that can Invert, essentially almost teleporting to another place at once. It requires 30 minutes of powering and calculations, in which during this time Kaiya can maneuver, defend or attack in an event of attack upon Kaiya. This, however, makes the computational and SpaceShifting time longer as Kaiya, the ship's AI has to recalculate every single second as the ship moves.

Or, Kaiya can use FTL, which is slower but still doable.

Or a third way, in which Akiro creates a Gate for the starship to go through after the AI calculates the position for the Gate to be opened at safely.

I wonder why now? What do they have against us? What is the benefit of taking us out? New fighters would just come up from the rank and file of the star systems to rebel against them. Oh well. His statement was true enough.

"Kaiya. When Inversion is complete, and we are at our destination, identify for me with authorization code Kaiya Sunawa level Sierra. Is that understood?"

The Avatar, a slim young woman in her 20s showed up just before him, long brown hair flowing down to just above her bottom in the silver uniform similar to the black one he was wearing. Her blue-green eyes looked out at him, winking playfully before a reply came, "Yes, Captain Akinora. Authorization code authenticated."

A nod came then, as he stood up, the Avatar following him as he moved through the starship. "Get me the moment we are there."

"Yes Captain."

In half an hour, he would be at New Terra.

Edit: Changed the term, SpaceShift to Inversion. >_> Sounds so much cooler that way lol.

From his hand, as he stood next to Zhelir, came a small beeping. Three rapid blips of electronic sound, and Yousuf looked down at the PDA he had in his grasp. On the display was a single notice, in bright red text:

"Transmission Terminated"

With a slight shaking of his head, Yousuf pulled out the stylus from within the framework of the PDA and tapped the screen a few times. A few beeps later, and he let out a rather loud sigh.

"It seems the fuckers have blocked our communications and sensors, Zhelir Darkfall. Perhaps you should come and help me."

Zhelir was known to be a hacker of some skill, although the knowledge of Yousuf far surpassed that of the rather rough fellow who had moments before made the announcement of war. Rushing back the way he came, Yousuf sat down at the laptop once more, and begin ferociously typing away, the seven or eight computers all interlinked seemed to be working hard at the command of the tan skinned fellow.

On screen, several windows were popping up and flashes could be seen lighting up the face of Yousuf on occasion as he worked hard at finding the source of the blocking, concurrent to trying to work around it. Whatever these Crimson Knights were using, it was powerful technology, and Yousuf was obviously in deep concentration, a deep furrow on his brow as he typed away with what many would consider near inhuman speed.

A single moment was spared to look over some distance, at a newcomer into the area.

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What a fucking situation, what had these idiots got themselves into this time? Karaka was sure it would be those that he had met some ten or so years ago, on this very same planet, back when he was still under the grasp of heavy alcoholism.

In the ten years since Terra was destroyed, Karaka had gotten himself back into the smuggling trade, and was doing quite well for himself. Walking into the place, he was pretty much immediately met by two men, rough looking people, each with a gun pointed to one of his temples.

"What is your business here?"

Karaka had stopped, and with a moment's hesitation, accentuated by a rather cocky grin adorning his face, he moved his hands with swiftness, drawing both of his long barrelled pistols, eight round revolvers. In what was a near instant, he had the two doormen in a rather sticky situation. The barrel of one of his revolvers was placed under the chin of one guard, and in the other was actually shoved into the mouth of the other.

"Nah then, Zhelir Darkfall, are ya 'ere? Curb ya dogs, or ah'll 'ave ta kill 'em."

His voice was loud, and filled the room. He knew that the man would hear, and would likely still be here.

With a confidence, he eyed the two guards one after the other, and the glint in his emerald eyes seemed to dare the two to pull the triggers on their much smaller weapons. They were visibly shaking, yet Karaka was as calm as the lake in spring. Hopefully he would get to see the lake again some time. The war may well prevent that though.

Ultimate Nightcrawler landed in a pile on the floor, vomited by whatever bizarre plane from which he had just come.

Gathering himself to his feet, he took a look around his old friend's bar, and wondered where the crowd had gone.

Ehhhh?! Where the hell is everyone?

he shouted, unaware of the other patrons.

/me had been leaning against a back wall, an oversized reflective rectangle. A crack ran diagonally across its face.

Hestoria /out

The Liarror reflected the twinkling lights of the dive bar, and the void of the dust scattered across the ground.

The Liarror flashed as the light of the street spilled across it for a moment, but only half of it.

Hestoria sighed and looked around at the bar, observing it quietly.

Hestoria sat idly by.

There were a few patrons in the bar, which was quieter than it usually was. Maybe it had something to do with the dust covering the ground. Who could know?

The woman crouched on the floor, examining the dust.

The Liarror stood there, as silent as ever, but also with a presence growing louder by the second. While one side of the crack across their face reflected the truth of the now, the other side? A far more sinister vision of what could be.

Hestoria shivered, feeling an odd presence. She stood up and turned to see who was there.