Dark Harvest II: War Hawks With Frickin' Lasers [ATTN DH1]

[TurtleShroom]

OOC: What I'd like to really know is, what happened to the two massive satellites that just impacted the Zim Belt?

OOC: CC, the missiles launched into the atmosphere were designed to destroy and sink all the enemy (and unfortunate friendly fire) satellites in TS' airspace. The military was completely expecting them to fall and even hit in TurtleShroom's borders. -and the settlement it hit is officially rural and totally uninhabited. The Zim Belt settlers were camping out there; it wasn't a city. Others would have hit in farmers' land or in the deserts.

OOC: Also, to survive six point-blank shots clean to the head and survive enough to walk around, think, etc. etc.? I knew that Shadowmane would live, and even planned for that. -but her standing? STANDING? TALKING? NOT COVERED IN BLOOD ALL OVER? Freaking MARY SUE...

[Urmanian]

OOC: Also, to survive six point-blank shots clean to the head and survive enough to walk around, think, etc. etc.? I knew that Shadowmane would live, and even planned for that. -but her standing? STANDING? TALKING? NOT COVERED IN BLOOD ALL OVER? Freaking MARY SUE...

OOC: You didn't really specify the turtle's aim, so Shadowmane was hit in the breast, shoulder and leg, everywhere but the head. Not that again, I would imagine that a turtle would have a particularly good aim with just grasping the hangun in its claw. If that pleases you, you may imagine that Shadowmane passed out after dealing with Worrior. That's not really the point is it?

[Ende]

OOC: Well, going back to my analysis...

A coma at least would be fair. Six shots. From point blank range. One shot from a mild-fair distance can kill. I mean, for Worrior to be that bad at aiming, he had to be drunk. Even with the pistol disability, POINT BLANK. And Turtleshroomers don't drink alcohol.

But hey, the thickest type of armor is Plot Armor. If you reeeeeaally need Shadowmane to live, that's fine in my opinion. Not like I'm an authority of what happens in this RP, but I was reading it for enjoyment and rather put off by that.

And, C'tan, can I expect a post anytime soon? I don't want to bother or rush you, but I'm just wondering.

[TurtleShroom]

{OOC: Let me tell you, if I was in a situation like that, I'd have had a human character shot in the waist and shoulders, and maybe the stomach, and he'd be wheelchair bound for life. That way, he doesn't die, but he still comes out badly. Fair for both sides/}

[The Ctan]

{OOC: Let me tell you, if I was in a situation like that, I'd have had a human character shot in the waist and shoulders, and maybe the stomach, and he'd be wheelchair bound for life. That way, he doesn't die, but he still comes out badly. Fair for both sides/}

(In fairness, it's also a little bit of a stretch to have him get that far with a gun; I mean... normally I'd presume POWs are searched for weapons. And in most of your previous RP I was given to assume that the turtles had to use special harnesses to operate a gun, and had rather poor dexterity. Of course now I plan to demeaningly search the rest of the turtles I have. What I proposed was that she fall unconscious and then Worrior be speared right down in the shell by guards, or alternatively, tortured horribly by angry under-inquisitors)

[TurtleShroom]

{OOC: Let me tell you, if I was in a situation like that, I'd have had a human character shot in the waist and shoulders, and maybe the stomach, and he'd be wheelchair bound for life. That way, he doesn't die, but he still comes out badly. Fair for both sides/}

(In fairness, it's also a little bit of a stretch to have him get that far with a gun; I mean... normally I'd presume POWs are searched for weapons. And in most of your previous RP I was given to assume that the turtles had to use special harnesses to operate a gun, and had rather poor dexterity. Of course now I plan to demeaningly search the rest of the turtles I have. What I proposed was that she fall unconscious and then Worrior be speared right down in the shell by guards, or alternatively, tortured horribly by angry under-inquisitors)

{OOC: Point taken. All I can say is that Shadowmane survived but was badly hurt, and that Worrior was killed and made into a sofa. Which, despite being macabre, was very creative and quite funny.}

{OOC: That is correct. Turtles can't shoot very well without the special harnesses, so it was NOT a KO in the head or a vital organ, so she'd obviously survive. Also, yes, failure to search turtles for weapons now would be totally absurd. Naturally, you should do so.}

[The Ctan]

Prisoner Processing

Shock and dismay went through the necron ranks at word of the dire wounding of Inquisitor Shadowmane. How could they have been so stupid? An announcement was read out by a necon in the turtle holding pen, "Every one of you with a concealed weapon, or any other item, inside his or her shell, hand it over now, and you'll not be punished. You are all going to be x-rayed. Any turtle found to have anything inside their shells will be punished with electric shock while we get it out. You have been warned!"

