PW: The Task Force Atlas Bar and Grill

[Patrick OConner]

I are confused...they seem genetically modified to me. So why would not super soldiers be allowed? please explain cause if they are i am going to sup up my guys with Project Achillies

No you're not.

Monfrox is a special exception due to a bunny-eared lawyer.

so then could someone explain what Monfrox is doing and why it is allowed please?

[Monfrox]

Don't judge me.

Kayora and Nexus are gonna have fun with you.

Funny. You only met me about a week ago. You sure you know what you're getting into?

[Hurtful Thoughts]

Soooo judging you for bringing a wet umbrella into the bar.

*Disgruntled Tardis-noise*

I mean they aren't really "super soldiers", they're just different.

I are confused...they seem genetically modified to me. So why would not super soldiers be allowed? please explain cause if they are i am going to sup up my guys with Project Achillies

Because they aren't super.

Think about it, growing up without any legs, yet expected to pass a military physical... or die.

[Patrick OConner]

OKay let us back up for a minute can i please get an exact description of who and what they are so there is not more confusion? please?

[Hurtful Thoughts]

OKay let us back up for a minute can i please get an exact description of who and what they are so there is not more confusion? please?

The official slant:
Really deformed humans and human-centipedes. Essentially cripples.

You want some?

[Monfrox]

Soooo judging you for bringing a wet umbrella into the bar.

*Disgruntled Tardis-noise*

I are confused...they seem genetically modified to me. So why would not super soldiers be allowed? please explain cause if they are i am going to sup up my guys with Project Achillies

Because they aren't super.

This

Yes, my fox girls can hear better than normal humans. And yes, my lamias give of a lower heat signature than normal humans. But when it comes down to brass tacks, they aren't really that much better than the average SF soldier. If you shoot them, they still bleed and die just like everyone else. Same with how they perform. Any soldier given the same training could be just as good. Their animal features only give them a slighter edge.

[The United Remnants of America]

Didn't we promise to be IC for page 2?

[Patrick OConner]

OKay let us back up for a minute can i please get an exact description of who and what they are so there is not more confusion? please?

The official slant:
Really deformed humans and human-centipedes. Essentially cripples.

You want some?

OKay got it so no super powers then?

[Monfrox]

Didn't we promise to be IC for page 2?

Well maybe we should make it official.

[Hurtful Thoughts]

Yes, my fox girls can hear better than normal humans. And yes, my lamias give of a lower heat signature than normal humans. But when it comes down to brass tacks, they aren't really that much better than the average SF soldier. If you shoot them, they still bleed and die just like everyone else. Same with how they perform. Any soldier given the same training could be just as good. Their animal features only give them a slighter edge.

Said 'edge' can also be exploited.

A Lamia cannot easily relocate or run-away if things go badly.

A fox-girl cannot 'swith-off' their sensitive ears without going deaf. Plus 90% of the time they smell shit.

---

Crompton arrived in-base, out of an early retirement mostly just to tend to the armory and make sure none of the returning grunts busted-up the base.

Something told him this wasn't going to be an easy task.

[Patrick OConner]

Major Jesse Overhill of the POAF FOrce Recon walks into the place. It was basically a dump which meant he liked it. Overhill is somewhat tall coming in at 6 foot 1 inch and with shoulders that are somewhat broad. His hair is dark brown and so is the matching beard he has recently grown. The beard it self is rather thick and curly covering the entire lower half of his face. His eyes are bright green and intelligent. The portions of his face not covered by beard are weather worn and the skin is light brown from his days in the sun with his facial features being somewhat angular. Overhill nose is a rather modest looking one slanting out from his face but it crook near the end having been broken and not properly set in the past. It gives him a rather dashing look in a pirate sort of way. His clothes are are just a plain green t shirt and pair of POAF Marine Assault Corp BDU digicam pants (with their distinctive green, tan and grey color scheme) and a pair of standard camouflage combat boots. A camouflage baseball cap rests on his head. The words FORCE RECON are emblazoned across the front of the cap In large white letters. Around his neck dangle a pair of wrap around sunglasses with some unusually thick lenses. The glasses are of a design unknown and seem like they would be almost awkward to wear but at the same times useful and comfortable. the sunglasses hang from a wire lead attached to the ends of the arms He had just arrived and been dropped off by a transport which had prommatly left him to return home to pick up the rest of the team. He had be forced to lung all of his equipment and store himself across the base the his quarters. After stowing it and making sure some of the more sensitive stuff was secured properly he was tired and jet lagged and wanted a drink badly.
"Which way is the bar?"
He asks allowed to no one in particulate.

