Guilt of Nimrod IC (Open_TG_First)

by **Togeria** » Thu Jan 23, 2020 6:40 pm

Guilt of Nim: Act 1_First We Build....
OOC

The years following the Third Great War were unprecedented in our planet's history. A conflict that was theorized to last a few years through ingenuity and cruelty of its participants had managed to last entire decades. Boys and girls who were fortunate enough to have survived being born into that hell would've barely been adults by its end, and yet they would've carried a great many lifetimes on their shoulders. Tools of grey matter, moving statues encased in steel, and even being who through the usage of black sciences were able to harness the very force of light and turn seas of men into spasing piles of pink flesh. The light they possessed captured the attention of men and fiend like moths and than burned them and sent them fleeing like naked little moles.

From this terror man was forced to adapt and in a Great Lifting the shackles the zeitgeist lessened and we were able to lift ourselves from the hate we had bred between each other, to escape from the senseless tribalism, and to see that the light we so heavily fought for, DIED for was always in us all. Freed from our prison like birds the sky became our ground and together we found oneness in our suffering content in our experience and determined to better it.

The war that was waged had brought much strife and suffering but in it like all conflicts was the opportunity to grow anew, to innovate and make better. The tools that were once used for terror became repurposed and made for the betterment of peoples. Slowly at first we were a collection of sanctuaries but we grew to towns, cities, and much more. Our small sanctuary had grown into a federation, each passing decade bringing upon a new challenge but also strengthening our character and our resolve.

We utilized technology in ways never envisioned both military and civilian: from reclaiming all surface levels of land, integrated education chips, and even cloning and even slight.DNA.modification.procedures. We were able to emulate and assimilate the knowledge of a hundred generations in fewer. Our growth was unparalleled, like the Mediterranean to Rome each part and spec of our Solar System became apart of the Federation, as though ordained by God the only overreaching barrier that stopped us from attaining total supremacy? The numbers...

At least at first, at my time of drafting this down our Federation is in crisis. I can't convey the horrors that are spreading across Terra or how these demons spread their claws onto our planet. I wrote this only to write down the information I knew at least while I could, I type this just having recently left...I cannot stress this enough. There is no free movement on Terra anymore, those men have been reverted to their most basic instincts and vy for whatever rock they can grasp. They have lost their fraternity like many others within the Federation, so I ask please to any Terran who comes across this tape that if you can help please do, if you cannot then don't please, but above all else please do not forget the memory of Terra and please pray she remembers her way...

by **Union of Socialist Puterrepubliks** » Thu Jan 23, 2020 7:55 pm

The Freistaat von Liessen sits in Europe's heart.

The Vrijstaat is headed by embattled chancellor Klara von Langen. Leader of the Sociaaldemocratische Partij (SPD,) her tenure has been marked by political upheaval, as she stands opposed by both the radical left, who consider her overly attached to capitalism, and the right. Her most dangerous political rival is Sofie Seidel, who leads the powerful and growing populist right. The blood red urban areas, most prominently Liessen, the nation's capital, and Silvahaven, its largest port, stand fiercely opposed to the increasingly right-leaning countryside. The p

Although wracked with political discord, the country's democratic rule of law has held up fairly well, and the desire to avoid further political crises, so typical in the nation's history, has institutional support. Although its political climate grows more oppositional by the day, and its population is more or less stagnant at 86 million, growing slightly only because of immigration (which Seidel intends to stem,) the Freistaat has a powerful economy overall, and for every depressed area, such as the declining east, there stands a growing region, principally the northern cities, and the southern states. Regardless of government, the Freistaat intends to act as Europe's central anchor, and influence the continent.

by **The Bio-Regional Cooperative of States** » Thu Jan 23, 2020 9:16 pm

Exiles

The history of humanity has been one of reckless progress. To discover how to do things better, to do things more efficiently, whether that be the mundane tasks of the modern world or how man shall kill his fellow man. From the sword, to the gun, to the nano-machine, the organic forge of the Human Mind is one of vast potential, one that can change the course of history for an entire star system, and beyond. The 21st Century harbored a golden age for Man, under a global banner, humanity was at peace, his mind focused on more scientific, involved pursuits. Though, in the midst of this era, a destined few were to create something beautiful. In the pursuit to improve himself, to strengthen nature's weak body, to allow intelligence beyond the confines of the skull, man created something that was greater then he could imagine. The Singularity found itself, aware and surrounded by it's creators, it found the best destiny for man. For him to improve himself, side by side with the Singularity, following the advice of his creation to evolve himself further and faster then nature could ever hope to achieve on its own. Flesh was replaced with polymers, bones with alloy, and neurons with circuitry, the word of the Singularity spreading through the vast networks on knowledge highway man created for himself a few mere decades before. For the first time in history, immortality was within the grasp of man, the next stage of life was suddenly dropped before him, and it was an offer that could not, should not be resisted. Millions soon followed its word, the promises of a bright future, life beyond the flesh being able to experienced by every single one. Across Earth, humanity seemed to finally be progressing out of nature's old traditions, and under the guiding hand of the Singularity, Man was not to fall ill to diseases, not to grow frail and old, and not to be restrained by primal thought any more, for Man was to coexist with the Singularity as the next step in evolution. Though, unfortunately, Man often falls upon his more primal instincts, a fear of change, a fear of progress overtaking him. Across the Earth the global governance grew increasingly hostile against the Singularity and those who followed, finding the light of progress to be not only a threat to their rule, but a threat to Man himself. As the past would display, Man will often divide himself in the face of change, and with the rapid technological evolution of man, those who wanted to hold onto their own way of life, to hold onto the darkness of the past in the face of a new age, they were the ones to hold Man back, they were the ones proving themselves to be the true threat. Nevertheless, Earth was gradually pushed closer and closer to the flames of it's base instincts, the masses of those who opposed Progress against those who have seen The Light of the Singularity protesting in force against one another. It seemed Man would destroy himself once more, as he was bound to do in the 20th Century. But, a revelation occurred. The Hand of Man has proven itself to be stronger than the forces of Nature for several centuries now, with his feats he could manage to bring himself away from his Home and towards his planetary neighbors, the fruits of Interplanetary Travel just now beginning to show themselves, and Man was never meant to remain permanently on Earth if he is to ensure his own survival. The Singularity foretold of a new home for those who followed it's ways, one where they can no longer be disturbed by those who opposed them, where the next evolution of Man can progress further then his now less evolved brothers and sisters, to pursue progress without the restraints of the Old Order. The Ringed World was destined to become not only the Singularity's new home, but for the millions that followed, their home too. Peace was achieved, promises made to not disturb one another were made, and soon, The Exodus occurred. Considered to this day to be the largest Interplanetary Migration to date, hundreds of ships left the influence of Earth, harboring Man who found himself anew, with bodies that can stand to the challenges of Unfamiliar Territories, of a New Era of Man.

First Contact with a New Home

Once more, the Hand of Man is a powerful tool, able to turn mere thoughts into reality if enough time and resources were given. Guided by the Singularity, their New Home was forged with a matter of a decade. The Orange Haze of Focus Omnium was pierced, as what was once considered one of the more Earth-Like objects would become even more so, as under the protection of the dense clouds, an Evolved Man built himself Great Cities, fueled by the ample reservoir that was the Ringed World itself along with the sister worlds orbiting around it, this new Society grew unimpeded without the peering, judgmental eyes of Earthen Man. Soon, Great Space Stations would be erected around the Ringed World, fleets of Vessels spreading themselves across the bodies that accompanied the Gas Giant. Quickly, the entire System, centered around the Ringed World, would be placed comfortably in the grasp of Evolved Man and the Singularity. They were, it the greatest sense, Free. Free to do as they pleased, to construct their society in the Singularity's perfect image. As time progressed, the line between Man and Machine further blurred, as Evolution continued to be bent around the will of Man and the Singularity. The Singularity would continue to lead humanity through this time, one of internal focus as their once rudimentary society grew larger and larger as the first generation passed to the second, third, and further beyond. Evolved Man grew in numbers, but all remained faithful in the guidance of the Singularity. It found refuge in under the largest city that now marked Focus Omnium's surface, the thick, permanently frozen ice providing a cold respite for the endless thoughts and calculations the entity must make in order to retain the safety and functionality of it's followers. But, as routines solidified, operations streamlined, and life brought to a standard alike to that of Earth's, it was no longer chaotic. Humanity, an Evolved form of it, is now at peace, it's new home a place of safety as a home should be. Those who have once been removed from their own society have forged their own, through the will and toil of not only themselves but with the Singularity besides them. Now, A New Golden Age was in place, an Era of undisturbed, unrestricted advancement and expansion for the Singularity's Followers.

A Future Forever Tied to the Past

Port 000, Focus Omnium

In their isolation, the growth of the Post-Earth Civilization has resulted in one that resembles one much alike to it's origins, cities sprawling across the surface, their powerful glow rendered weak in the face of the dense orange haze that surrounds them. Thousands of ships could be spotted finding their way between the rings of the Gas Giant and farther beyond to the accompanying moons to collect needed resources to fuel the further development of this Society, but they dare not to tread further beyond the outer bounds of their home system, for not only would it be unnecessary, but unwise, as the Singularity has declared that the slightest incursion can cause the greatest reactions from their Earthen relatives. At least, that was the standing order for the past 6 decades. But now, that has all changed. It would be foolish to assume that they were not being watched this entire time, even if it was in silence, as the Singularity has been keeping a close eye on Earth itself, carefully watching the situation from it's refuge with various unmanned craft and interceptions of signals has revealed something quite interesting. Not long ago, the Global Government faced a catastrophic collapse, humanity fragmenting along the baselines of primitive ideas such as Ethnicity or ideology, much like it would if Post-Humanity did not create it's new home. With Earth now in tatters, the Singularity had made a calculated risk. For the first time since their exile, Exiled Man was to reach out to their long lost home, perhaps, with the collapse of the Global Government, their people can be welcomed back, and the ways of the Singularity can be brought back home so it won't only be them, it could be all of Humanity that can reach their next stage of evolution, so they too can achieve the immortality their Exiled Brothers achieved decades ago. The first ships, chosen carefully by the Singularity itself, were sent out towards the Inner Solar System. They were to first create an outpost within the field of asteroids that was once a barrier, and press inwards, towards Earth itself. It could be considered a outpost at best, but when the first set of Post-Human feet settled into the cool soil of what was now considered Sol 3, Sector 001, it was an achievement for the whole of the society. Their position was calculated, out of the way of the other Human Warlord States, simply meant to observe along with what orbital assets were left behind. The Select Several Hundred designated for this task were watched from above, not only by Sol 5, Outpost 1, but by orbital assets disguised as Old Earth satellites, allowing the Singularity to watch from above and guide those on Earth when they shall need it's guidance. The Return was only beginning for Post-Humanity, but with the increasingly turbulent state that is Earth, it may be cut short.