Ende Rendevous Site

"Tell me, how many slaves do you have to date..." Cyash said, dispassionately, she had no pride to insult at this stage, "Or how many humanii forced labourers, or any other species, for that matter? Maybe we could come to some sort of arrangement."

[Ende]

Rafael yawned.

"Slaver, does this make a difference for you? Does it impact the price? I'm assuming it does, so I'll tell you. We've abducted farmers in saucers for the last few months or so, I guess, and the last I tallied the count...eh, around 1000 abductees? As for other species...hmm. We're too smart to abduct ponies."

He dryly laughed.

"If we abducted them and their nations found out, we'd be faced with a hellstorm of interventionalists. The Turtleshroomers are allies, so we don't abduct them, so none turtles or mushrooms or...those nangynangy things. And as for other species...no, we don't have any others. And I wouldn't necessarily call them slaves...we feed them and pay them for their services, but they can't refuse the job we give them. Enh. Maybe it is slavery."

One of the soldiers stepped up and poured another glass of wine for Rafael.

"So, does this give me a discount?"

[The Ctan]

Ende Meeting Point

Cyash couldn't grin, her face - quite literally a war face - was solid, but as she re-engaged her personality, "You might say it is of considerable interest to us."

As she spoke the necrons began to raise their weapons, dropping to their knees, forming stable firing platforms. Hovering circular disks spread out, Shredders, an old weapon combining a gravitic sled with a single huge circular adamantite saw-blade that spun around its midsection, able to cut down trees and men equally well, armour plates on its body making it nearly immune to smallarms fire, shredders were capable of hitting eighty miles per hour or more, and were used frequently to run down escaping prisoners, hence their appearance here. A Shredder's contra-rotating blades could eviscerate a man in an instant, but more than that, they gave a fearsome morale edge, constructed that with their blades spun up to full power, as they were now, they made a fearsome saw noise.

Other necron vehicles began to track the Enderites with their weapons, as the infantry spread out to avoid counter-fire, tracking individual targets.

"Death to the slaver!" Cyash said, standing up to her full height, her gauntlet flashing with sinister green fire, "though in your case, I will settle for your immediate and unconditional surrender. Tell your men to all get back in the Arks." she said, screaming the last bit.

[Ende]

Rafael stared, the color draining from his face, leaving it a rather dull grey.

"You aren't slavers. You really are just deluded noble interventionalists, aren't you." he muttered, and he raised his hands into the air, and the soldiers accompanying him dropped their weapons immedietly.

"Get back in the Arks. Now. GET BACK IN THE ARKS. I immediently and unconditionally surrender!" he screeched, and the workers immediently fled into the Arks, away from the Shredders. He stared up at C'yash blankly for a few seconds, and than spoke sullenly.

"It's not even slavery. They have paid contracts...they just weren't allowed to turn them down..." he muttered, than stood up from his chair.

"I'm assuming that I'm now a prisoner of a traitor-race. Honestly, I'm amazed that your species has reached the point of such greatness and yet is so hypocritical and deluded still. You'd think you would have died out. Punishing the many for the sins of the few...truly, your civilization is a tyranny unlike no other." he muttered as he walked forward towards C'yash, his hands held straight in the air.

"I plan to make no attempts of resistance. But this is a meeting of diplomacy, and to break and attack in diplomacy is the utmost in betrayal. It is the move of a coward and a traitor. I welcomed you as an equal. Clearly a mistake. You are equal to nobody. Your society is more backwards than the humanii."

He stopped walking, and stared directly into C'yash.

"I will let the humanii go, if you wish. But you will let my people go, also. And I shall never associate with you again. Is that what you wish, traitor-scum?"

[The Ctan]

"You comprehend nothing of my kind," Cyash said dismissively, "but your tone offends me. And the idea that your contracts make it acceptable to force others to labour for you? Such folly offends. Which of your limbs will you pay to me in order to make amends for your insults?"