[Monfrox]

Mad Symphony
It wasn't long in the day before a dark and light grey camouflaged C-17B Globemaster III landed down on the airstrip and taxied of to the ramp. It offloaded it's designated cargo of equipment before the crew chiefs begrudgingly supervised said equipment's transport to the base armory. As that was being accomplished, the two new additions from the Froxian military walked off the drop ramp. Well, perhaps walked was the wrong word. More like calmly slithered out, and onto the tarmac.

"Hey, sis." The taller one with blue hair looked over to her partner.

"Yeah?" The shorter, purple-haired on replied.

"How often you think these guys've seen a half snake person before?"

"Not sure, why?"

"No reason." She said, eyeing back the other base personnel that were staring. "Hey, let's head to the range."

"Why the range?"

"To make sure that your rifle's still tuned in from when we packed it up."

"Okay, whatever..."

The two made their way over to the armory and, after a bit of an introduction to the quarter master, retrieved their equipment and headed for the long-range field. They laid down on the dirt and set up their position. Nix set up the L115A3 and loaded a magazine into it as Phys got out the spotting scope. The two began practicing the standard call and shoot system they were trained on.

[Patrick OConner]

Overhill looked out the window and stopped dead in his track.
"What the-?"
All thought of booze or getting drunk just vanished from his mind because to the amazing sight he had just seen. He just saw two woman waist up human but down snakes. It was like something from the Deep Research Division. Well this just got a whole lot more interesting that is for sure
"Okay I gotta to know more"
He exits the building and follows the pair to the firing range curious about the unusual pair and wanting to know more about them. He watched them draw what was clearly a sniper rifle and a spotting scope from the armory and practice there sniping skills and adjusting the scope on the rifle. He watches them and looks down range gauging the shots by the puff of dirt the bullets kick up. He reaches down and picks up the shades and puts them on to block out the sun while committing their faces to memory intending to look them up later.
"Not bad...not bad at all. I will have to introduce myself to them."
Overhill pulls himself up and chair and waits for the pair to finish.

[Greater Soviet Ukraine]

Mikhail shoots his AK. "MORE IC POSTS OR I WILL SEND YOU TO KALASHNIKOV HELL."

Okay, time for realz rp.

Corporal Mikhail Polishchuk and six Alpha Group members entered the ATLAS International headquarters. It was a nicely done military base, not unlike that of the WA or all those other international organizations, but not really special. There was a nice lobby, a good base wall made out of something that was definitely not concrete (probably gift of the GameTopians or another iComrade of ATLAS), and a few other installments for the usual Tier One Group. A helicopter was buzzing in the distance, getting ready to land. A few gardener was tending with the environmental training courses, trying to keep them as wild, uncomfortable, and deadly as a forest or beach can be. The shooting range was nearby, with some people taking shots at the targets in their spare time. Several helicopters, plane and other vehicles were at a base farther out of the main building, and the control tower was on, directing a helicopter that was taking off towards Union City.

Mikhail ignored that and went straight into the lobby. A lone clerk was texting someone from their phone, too engrossed with it to notice the six burly Ukrainian men coming her way.

Mikhail coughed and she dropped her phone, looking surprised.

"Check in. Alpha. ATLAS. Where bar?" Mikhail said in very broken english. He cursed under his breath. He better get one of those translator Nikolai was bragging about.

"Oh... uh, oh! Welcome Alpha Group, I have you checked in for a stay at the barracks until Operation Legion is over. Your rooms will be 200 - 206, Sector C. Here is a map, your room locations, and the keys."

"Спасибі." Mikhail nodded and picked up the map.

