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Vasikin Bio-Technology Incorporated

A large, and somewhat unethical corporation from the Eastern Arm of Home.

0 · 462 views · located in Wing City Highway

a character in “The Multiverse”, originally authored by XavierDantius32, as played by RolePlayGateway

Description

So begins...

Vasikin Bio-Technology Incorporated's Story

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Character Portrait: Vasikin Bio-Technology Incorporated

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Through the bustling streets of Wing City slid the sleek prow of an air-car of unknown make, its glossy black carapace looking distinctly alien against the background of the normal traffic. Beside it swung a pair of jetbikes, also painted the same black of the air-car, with muzzled cannons hanging between the jagged wing-pods.

The air-car touched down on the pavement beside the Tech Con HQ with barely a sound, the armoured gull-wing door hissing open as the two occupants got out. One was gnarled and stooped, leaning on a simple iron cane. Beside him stood a veritable mountain of a man, his suit bulging, revealing the black combat armour underneath. He nodded briefly at the two outriders, ordering them to wait with the vehicle.

The pair passed the security desk, the larger of the two depositing a sub-compact rail-carbine and a pistol at the security desk, before sheparding his partner into the lift.

The elder man's cane scratched on the floor as they entered the penthouse, his partner's grey eyes flicking about the room, looking for automated defenses and cameras. His partner was first to speak. "Ser Vogel, I presume. I am Rogal Orpheo, Trade Envoy of Vasikin Bio Tech Incorporated, and this is my associate, Messer Koni."

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Character Portrait: Vasikin Bio-Technology Incorporated

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Koni had stiffened as the guards with rifles moved away, tensing like a feline ready to spring, but a sharp look from Orpheo brought him down, as he moved to stare out over the city from the plate glass window.

"Vasikin needs a way into the Local Region. We need to set up a steady supply line between the Local Region and our home. I would suggest a trade agreement between our corporations. We feel that the bio-technologies that we have been working on could greatly benefit you."

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Character Portrait: Vasikin Bio-Technology Incorporated

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At the mention of the "Vatakuec" Koni perked up, turning away from the window, his hand moving towards his jacket. Again, Orpheo gave him a sharp glare, before turning back to Vogel.

"Vasikin has massive assets in the arms production market, especially relating to armoured vehicles such as tanks. And, that particular CEO died in a mysterious car accident twenty years ago, to be succeeded by our current head, Messer Tantalid. He is currently working on supplying various resistance groups across the Confederacy territories. We have to be as covert as possible, you understand, otherwise we would be quite literally liquidated."

Orpheo stopped speaking, to break down in a fit of coughing, Koni slowly circling Vogel's desk, tugging on the lapel of his jacket.

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Character Portrait: Vasikin Bio-Technology Incorporated

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At the mention of the "Vatakuec" Koni perked up, turning away from the window, his hand moving towards his jacket. Again, Orpheo gave him a sharp glare, before turning back to Vogel.

"Vasikin has massive assets in the arms production market, especially relating to armoured vehicles such as tanks. And, that particular CEO died in a mysterious car accident twenty years ago, to be succeeded by our current head, Messer Tantalid. He is currently working on supplying various resistance groups across the Confederacy territories. We have to be as covert as possible, you understand, otherwise we would be quite literally liquidated."

Orpheo stopped speaking, to break down in a fit of coughing, Koni slowly circling Vogel's desk, tugging on the lapel of his jacket.

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Koni had stepped away from the window, and produced a small data-pad from one of his suit pockets, keying in a series of commands on the glossy screen. Orpheo suddenly seemed less stooped, the wrinkles falling away from his face, his frame becoming less gnarled and much more like his partners.

"Honestly, Messer Vogel, this entire deal has been a pretense, to gain access to your offices." This sharp, completely deadpan statement rang out from Orpheo's mouth, his hand twitching aside his jacket to reveal the combat armour below

Before anyone in the office had time to take notice of this fact, a dull impact rocked the tower, emanating from somewhere the middle, around floor sixty. Anyone watching from street-level would witness the glossy black air-car thrum into life, and rapidly speed away from the tower, before pitching, turning a lazy semi-circle in the air, before hurtling towards the tower like a slightly unwieldy missile.