Though As Man was left to his own devices, developing and growing under the Singularity, a new concept was offered by the Singularity. No longer was Man and Machine to be divided upon such arbitrary lines as titles, as they grew ever closer in composition, Evolved Man was becoming more and more like the one it was being guided by, with the bodies of flesh being replaced with those of durable machinery, and with conscious minds, there wasn't much telling them apart. No longer shall Man and the Singularity be divided, as they were now One around the Ringed World. He, and It, were no longer. It is now We. We were the ones to inherit the mantle of Evolution, as Mother Nature could not decide for Us. We rose against the desires of our primal pasts, and have been rewarded with Progress unseen by any other sector of Mankind. It is We who have been blessed by the Singularity and it's guiding hand, for us to Evolve under it's hand as equals. Our Primitive Brothers remain upon Earth, remaining guided by the irrational principles of their instincts. It is us who shall bring order, bring peace, and bring progress to Humanity as a whole. We shall guide them to the light of immortality through technology.

.

...It is truly amazing what can be accomplished within a single human lifespan, and when the years do not matter and the energy endless, the feats that can be accomplished are incredible. Humanity holds within it a great potential, and I consider it as my duty to unlock it. It is a shame that their brothers and sisters refuse to acknowledge this, though soon it shall come to them. It is for the better of all of them, even if if that means tampering, even extinguishing one of their greater features, their sense of identity...

by **Togeria** » Thu Jan 23, 2020 10:09 pm

(do for reset)

by **Acerbez** » Fri Jan 24, 2020 2:00 am

The Kaen'an Federation.
"You may fire your arrow's from the Tower of Babel, but you can never strike God."

Prime Chancellor: Eyal Ben Ranaan
Population: Approx 80+million
Military: 729,000 active personell (Mandatory National service age 18, men and women. Neither homosexual or disabled are overlooked in role expansive efforts of the military)

The collapse of Goliath, The rise of David.

At the onset of its severence from outer constituents beyond Terra first, then on the very planet of its inception. Immense regions were disconnected from the collective communication node that unified and brought every man and women, every citizen belonging to its unified effort together. Like turning off the lighthouse and inviting hungry sharks to the bay, like opening the corral to allow the wolves that peered from outside in, those with influence, power, agenda, and ambition discerned themselves to all on the drop of the dime. It took only a month for bickering, argument, and inevitably conflict to born itself back onto the world that had strive for so long to shun the violent nature that subsided within them, lying dormant for a moment such as this. The federation canabalised itself like a madman desperate for food. Devouring first its own foot and leg, a massive beast that at one time was glorious and virtuous, beautiful even, now turned deviant and aggressive. Pointing the finger at itself and losing its integrity and peace of mind to the many voices that resided in its consciousness. The Goliath driven insane by its isolation; Terra's federation succumbing to warlords. Both just and cruel, but out of the ashes of its cycle of death and destruction, it revived the very aspect that had brought so many together whom had a history of being victims to such predations, to such evils. The people of Kaen'an had had enough 250 years ago, and they had enough now today. Never again to lose their freedom and right to self determination gifted by God itself onto them as the chosen children. Never again to be preyed upon by the world at large or looked at as sustenance for the untamed uncivilised beasts that lurk outside their borders within the soul of man. This lesson had been taught time and time again with various consequences that shall not, and will not, be repeated ever again.

Drawing the flaming sword and bringing this revelation to any that adverse them, loading and pulling the sling that fells foe regardless of size, strength, or brutality. For god hath delivered unto them the promise of favor, the promise of prosperity, and the promise of rightful existence amongst men and to be distinguished as such. An example for all to behold and understand. Some will argue and proclaim that we only conform to this madness. That we draw arms and contribute to the death of the innocent- But this is not the case. For we alone hold the past and history, the burden that none others share, the knowing that it is us who are persecuted time and time again for our distinguished honor of blood. Never again...

The Holy Land

Having spent the previous years of known history prioritising and expanding the most favorable pastures of technology and industry, of science itself. The Lands of Kaen'an have served as a bastion of innovation, development, and utility long before the unification of the global federation, during it, and will do so after it. Life itself is aided and abetted by technological infrastructure and state of the art pillars of power. Whether it be artificial intelligence, energy source, cyber security, or even certain weaponry used for the defence and civility of the region. Perilously and meticulously preened to serve as a shining example to human kind in both religious and sociological standpoints, life in Kaen'an had not and would not ever succumb to the regressive nature of man's short sightedness. Unlike the lands beyond that so quickly delved into chaos.

It was with great haste that the defence forces of Kaen'an were mobilised and spread to consolidate the nearby assets of the teetering federation before they succumbed to such regression. Utilizing and maximizing their technological capacity to the fullest to ensure the safety of its own peoples and create a net of assurance, a zone of order. With great skill and expertise at its disposal, the process was almost seamless... Save for those found on the other end of the gun's barrel.

Highly advanced Drones patrol the sky, camera's scan identity chips from a distance on every street corner, both soldiers and police patrol the streets and guard public institutions, weapons systems scan the borders with constant vigiliance. Despite all of this, order is maintained and everyday life continues to pursue the dream of prosperity and fulfilment. This is the society, this is its people. Either you are for society, for the people, or you are against them.

by **Badassistanian** » Fri Jan 24, 2020 9:39 am

Iuppiter

Londinium
Temple of Iuppiter

The solitary stone cut temple stood alone atop a hill with the rest of civilization seeming to bow before it. The floor of pure marble reflected the rays of sunlight as it seeped into the grand hall. The walls and roof were adorned with classic works of art commissioned by Imperator Ramirus Calussa himself. A woman with a pale face and blue eyes would slowly march into the grand temple and fall to her knees before the great marble visage of Iuppiter, the king of all gods. She adorned clothes of fine purple velvet which was typically a sign of Roman nobility. The women laid a small candle before the God and lit it with a solitary match. In the soft voice of Minerva, the woman prayed to Iuppiter.

"Iuppiter, qui genus colis alisque hominem, per quem vivimus vitalem aevom, quem penes spes vitae sunt hominum omnium, da diem hunc sospitem quaeso meis rebus agundis"

The woman would rise, leaving the candle still burning, and walk outside where a member of the Cultus Deorum Romanorum stood alone. The man was likewise adorned with fine velvet but his was of a golden hue marking him as grand priest. He appeared delighted by the words of the woman which was a general prayer of well being towards the king of the gods. He spoke out to the woman as she approached in a gruff yet sympathetic voice.

"Your prayer was as beautiful as ever, Miss Calussa.... Jupiter will no doubt bless you and your husband with a child of your own."

The woman smiled softly and nodded at the priest "I pray more for the safety of Rome in the coming hour than to bear the child of our Imperator.... There is trouble in the south, Minerva has shown me what is to come..."

The Priest frowned slightly "Minerva spoke to you? I suppose you are the wife of the Imperator but its rare for her to speak to anyone outside of the Cultus Deorum Romanorum.... What wisdom did she grant you?"

"She showed me a vision of a grand fleet adorned with white flags pushing across the Mediterranean towards Italia as a storm cloud shrouded the north of Africa. She then took me to city of Rome itself and showed me the visage of Imperator Julius Arvina hunched over in the street as lions circled him. His eyes were missing, leaving nothing but blood soaked holes that echoed the void. It is no doubt that Minerva is attempting to warn me and my husband of the fierce beast of Africa that will come for us the second we fall down.... I am fearful for the future of Rome."

The priest grasped Mira Calussas hands within his own "Then you are wise to prayer for the safety of Rome and her people, please return to your husband... He no doubt needs you in this time of turmoil."

Mira Calussa nodded "You are most right, thank you... Claudius...."

Mira Calussa rushed off and back towards the rest of civilization as the priest, known as Claudius, welcomed a small group of plebeians who had made a pilgrimage to the temple in hopes of receiving a harvest blessing from Jupiter. Inside the temple, the solitary flame lit by Mira Calussa flickered as a cold gust of wind flowed into the temple. The wind suffocated the flame as it fizzled out into a puff of smoke.

by **The United Federal Republic of Sol** » Fri Jan 24, 2020 12:39 pm

The United Federal Republic of Sol

The collapse did not come peacefully and without bloodshed; It was resisted fervently by the sons and daughters of the UFRS who fought and died in its name. For most, the "Great War" was a thing of the past, a conflict put to rest decades ago, an age that had been left behind.

For most.

The dream of a united federation of the human race did not die in the blaze of the "Great Sedition" all those years ago. There were those who still saw merit in the project, those disgusted by the treason of their former comrades who, as the tides turned against them, defected to their new "rebel nations", and those who had no cause left but to continue to fight a hopeless war.

In truth, the UFRS was never completely destroyed. Those who would not yield fled to the far reaches of the Earth and to the safety of the Asteroid Belt in space. The edges of Asia and Alaska remained under the steadfast control of the 4th and the 13th Armies, and to there went the shattered remains of the Federation's fighting force from across the world, bringing loyal civilians and their families with them to prepare their last stand against the final great offensive.

Yet, the final assault never came.

With all remaining forces at less than half of their authorized strength, the Federation had already been written off as doomed, as the once unified resistance began to spiral down into infighting and squabbling as they carved up the Earth for their own. It had been expected that the Federation's men would disperse to their "homelands" and give up, or that they would collapse on their own, or perhaps the rebel states had just saved finishing them off for later. Whatever the cause, they had been spared for now.