He turned back toward his fellows and motioned them to sit down in some couches. He placed the map on the table. "All right, we have rooms 200 to 206, at Sector C. It's about to be dark-" He motioned out side "So lets get our stuff in the rooms then go to the TF ATLAS Bar and Grill. I'm damn hungry, and I need the booze."

They started walking down to the barrracks. Ruslan looked over to Mikhail and asked, "Do you think they have vodka? The type from home?"

Leonid grunted. "They better. I'll need to drown my eyes after raiding that insurgent base. Terrorists are to stubborn these days."

Mikhail just said: "Hurry up guys. I want to go eat."

The men finally found their rooms, and Mikhail gave Stanislav, the only one with free hands, the keys.

"Quickly!"

Soon, Alpha Group had gotten their luggage in and were heading towards the bar. They passed a strange man, wearing a cap that said "FORCE RECON", some camouflage pants, sunglasses around his neck, a beard, and a strange, dreamy look on his face. When they looked to see where he was going, they saw two girls at the firing range. They seemed normal at first, but when Alpha group went down, they saw a large snake tail going down from they waist.

Mikhail did a double take, then walked faster. "I think I'm going to need a lot of shots tonight."

[Congreveopia]

“Mmm, nothing like stepping off of satellite data and back onto good old Wi-Fi!” said a robotic avatar of Nexus, totally drowned out by the roar of the An-124 cargo plane it was standing in.

The robot hopped out of the massive aircraft as the nose opened up and a ramp began unfolding out. The loadmasters began climbing down from the cabin and freeing the cargo inside as Nexus stood outside the airplane, surveying the scene as a child on holiday in the Hale Isles might look around just after getting off the plane. One of the first pieces of cargo that was freed woke up at a radio call from Nexus and rolled down the ramp to take a look around as well.

“Hey, Cobra!” said Nexus over the roar of the engines, waving to the small robotic assault vehicle. “How you doing?!”

“No noticeable deviation from expected parameters. Abbreviated report attached.” radioed back Rumbler class autonomous attack vehicle called Cobra.

“Well that’s a boring reply.” thought Nexus, walking over to Cobra and absentmindedly stroking its armour. The vehicle purred slightly in response. Charles had probably programmed that. Nexus looked up the edits log. Charles had programmed that.

“Where am I sleeping? Where can I get a drink? Where is this cargo going? Where are the Platinum Soldiers? And why do they need this much stuff?” asked a pilot, walking over to join Nexus.

“Sleep on the plane, you’ll be flying away soon. Map’s on you PCU. I’ll take care of the cargo. They’re away right now. And most of it is Charles’s toys.” replied Nexus.

The pilot walked away, satisfied with the answers. Nexus glanced back at Cobra and saw it pointing its main turret meaningfully at a radio mast.

“No, that’s not a hostile target.” said Nexus. The robot immediately switched to aiming at the control tower instead. “That’s not a target either.” said Nexus. “I’m not gonna have to spend my entire time here telling you what you can’t shoot, am I?”

The turret swiveled to face another nation's cargo plane, where two very strange-looking people were disembarking. Nexus streamed the data from the higher-res cameras aboard Cobra, and looked at the two snake-women move away from their aircraft.

“Huh, Lamias.” said Nexus “Did not know those were real yet. They might be a target, Cobra.”

“Unknown mobile object, request identification. Motion pattern organic, but shape and heat do not match any creature in database.” radioed Cobra.

“Yeah, okay.” said Nexus “I’ll start a new entry for them. They’re worth watching.”

“I wonder if Kayora’s here.” thought Nexus, walking off towards the bar. “Those two are worth watching, but she is worth studying. Extensively. From a safe distance, and from behind a very good firewall.”

---

After a short walk, Nexus’s robot strolled into the bar and walked over to the counter. “I’ll take a glass of anything over 190 proof you have.” he said, sitting down on one of the stools and remotely overseeing the unloading of cargo while he waited for other people to arrive.