[Ende]

"On the contrary. I can tell everything about your kind from your actions. The actions are the pathway to the mind. I know present history. I'm not a fool. An insane minority of Turtleshroomers passes an act at midnight. The Turtleshroomers attempt everything to fix it, to attacking their own people who are rebelling. And yet you come in and invade. Senseless violence and oppression. A foolish nation of humanii fired a weapon at you. That nation no longer exists. I do the utmost to keep my people from starving to death. The rights of a thousand humanii, of which most accepted my bargain happily, are more important to you than the livelihood of an entire nation. You wish to see my people starve. And I decry you as the traitors for which you are, and you cannot tolerate the truth of your betrayal, and you demand a limb as payment. Your nation seems to be utterly backwards. Future technology, and yet a past mindset."

He stood still, not moving forward at all.

"I see no need to pay you a limb for the truth. You can take my left arm, if you are that utterly barbaric. But if you lay one hand on me, as a diplomat, you will instantly incense my people to war. And I am merely one of twelve rulers. The other eleven have greater forces than I, if not greater."

He moved his arm forward.

"It's your choice. You can prove to my people forevermore that yours are nothing but the greatest of savages, and take a leg. And bring consequences upon yourself. Or, you can let me leave in peace and unharmed, and I will release the humanii and recompense them in full, never resort to such matters again, and keep a spark of respect towards your peoples. It is your choice, and choices have prices. Choose wisely."

He sighed.

"But yes, you can take an arm if you wish. You have the power to do so, but for a race with such power...why do you not have the wisdom?"

[The Ctan]

"I am not being unkind to you. In fact, I shall explain my reasoning to you. This is mercy. The slaver deserves to die. I am not punishing the many, I am punishing you. Your pain will be transitory, an excoriation and a warning to deter others. You came under a banner of truce, but the codes of battle have no place for oppressors such as you, war with a slaver is not honourable for both parties, it is merely a necessary cleansing. But to allow you to escape without punishment is unjust, mercy is not justice, for if one deserves mercy, it is not merciful, merely justice. Tharnash, hold him. Althark, if you please."

Two necron lychguard, towering, heavily built necrons, came forward, a little shorter than the Enderan, with glimmering crowns upon their heads, equipped with long staves. One held the Enderian by the shoulders, its staff vanishing for a moment, as though it had never been, while Cyash herself grabbed his wrist.

"It is wise to let a lively terror spread among the slavers, there is no form of communication they understand other than those that they use upon their victims, fear and violence. We have tried many times to reason with slavers. You know you would not abolish slavery now without fear of force, or its use, admit that to yourself and you will see my wisdom. It is better to make slavers fear the strong, fear justice, than to let them expect tolerance," Althark held the long blade of the weapon down just above the wrist, "A little more if you please, Althark, above the elbow."

The necron re-adjusted his aim.

"Make sure you cauterise fully. Full setting. Nevertheless, I was inclined to spare you, given your tale of your need, and I shall see to it that you are fed by our people," Cyash said, "but your tone makes it impossible to let you escape punishment. Your crimes could be excused perhaps, written off as desperate folly, but your pride in them cannot. It is more imperative that an example be made of you, given that I intend to meet your food needs, else why would any slaver abandon slavery?"

The executioner turned up the power on his blade fully, the weapon's head disappearing in crackling green energies.

"You must be made to pay for your crimes, to make restitution, before the harm you have done can be restored." She nodded to Althark, and the blade swung, a weird snap noise sounding as mechanical limbs drove it so fast that the polearm broke the speed of sound, like the crack of a whip or a bullet, as it swept down in a jade arc to bisect the Hive Lord's arm.

[TurtleShroom]

{OOC: Read the Ende amputation piece. HARDCORE. LIKE A BOSS! }

{OOC: C'Tan, your characters are genocidal maniacs, and, even more so, you are an amazing writer. Seriously, your ability to craft a riveting, engaging
piece has few equals. I can literally picture everything that transversed, so thorough were your details. I like the personality of your people: justify a genocide because a portion of the target is tyrannical. It's a huge rationalization that wouldn't work in more conscientious men, and woudl fail in TS; we'd burn the slave government to ashes and closely monitor the people we couped to see if they do it again.}

[The Ctan]

{It's a huge rationalization that wouldn't work in more conscientious men, and woudl fail in TS; we'd burn the slave government to ashes and closely monitor the people we couped to see if they do it again.}

{Were she still talking to your people, Cyash would note that that does far more harm to them than merely lopping off the leader's arm. Your human(and turtleshroom!) morality is weak! Weak like the fleshtime! }