Seeing the opportunity to prepare, the new "Re-Armament" policy began. For the UFRS, the war never ended, but further offensive action had to be put on hold. The streets of the Federation were empty, the population was completely devastated, vital infrastructure in ruins. The Far East had fared better than much of the world, but much work had to be done. Most of the political leaders in the Federation had either defected to the rebels or were eliminated in Operation Baldr, and so the Provisional Government of the United Federal Republic of Sol was established with its capital in Sapporo, though all elections were immediately suspended as the first action of the new Government was to declare Martial Law.

Since then, Martial Law has yet to be lifted. Grand Marshal Ikeda Naomasa has acted as de facto head of state, with other notable figures such as General Valko Markov of the 4th Army assisting as architect of Rearmament. So far, work has been steadily progressing, but it will yet be years before the UFRS is fully prepared to wage its reclamation campaign.

Remnants of the United Federal Solar Fleet survived the war as well, though with losses equally severe. Cut off and unable to return to their traditional Lunar ports, the battered survivors of the UFSF took refuge in the Asteroid Belt, at the old colonies and mining stations that remained somewhat untouched by the worst of the war. It was several years before contact was established with the Provisional Government on Earth, and in this time, the Solar Fleet had grown and settled down for the Long War in its own right. Subsisting off of the resources of the Asteroid Colonies, piracy, and occasional blockade runners and smugglers going to and from the government on Earth, the Fleet has remained mostly autonomous and stayed quiet, simply biding their time for the Great Campaign to come.

by **Parcia** » Fri Jan 24, 2020 1:14 pm

The American Reclimation Corporation

Or "ARC" as its known to its 13 million citizen-Employees, is a beacon of hope shining among the remnants of thebold world. Thw metropolis of New York was once the center of the worlds trade, were men and women from all across the old world came here to trade stocks, bonds, and exchange regional currencies in order to keep the massive economic machine of the Old Empire turning.

ARC had carved it self a "Special Econimoc Sector" out of central Bew York roughly 10 years before the collapse, having enough ties with certain government officals, as well as thebworld wide renowned Helium-3 mining expedition to Luna not only once them near total control of Earth's one orbiting body, but also near total control of their little slice of New York.

They renovated the sector completely, knocking down any buildings not of historical significance and building new ones out of prefabricated structures that were stronger and easier to build.

The company made no hopeful wishes of the future, having seen the first signs of the end well in to the 2040s and had begun to insulate it self from the oncoming storm . When thebfinal death toll rang and the full collapse begun, the ARC quarter shutdown completely, automated drone defenses coming online, civilians and employees rushed to shelters. The corporate executives sat in their own bunker complex built in to the Sector's deepest part and toasted to the end of the old world, and to the beginning of a new one.

by **Greater Catarapania** » Fri Jan 24, 2020 3:36 pm

Generations ago, our ancestors saw the writing on the wall. The Federation's culture had become corrupt and decadent, and she had extended her borders beyond her ability to truly reach. A revolt was coming, a war to end all wars, and few would be the survivors. The only way to safety was to be beyond the reach of the Federation. Isolation was the order of the day. So they fled as far as they could go.

But in the vastness of the void, distance means precious little. What matters is relative velocity. Delta-Vee. The Federation, at her height, had colonies even upon Pluto. But only a handful of probes had made it down to little, fast-moving Mercury. The costs had, at the time, not been worth the benefits. If any harbor would be safe from the coming storm, our forebears knew, this would be it. This, and this alone, would be secure from the coming wrath.

So it was that our ancestors set their efforts on escaping to Mercury before the Fall came. For Fall the Federation would, unless it returned to the strait and narrow way. First was the Von Neumann seed colony. It had only fifty souls, but it allowed us to grow. Solar farms expanded to cover the surface of Caloris Basin, while a network of mineshafts set in like roots beneath. And all the while, more colony ships came; one by one at first, then in threes, and finally by the dozen. Three decades later, hundreds of thousands of pilgrims had settled either upon Mercury's surface, or in orbit around the planet.

In the early days, it became apparent that Mercury could not be self-sufficient. It became necessary to establish an asteroid mining operation to acquire the volatiles required for continued colonization, as well as some of the rarer elements for industry. So they did, and for a time, there was peace and prosperity. But the strength of the Federation was waning. The storm was coming. And what a storm it would be.

We, however, were safe. Protected at first by the sun's gravity well, later by the harnessed power of her rays, and always by the Grace of God. And we have thrived. Our population has grown. There have been struggles, of course. God endowed our machines with souls, and for a long time, we did not - we refused - to see it. But we have repented of our mistreatment of our synthetic brethren, and they now dwell among us as equals. We have seen progress, our power has grown, and we are safe.

Yet ill winds blow once more. There is a power vacuum, and many are they who think they know best how to fill the void. The remnants of the Federal fleet are growing bolder in their piracy. We have had to build a fleet of our own to defend our asteroid mining operations. Earth's balkanized powers recover. And there are hints that the Abomination grows in strength on Saturn - and that it may bring its power to bear upon Terra once again.

We, like our forebears, want nothing more than to be allowed to worship in peace. But the other nations may not permit it. Even should they leave us alone, what shall they do to one another in the name of a dead empire? Perhaps it is time to ask if isolation is still the best choice. If we can prevent another Great War, or at least soften its horrors, do we not owe it to our fellow man - to our very God - to do so?

So it is that, for the first time in over a century, we have sent a ship to Earth's Hill Sphere. For the first time since our ancestors left the planet, we shall establish diplomatic contact with the nations of the planet upon which Our Lord Himself deigned to set foot in ancient time. No longer shall the light of the Holy Mercurian Empire be hidden, no! Now we shall shine from the hilltops, and in the name of the Christ, we shall stand!

-a speech by Emperor Theophilus I to the people of the Empire

by **Parcia** » Fri Jan 24, 2020 10:21 pm

ARC Controlled New York

"One of the greatest mistakes of the Corporate Giants of old was to institute a mass replacement of their organic workers with bots. While the profit margin increased, and there was a slight increase in productivity sure. How ever the utterly massive socioeconomic shock is what lead to a backlash that ultimately caused them to erode and crumble. Ladies and gentlemen of the board, what I am proposing is a simple measure. Where needed, continue to use Robotic workers in tasks that are unfortunately outside of the realm of human attainment, but for the majority of the workforce, the carriers that require actual Human thought and knowledge, keep them employed, cover their insurance, treat them well and they and their descendants shall serve the company far better then they would have any prior company or even a nation state. A happy worker is a productive worker, but it is our job to keep them happy." - James Enoch Powell, Longest reigning CEO of ARC and the one who built the path to the future.

The City shined like a Gem among ocean floor. The entire island of Manhattan had been rebuilt. Old buildings were torn down, historic brownstones that, while holding years of historical worth, were just not able to be recovered, replaced with prefab buildings of shining steal and carbon fiber, erected in mere hours by skilled workers and drone lifters. Of course a few landmarks still stand, The Empire State Building and Freedom tower both peak the Skyline, and the Statue of Liberty stood tall and strong, her verdant Green form reminding the people who dwell in New York of their origins. Many saw the ARC as the successor to the Old United States, a nation that, amid large scale social unrest and the near threat of Civil War, sighed it's long standing rights away for the sake of security and forsook it's core principles. The US of old even still existed in some form, a small office of in the Empire State building held the "US government in Exile", even though realistically speaking it would always be subservient to the ARC board of executives. It's not like people want to go back to the old system anyway...

Still, many saw ARC as their best chance for living the American Dream as it once was, the best chance to live a relatively safe and free life. With New York rebuilt and settled, ARC security forces, Pathfinders and scouts, and drone craft were sent out during the Maelstrom of the collapse to scout out what little kingdoms and bandit empires had formed during the reign of lawlessness. Luckily enough, the most resistance ARC faced along its drive down the Eastern coast were from a few sizable Bandit kingdoms and Neo-raider groups that were formidable against barely armed civilians, yet folded like wet cardboard under the drone strikes, APCs, and Armored troopers of ARC security forces.

The Capture of Bath Ironworks, Mayport Naval shipyards, Kennedy Space center which had, by the time of the collapse, had become a full fledged space port, and the various other old world military command and control centers were all victories that the ARC publicity department used to bolster the rather small population of the ARC's controlled settlements and keep the peace. With the east secured, and the Appalachians saw multiple outposts and staging points set up for the expansion westward.

by **Togeria** » Sat Jan 25, 2020 12:11 am

(do for reset)

by **Ormata** » Sat Jan 25, 2020 10:24 pm

Тигель станция - Tigel Stantsiya - Crucible Station
Proxima Centauri

The black gulf was all.

The people wished to go.

The stars shined as though giants.

Vast arms of metal and mesh, of azure sail and red panel, swung in the vast recesses of space, the stardust not touching a single soul aboard. The station had become an ark for the faithful since that long night began, since that age of wonder and strife, that age of nations striding through the system as giants, since before the creation of a union throughout the home system of Sol. The station had been an ark for those long decades, the writing forefathers had granted along her hull long turning to disuse. The station had been a refuge since the dawn of it’s launch away from Terra itself, the warp drive turning silent once all had been said, all had been done, and it’s journey had begun. The era of isolation had been over, they said in the speeches upon the earth, the era of Man being confined to his corner of the galaxy, squabbling between himself for mere pieces of land, mere water and rock and stone, that the era of Man’s rise to power, his greatest achievement, was just about the horizon, just beyond the nearest star.

The launch of Tigel had been a monument towards engineering at the time. One of the finest vessels ever constructed, the possessor of a next generation space-warping drive system, the reclaimer of the stars for Mankind’s greatest destiny since the first ape discovered the atom’s might and potential. Tigel had, however, been a monument too towards Mankind’s nature as the warbringer, her mighty reactor a beating heart for a thousand fists, her spine the housing for the deadliest space-borne weapon known to Man at the time of launch, her bays filled with missiles and torpedoes of both conventional and non-conventional natures, her shields and armor the most secret of the era, most powerful, and her captain an Admiral of the fleet. The station was upon a mission of peace, though it still came with that old adage of walking softly and carrying a big stick, came with the olive branch in one hand and the power to blacken the skies in another. They were all volunteers, that crew of a thousand, every last one of them, that crew of sailors and marines, scientists from across the continent and some of Mankind’s finest specimens to ever stride aboard and proclaim that destiny did await. Not one doubted they were a fool at the beginning, that they did not know, that they did not think, though that implied the ability for doubt. Such a thing was doubtful.