Sparks of small muzzle-flashes glittered where the head-lamps should be, neatly shattering the plate-glass windows, allowing the air-car to slash into the interior of the building. A few seconds later, the whump of a detonation rang out, the shockwave shattering every window on the floor. Almost an instant later, a massive fireball rolled out of every window on the floor, as over five-hundred pounds of fuel-air explosive detonated, rapidly heating every molecule of oxygen in the air to over six thousand degrees.

The effect on the building would be catastrophic, as the explosion would either weaken or destroy any structural beams keeping the building together, along with the elevator shaft, preventing any RDA troops from reaching Vogel's office. [c/]

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As the building rocked and shook, the pair of jet-bike outriders returned, circling the burning building like flies around a corpse, the 20mm cannons hooked between their wings unshrouded, rifles hanging from the shoulders of the armoured troopers riding them. They made a beeline for the penthouse, where Orpheo and Koni had pulled off their suits, revealing glossy black combat armour. Orpheo had a pair of ultra-compact carbines magnetically locked under his arms, which he removed, tossing one to Koni, who slipped in a twenty round clip of 7.62, which also doubled as the weapon's hand-grip.

With the weapon in his hands, Koni round behind Vogel's desk as smoke engulfed the room, ready to engage the RDA guards if they returned, or put down Vogel should he make any attack on them.

Orpheo peeled off the wrinkled prosthetic face, revealing a hard, battle-scarred visage, heavily augmented by cybernetics. β€œSo, Mr Vogel. How does it feel to be attacked in your own building?” [Done]

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The two troopers backed away, letting the ultra-compact rifles fall to the ground, hands clapping to the back of their armoured heads. Koni looked at his partner, who kept his eyes fixed in the middle-distance, the radio implanted directly into the side of his head buzzing.

At street level, in the crowd of panicking civilians and RDA personnel sat a pair of hulking GV-12 Sabers, painted in the colours of the WCPD, with legitimate numbers painted to the roof. The thing that was decidedly illegitimate about the vehicles, was the eight SAM tubes mounted on the roof. Inside, a pair of nondescript policemen flicked on their radios. "Multiple air-targets inbound. Light 'em up."

Sixteen hyper-velocity surface-to-air missiles lept away from the tubes, four aimed at the gunship locked into the side of the tower, the rest splitting between the Terran gunships and the UCON medi-vac Crickets.

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As the RDA closed on the pair, Koni sprang into action, smashing his fist into the closest trooper, darting past the remainder, a pair of incendiary grenades detaching from his belt as he hurled himself through a heavily cracked window, dropping out into the smoke-filled air of Wing City. An anti-grav unit fitted between his shoulder blades regulated his descent, and he rapidly disappeared into the sprawl of the city. Orpheo simply snatched up his carbine and put a bullet through his soft palate.

On a lonely rooftop looking out over the carnage below, the remainder of the ten man cell took up position. The 25mm Anti-material rifles swiftly picked off the gunners on the Technicals, while the whoosh-crack of a soft-launch anti-tank weapon hurled a thermobaric warhead down onto the weaker top armour of the Myrmidon.

Beside the dull crack of the anti-material rifles, a pair of 40mm grenade-launchers chattered into life, spraying clouds of conductive buckshot down into the civilians and RDA alike.

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Touching down several blocks away from the fighting, Koni, deactivating the grav-chute. He watched the building collapse with a heavy heart, the form of the frigate hanging low in the sky like some bird of prey. He tried to remember the assets they had in place. Most had been taken down by the MAC, but he had one ace up his sleeve.

The cell had planted its entire stock of plastic explosive, around 500lbs, packed into a kind of improvised fougasse in a manhole cover in the centre of the street. Detaching the detonator from his armoured sleeve, Koni flicked the button, decimating the entire street in a hail of overloaded hydrogen fuel cells, barrels of oil and bags of scrap metal.

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Character Portrait: Vasikin Bio-Technology Incorporated

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500lbs of C4 = big bang

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Character Portrait: Vasikin Bio-Technology Incorporated

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Yeah.

