J.Stamp's Story

J.Stamp drew his arm upward as the quantum sensors flared, pinpointing the Aschen contacts precisely as their technologies activated and released a horrific amount of quantum radioactivity. As the beam of energy impacted the armor, the transuranium material of the suit howled and created a flash of smoke as Stamp loosened his spare arm and put another blast of reversed gravity into the hallway. This time, however, the force easily peeled the structure back and threatened to collapse the entire hallway. Watching another beam flare across his vision, it impacted his shoulder and left a deep scour in the transuranium material. Watching several of the men fade out, Stamp quickly erected himself and stomped for the doorway, catching one Aschen who had strayed too close and remained in his sights far too long for his own safety. Reaching his hand back, Stamp clenched his fist tightly and sent the armored fist square into the soldier's faceplate; with a sickening splat, the Aschen was thrust back with the force and collided with the wall, causing a violent burst of energy to eviscerate the man's head and leave a gruesome stain across the wall. The HUD flared to life as another beam ran across his back, striking the exposed energy convertor and releasing a hissing spear of pressure into the hallway.
"I'm getting radiologicals, operator -- Sonuvabitch." Riley had spoken just as the Aschen disappeared, a bright triangle leading him into the office where he saw the small cube on the floor.
"Aaaaaah -- Director, give me a random coordinate, now!" He yelled, quickly reaching forward and grabbing the device before ripping his helmet from his head and tossing the device into it. Yanking the blast helm closed, he quickly activated the same Rip-Jump procedure that had occurred minutes ago.
"A random coordinate? What do you me -- " J cursed loudly as he noticed the timer nearing 5 seconds.
"Sendittothefuckingsundammit!" Stamp screamed as he hauled the helmet back and threw it out

; And threw it out the window, watching the blast helm cartwheel through the air before disappearing in a single bright flash of light and a thunderclap.**

Shootin' tiem shootin' tiem

J.Stamp dangled his feet over the edge of the Vulture as he strapped himself into one of the floor mounts, wrapping his hands around the 35mm anti-material rifle and lifting the multi-spectrum scope to his eyes, as the Vulture pulled away from the flat launching platform of a Coalition FOB across the city, the lights slowly crawled away as Stamp adjusted the helmet and sealed armor as it integrated to the electronic scope of the weapon.

"This is Action Team Six Three Eight on surveillance and reconaissance -- all support online for mission."

J.Stamp felt a dull rumble cause the ground to shudder under his feet; of course, the moments he laid eyes on Gambit's, the silliest feeling of impending danger came over him. Adjusting the ballistic goggles drawn over his eyes, the optical HUD displayed in front of him was devoid of operations, a strange sight for the Counter-Balance operator that was a metaphorical breathing computer. Adjusting the 682 assault rifle nestled across his chest. One hand was gripping the trigger assembly of the weapon tightly, while the other withdrew a folded up piece of paper wrapped around a small, old-timey USB device.
"Fuckin' favors ... " The Dark Ops gunman remarked, walking at a brisker pace through the empty street towards Gambit's; overhead the world seemed alight with activity, as a Coalition Prosecutor gunship passed low over the city.

"Get this information to the contact mentioned; reliability and loyalty are a requirement." Riley had mentioned, leaving him with only the mentioned package and a picture of the 'contact'; a Terran law enforcement officer, of infamous Wing City no-less.
"What are you planning to do -- notify someone else the Regievko administration orchestrated -- " He repeated to himself lightly, a chuckle coming from him before he heard the distant roar of engines and then all-to obvious sounds of conflict. Stopping at the intersection of the bar, the Coalition agent caught the sight of the blockade and quickly broke in to an alleyway adjacent the street.
"D'aaaaw fuck it can't ever be easy."

J.Stamp moving along an alleyway with his 682 leveled at his chest, the agent plucked a cylindrical device from a mount at his hip, the small telemetry computer activity with a simple touch. Crouching beside a large dumpster and laying the computer into the muck on a trio of small stands while activating a HUD display linked to the device. Hacking into the street-side cameras and recorders at the intersections, he cursed under his breath slightly before looking at a wire-frame of the block. With his best bet getting to Gambit's shot, he looked up into the sky for a moment. A frown across his face before he checked the hybrid rifle's magazine and chamber, taking solace in the 12mm anti-material shell that greeted him.
"Oooooh, boy." He said, stopping in his crouch in the middle of the alley and laying his arms across his knees.

"Well ... if there's ever any time for treason." He said, shrugging his shoulders out and going to the mouth of the alley, peeking the hybrid rifle around the corner and using the modified gun-camera mounted on the foreguard of the weapon to observe the street remotely.
"Yuuuup yup yup ... It's Silly Hat's Night at Gambits. Ohwait -- " He said, catching the sight of the contact as he was dragged out of the bar by one of the Sovrak infantrymen.