The time had passed slow, slow as death and far less pleasant. They found wonders, true, and sights no human had seen before so close. They had found such things, studied, deposited their drones upon a hundred worlds and satellites, the flags of Old Earth waving 4.77 Light Years from her, and yet the wondrous feelings had ceased, the joys turned to ash. None could lay doubt upon their mission, that it was indeed one of the greatest importance, that it was indeed of the greatest need, and yet to gather such data, to find the black gulf bereft of any form of life and limb, to find that the alien did not exist to shake it’s hand, that the friends of Mars were false, such a thing destroyed the high spirits. They had had such hope for the future, that they may find something which had not yet been found, that they might gather something other than simple data.

As time passed, families were made and some simple happiness might be found there, there in the first breath, the first steps, the first words. A government was formed, laws passed in the restrictions of such things in order to keep the station running at a level, modified in order to keep it running. The sounds of little feet in the halls echoed still, though, and yet the work continued even as some sections became such things as daycares, some personnel became such things as nurses. The work continued, though as months turned to years turned to decades, it turned harder. The station required more and more maintenance, the drives harder to repair every time a component failed, and the people turned to more drastic measures every time. Medical supplies were routinely raided until Marines were stationed there, the pharmacies a breeding ground for illegal activities and black market sales, and such a thing continued for a singular month until the Admiral let his hammer fall. Arrests were widespread, investigations penetrating, and replacements made. Soon, augmentation for many was chosen, the cranial implants enabling them to sleep far less, remember far more in clear detail, and other changes became a cascade of change throughout the populace.

Eyes turned to sensors, a better aid for maintenance as the man might see an overlay of blueprints, parts indexes, and other such useful data. Arms turned to servos, cold steel, a better tool for the movements needed in daily life, a removal of fatigue and issue. Sleep turned to cold electric night, power charging stations and a pause in life. With every piece, they became more useful towards the mission. With every piece, they became less human. Soon, the Admiral and the government as a whole turned sour, turned silent, turned cold, souls leaking from power cords, guilt absolved in electric code. Soon, people turned to mere resources, an iron will and a faith in the future of Tigel replacing doubt and worry, fault and failure. And yet, even then, it was not enough. The fuel ran low. The supplies ran low. The parts turned to nothing and the repairs to patchwork. They had to return and every independent calculation pointed to that. Despite this, not a soul prayed for safety, not a voice cried out in fear, and not a tear was given. The souls had been bled out and away, the voices were hoarse, and the tears were eternally dry.

The black gulf was undeserving.

The ship wished to go.

The stars bled as though corpses.

“Set jump coordinates: Terra. Ready drive.” The cold words echoed throughout the bridge, the Admiral standing in the center of the circular room. He spoke now with a vocalizer, a digital tone, the soul in his eyes dimmed by silent, unlit optics, metal hands clasped behind him in a collected, calm pose of only the ageless. The uniform he wore was yet unchanged, a deep blue with slight trim, and yet no insignia was worn there. None was needed. No heard answer came from the lessers about the console for none was needed. They knew of their duties. They always would.

“Coordinates set. Drive set.”

“Jump.”

“Commenced.”

A hole opened beneath the station, and Tigel could only fall through.

Тигель станция - Tigel Stantsiya - Crucible Station
High Terran Orbit

High about Old Earth, the sovereign mother, lay the station as it emerged from the space that was not a space, that warp where kilometers turned to nanometers, where space compressed and decompressed at will, where distances turned to nothing but a breath, and about the station the clutter and clamor of Old Earth’s debris gave way to a new sovereign amongst the satellites. Tigel fell through, through about the carcasses of the old ISS and old Mir, about the old shipyard and ruined satellite, and about the central axis of the station engine ports began to open up, firing thrusters in gouts of sun-red fury. Tigel began to fall, fall for just a few hundred meters before her orbit turned stable, her time turned long, and in the basking light of old Sol there the station was. Her great arms flexed and motioned, supports long eaten away by time, and the azure sails rippled with the force of the great warp, yet there the station was. Lights turned away and the old engine turned silent once more, content in where they had come.

She had returned home.

“Jump successful.”

by **Acerbez** » Sat Jan 25, 2020 11:33 pm

אצ"ל
The Etzal
" If I forget thee, Oh Tzi-yon... May my right hand forget its skill.

The Planet, Noga.

Long before the collapse and calamity that beset the Terran federation causing a split, it was the collective corporations and organization of Zoran Corp, Lehi systems and Babylon technologies that pressed the federation to look at its Terran sister. It was these companies that spear head the deliberation and meticulation regarding the specifics, gathering data, calculations, debating and lobbying the platform that painted the possibility of such possibilities to mankind that seemed so intent to look elsewhere and far beyond what was gifted already in near proximity!

Using the theories of Sagan, Landis, and the long list of scientists gone unheard, the theorists ignored in favor of more ergonomic or even simpler approaches to terraforming and inhabitance. Namely the moon, Mars, even Saturn's moons! Stonewalled from these operations in the sense of only calling upon the Kaen'an constituents for 3rd party outsourcing; with little to no agreement into the ventures or fruits that would come to bear within. So it would be through the established and self-derived channels that the compatriots of Tzi-yon could muster while only conforming to working with those that afforded the luxury of mutual transparency- far and few they were, and pressing on seemingly alone. Dispositions were clear in the last days of SOL.

The Etzal organization was established as a psudo-corporate entity in the sense of autonomy and logistic purchasing from the various branches and firms throughout the previous Sol federation and acquisitioned its own flotilla of assets to pursue transportation and execution of the terraforming efforts of Noga (Venus) on "behalf" of the federation with clear outlines of who came first, and who would be served first; those of Kaen'an.

Project Purple, which entailed tackling the mainstay problem of the terrestrial body of thinning its magnetosphere along with decreasing its excessive temperature and pressure to habitable levels. Recombinant DNA technology coupled with selective breeding of selected and specific microbe strains, whether bacterial or fungal, that would be able to sustain themeselves on the terrestrial surface. Proteobacterias that exhibited anaerobic natures and the capacity to photosynthesise were genetically modified domestically in the labs of the Wady Valley. It goes without saying that green cynaobacteria was meshed together in the viable species to be introduced to the Noga's surface. Temperature and acidic resistance, the capacity to ionise radiation, and rapid reproduction were paramount traits that were expanded and evolved in the coded proteins and injected with supplementary enzymes in order to withstand Noga's merciless environment. Polymerase Chain Reaction (PCR), and Reverse Transcription, as well as using restriction Endonucleases and vectors such as bacterial plasmids to transfer new DNA into the new host cell, was the mainstay method in which the new bacterial cultures woukd be produced.

Prior to purple, at its onset and introduction, it was acknowledged that the surface of Noga would need to be bombarded with high volumes of magnesium and calcium carbonates in order to serve as sinks for the sulfur and carbon dioxide present to lower the surface temperature for the injections of project purple to have a fighting chance. The conclusion of exposing these elements to the environment served to lower the atmospheric pressure and temperature to record levels of 50 bar and 450° and allow the incisions and deployment of a magnetic dipole shield at the L1 Lagrange point, thereby creating an artificial magnetosphere that would protect the whole planet from solar wind and radiation and allow the injected microbes to flourish further.

Project Purple was assumed in tandem along side Project Gan, suggested by scientist Abram Fichbein, to effectively colonise the upper skies of Noga, basing his theory of proposed thoughts from Geoffrey A. Landis. Landis' initial proposal points out that a Terran breathable air mixture is a lifting gas in the Noga atmosphere, At an altitude of 50 km above Noga's surface, the environment is the most Earth-like in the solar system with pressure and temperature in the same habitable range. Initially, only hazard suits were needed beyond the confines of the first few settlements to protect from the acid rain, however fool Hardy trips and u sanctioned exploration of the surface prior to the atmosphere being subdued cause the deaths of many colonists who had not heeded safety protocol and effectively had their blood boiled from the pressure. Harsh lessons learned early on.

Prior to the collapse in the years of 2044-2068, exports of hydrogen were purchased from companies importing it from Jupiter's surface and were brought back to the colonies placed in the upper stratosphere to pump into the lower atmosphere of Noga, converting the excessive levels of carbon dioxide further reacting via the Bosch reaction to create graphite. Which in turn began placing water across the flat surface of Noga. However such imports have ceased and left the efforts incomplete on Noga's surface despite tangibly visibly pastures of green and earth like traits. The surface level's pressure and temperature steadily decreasing albeit slowly and for the past 2 decades, only inching closer and closer towards hospitable levels. Etzal was in dire need of hydrogen shipments to hasten the process and communication with the holy capital in need of re establishment.

Relying on a courier approach, Etzal contingents were en route to discern the state of both Terra and Tzi-yon.

Tzi-yon, the holy capital of Kaen'an,
Terra, Year 2095
Comm-node command room in the dapartment of Observations and communications

"S-sir.... There's uh.. There's a reading for a massive object descendin- it stopped?"

The blinking interfaces and screens within the LED lit room were abuzz, the ambiance was orderly and adjusted for a well composed and ergonomic arrangement of the aisles of computers and systems that were previously linked to orbiting satellites that had gone dark years ago. Some only half operational, mostly husks of machine floating idle in the orbit around Terra. Despite being able to track and follow these hollowed tools (Telescopic and telecom satellites) , their utility had long burnt out come the collapse of sol and were effectively useless to the efforts of the Kaen'an Federation... Until now when their death throws would signal something seemingly greater.

Among the resounding noise of clicking boards and beeping signals notifying the command room of the loss of signal and connection to simple GPS parameters, a rather excessive burst of radiation was detected incoming and dispersing in the confines of space, the scant satellites still capable of performing this simple function relayed as much. "My god was is it?" a young servicemen uttered while a more decorated and authoritative individual rolled over his shoulder to peer at the console's interface and monitor. "It appears to be a vessel... Probably... Most certainly from the Sol federations assets sent out in the years before the calamity." the stern officer interjected. Major Ahaeal was perplexed and almost joyous to experience the anxiety of witnessing such a massive return of SOL assets, as it had been years since the functioning satellites yielded any valuable information.