[Ende]

{It's a huge rationalization that wouldn't work in more conscientious men, and woudl fail in TS; we'd burn the slave government to ashes and closely monitor the people we couped to see if they do it again.}

{Were she still talking to your people, Cyash would note that that does far more harm to them than merely lopping off the leader's arm. Your human(and turtleshroom!) morality is weak! Weak like the fleshtime! }

{Wait, the C'tan are genocidal maniacs? I thought they were just mildly deluded white-knights that got so caught up in fighting slavers that they started to use slaver tactics and etcetera. Awesome descriptions, by the way. Your writing style is pretty enjoyable to read. I'm going to bed tonight, so the next post will be some time tomorrow.}

[The Ctan]

Allow me to explain:

Young Reinette: Monsieur, be careful!
The Doctor: It's just a nightmare, Reinette, don't worry, everyone has nightmares. Even monsters under the bed have nightmares!
Young Reinette: What do monsters have nightmares about?
The Doctor: Me!

I view them as ruthless good guys. They will be as cruel as they think deserved by the enemy, they are also kind to everyone else, forgiving and tolerent.

[The Ctan]

Prisoner Processing Zone

"One Seven Six - Ewe" the voice said.

The turtle was pinned down by an unspeaking robot, and sprayed with red, glossy paint on his carapace, a set of metal cutouts used to mask the shell so that the red paint bore his new label.

176-U

176-U. U designating that he had been a uniformed combattant in the border guard, rather than T, a T suffix would have designated that he had been a terrorist. The turtle grunted as they flipped him over and sprayed the sticky paint on his plastron too, having difficulty breathing, legs waving. He was moved one.

"One Seven Seven - Tea."


177-T was taken along to the next phase, where he was put down on a scanner, like a CT-scanner, but faster, trundled thorugh. An alarm sounded, and two necrons walked over. "Hand over your weapon!"

"What weapon?" the turtle said, shrinking back a little but looking defiant.

The necrons grabbed the turtle, turning him upside down and shaking him, failing to dislodge the weapon, they began trying to pull the gun out of his shell without injuring him, eventually succeeding, whereupon he was taken back to the others, and set up on a table made of transparent plastic where every turtle could see him, and sticky electro-shock pads attached to his tail.

The necrons looked down at the imprisoned turtles, "You were warned!" one said, as an ominous crackling hum built up.

"Don't taze me! Don't Taze me! I didn't do anything! Ooooowwwww! OWWWWWW! OWWWWW"

Eventually, they released 177-T and moved onto the next one they'd found with a gun.

[TurtleShroom]

This is a FORUM POST BUMP. Remember, folks, this isn't over yet...

[The Ctan]

The Necrons had paused their advance towards the capital, instead spreading out throughout the Zim belt, rounding up the Zombies they’d come for, but though they’d come for the anti-ponyism, other things about the Turtleshroom way disgusted them deeply. The mistreatment of the nekos, a little, and the treatment of the so-called insane far, far more so.

Cyash looked on impassively as the now arm-less slaver was thrown into the prison transport which began to haul him away, and raised a hand to beckon one of her necrons over.

“Royarchess,” the cyptek said.

“I have a task for you Marash.”

“What does my lady desire?”

“I have heard of these primitives’ mental hospitals.”

“Psychiatry torture camps. They are not hospitals.”

“Quite I want you to take a squad of warriors through the veil, and liberate such a facility,”

“Do you wish mercy shown to the staff?”

“They are torturers, have no pity Marash.”

“As you command, Lady.”

Walking back to his squad, he and several other necrons vanished in a haze of darkness, travelling via teleport far across the country to a State Hospital System facility in a suburb. They seemed to come out of nowhere, twenty one necrons, seemingly determined to attack the hospital for what was surely to local eyes, a senseless act of aggression.

(I’d like to have them actually make some progress prior to the TSers going all Black Hawk Down on them, could your next post deal with what’s in the hospital and the staff, before the city’s milita comes out and overwhelms the invaders? Sorry about the quality of this post - I've basically had writer's block on this thread.)

[Urmanian]

Flankfurt am Mane
Central Office of the State Inquisition

Shadowmane put her steaming cup of coffee down on the table the texture of which looked oddly like a polished tortoise plastion as a curt knock on the door resounded about her cabinet.

"Enter." - said the Grand Inquisitor and the door opened, letting in an unicorn wearing a characteristic blue wizard robe, covered in silver stars.