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Character Portrait: Vasikin Bio-Technology Incorporated

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The outcome is uncertain. I'll have to discuss with Barney and Az. It'll be useful if you are online.

The setting changes from tech-con-terran-headquarters to Wing City

Setting

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Artyom Chenya felt the foetid water that had pooled on the rooftop soak into the belly of his construction overalls as he surveyed the police station. They'd done a fairly good job on building it, he'd give them that. A two-story block house, constructed from reinforced concrete, with a faux-greek façade adorning the front and gently sloping roof. The building stood aloof from the tangle of apartment blocks and stores that filled the streets, a walled parking area behind it holding several WCPD cruisers.

Shifting his weight, Artyom swept his pale blue eyes over the rest of the Aegis cell, picking out their positions swiftly. Hummingbird, composed of Falx and Skar, were at the base of the building, sitting astride a pair of matte-black jetbikes delivered from the command cell earlier in the morning. Falx's mop of dark hair was just visable underneath the bike, as he finished loading in a belt of 14.7mm shells into the pair of rail-machineguns attached to the underside.

Across the street from the decrepit apartment, he focussed on fifth floor of a half-constructed building, scaffolding clinging to the outside. Osprey team, made up of Gyles and Arkos, had settled themselves behind a half-finished wall, the glint of their range-finder betraying their location.

Artyom pulled himself up from his prone position, and checked the bulky anti-tank launcher set on the roof behind him. He thumbed the radio attached to his overalls.

β€œAll teams, this is Kingfisher. Open the cage on my mark.”

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Massaging his broad shoulder, careful not to disturb the overalls covering his armour, Artyom picked up the wide tube of the launcher, attaching the squat guidance module to the flank. With this done, he gingerly picked up the rocket, sliding it into the rear of the launcher, depressing a stud on the guidance unit, setting the weapon to top-down attack.

Across from him, he saw Gyles and Arkos loading their RPGs, and heard the soft whine of the jetbikes powering up.

He settled the launcher on his shoulder, resting the muzzle against the parapet, pressing his eye to the scope. His other hand wrapped around the pistol grip attached to the base, finger sliding inside the guard.

Stand by, Stand by.

Taking a deep breath in, Artyom squeezed the trigger. The missile lept away from the launcher with a dull thump-woosh, arcing up into the sky like a firework. Seconds later, it hammered down through the roof of the precinct, its hardened outer casing peeling away, dispensing sixteen fragmentation charges into the upper floor.

The initial shock-wave would shatter windows, and probably kill anyone directly under the impact zone. The frag charges would bounce and roll throughout the building, detonating three seconds later, and filling the second floor with a storm of shrapnel.

Almost simultaneously with Artyom firing the anti-tank launcher, Gyles and Arkos stood up from behind the wall, the fluted rocket-tubes braced into their shoulders. The volley of high-explosive rockets was aimed at the ground floor windows facing them, travelling through the toughened glass and exploding inside the lobby of the station. The shock-wave from the intial explosion would probably kill everyone within a meter of the twin blasts, with the storm of shrapnel and splinters kicked up making the area three meters out just as lethal.

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As the first rockets impacted, Artyom sprung to his feet, booting open the steel door that led into the belly of the apartment. He sprinted down the stairs, taking them two-at-a-time, the heavy frame of his Type 28 bouncing against his hip, the launcher and his second rocket braced against his shoulder.

His armoured foot split the wooden panelling of the door to a third floor apartment, charging inside, his fist tearing open the window. He dropped to his feet, the launcher clanging as it collided with the ledge, the rocket clicking as he slipped it into the back of the weapon, Pressing his face to the now clammy eye-piece, Artyom switched to direct-attack, aiming the second rocket at the dull heat-signatures that swum into focus.

Osprey team had climbed to the top of the half-constructed building, climbing onto the back of the jetbikes piloted by Hummingbird. They became airbourne rapidly, slashing through the sky at a randomized escape vector, eventually touching down in a side-street, and making their way to the hideout on foot.