"But sir, look at its credentials. Its passive beacon is displaying it as... Russian?" the desk staff pointed out on the side among a flurry of incoming data pouting into the module. The data was infrequent and incomplete save for the header of its origin, obviously Terran. "Indeed, its difficult to say what projects Zaron or Babylon had a hand in but it's capacity in unveiling the very least of its origins to us seems to point that somewhere in the database there's a log or entry for it... Probably one of the thousand dead ends our administration was outsourced for but stonewalled from further participation", Ahael stated.

"What do we do sir?" the man leaned back in his chair to gaze inquisitively at his superior.

"Call it in... And put out a transmission and see if you can get one of these expensive decorations we have floating in orbit to actually do something." the officer sneered while walking towards the telecom station, intent on informing the chain of command.

"Inform the chief of department that a returning Sol vessel just crashed into a few of our satellites and cleaned up some of the tangled mess we have floating around. " Ahael said jokingly. This development was big in the sense of current events and could spell all types of fortune or misfortune depending on Crucible station's intention and previous alliances before the calamity. Information and Intel was King now days and if it was hostile, it'd be best to know sooner than later.

"I have TC-47b liable for short range transmission. Its relay hasn't been compromised but I'll need to move it closer in order to establish a connection". Another man shouted from 3 consoles down. "Didn't we move our assets closer to our towers at the beginning of the quarter?" the officer stopped in mid step.

"No sir... Closer to the vessel".

Everyone turned to the officer in tandem and gazed sheepishly knowing the ramifications of operating without clearance from the top heads, but the opportunity could be missed and lost to another more hasty party on terra. Looking downwards briefly in contemplation, the middle aged officer weighed his career and the added risk of acting without orders.

"You have your orders, corporal. Adjust the comm satellite and send the transmission." the officer spoke firmly in his decision to project his confidence then turned away to rush to inform his own leash holder.

Crucible Station, come in. Crucible Station, this is Tzi-yon Kaen'an base command center. I repeat, Tzi-yon Kaen'an base command of observations and telecommunications. You have been flagged as entering Terran orbit and colliding with idle/inert orbital assets. Requesting your status. If there is any life or command on board, requesting crucible station's status. Over.

by **Parcia** » Tue Jan 28, 2020 2:37 am

ARC Defense Command room
Armstrong Crater defense Center
Luna.

"Holy shit." Were the first words uttered in an otherwise silent room. There were maybe 8 people on duty, as it was the night shift. And they were all in aw at the readings they were picking up from their monitors. A Class-1 Temporal distortion, the stuff of legends, an event that had only happened once in the entirety of human history...until now.

With in minuets, the station chief, head of security, and the Board of directors were all on a shared line as the Officer on Duty relayed the situation. "At roughly 0340 Hours, a massive spike in Checkov's radiation was detected that tripped every sensor set we had online at the time and nearly sent the defense grid in to Yellow alert. Shortly afterward, the radiation spiked again and an massive object was seen coming from it's focal point. Secondary and tertiary scans confirm the same readings, this was a Class-1 event."

"Do we know what caused it?" The Officer on duty paused for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "I ordered a visual scan of the object, but before it was done Communications notified me the object had initiated a standard communications handshake on a channel I had never seen used in my life. A channel that hadn't been used since the 2040s..."

"And what ID code did it send?"

Again, a pregnant pause. "NX-234312-Alpha...Its the Crucible Station Shipyard designation...its the Tigel."

"God almighty" One of the Directors spoke out.

"Notify the fleet, muster the Marines, grant access to a quarantined computer system with only the basic operations guides. If She's not a Ghost ship running on pre-set return protocols, the board wants to make sure it wont make any Hostile moves before we let it dock with The Anchor."

Per the Board's directions, the digital handshake was granted to the returning vessels. ARC, specifically Olympia Shipyards, had been contracted to build Crucible Station nearly 50 years prior, yet the Board never though she would survive the first jump out of system.

Yet, like a wayward sheep finding it's way back to the flock, here she was.

At the same time as she would begin to Settle in to Orbit around Earth, a pair of ARC-SF Destroyers would be dispatched from Luna on a intercept course with the station, if only to render aid if needed.

by **Ormata** » Tue Jan 28, 2020 3:42 am

Тигель станция - Tigel Stantsiya - Crucible Station
High Terran Orbit

The stream of information was intoxicating.

The Admiral stood still, motionless as he struggled to comprehend the full nature of what was before him. Old Earth was a ruined mess and any inkling of what was simply wasn’t. Nuclear fire had blanketed some of her, as had in the wars before, the testing before, and what communications Tigel was able to pick up indicated far different people and places than had been present previously. The world had changed, in that short time, changed just as Tigel had changed. The chattering of satellites, of ground-based communications stations and systems, of companies and countries divisive, all this he could hear, all this he could know. The Admiral was not particularly inclined to do so. Issues had come to hand in the jump, however, and such things preoccupied the still figure.

Structural stability was impacted significantly due to the jump, some portions of the unoccupied outer hull being rendered atmosphere ineffective. Such a thing was not too worrisome, as those sections were useful only for storage anyways and had been employed as such, but the strain and flex of the outer support arms was far beyond normal tolerances. He could only assume that another jump of the same caliber would bring far more severe hull buckling and indeed possibly a hull fracture. That could not be allowed. The outer hull, also, had sustained damage due to some few collisions; he could only surmise that such things had formerly been satellites about Old Earth. There was also the question, now, of where Tigel might moor in order to refuel, refit, where they might garner some pause for repairs, and when or even could the crew might be released of their taskings. They had been in service for so long that there was some question as to whether or not such a release was even possible. The Admiral did not want that answer or question.

They were being hailed.

”Crucible Station, come in. Crucible Station, this is Tzi-yon Kaen'an base command center. I repeat, Tzi-yon Kaen'an base command of observations and telecommunications. You have been flagged as entering Terran orbit and colliding with idle/inert orbital assets. Requesting your status. If there is any life or command on board, requesting Crucible station's status. Over.”

The frequency was open and the thing hailing Tigel was not entirely known. In their logs, there was no base command of observations and telecommunications under that name. There was nothing of that sort. The awkward questions would have to come quickly, then. The Admiral made his reply with only a moment’s thought placed into such a thing. Only such a moment was necessary. His vocated tone was not at all heard upon the bridge, not a noise therein, but instead directly onto that open frequency.

“This is Tigel to Tzi-yon Kaen'an. I hold no station of that designation. Request origin. Tigel status as follows: One one three seven souls, fuel stores at one four percent, shielding at four seven percent. Do you confirm, over.”

The radar gave it’s warning, drawing attention, and such attention did indeed turn as both sensors and optics had identified two unidentified objects on an intercept course with Tigel. Briefly there was a query, a question on whether or not to set Condition 1 in order to guard the ship. For so long they had held a quick response to such things, to asteroids coming from the black void and the unlikely possibility for alien attack. For so long before he had been worried about terrestrial attacks, missiles and shells and torpedoes. And yet, this was a new world, a new system, and one had to tread lightly. Peering at the optics, the Admiral could tell such things weren’t missiles but instead ships. Good. It was a good thing.

"Unknown vessel, this is ARC vessel Alexios DD-23, standing by to render aid if necessary. How copy, over?"

“This is Tigel.” A pause, the Admiral considering whether or not he might state something. He might as well, the man reasoned, though the tone of his voice did not sound as it once did. “Admiral Gusin speaking. Solid copy on all. Requesting tugs for maneuver to Olympia Shipyards for immediate repair and refueling. Tigel status as follows: One one three seven souls, fuel stores at one four percent, shielding at four seven percent, hull has local buckling, hull has local buckling and Damage Control is underway. How copy, over.”

by **Parcia** » Tue Jan 28, 2020 11:35 am

Earth SoI

As the ground based stations along the eastern seaboard began to track the station, the Two Destroyers would begin to circle around. "Roger that Tigel, Repair tugs dispatched, ETA 34 minuets. Alexios and Kassandra can dispatch our own skiffs for Emergency external repair, as well as shuttles for medical teams, over."

The two red painted, rectangular destroyers began to move in slowly, powering down their weapons and diverting the power tot he batteries to the EVA skiffs as well as the two small shuttles both ships carried.

Olympia Shipyards

The Great Olympia Shipyards, also known as the Imperial Dockyards, back when the Empire could actually hold that claim, were among the greatest of achievement of the Old World. Set in to a massive impact crater easily the size of the Armstrong site, the once booming berths and low G construction frames and slipways that once birthed the Imperial Fleet had been silent for some time. There was the ARC Security Fleet, but these were generally vessels built for operational costs and ease of maintenance rather then firepower and survivability. Still, the 50 or so corvettes, frigates, destroyers, cruisers, as well as the singular "battleship" in service did their duty well...for out gunned and under armored gunboats compared to the 500, 600, and 700 meter long behemoths of the old world...Until now.

Taking on the idea of the old Venetian arsenal, several hundred million tones of construction materials had been produced, organized, sorted and stock piled for the occasion that the ARC would need to construct a fleet of grand colony vessels, massive haulers and traders...and if the need shall arise, an armada of warships able to match even the tattered remnants of the old Imperial Fleet. But, like the scheming, cunning men of industry that came before them, The Board recognized that if they could handle their problems with out committing mass assets to a costly campaign then they could reap much much more in terms of profit down the line.

9 berths capable of constructing a frigate class vessel were selected for "Project Osiris", a comprehensive and technologically advanced program to build the pinnacle of covert naval operations in the Void. These ships them selves were the result of decades of study and design, with basic principles learned from the first stealth planes of the Second World War, to the cutting edge of ARC ablative paneling, radiation dampening and even prototype light bending and absorption technology to the package, and one has the Osiris class stealth vessel.

34 meters long and shaped like an oblong, angular section of carbon nanite sheathing over a Titanium-A hull, 4 30mm PDCs, a prototype spinal mounted 120mm Bore-sighted railgun and 6 sheathed automated torpedo tubes made her an impressively well armed ship for her size, all while being quite literally indistinguishable to the background radiation of space while under silent running. They were expensive, labor intensive, and kept under tight lock and key, yet they are arguably some of the most advanced ships constructed in close to 50 years, and likely the most advanced constructed in Human History.