[Hurtful Thoughts]

A surprisingly undamaged Hurti chopper came-in for a landing soon after Nexus had finished making its observations; it didn't stick around much longer than for a handful of troopers to disembark. None of these were bravo-team operators, these people were older... Nevertheless, they came to base wearing full battle-rattle and lugging their cumbersome rucks with the assistance of their smart hydro-pneumatic exoskeletons; designed to better transfer the load directly to the ground and improve the efficiency of walking by up to 20% on level ground without power (uphill would require power-assist), some claimed the suits could give an unfair advantage in a footrace, but the point being made was pretty moot when considering the prohibitive loads and broken terrain often encountered by foot soldiers these days.

If one looked closely enough, it would be noticed that every single one of them was a commissioned officer, 'Lifers'.

Their first destination, the rifle range.

---

Crompton watched this, and merely nodded at a mechanical voice asking for what was essentially straight moonshine before handing the patron half a bottle of Everclear.

[Esalonia]

SGM "Mincer"

The bar. Well, just your average bar. Nothing special. But what was special here is that everyone is wearing military uniform. Mincer, his commander Rose, and the rest of the squad wore LDPCU uniforms. The only thing they had was their P-420s chambered for .357 Pritchard, an AR95A1, four mags for each weapon, and knives. One would think that the bar was having a costume party with a military theme, but no-everyone here was part of a "Task Force Atlas."

"So, is this a welcome to Task Force Atlas, ma'am?" said Mincer to Rose.

"Yeah, big boy. This is Task Force Atlas."

But Mincer was surprised; this was not the crowd he'd be expecting. But at least they don't drink too hard. Here was one guy with a few bottles of beer, passed out. Another one was sitting with his squadmates and chatting. The mood in the bar had a mixture of rowdiness and discipline, probably typical of soldiers. If anything, the entire squad walked up to the counter, and sat on stools.

"Hey, bro. I'd like a bottle of beer." he said to the bartender, and his squad hurried for an empty sofa, without alerting Mincer.

[Military Democracy of Birtonia]

Two all black

flew towards the base, with the only identifying marks being the letters "BGDF" plastered in a light grey on both side doors and a small golden star on the tail of the bird. Inside housed a team of Birtonian Rangers who had just been assigned to Task Force Atlas, only a team of five, but some of the deadliest operators Birtonia could produce. Within a few minutes the birds flared and touched down opening the doors and revealing the soldiers. They all stepped out of the craft, which in turn rotated and flew away back home. The rangers were clad in just their combat fatigues with no gear on save for their USP 10 pistols on their hip.

"Let us check in" commanded Knight-Paladin John Juliani to his team. They then proceeded to the main lobby so they may check in and keep their gear in a secure location.

There was a lone female attendant typing furiously away at her phone, the team had already approached her desk and waited for her to look up and acknowledge them. "Asshole" she muttered while putting her phone down and then looked up, she inhaled a sharp gasp with a surprised look in her eye.

"Hello there love, we're here to check in for Atlas." explained Scribe First Class Enrique Morazan in a smooth tone.

After a short trip the team found their rooms and were dismissed for the night by John. He himself proceeded to adorn his dress black uniform, complete with a large amount of ribbons and medals decorating his chest. Around the waist was a gold belt with actual gold making up the designs on it, there was also a gold and crimson red shoulder cord denoting his status as a ranger, he grabbed his wide black hat with a gold bill, stuffed it under his arm and made his way towards the bar.

Stepping in, he put a hand on his belt and proceeded to move towards the bar, asking for a glass and a bottle of scotch. He poured himself a glass and looked around the bar, observing the other military outfits that were here.

[Monfrox]

"Take that one at 400 meters and send it."

"Right."

Crack.

"Another."

Crack.

"Sent."

"Roger. Take it to 550 meters. Fire when ready."

Another crack.

"Final target at 700 meters."

Crack.

"Miss."

"Tch!"

Crack.

"Nailed it."

Nix pulled the bolt back and dropped the small magazine out of the rifle. "I'd say that about does it. Doesn't seem to be anything wrong."

"You mean besides your usual itchy trigger finger?" Phys calmly shot back.

"Y'know, I'm gettin' reeeaaal tired of your fuckin' attitude."

Phys gently reached over and grabbed Nix's ear.

"OW! Hey! Cut it out!"

"Remember who's older here."

"OKAY OKAY, LEGGO!"