"Oh well you look like you've had a fine and dandy life ... I won't be surprised if Riley sent me to pick up some dope from you." He said, leaning back in to cover and aiming his weapon up at the Aschen Reverence looming over the city; the camera continued to record the ship obstructing the city for several more minutes.
"Since I'll probably be shot anyway, might as we get plenty a' footage for the media to gobble! Smiiiiiiiile!"

J.Stamp locking a round into the underbarrel grenade launcher, the agent laid his back out against the cobblestone of the street before coming to a stand and watching the massive hull of a Prosecutor gunship come over in a low pass, hardly meters from the rooftops of the city; the ground made a slight tremor and Stamp cursed into his headset while moving down the alleyway with his weapon leveled. Sweeping his zones of fire with the electro-optical gunsight mounted on the top rail of the weapon, the agent identified several thermal signatures nearby. As he shrugged away a smirk and shored himself against the wall and then rolled through the alley. Standing out on the sidewalk and strolling down the street with his weapon across his chest. He came at a brisk pace toward the roadblock around Gambit's, obviously ignoring the situation around him while taking a peek at some of the civilians that had been drawn out from the bar.
"Hmmm ... "

He said quietly, watching the scuffle from a distance and taking a good long look at the fire raging uncontrollably. He chuckled a bit at that sight, then looking back to the civilians against with a hand placed in his pocket.
"Huhwell." He said, putting his rifle up in to the air and aiming at the Aschen ship.
"Pew pew pew pew pew ... "

J.Stamp peered out through the mud and grime stained window as the rickety gate, replaced by flimsy chain-link and iron enforcement, rolled to allow them entrance to the first wing of the slum. From the broken down and slanting walls, one would see the desolate refugee camp and slum reaching out into the area that was once a Coalition firebase. Low, squat buildings were stained with carbon and weather where open fires were burning any material capable of producing warmth. The Scatterrans watched a lonesome guard wielding a rifle inspect the car with a sideways glance as it passed, and the capsuleer steadied himself for a moment until pulling the hood around his head tighter. “ … Place looks like a fuckin’ dump.”

“Welcome to the aftermath … peace is only for a few, y’know?” The driver said to him, and the capsuleer shifted his arms across his chest while leaning back more. At first glance, the broken down jalopy appeared more at home here than it had driving through Wing City to the slum in the first place. Bought off from a Scatterran migrant looking for solid cash, one of millions that had emigrated in the wake of economic and political strife in the Coalition, the operators drove on for a few more minutes in silence.

“ … So what’s here?” Stamp finally asked, looking away from the display of a handheld and out the window. Children watched the street out in front of them from a tiny lean-to of fractured wood, pallets and trash. A few more seconds then they were gone, and the capsuleer returned to his display.

“The League, likely. War might be over but it’s not for Regievko, remember?” The passenger replied, adjusting the civil service uniform he and the other three Scatterrans wore. Disguised as aid workers, organizations seeking to bring relief to the millions of refugees across the nations still dying, the Counter-Balance operators kept their eyes forward as the car came to a rolling stop at a checkpoint; three armed men standing in the road in front of them.

J.Stamp slid the handheld under his jacket as one of the gunmen shined a flashlight into the car, making the three Scatterrans wince at the piercing light through the windshield. The capsuleer brought a hand up and covered his eyes; his ears perked as the windows rolled down and he heard two of the men speaking amongst one another. The two men spoke between one another in Tasvalt, a Central-Aleuro language spoken amongst the middle and lower classes in the Coalition.

“What are you doing here, huh?” The first man said, standing by the driver’s window as he brought his hands out of his pockets to reveal the wallet in his hand. The guard looked between his two comrades before speaking again. “That works with my own people, not you Wester-looking fucks … “

Stamp narrowed his eyes under the hood, a hand slowly gripping around the barrel of the concealed handgun in his jacket. He could feel the two other operators slowly beginning to reach the same conclusion; a few more seconds of silence passed before the radio on the gunman’s chest squawked to life.

“Gavaril, we have Terrans at the gate -- NPA, our guard isn’t going to be enough to get them to bug off.” The radio howled out in static before the guard stood back from the driver’s side window and waved the car on. “Get the fuck out of here and don’t let me see you again -- you two, get to the underground and tell them to button up.”

“The fuck was that about … NPA?” The passenger said, looking past Stamp through the back window as the checkpoint faded behind them and the driver began piloting the small car through the base’s expanse runway, now a tent-village. “Who cares, more heat they take off us the better. Poor dumbass we’ve had moled up in this shithole has been going insane.”