"You wished to see me, Grand Inquisitor?" - the unicorn said, bowing his head to the mammoth blood-red mare sitting on a pile of cushions before him.

"Quite." - Shadowmane nodded and took a sip of her coffee. - "I've heard you specialize in mental spells, more importantly controlling memories?"

"Well, yes..." - the wizard began.

"Excellent!" - Shadowmane smiled modestly. - "I wish to forget a name..."

The Inquisitor chuckled and then laughed out loud, tapping the coffee table with her hoof.

"To forget a name...Worrior Jingleheimer!"

[TurtleShroom]

There once was a soldier, who stood on a drive, and this drive was shaded by trees. By these trees, ran a fence, that stretched far and wide... 'round the Gated Community...

They appeared out of nowhere in the swamplands. Their alien entities squishing in the marshy soil, they weeded their way through stagnant pools of water, over dirt roads, and between swamp trees, running into Spanish Moss and scaring away sentient and non-sentient creatures alike with their steady pace.

They finally ended up spying a very slight hill, that led to a huge plateau. The driveway was freshly paved in dark asphalt. Mere feet past that was a brick wall at least thirteen feet high with black, wrought-iron spikes characteristic of ritzy fences in upper-crust communities. Closer observation revealed that these spikes were not little pyramid spikes, but intricately crafted medical staves, the famed Medical Staff of Hermes. Alternating in a pattern after the staff was an authentic replica, made of the same iron, of the human brain, and then a metallic cross. Someone put a lot of work into this.
The gate on the drive was about one and a half times the size of its wall, and it, too, was made of black wrought-iron. Its vertical bars stretched from top to bottom, and in these bars, which one could easily see through but not break through, were carvings of truly majestic ironsmithing.
Beautifully welded into the left gate was the traditional Medical Staff of Hermes placed above an equally intricate carving of a human brain. The right gate depicted religious icons, primarily that of a Christian cross and the traditional "plus" of the Red Cross and the Johnson and Johnson Company. Smiling angels gesturing to the plus sign and the words "COME, ALL YE WEARY, AND I WILL GIVE YOU REST" were in the piece as well.

Topping this masterpiece was an arched way with the letters engraved into it.

CITY OF MENTALIA TWO
MUNICIPALITY CHARTERED FOR THE MAINTENANCE OF
STATE LUNATIC ASYLUM #1332

A plaque, made of bronze, was to the left of the gate.

WELCOME TO THE CITY OF MENTALIA TWO
THIS INCORPORATED MUNICIPALITY EXISTS TO MANAGE THE FUNDS
AND HOUSE THE STAFF OF THE THIRTY SECOND MENTAL HOSPITAL
THE "JOSHUA ABRAHAM NORTON LUNATIC ASYLUM"

Below that was the seal of the SHS:


Then the second part of the plaque:

STATE HOSPITAL SERVICE - MENTAL HOSPITAL THREE THOUSAND THIRTY TWO
COMPLETED 1999 AD
BLESSINGS AND HEALING TO ALL WHO ENTER
VISITATION HOURS... (here it listed them)

Beyond the gate, the driveway extended all the way to the back of the city, to a grand fountain. Towering over that was the actual asylum. To the left and right of this apparent "main street" were subdivisions of cookie-cutter, white houses with little red pluses on each. A plaque on the brick structure encasing the mailbox read their name and position. One of the closest to the invaders' view was one that said "DOCTOR LARRY BOI IV, CHIEF NEUROSURGEON ON HUMANS' BRAINS (SPECIALIZES - FRONTAL LOBE, CORTEX), PSYCHOSURGEON".


Looking back to the fountain and clear down the street, it was clear that the little suburban houses were symmetrically split. The asylum seemed to be five stories tall. {OOC: The buildings look like these: http://www.flickr.com/photos/batman60/4429786556/ , but they aren't tilted, but rather, straight and connected together. On top, add the SHS symbols and engrave that over the entrance, which is always two towering, gold-plated double-doors.}
It dominated the sky in the distance and stretched across the entire back of the gated community.

IT was their target.

---

They had decided to call the invasion "Operation Slugglishly Progressing Schizophrenia", after a similar use of mass psychiatry for dark internment.

-and they were ready to storm the gates.