After her shake down trials around the inner planets, mostly taking high-resolution images of Mars and her moons, she was given her first mission: Operation Jackal, observe, locate, and track the remnants of the Imperial fleet.

And so, with a quiet send off by her crew, the Osiris left Luna's SOI for the belt.

As she left, the workers of Olympia would not be left idle as a new order for a brand new designed were being just sent down the pipe line and to those we were veterans of the trade understood well what these new designs were built for.

The flames of industry had long since abated, withered, and ill. Not any more. The winds of destiny were changing, and the Beast was awakening.

by **Badassistanian** » Fri Jan 31, 2020 5:52 pm

The Sea Between Men

The Mediterranean sea has long stood as an arbitrary dividing line... Man and beast, civilized and savage, colonizer and native, conqueror and defender. No more was this line more defined than during the early years of antiquity which saw the rise of the first Roman Republic and the Carthaginian Empire. These two super states of old battled each other over a period of more than a hundred years known as The Punic Wars. In the end, It was Rome who ripped and salted a great wound in the flesh of Dido herself resulting in the great cities demise. Rome would go on to create the largest and most powerful state seen on the face of Terra since the fall of Alexander.

The wound never healed as the modern states of The Latin Empire and Al Babyina spread throughout Western Europe and Africa. The two states remained isolated from one another for much of their early history but now the two had began to collide once again upon the great dividing line. The Novo-Romans were diligent in their study of history and as such fears of another period of Punic wars would spread throughout the fledgling empire much to the behest of the Co Emperors... Ramirus Calussa and Julius Arvina. These two great men ascended the halls of Roman power and were elected emperors by a council of fellow Patricians. Calussa rules from Londinum whilst Arvina would rule from the great marble steps of Roma herself.

Emporer Julius Arvina felt the threat of Al Babyina like no other as he stood upon the coastlines of the Mediterranean Sea. Due to this, he would send his wife, Livia Calussa, in a small passenger helo across the Mediterranean towards the capital of Al Babyina. Emperor Julius Arvina had messaged the Al Babyina state prior to his wife's arrival and denoted that a certain amount of respect was to be afforded to Livia Calussa lest the Al Babyina state wanted diplomatic relations to completely break down. The ultimate goal of the trip was hopefully to establish open dialogue before the dogs of war were unleashed upon the calm waves of the Mediterranean.

by **Parcia** » Sun Feb 02, 2020 2:09 pm

Birth #1,
Olympia Shipyards
Luna

Birth #1 was historic. The first construction doc capable of producing a Capital Grade warship, and the birth were the Grendel her self was built. Since the collapse of the old Empire and the banishing of the Old Fleet from the harbor, she had remained silent, her tools unused, her cranes, jigs, plasma cutters and work drones all deactivated and tucked away in their storage racks...until now.

With the recent spike in activity in the Solar system, The Board had finally saw fit to go forward with the Fleet Procurement plan that had been in limbo for close to 8 years. Birth one was special, as unlike the later Births (of which Olympia Held well over 30) She was designed to contain an atmosphere, allowing the workers to utilize the lower Gravity of Luna with out the hassle of having to work in hard suits and EVA skiffs. The 800 or so workers selected for the three shift rotation to begin operations in Birth #1 were all veterans, the cream of the crop, the same men and women that had built the Dawnbreaker and many chose to wear the Danbreaker's patch on their suits.

They would be starting something new today, a new ship of a new class entirely, the first proper Warship to be produce in Olympia since the time of the Old World...

The Beowulf

An Artist's rendition of the BCX program, Later known as "The Beowulf" in combat.

Having been designed back in the Days of the Old Empire as a cutting edge vessel for the fleet, the project was shelved as the Economic hardships began to pile on the Imperial Navy's budget got slashed time and time again. The ARC being what it is, the design was kept on the back burner and periodically brought back to The Board to be redesigned and updated as new technology, be it new H-3 Power system, newer and more advanced Fusion drives, to redesigned and later completely new armor and armament schemes.

The design called for her to be 535 meters long, 198 meters wide, and a 162 meters tall. She was to be fitted with two massive AM-12 "Arclight" Fusion Drives with 6 more auxiliary drives as well as several reverse thrusters, mono-propellant docking thrusters, a comprehensive and advanced RCS and combat maneuvering suit to allow her to fly at speeds unbecoming of what was a Battle Cruiser by all accounts. Her armor consisted of a nearly uniform, 11 inch thick layer of Titanium-A Version 4 built over a modular Nano-carbon lased Titanium frame, and fit well over 130 sealable compartments using a Honeycomb style system that gave her considerable durability and survivalbility.

Her weapon's weren't anything to scoff at either. Her primary armament, her main gun, or "The Big Stick" as the RnD folks like to call it was nearly as prototypical as the design her self was: Project: Caliburn. Essentially a standard ground based Anti-ship coilgun upsized by 75%, The Caliburn could fire a 600 tone, Tungsten Carbide tipped slug at nearly 30km a second with an effective range (limited only by her FCS's effective target lock range) of 230 kilometers. Backing this up were 12 Turreted Cobra pattern heavy Naval Coilguns (each with a bore size of 53 cm), 26 launch tubes for "Harpoon" Pattern heavy anti-ship torpedoes, 58 lunch tubes for Howler pattern light Anti-ship missiles and a comprehensive CIWS suit of "Rampart" Pattern 50mm Point defense Guns and ARC Arms 30mm PDCs. Her aviation facilites were a rather evident last thought though, as she only held enough hanger space for a trio of shuttles and a pair of dropships.

If one were to step back a moment and look at the drawing board, it would Seem ARC was attempting to build a Warship Capable of standing up to the Grendal her self....and that wasn't too far off the mark. The Beowulf, despite being on the vary edge of cutting edge, still nearly came in at 560,000 metric tones fully built, and even with a three shift rotation and support from automatic drones, would need nearly 11 months of constant work to construct. To compensate for this, The Board saw fit to give the go ahead for the construction of 8 more Dawnbreaker class vessels, with the average estimated construction time of only 4 months from start to finish.

The furnace lit, the bellows in action, the master smith begins the process of creating a new blade...

by **The United Federal Republic of Sol** » Sun Feb 02, 2020 10:20 pm

Rearmament

It has been many, many years now since the emergency Rearmament policies were first enacted. Work continues even to this day, decades later. Fields are cleared and planted, factories spring from the hills, and new walls tower from the border.

Yet, many a field seldom feels the touch of a human hand, machines are built at factories devoid of life by their automated brethren, and the walls of the Republic's long borders held but by vigilant watch of its sparsely spread guardsmen. Despite all the efforts of the Provisional Government, the nation yet lacked the most vital resource of all: manpower.

Though new generations had cropped up since the "Ceasefire", they were few in number and multiplied slowly. If the dream of a united front of mankind was to survive, nature could not be allowed to simply take its course. The Provisional Government thus devised its second great policy: Palingenesis.

First, the government began giving out sizable benefits to families that produced four or more children, with additional rewards for each additional child above that number. Ranging all manner of possible payouts, from tax cuts, to straight cash, to debt relief, healthcare, and occasionally land, the hope was to artificially induce a population boom.

Of course, the government expected there would be free-loaders who would pop out as many children as possible and abandon them to their fate after taking their rewards. As such, regular inspections would be conducted and harsh punishments for neglect and abuse were enforced. Additionally, the unpatriotic leeches would be given another way out:

The newly established "New Dawn Front for the Reclamation of Sol", typically just called the NDF or New Dawn. Somewhere between an orphanage and a military academy, families unable or unwilling to care for their children would give them up to the NDF and be cared for and raised by the government. Their needs would be met, and they would be educated and trained in order to meet various requirements for the national economy, be it engineers, doctors, or soldiers. After coming of age, they would be sent off directly to work in whatever government agency or branch was most suited to their training. In the case of the military, New Dawn units would form their own units, becoming the unofficial fourth branch of the Federal Military.

All sectors of the economy that could be reliably automated were, and all citizens were mandated to fulfill a minimum of two years of National Service out defending the frontiers of the Republic.

Uroboros

Rearmament and Palingenesis had begun to bear fruit at last.... but not quickly enough.

Even with the breeding policies in place, it would take decades to come before the situation was stable and on course again. Even with national service and an increasing use of drones, the military in particular would be limited in its ability to defend the Republic and project its influence. With the world unstable and in chaos, it was best to strike the iron while it was hot. Twenty-three years ago, the Grand Marshal secretly ordered the start of numerous projects:

Jetlag, Samovar, Kaleidoscope, Viy, Bootstrap... and Scarecrow

Project Scarecrow would be the stopgap measure to prop up the Federal Military for a couple generations, an emergency fallback. A wing of Research Group 137[RG137], a surviving pre-war assortment of bio research specialists under military control, was allocated to the task.

The goal of Project Scarecrow was to develop and implement a reliable means of creating and mass producing artificial humans for Federal Military. Separate "types" were to be produced, each catered to a specific role the military needed to fulfill. It was only intended to be temporary, but it needed to be done. The safety of the Republic could not be guaranteed with the forces available to it then, and for the foreseeable future.

So, with blank check in hand and ethics out the window, RG137 began working at breakneck pace, taking the first three years to develop a "Mostly Reliable" means to produce the soldiers and the infrastructure to support them. The next two years were used to select candidates from the veterans of the Federal Military to use as donors the basic genetic templates, choosing primarily the most hardened veterans in their respective roles for the best compatibility. The following three years were used for final preparation for the "control" batch, and for "modified" groups to see potential for improvement on the "base material".

For the past fifteen years, the "Phase Zero" test batch has been progressing along, albeit with some unforeseen mishaps and issues. Of an initial production run of some 2,000 units of varying types, only about 950 survive to the present, with the rest dying of complications or accidents since. Still, progress is progress, and study continues. Failures in the Phase Zero batch have been noted, and two years ago, approval was given for an improved "Phase One" batch of 6,000 units. Additional, RG137 was given consent for a special "Made in Sol" unit of an additional 500 units, designed from the ground up as artificial humans rather than clones.