With a grin, Artyom squeezed the trigger on his launcher, hurling his last rocket into the wreckage of the lobby. Because of the confined nature of the apartment, much of the noise created at launch, and the muzzle-flash was swallowed by the immensity of the building. This time, the rocket followed a straight arc, the outer casing stripping away in flight, a low-powered explosion propelling the frag-charges like buckshot, once again filling the lobby with a wave of deadly shrapnel.

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Thanfully, the carbon nano-tube combat armour would protect Artyom from being hurled through a wall by the explosion. He picked himself up, the cowl and mask sliding up and over his domed head from the recesses in the armour's gorget, the visor shifting down to protect his eyes. Whatever they had down there was more powerful than anything he was carrying. He discarded the smoking, and pretty much broken launcher, picking up his rifle.

He slung it over his shoulder, and produced a detonator from the mag-lock on his chest. Earlier, the team had set up a battery of three improvised mortars in the back of a blue estate car. With a flick of a switch, he sent a hail of hi-explosive shells arcing down onto the two officers, hoping that the tremendous energy expended by these shells would distract their guidance systems from tracking his escape.

He sprinted across the hall, shoulder-charging through another door and window, diving out into the communal car-park, tucking into a parachute roll as he hit the ground. A WCPD officer caught sight of him as he straightened up, but a swift double-tap from the rail-rifle ended the cry of alarm in his throat.

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Artyom swung the rifle to bang against his hip, ripping off a man-hole cover and dropping down into the sewer system. Before he dissapeared into the blackness, he dropped a trio of anti-personnel mines, filled with C4 and ball-bearings into the murk, to deter anyone fool-hardy enough to follow him.

The setting changes from wing-city to Wing City Highway

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The cell had been running all night, in their two GV-12 Sabers, packed with all their ammunition and weaponry. The authorities were probably hot on their heels, but they were prepared to give their lives for this mission.

Heril Martanne and three other insurgents had moved ahead of the Sabers, using their fighting knifes to silently hijack a massive fuel tanker, rigging the huge vessel of gasoline with the last of their explosives, turning it into one giant incendiary bomb.

In the flat-bed of the front Saber, a pair of Aegis troopers readied the Rocket-Propelled Grenades, zeroing the scopes on the hovering Terran Gunship. As they reached optimum range, they opened fire, the bulbous warheads optimized to take down air targets slashing through the still evening air towards the gunship.

The second Saber smashed into the front of the column, a few vehicles in front of the tank, the three insurgents crewing the vehicle opening up with the 40mm grenade launcher mounted on the roof firing rocket-propelled rounds at the track units of the tank, hoping to blow off one of the links, and bring it to a halt.

Martanne gunned the throttle on the tanker, hurling the massive vehicle into the rear of the convoy, the massive prow of the truck hurling another Terran vehicle out of the way, fire from his 12.7mm battle-rifle aiding the demise of a second. Beside him, another insurgent produced an RPG borrowed from the command cell, loading the squat, brutish looking thermobaric round. Sticking the barrel out of the window, pulling the tube into his shoulder, he squeezed the trigger, hurling the two-stage anti-armour charge at the tank.

Should it hit the fragile rear, the hardened outer casing would punch a hole in the armour, delivering a lethal payload of incendiaries and fragmentation charges into the crew compartment.

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The endgame approached fast, as one Saber was ripped to shreds by 40mm rounds, limbs and entrails thrown across the highway by the fireball as the fuel tank was punctured. The second Saber let rip a hail of high-explosives grenades from its own cannon, swerving to occupy the space directly infront of the tanker, its high profile shielding it from incoming fire.

Another thermobaric grenade arced over the roofline of the Saber, aimed at the damaged tank. Martanne grabbed the cinderblock from the footwell, dropping it onto the accelerator pedal, and picking up the detonator for the 250lbs of plastic explosive that had been pushed into the full tanker that lurched behind him.

A dull crunch split the air, as the tanker plowed the Saber out of its path, drawing level with the wreckage of the tank. Martanne raised his voice in one final howl of defiance, and squeezed the detonator, igniting the 1000 gallons of C4 held in the tank.