{OOC: C'Tan, be sure to tell me how you're going to invade the city and the hospital in the back. I'll write what happens after you give me the gist of it. They won't all rise up and call the cops in time until you reach the actual hospital, giving plenty of time for "interaction" with the staff's houses and the staff themselves, most likely with fire and kidnapping.}

{OOC: Fitting music.}

[The Ctan]

Hive-City of Hecapalia, Fringeworld Mien-Thoram, Before the Invasion

Exuvian fell through the air, looking up as he tumbled. The mouldering city was like a vast agglomeration of iron spars thrusting miles into the air. The city was a ruin, part of what the Necrontyr called the Ancestral Territories, a name now replacing “ancestral protectorate” in common parlance. The city had been built by a human civilization called the Impeirium of Man, and at its height, thirty million people had lived here. They were gone now, not at the hands of the necrons, but at something else’s, only a few thousand undertakers, sorcerers, recluses and historians occupied the vast city that towered from the ash wastes below, operating from the spies that had once housed decadent nobles, and those peaks crackled with live gellar fields and void shields still, visible as an orangey haze against the night sky at the summit of a dozen mountains of metal heaped one atop the other, a place that was silent now, sand filling where the teeming masses had once slaved for their noble lords.

He held out a foreleg, mentally triggering the weapon he had strapped to it, secured through the oval holes in his leg, coal-dark coat merging with the blackness of the weapon. The leg brace released its talon, a knife-missile derived weapon with a gravitic core that flew across the intervening space and snapped a claw onto one of the spurs. Exuvian’s gossamer wings folded back to his body as he swung. The cord that linked the talon to the brace that held it was a monofilament wire, a single polymer only a few molecules wide, that conducted a structural integrity field that gave it greater tensile strength than any unaided physical material could ever be, able to support the weight of a Exuvian and a dozen like him with ease. The spool mechanism inside the brace wheeled him in, the monofilament bonding into a small block of reserve, changing form as it pulled him up.

It had been inspired by a weapon in the much questioned Morno arë Cálëo i Parma, the grandly titled Book of Darkness and Light, a chronicle of two refugees who had arrived in Menelmacar decades ago with a fantastical tale that had become a bestseller. Regardless of the authenticity or accuracy of the original tome, the brace used by Exuvian most certainly worked and worked well (the makers paid a small percentage of the sale price to the writers) though it was an incredibly exotic weapon, and soon he was able to haul himself up onto the spar, two wing-beats helping his agility. He looked out over the city, and waited, sitting hunched against the spur of metal.

There were those in the universe who feared ‘Devil Hawses’ quite mistaken about their true nature. Ponies, were by and large, were entirely on the level about their intentions. Exuvian, though, Exuvian was unquestionably a Devil Hawse. Black from the tip of his horn to his hooves, with a coat the colour of coal, his eyes glowed an ominous blue, narrowed against the wind as he scanned his environment. He lived by absorbing the love of others to sustain himself.

Mien-Thoram or Peran IX, as its inhabitants had known it, was a dead world, The Psychneuein had killed it. They were horrific things, a kind of psychic wasp, almost, that laid parasitic eggs that drained the very soul, a terrible way to die, and they did so at a distance, needing only to be close to the victim to infest them, only radical brain surgery could save the victim from dying a terrible death.

Exuvian could see them in the distance, two or three, and he held out his foreleg, a nerve impulse commanding the talon to fire, an eagle-like shriek whistling from the weapon. The “gravitational fields” that propelled it were nothing of the sort in reality, in actual fact sophisticated means of manipulating the very shape of space itself, the talon’s engine unit also made a cutting edge, akin to a weapon called a linegun, allowing it to slice through meters of iron as easily as the proverbial hot knife through butter.

“Hey bugs!” Exuvian called, “over here! Fresh brains!”

The three of them turned, their wings droning as they closed into range of him. He held out his foreleg and fired, a shriek echoing off the walls of iron, a natural, wholesome sound the likes of which had not been heard here for centuries, the head of the first one flying off, cut by the flexing gravy field, as the monofilament wire blurred through the two to its side, the talon curving off to the left, slicing them in two; the filament could be made safe to hold with a thought, or allowed to serve as a cutting surface, like a cheese-wire, and here, Exuvian let it be the latter.

The three Psychneuein fell in six separate parts, and he held his hoof forward as the talon returned to the brace with a soft click. Exuvian smiled, “Range four, three targets neutralised,” he said.

“Good good, what is that, eighteen? You're doing well today Ex, but we've got a guest here for you, you might want to head back.” the voice of one of the humans back in cull-control said.