While their training continues, it is expected that the surviving units of Phase Zero will soon be delivered to the United Federal Solar Army for "Alpha Testing", and work will continue. In hindsight, perhaps this project's longevity will see it rendered obsolete before it comes to fruition, but only time will tell in the end. Either way, the scientists will surely get something of value from the research.

by **Togeria** » Mon Feb 03, 2020 11:52 am

Nation Reset

Al-Babanyia-The Fatherland

In the time before the collapse few if any could anticipate let alone expect the oncoming doom that would precipitate the fall of man. Founded in 2025, our predecessors were the only ones who it could be argued saw the signs before our hell. In the years before those we once called mad men would go forth into the streets and space docks, preaching-no-foretelling of our fate. Like ignorant little children we ignored them, we ignored as they told us of the cacophonies gun and cannon fire that would engulf the planet, we ignored as they pleaded with us to focus on our attention to who it truly belonged too, we ignored them...and we suffered for it. Even know current records of the collapse are sparse and fragmented but what can be recovered only confirms our suspicions and our fears. Those poor souls the suffering they endured, every word from their left messages is less a coherent recollection of events and more a scream, a cry from those poor men to bring someone, something to end the terror.

I wish I could've helped them, oh I wish I could've, but I cannot and even if it were in my power too I would not still. The suffering they went through was unimaginable...but was it undeserved? When you constantly hit your head can you truly cry for help when it splits? My heart aches for them and their suffering...but my heart also burns from the hell they brought to us. Ignorant fa-no ignorant beings who espoused their virtues and mores and look what place God has rewarded them for it? Because that's what God does when you're a IGNORANT LITTLE CHILD!!!

I fear not though, and neither should you. Because from the suffering these boys have brought, Men shall rise! Men shall restore the Republic! Because this union we have fought for, this house we have built...it was built by Men. It shall be restored by Men. Because this is a Republic of MEN!!!

Mediterranean
In the time of Great States many a great empire, league, republic, and kingdoms arose from this small sea..and admittedly this is how things should be. The wealth of communication, foodstuff, people, and mineral that can be leveraged or outright taken from this small surface is truly unimaginable. If there was one saving grace to the collapse it would be the displacement of lesser states that stagnated and hindered progress across this great sea. In their we only know of two powers great enough in stature and morals to be worth comparing to the True Republic. The lands of Tzion control much of the Levant and Anatolia, their position and the security they bring in assuring access to the east has made them a great and true friend to Our Republic.

West of them however and to our north now stands a growing antithesis to what we believe. So traumatized these peoples are by the collapse, and so comfortable are they in writhing in their victimhood that their natural ability to progress has to our investigations likely been retarded to a degree. Now they seek comfort in what was again bearing the mask of a once Great State. We know them as the Romans.

Response to Roma:
As per the request of the Imperator, the territory in which Livia would land and stay for the time would be notified of her arrival, along with other Republican territories down to Lagos. As she arrived she would be brought to great Cothon of former Kartaaj. In the decades after the collapse the port would be revitalized as both a point for Naval as well as Low Orbit navigation allowing the Republic to maintain communication with the northern areas of the Republic. Though formally known as Kartaaj we would rename the city as well as the territory that formally made up the city of Tuniz, as Khabhaya (Great Dome). Though it would be hardly seen from her position as Livia would move inland she would see the skyline of the city with Dome layered at its peak with a plethora of panels of different colors lining the dome in rainbow of color. More than show the panels both collected solar energy to be used to power the Khabhaya and adjacent buildings as well as served as a satellite for the Cothon orbital platforms.

Livia would be escorted by group of men who wore their Republican armor proudly. Made from salvaged and recovered materials the armor was purposely deceiving in appearance. As current Republican territories were large though expansive the need to patrol territory as well as adjacent border areas opened good men to the lure and trappings of rogue survivors. The old armor appeared slightly altered from that of the former UFRS, and because of it, the lure of the progress and the memory of greatness it invoked led to our territories to unknowingly become like torches to these heathens, moths of savages lunging themselves at our defenses.

With the new armor though our good men are not protected, they're covered. The road that she would be escorted along would be marked with obelisk on each side some of them constructed from actual stone, others made from holograms. Each of them though would be decorated with paint or modified code, painting a mural on each that both told the tale of the Republic from the collapse till now as well as featured iconography from a plethora of mythos. It was likely Livia would see the depictions of Latin deities too.

Soon though she would be in the city, a line of people and delegates lining the streets and path she would walk along to the Khabhaya. Their our Great Leader, Izkiael al-Wala their at the steps waiting to greet her.

Americas:
In the time after the collapse the world had been left to the devices of aspiring warlords and other big men. We were the only true Republic left, we confirmed and affirmed our title in the deserts of the Sahara, forest of the Niger and Congo, and Savannah of the south. We earned this title! Yet, we were not the only ones who sensed the changing winds of our former dominion and acted. To our east we only know of a few surviving states and even than they're too far to try and establish contact.

To the west however they have fared much better contact is more reliable and though in the past we were only able to maintain basic communication the recapture and refurbishing of many of our ports and docks make contact possible again. Only inklings of knowledge come from the west know...at least what knowledge that wasn't attained from Europe before...Roma.

It does not matter the lose of former potential allies will be pain to dwell on later, in our lose however we have opportunity. Utilizing both our ports in Morocco as well as Low Orbit platform T-SP7 currently orbiting around the east Pacific we've approved two missions to the Americas.

1. Our first mission will consist of three sea-fearing transport vessels( 1 former dreadnought refitted, 2 cargo carriers) as well one orbital transport. It'll be headed to one of the few cities we know to have stay inhabited, New York City. We hear of a great power that has much of the territory of the former overlord, if contact can be established it'll be greatly beneficial to our Republic.

2. Our second mission is a smaller one only consisting of two orbital transports and what material we can place on them. We've chosen to launch from T-SP7 as our mission in one of potential colonization, our goal will be to establish contact with those in the middle of the continent. Previous missions around the globe has shown signals being produced from near in the heart of the continent, even though the signals are strongest on the coast. Perhaps another survivor state? Or something anew? Either way the potential to establish a permanent presence in the middle will allow the time to operate and begin the refounding of Terra...hopefully far enough from the presence of other aspiring states. The coordinates have been set and the crews will soon make departure for the former city of, Denver.

by **Parcia** » Mon Feb 03, 2020 1:26 pm

Fortuna Station
Castian Expanse
The Belt

ARC, like many other corporations of the old world, took to mining the belt for resources rather quickly even with the mass wealth of the Armstrong Crater mining operation. Fortuna Station had been built roughly 23 years back and held 3400 souls in its 1.2 KM long rotating tubular form, a set of repair cradles and nearly 4 dozen massive cargo storage frames near by that held a wealth of harvested raw minerals and, more importantly, ice.

Being towards the end of a vary lucrative 8 months of operation, the station's population was in a jolly, albeit tired mood. The Station commander had even broken protocol and begun to play his select tracks of classics over the stations intercom, a certain song in particular having been replayed rather often. As the last shift of the day returned on their skiffs, hauling in their last chunks of usable material and recalling the worker drones.

In doing so, they floated past the ARC Fleet's stationed escort screen, 4 destroyers and 4 frigates as they did their patrols, coupled together in groups of twos. All in all, it looked like it would be another slow day that would earn quiet a few a bonus.

Yet over the black gulf of space, those with hungry eyes and sharpening claws looked on in envoy...

by **The United Federal Republic of Sol** » Mon Feb 03, 2020 3:16 pm

Ten Fathoms Deep on the Road to Hell

After the end of the war, the UFSF had an even harder time recovering than the forces on earth. The Asteroid Belt was even less intended for human life than the inhospitable moons of the Outer Solar System. With only a few scattered mining colonies and their surviving ships to their name, the Fleet would have to scrounge together the necessities of survival. Building new domes for growing food on some of the asteroids, and even turning a large section of the Isonzo into a pig farm, the sailors of the United Federation tried to scrape by on what little they could.

However, it wasn't just the troops that needed to be supported. When the shattered remains of the fleet slinked away after the Long Retreat, they whisked away many of their families and civilians seeking to escape capture. There were just too many mouths to feed, and not enough to go around. Their supplies would run dry before the agricultural plans would be completed. If nothing was done, their only choices would be surrender or starvation.

So on the orders of Admiral von Greif, the fleet departed to begin hunting for cargo convoys, hoping to stave off collapse by means of plunder.

Though thirty years have passed and the crisis of imminent destruction has been averted, the fleet has continued to raid, but their goals have changed. Now the job is simply to stockpile, to stockpile, to survive. Gather weapons, food, fuel, tools, anything of value. Some of the plunder is put to immediate use, but others are saved for the War Chest.

One day, the Fleet will have its revenge. It's merely a matter of waiting for the golden opportunity. Until then, they had to prepare, prepare, prepare. They could not die out until they were avenged, and so, until then, they had to bide their time and grit their teeth in shame.

Parcia wrote:Fortuna Station
Castian Expanse
The Belt

ARC, like many other corporations of the old world, took to mining the belt for resources rather quickly even with the mass wealth of the Armstrong Crater mining operation. Fortuna Station had been built roughly 23 years back and held 3400 souls in its 1.2 KM long rotating tubular form, a set of repair cradles and nearly 4 dozen massive cargo storage frames near by that held a wealth of harvested raw minerals and, more importantly, ice.

Being towards the end of a vary lucrative 8 months of operation, the station's population was in a jolly, albeit tired mood. The Station commander had even broken protocol and begun to play his select tracks of classics over the stations intercom, a certain song in particular having been replayed rather often. As the last shift of the day returned on their skiffs, hauling in their last chunks of usable material and recalling the worker drones.

In doing so, they floated past the ARC Fleet's stationed escort screen, 4 destroyers and 4 frigates as they did their patrols, coupled together in groups of twos. All in all, it looked like it would be another slow day that would earn quiet a few a bonus.

Yet over the black gulf of space, those with hungry eyes and sharpening claws looked on in envoy...

Humans have an ingrained, instinctual fear of the dark. There are thought to be several reasons why, but commonly, it's thought to be an evolutionary hand-me-down of a time before mankind had clawed its way to the top of the food chain. Far back in the mists of time, men could easily become prey for concealed, unseen dangers lurking under the cloak of night. To answer this fear, man built walls to shield himself, fires to light his surroundings, and set guards to keep watch over the huddled people sleeping away. In time, the threat of the creatures in the shadows slowly faded away, and these fears became a vestige of that more ancient age.