Phys let Nix go and rolled over to stretch. It was only then that she realized she had an audience. Well, it was a bit rude to sit and not introduce one's self when watching two women practice their shooting. A tad creepy, too.

"Can I help you?" She asked as Nix also looked over, puffing her cheeks in annoyance that someone had seen her slip up other than her sister.

[Patrick OConner]

Overhill gets up and walks over to the two...girls.
"Hey I'm Major Jesse Overhill call sign Overkill of the Patrick O'Conner Armed Forces Force Recon current leader of Team Thanatos. I am sorry if I was rude but I saw you two get off the plane and it must confess...I have not ever seen anything like you too ever and I was curious so I followed you two but now...I must say that I am more impressed with your shooting that I just saw. Sniping is not really my thing but I can hold my own. I know one guy who might be better. He is my team sniper and him and the rest of my team and a few other are scheduled to get here later. Tomorrow or the day after. We were in the middle of a training exercise when I got yanked out and sent on ahead to see about this Task Force Atlas. So far it looks good. This may sound like I am hitting on you too but I am not I swear. Could I buy you both a drink? The bar is over there"
Overhill motions to the bar with a questioning look on his face.
"I swear I will be good"
Overhill smiles now. An honest open expression.

[Congreveopia]

“‘Mincer’. Esalonian Squad. Task Force Atlas. John Juliani. Birtonian Squad. Task Force Atlas.” Nexus mentally identified the people as they walked in. Nobody super important yet from his perspective. No sign of Kayora. Neither of the snake women he’d seen earlier. He decided he would just have to content himself with chatting with some of the most deadly special forces on the planet as opposed to, you know, someone interesting.

Nexus gave the robotic avatar he was using the task of pouring a small glass of his drink while his distributed servers decided who he should chat with first.

Identify the bottle. Identify ways to grip it. Pick ideal. Plot route to grip. Check for collisions. Refine route. Execute route. Plot path from bottle to glass. Fluid dynamics simulation to check for spilling along path. Refine path. Recheck fluid simulation. Plan arm movement for bottle to traverse route. Calculate expected force needed. Within parameters. Check for arm collisions. Refine arm route. Recheck collisions. Recheck fluid simulation. Execute route to pour. Estimate time to pour correct quantity. Check via fluid dynamics. Begin pour. Refine estimates with sensor data. Wait. Stop pour. Plot path to set bottle down. Perform fluid dynamics simulation to check for spilling. Refine route. Recheck fluid simulation. Plan arm movement for bottle to traverse route. Calculate expected force needed. Within parameters. Check for arm collisions. Refine arm route. Recheck collisions. Recheck fluid simulation. Execute route to place bottle down. Check final bottle position. Within parameters. Release grip. Identify resting stances for arm. Select ideal. Plot route to resting position. Check for collisions. Refine route. Execute. Check final arm position with sensors. Within parameters. Upload results to improve algorithm in future. Wait for new command.

“Humans are amazing.” thought Nexus “I bet even a below average one could have thought about the conversation, and poured a drink, all on their brain alone. They don’t have to pass some of the computations to off-site centers or anything. I bet Kayora could have done that too. I could learn so much from her…”

Nexus noticed his drink as he drifted off into a daydream. “Then again…” he thought “Humans have to be, like, 19 years old or something to drink legally. Bartender didn’t even think to check my ID.”

He ejected a metal box from his chest, and set it on the table on end. It was about the shape of a hard drive, but had vents along the side, and a hole in the top with a stopper currently in it. Two cables ran from it to Nexus that he hadn’t bothered to disconnect. He pulled out the stopper and poured in some of the 95% ethanol liquid. There was a slight hissing sound, then CO2 and water vapor began coming out of the vents, and Nexus relaxed as he watched the charge on the avatar’s main battery pack climb back up.

Nexus began poking around the security camera records, looking for a good way to introduce himself to either of the people near him. He’d already hit an annoyingly competent security system shortly after getting off the plane, but there was some things he had been given access to. He wouldn’t be happy until he had all the things, but some was a start. He found the record of the Birtonian Squad checking in, and decided that’d be as good an icebreaker as any.