“Who is it?”

“A pony called Trixie, apparently.”

State Hospital Service – Mental Hospital 3232, The Present

A gated community: ideal.

Limited ways in also meant limited ways out.

That was the reaction of the necrons as they emerged from the swamps to the area indicated as state hospital thirty-two-thirty-two. Their glowing weapons shrouded and dulled, they moved with quiet patience as they approached, a menace given away only by their glowing green eyes in the dark.

They approached the gates languidly, and prepared to summon additional equipment as they approached, one reached out to the bars, its hand suddenly flaming with green energies. Another and then another reached out, green lightning sparking into the metal as they held the gate two holding it, one gripping above and below the locking mechanism. Each necron contained a small annihilation plant, and could draw power from other sources, their guns drew power from their environment, or the necron itself,

The tactics were to be simple. Leave a necron at the main gate to shoot anyone trying to escape, warnings would be given of course, and then proceed up the road to the hospital, break the front door down, and inspect the facility; in the event that it confirmed their suspicions, they would then call in more necrons to begin an evacuation.

They did not need to molest the doctors and the other staff in their homes, so they passed them by in silence, trudging along the street in good order, the only staff they were interested in were those who were actually standing in their way.

South of the City of Gerry

The exact movements of the necron army had been difficult to determine, the destruction of much of the rail network in the east had limited the Turtleshroomers in their ability to fight, and gather information, and the general assumption seemed to be that the necrons were contained in the east. From intercepted transmissions it seemed the Turtleshroomers believed the C’tan invaders would try for their Capital. Lady Cyash had no such plan in mind, and she had retrenched her forces, drawing them back into the forest as they swept and swept again for the Zim Belt Militia, rounding them up where they found them.

The tactics were to be actually quite humane, focussing on minimizing civilian casualties. The necrons were brutal when they thoguht it was to their advantage to be brutal, not for its own sake, the advance was combined arms, of course, led by huge phalanxes of armoured vehicles, bristling with weapons. With much of the train network disabled, the necrons feared little from the aircraft suppression batteries, but they expected the city to have its own anti-air, and their fliers were dispatched to bomb such sites.

The strategy was a grand vision, to surround the city, and to excise every aspect of Turtleshroom state control from it, to achieve the political objective set by Cyash's superiors. Already some elements broke away to dig in around the city to intercept relief forces.

The psyops, though, were impressive. A powerful transmitter was set up outside the city, broadcasting on radio and television, and also broadcasting holograms of Cyash over the city. Her voice boomed over the city, “People of Gerry! Know this! We come in peace. We will enter your city and judge the morals of the city. If you have been persecuted, you will be set on high, and if you have persecuted others, you will be lain low. Only those who have sinned have cause to fear us!”

[TurtleShroom]

"We got a signal! WE GOT A SIGNAL!"

The civilian weather station that had been commandeered by the military had finally been rigged up with enough power to change its massive tornado hook-echo dish (which never needed to be used because jungle storms never developed into supercells) from a meteorogical apparatus to a radar. It wasn't nearly as hard as they thought. The problem was lugging it by donkey and buggy because the station didn't have any access except rail.

The screen clicked and showed a massive series of sinister green dots.

"Them See-Tans are after Jonesboro." the first assumed.

What? The dot was heading north?! North-WEST?

"They're going to the City of Gerry?!"

Everyone was silent... -and then they laughed... -and that broke into cheering.

"I'll be, they're finally gone take care of them druggies, queers, nekos, and stinkin' haws councilmen!"

High fives all around the human department.

"I'll keep watch to see if it's a trap. Gerry ain't our concern... it's just a corrupted blot on a map."

[The Ctan]

That the Turtleshroomers would allow the city to be taken, the necrons didn't know, and so they began to dig in, in force, tomb spyders burrowing out underground hives, and various systems digging trenches of deadfalls, huge builder scarabs drawing metal prongs out of the ground to generate gauss turrets, and mines being deployed in the thousands, lurking scarabs and hive grenades, a huge amount of equipment, accompaned by squads of hovering bike-like devices ridden by necrons which would keep the natives bottled up in the city.

The balance of their forces, however, pressed on, huge tanks moving into the lawless streets of Gerry, accompanied by thosuands of necron forces marching in flawless lock-step behind. What resistance would they find from the criminals, or the police (or as the natives doubtless called them, Poe-Lease.)