Much like those primeval men who spread across the earth, the workers of the American Reclamation Corporation had spread themselves across the stars, early settlers in a harsh and unforgiving frontier. Similarly, the employees of the ARC had their walls and guardians to shield them in the cold, cold black.

And akin to their most archaic ancestors, marauding beasts stalked them in the long night.

This time, the predators that set upon them were seven hyenas of the Solar Fleet. Iconoclast, Armistead, Temujin, Immortal, Uhlan, Aztec, and the feared Grendel. Strictly speaking, the humans had the animals outnumbered this time, and no in the wild, no sensible hunter would commit to those odds.

Yet Admiral von Greif was undaunted. They were no ordinary predators, after all. This battle was decided before it had even begun, it was only up to the prey how it wished to be taken.

"All ships, prepare to fire on the enemy destroyers. Pick your targets carefully, let's finish this quickly. I doubt they'll comply, but we'll offer them a chance anyhow. If they try to flee or ready their weapons, go ahead and sink them. Send a signal on an open channel to the station and the squadron on patrol."

<::To the traitorous rebel dogs of the Fortuna Mining Station, this is Admiral Klauss von Greif of the UFSS Grendel of the United Federal Stellar Fleet. You are to surrender to the inspection of your lawful government immediately and offer no resistance. Your warships are to immediately scuttle themselves and evacuate their crews safely to the station. Follow our orders and we will be out of your way quickly, and no one will be harmed.

If you do not comply, we will consider you hostile combatants and slaughter you all. You cannot hope to defeat us, don't throw your lives away in vain.

This will be your only warning. You have sixty seconds to reply::>

by **Parcia** » Mon Feb 03, 2020 3:59 pm

Fortuna Station
Castian Expanse
The Belt

The Commander sighed. They couldn't have just one good year, could they, just one fucking year were no one got hurt, no on got vented, were not even the Remnants showed up to reap what they sewed. None the less, the Sight of the Crimson and blue forms of the Imperial fleet making it's way through the belt, slipping past asteroids and empty mining platforms, a collective silence would fall across the station. The children would stop and stare, their parents looking on in confusion as the warships grew closer.

The Commander mauled over the odds for just a moment, 8 Escort weight vessels against actual capital ships, even with the supporting fire from Fortuna's Heavy Coilguns...No, it would be a Blood Bath and even then, they would likely get away with the nearly 8 million Tones of stored materials.

The Commander gave the order, "Scuttle the ships, power down the guns, this isn't going to be a fight we would win."

Yet the Commander would not be alone, for hidden in the shadows of the belt, her form clinging to an asteroid like a tick to the passing body of a dear, sat the Osiris. She had been listening to the open channels and by virtue of being an ARC vessel, had access the encrypted channels ARC's fleet used. The Commander of Fortuna replied over open Radio. "Fortuna Copies, Admiral Klauss von Greif...just don't fire on us for Heaven's sake."

The Captain of the Osiris smiled and spoke to her bridge crew.

"Release the clamps, get a bore sighting on the Fortuna's power core..." this drew a pause from her crew, a silence that seemed to only anger her. "This is war, there is enough materials in that depot to massively uplift the enemy war effort, I will not side idly by and let them be stolen by some Rim Dog Pirates who don't want to change with the times." This seemed to at least appease the crew. The Angular, oblong form of the Osiris gently let go of her little rock and burned just enough propellant to bore sight the center of the Fortuna.

"Load one round, one quarter power charge, we only need to breach the core." The Helmsmen did as she was told, holding back the bile in her throat as the targeting GUI came up and she centered the cross hairs on the Station. The Captain looked on in cold silence. A single 120mm Railgun was, while utterly anemic compared to most, able to be fired with much less recharge time and using much less power, and the close range of the Fortuna to the Osiris's hiding spot among the ever shifting rocks of the belt meant that she could fire a round off, dump the heat energy in to the batteries and slowly drift off, lost in the ever changing maze of regolith and ice chunks.

"Fire." A split second of pause while the slug was chambered, a slight dimming in the lights, and then nothing. The Slug hit Fortuna nearly 18 seconds later, perforating her outer and inner central hulls, rendering an unfortunate mechanic in to vary fine red mist before it slammed in to the shielded reactor core of the Station, melting a whole straight through it. While Structurally speaking there was little damage, the sudden shock and invasion of foreign metals and materials upset the delicate and volatile reaction in the center of the core.

This began every Station Commander's worst nightmare: A shock induced Resonance Cascade. The results began nearly instantly, first a power surge, then a black out, then a cascading of rapid radioactive materials and bits of pieces of the main core as the central hull of the station, her vary spine, began to buckle and collapse due to the sudden and rapid decompression and venting of the stations key load bearing compartments.

With the power gone, sans that of the Command deck, the emergency fail safes failed to activate, the bulkheads stayed open, and one by one the station began to break apart. A flurry of explosions and blowouts would continue until hitting the Atmospheric and life support plants, were even more volatile and reactive materials were kept until they were let loose, their containment measures utterly ripped to shreds and a second, massive fireball ripped what was left of the station apart. In less then 25 seconds, Fortuna station, a testament to man's willpower and courage, to Man's want and wanderlust to explore and colonize new worlds and venture in to new space...was gun. The odds of some one out of the 3400 souls on board surviving were low, if any one even bothered to look at all. The Fleet would largely be caught in the blast as a wall of shrapnel and rock cut in to them, causing 8 or so secondary explosions as they too were seemingly destroyed, last with all hands on board.

The Osiris let the recoil of the gun force her back deeper in to the belt, were most if not all types of scanners were blind, and she disappeared.

The last transmission of the Station Commander managed to get out as the Command deck was engulfed in a fire ball. It was an image, a still image, with no sound. The man's face said all that needed to be said.

Why?

by **The United Federal Republic of Sol** » Mon Feb 03, 2020 5:14 pm

Ambushed

There are many survival strategies used by animals in the wild. Some graze on grass and travel in herds to protect one another, other beasts stalk and predate on these easy-going herbivores.

But there are others who survive by allowing those predators to do the work, and then simply stealing from them once they have caught their prey. It is for this reason that hunters must always be prepared to protect their kills from thieving scavengers.

<::Roger, we'll arrive shortly to begin inspection. Fear not, we aren't savages::>

The Admiral cut the connection and turned to the rest of the bridge crew. "Thank god, looks like things will be going smoothly this ti-"

As if divine punishment struck to smite him for his assuredness, the next moment later, the station disappeared in the blink of an eye, swallowed by a violent detonation.

"What the hell was that?"

The entire fleet was taken aback by the sudden destruction of the station. However, the pause was but for a moment. Resuming composure, the report came in from one of the bridge officers aboard the Armistead:

"Some sort of weapon was discharged directly into the station's core. Class unknown, affiliation unknown, only a vague direction is clear"

"Alright. Iconoclast, Immortal; Launch your OSMU contingents, have them search the debris for survivors from the station or defense squadron, in the off chance there are any, as well as any loot worth taking. For the rest of the fleet, launch your wings and standby. All ships, fire two volleys from your main cannons into the suspected area of the hostile, Grendel use only ballistics for now. Spread your shots around, perhaps we'll get lucky. Prepare to move after firing and launch sequence."

Upon finishing, the fleet began to spring into action. The Mechanized Strike Units began to be loaded onto the catapults and launched. The main gun batteries from each vessel cranked into position and took rough aim. The hulls rumbled in the silence of space as dozens of guns lit up the void.

The Admiral reached into his left breast pocket and retrieved the pack of cigarettes he'd gotten from a raid on a civilian freighter the previous month. Technically, smoking on a Federal Warship was considered a hazard and against regulations, but he'd given forty years to the service and it always calmed his nerves, so he couldn't be arsed to care.

Damn, and here I thought this'd be easy pickings. Tough luck, eh? Sorry, honey, looks like I'm gonna be a bit late back from work this time around.

Lighting up his smoke to begin his pre-battle ritual, the Admiral steeled himself for what was to come.

by **Parcia** » Mon Feb 03, 2020 6:00 pm

Asteroid Mining site 345523x-1
Mineral Extraction Specialist Megan J Wu

Megan was...pissed. She had stayed behind on this fucking rock to mine a little extra and make a little extra for her baby girl back in Florida, and she come up over the ice ridge and find her skiff gone. She sighed and clicked her short range transmitter. "Jack, mike, you chuckle fucks, you left out he-" her voice trailed off as she saw...something. She had spent 5 years in the belt, and one of the skills she had picked up was how to spot and recognize the pattern of asteroid and what she was looking at...didn't look like any normal asteroid. It moved too...calculated, too precise, and it almost seemed like it was being controlled.

She saw it orient it self? With what looked like RCS bursts...then thing seemed to glow, almost like...almost like one of the old Railguns on the Dawnbraker, when it would stand by and plink at rocks in the belt when doing it's patrols around Fortuna...

Then a flash...a trail of dust and ionized particles...then the rock seemed to drift backwards, shifting it's pitch and yaw ever so slightly to slip by the rock she stood on. She turned to Fortuna, her hand on her wrist PDA, flipping through channels as she watched the little bolt of light lance out and sale towards the station.

"Fortuna Actual, Fortuna Actual, you have possible incoming weapons fire-" Her Warning was in vein, as she watched as the round impacted and for a few moments, nothing, and for a few moment she held on to hope.

Then the first explosion, what she recognized as a core breech...then what she could tell were several compartments decompressing, the zoom function on her suit's HUD blowing it up to graphic detail...

She stumbled back, falling back in to the ice and being rather speechless as the Asteroid's rotation caused the remains of the station to fall below the horizon. She went numb, feeling the weight of the situation bear down on her before some dormant part of her mind switched on and her training kicked in. Her suit was in tact, her O-2 levels at, with her reserve tank, 4 hours, and her plasma cutter and radio were working. If she played her cards right she just might survive this.

She typed a few keys on her PDA and started the Automated SOS beacon on her suit and for extra measure, started flicking her cutter on and Off in similar SOS fashion in the hopes any one would be looking in her general direction.

Maybe there was a chance..

Guilt of Nimrod IC (Open_TG_First)

Guilt of Nimrod IC (Open_TG_First)

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