“Hello there love.” said Nexus, doing his best to imitate Enrique’s voice as he turned to face John “I’m Nexus. What’s your name?”

[Hurtful Thoughts]

"Hey, bro. I'd like a bottle of beer." he said to the bartender, and his squad hurried for an empty sofa, without alerting Mincer.

Crompton pulled a bottle of scotch, then walked away with it as he explained: "I'm no bartender, kid."

Mincer had to be, what? Only 22 years old? There was much better chance Crompton was this guy's illegitimate father, than his sibling; let alone equals.

He could see some familiar uniforms proceeding down the old dirt-road, and decided to see if their 'mugs had any new scars since the last he'd seen them.

---

Rosenthal arrived a bit late to see Overhill make an ass of himself, and only caught a bit of terribly bad flirting made worse by claiming he could find people better at what he was complimenting them on... real smooth, kiddo.

"Nice claim. But this is a shooting range. Seems like a good place to lay it out to the test. Schwartz! Boomer! To your positions!" The old man gruffly barked, twisting a cigar around his mouth as his lips contorted; already the two lieutenants took standing positions and began setting-up heavy-weapons (a large 23x115mm sniper-rifle and 35mm automatic grenade-launcher [both based on the same frame]) in a matter of seconds inside the concrete redoubts. Rosenthal pulled-out a spotting-scope and took a similar position.

"I'm Rosenthal, by-the-way." He remarked over his shoulder back to the bystanders; "Folks back home heard the team took a bit of a boot-lick'n not too long ago and decided to send us."

"Schwartz! 1540 meters, 32 mils left, HVT in partial cover inside shed, soft vehicles in the open to its right. Wake them up."

His semi-automatic weapon barked five times, the recoil causing his entire body to rock despite the sprung exoskeletal legs damping most of it. No sooner did he stop firing could the raports of the first shells came back to greet any listening ears.

The target, obviously, was one of the base's guard-towers.

[Military Democracy of Birtonia]

Knight-Paladin John Juliani

About five minutes in, John was already on his second glass of scotch. It was a fine brand, definitely enough to get him a buzz going after maybe a few more drinks. He downed what was in his glass with one gulp and poured another slowly. John had kept his back to most of the group, keeping to himself for the time being, but he did think again that maybe he should introduce himself to the other special warfare units that were present, he thought he would do that after this glass.

"Hello there love" said Enrique behind him, John turned, and to his surprise was a machine most assuredly not one of his scribes. "What..." he said looking down at his glass and back at the machine, "This is a strong ass drink" he thought to himself.

"I'm Nexus. What's your name?" the machine explained.

"I.... well, I am Knight-Paladin John Juliani, 1st squad commander, Alpha company, 1st Ranger Battalion. What uh, exactly are you?" he asked quite perplexed.

[Greater Soviet Ukraine]

The Ukrainian Squad walked into the bar and up the the bartender.

"Damn, I don't know how to say this in English. Ruslan, you know how to write English, tell him we need a bottle of Khortytsa Platinum and six shot glasses."

Ruslan wrote it down and the bartender gave him the glasses and bottle.

"Let's start drinking!'

[Congreveopia]

“That’s a really good question.” said Nexus “I am the security camera on the wall behind you. I am the cargo plane unloading supplies on the tarmac. I am the wisp drones that sail the stratosphere, eternally watching for danger. I am the mighty airships that project power and control across a world of chaos. I am the control rods in the reactors that give power to a nation. I am the endless fields of server farms and webs of fiber that encircle the world. I am the air that flows through Destiny as it defies the void and brings life to the skies beyond our world’s boundaries. I am the lonely rover, doomed to trek the endless deserts of Mars until it finally fails and is forgotten, miles upon miles beyond any help or haven. I am the Journeyman probe, plotting a new path across the unexplored depths of the heliosheath after decades of voyaging. I am Nexus, and I am far more than anyone has ever been before in any life.”

Nexus paused and poured more of his drink into the fuel cell sitting on the table.

“Currently, though.” said Nexus “I am the robot sitting next to you at a bar, and I am bored, so I’m looking for someone to chat with. Anything interesting happened to you lately?”