“Turn on the radio … let’s see how they handle the girlscouts.” The passenger said, reaching forward with a cable as he interacted with the car’s onboard set. In a few seconds Stamp recognized the voice of the gunman at the checkpoint.

“Let them in but keep them cornered, in th

;“Let them in but keep them cornered, in the old Main Base, keep them in the Main Base! Do not let them find the labs!”*

J.Stamp slid his hand up onto the handle of the door as the car came to one last stop. In front of them, a bonfire roared, and a plume of smoke reached up through the air. Around it, various Scatterrans sat on assortments of debris, rubble and improvised seats as they watched the flames rising. Beyond that, more gunmen could be seen with their weapons across their back as they talked amongst each other. “We’re here.” The driver said, the car’s engine dying as he removed the key. The headlights died away as well, making the light of the fire the most powerful light in the street as the Scatterrans exited the vehicle.

“Still got that radio link?” Stamp asked, a hand going under his jacket and keying at an electronic device on his belt. The passenger nodded to him, holding a small media device in his hand before the link became a physical part of Stamp’s hearing, the capsuleer’s mind taking the information from the device directly.

“We have been sent here by the Coalition, your friends -- you want to talk to someone in charge?! You’re in charge of the slum!” Stamp looked over to the other two Scatterrans, exchanging a few glances with them until Stamp reached out to tap the shoulder of a drunk, then raising two hands to his mouth and imitating smoking.

“Where you find some canab huh?” He asked; the drunk shrugged his shoulders at the Scatterran and pointed a finger over his shoulder at a large, dilapidated building that had once been a Marine Infantry Corps barracks.

“Guess that’s our place.”

J.Stamp looked up at the low building, a solid roof removed to make the barracks an open box. At the door just a few steps in front of him, the three Scatterrans waited silently as a guard came down the two flights of stairs to the vehicle area outside the structure. “Who’re you? You know there are NPA running around this place now, you coming to get your fix -- “

Stamp snatched his hand up in a fist, clocking the guard in the chin with an uppercut before his other hand clutched onto the man’s chest and sent him flying back into the ground. Rushing past him, he raced up steps as the two other Scatterrans quickly relieved the man of his rifle and rolled his unconscious body into a bush off the sidewalk. Stamp plastered himself to the side of the door as he saw the two others finish removing the guard.

“Alright, one down, the whole damn slum to go -- gun!” One of them said, and Stamp turned back to see the snub barrel of the handgun sticking in his face before his fingers pried along the exposed hand jutting from the cut-away in the door. Amongst the screech of stereospeakers and merrymaking of drunks, the lone gunshot made a loud staccato bark throughout the ghetto. Stamp watched the gunshot carom off into a wall before he twisted the wrist and broke the man’s hand, feeling bone and ligament tear away. Yanking tighter, he felt the man’s forehead collide squarely with the door, a sigh coming from the other side as Stamp pried the door open and kick the handgun away.

“Well, guess we’ve fucked this up.” One of the operators said, the Azrican undoing his hoodie and clutching at the small PDW with two hands. The other Scatterran, an Aleuro, retrieved his sidearm from a holster across his back. Just as the three entered the low-lying building, the radio broke to life.

“What was that? Figure it out!”

J.Stamp reached into his jacket and pulled out the AX automatic, tabbing the weapon’s safety off as he levelled the machine pistol against the corner of the wall and slowly pied it. Walking through the empty barracks and quickly rushing up the stairs, Stamp left the two other Scatterrans to delve into the underground. “Watch for snipers, we likely set those NPA guys off at the gate. They’ll be burning through here any minute.”

“Affirmative. I’ll be quick. Find our mole, grab the playbook and let’s get out of here before we start a riot.” Stamp replied, slowly pushing open the door and seeing the figure of a lone uniformed soldier standing by one of the windows overlooking the gate. Stamp steeled himself as he recognized the Resistance League attire. Drawing a knife from his side, the capsuleer slowly pressed past the door and stalked up towards the marksmen. Suddenly, before the operator could react, the Scatterran wheeled on his back feet and swung the butt of the rifle into Stamp’s face. With a cough he felt the coppery taste of blood fill his mouth, and stars zipped past his vision before he was on his back.

“Fucking NPA -- wait a second. Oh!” It was only then that Stamp could recognize the voice of the mole, Marlo Heiser, and despite his nasal laugh Stamp’s ears continued to ring as the Bolshok lifted the capsuleer back to his feet. “Wow … man … I fucking decked you.”

“Yeah. Good arm. We kinda’ brought the Fuzz to you.” Stamp replied, wiping his chin across his face as the distinct rattle of assault rifle rounds was heard, and the radio began shrieking as every gunman in the slum now turned his weapon towards where they thought the real attack was coming from, the front.

“These League guys are fucking crazy! Where is the Coalition?!” Marlo asked, leaving Stamp for a moment as he raised the barrel of his rifle out the window and took sight on an insurgent lining for up to shoot at the Terrans. “Why did they send the Terrans with you?!”

“They didn’t, we’re all they sent.”

J.Stamp wiped away a last trickle of blood, and tried to stand up before he found Marlo’s hand on his shoulder pulling him back down. Diving underneath the window of the second story, Marlo raised a finger up to his lips. “Shhh, they’re right outside.” He replied, causing Stamp to take a glance at the digital display mounted on his forearm. Through the window, Stamp and Marlo could hear the conversation between the Terran and a Scatterran as the NPA shuttled their way through the slum.

“Man, that shit happenin’ here all day -- TIS I say, This is Scatter baby! Saw three guys go all agro on ol’ Johnny Yo Yo over there in the bush. C’mon now, jus cus its illegal here don’t mean its illegal fo’ us.” The downtrodden’s voice made Stamp bring his attention away from the conversation, looking back to the door leading down stairs.

“This is J. I’m on the second floor. Found or mole, the League’s kicked open a fucking hornets nest though -- they’re gonna’ get the Terrans barging through this whole damn place. Spook the Commodores.” Stamp replied, slowly belly-crawling his way towards the door and signalling for Marlo to follow him.

Outside, Stamp heard the dull report of automatic weapons fire as the NPA tried moving farther and farther into the slum. In a mixture of irregular uniforms Stamp was easily able to spot the SRL advisors providing “control” to the local armed gang that had recently made it’s grab at power over the slum. “These guys are everywhere … the fuck are we gonna’ do?”

J.Stamp stayed by the landing, looking down to the stairs before he heard the radio in his ear speak again. “We cleared out the lower floors but we’ve got guys still up on the entryway. They’re waiting for the Terrans.” Stamp cursed under his breath, sliding back towards the window and peeking a fiber-optic camera over the edge to see the Terran officers walking for the entrance. Gathering Marlo, he clutched at the AX machine pistol and slowly crawled his way down the stairs, ever so slightly looking around the corner to see the squad of insurgents hunkered down in the hallways adjacent to the front door. Typical insurgent tactic, wait for your target to walk through the door and then shoot him.

“Dammit … “ Stamp said, shoring himself against the wall and activating the small camera on the end of the pistols barrel. Holding his hand out from behind cover and squeezing the trigger, he showered two of the insurgents in a hail of 9 millimeter rounds, spraying blood across the door and shattering the windows with ricochet rounds. As the two men collapsed, the insurgents frantically began unloading automatic fire into the door in front of them.

“What the hell!” Marlo shouted, peeking out from cover and leveling his rifle on another insurgent. The sniper rifle’s report sent paper on the floor flying as another one of the insurgent’s chest exploded, crimson splattering on the wall as the man slid down to the ground.

“Motherfucking Terrans!” The last insurgent shouted out, his rifle chattering and spraying bullets across the hallway.

Jay Null opens his comms, reaching out to the vessel he notices off his bow.

Is everything okay out there? Do you need a terrestrial assist?

he asked inquisitively.

Outside of orbit around the planet Terra.

A medium-sized ship, shaped like a triangle with a blunted end, moves slowly towards Terra and the space station above it. The shape and size of this ship may have been seen before, but this one in particular has never been witnessed by any Terran, or as a matter of fact, any species or beings besides the ones who had made it. If they were able to trace it's origins, then it would point to an unexplored area known generally as RA-619, and even more specifically the Glendathu system. The doesn't seem to be armed, and a scan for life would only turn up three humanoid beings.

The ship made no advances of any sort towards the planet or the station, and seemed to just be there. Watching. Peaceful, it seemed, and the crew had no intentions of attacking. But they were truly awestruck. In front of them was a culture, a sophisticated one, unseen to any of their people, and they didn't know how to feel about it. They were just awaiting orders at this point.

Jay Null shrugged and closed the comms. The traffic in the Terran orbital was bustling as usual, an economic boom brought on by the prolonged period of peace. Alas, he knew the endless waltz of history, and had work to do.

Tapping a few buttons on his console, he maneuvered down towards Wing City Spaceport, leaving a faint thruster trail in his wake.

Meteor appeared as a small flicker in the sky

Meteor zoomed out and away, a twinkle in the sky.