Those Without Banners (PMT/Signups Required/IC)

[Phaenix]

It is the 25th century, and most of Earth is contested by warlords, and none live peaceably. After the collapse of the United States of America back in 2390, and the Euro Wars in 2400, there are few major superpowers left. Africa and the Middle East are the most unchanged, with Africa still embroiled in civil conflict, and the Middle East only having a few warlords. However, though the Great Wars have wound down, there are still countless regional conflicts, and the market for mercenaries and assassins is booming. Though the United Nations still exists, it no longer has the members or the resources to combat mercenaries, and so they have come out of hiding to promote their bloody business in the light. You are one of these dealers of death, either a lone wolf or a member of a team or company. There is no shortage of people with too much money and too many enemies, and they will most certainly want someone to do the work for them. That duty falls to you, one of those without banners.

Old London, the Big Ben Pub

What used to be the pride and joy of London was now filled to the brim with thugs, gangsters, mercenaries, and cutthroats. The noise was almost deafening, the overlapping voices drowning out Billy Joel's "Piano Man," covered by a hologram of Billy Joel himself. Then the door swung open, and you could suddenly hear a pin drop. The cause was a well dressed man, flanked by two incredibly augmented guards, who had pulled out a gold-plated, jewel encrusted IHolo. As he activated it, he spoke to the crowd.
"I am Ellis Shaw, Lord Chamberlain of His Royal Majesty, King Edward XIV, long may he reign."
As he finished his introduction, the hologram activated, showing London and the nearby fortress-city of St. Albans. There were a few murmurs amongst the crowd, but this quickly ended once Ellis spoke once more. "As you can probably garner, the purpose of my visit to this pit of depravity is to hire mercenaries for His Royal Majesty's campaign against the vile Northumbrians. In one week's time, we will make a push for St. Albans, a.k.a. the Gate to the North. His Royal Majesty is offering £2,000 to any who join him in his righteous war, and an additional £10,000 to the company that takes St. Albans itself. All you have to do to take this gracious offer is sign your name and company right here," he pointed at a pad in his hand, "and show up to the battle. If you don't show, you don't get paid, and His Royal Majesty will be very disappointed."
Already most of the pub was lining up to sign the pad, with only a few staying behind to either finish drinks or discuss with their companies.

[Western Fardelshufflestein]

It is the 25th century, and most of Earth is contested by warlords, and none live peaceably. After the collapse of the United States of America back in 2390, and the Euro Wars in 2400, there are few major superpowers left. Africa and the Middle East are the most unchanged, with Africa still embroiled in civil conflict, and the Middle East only having a few warlords. However, though the Great Wars have wound down, there are still countless regional conflicts, and the market for mercenaries and assassins is booming. Though the United Nations still exists, it no longer has the members or the resources to combat mercenaries, and so they have come out of hiding to promote their bloody business in the light. You are one of these dealers of death, either a lone wolf or a member of a team or company. There is no shortage of people with too much money and too many enemies, and they will most certainly want someone to do the work for them. That duty falls to you, one of those without banners.

Old London, the Big Ben Pub

What used to be the pride and joy of London was now filled to the brim with thugs, gangsters, mercenaries, and cutthroats. The noise was almost deafening, the overlapping voices drowning out Billy Joel's "Piano Man," covered by a hologram of Billy Joel himself. Then the door swung open, and you could suddenly hear a pin drop. The cause was a well dressed man, flanked by two incredibly augmented guards, who had pulled out a gold-plated, jewel encrusted IHolo. As he activated it, he spoke to the crowd.
"I am Ellis Shaw, Lord Chamberlain of His Royal Majesty, King Edward XIV, long may he reign."
As he finished his introduction, the hologram activated, showing London and the nearby fortress-city of St. Albans. There were a few murmurs amongst the crowd, but this quickly ended once Ellis spoke once more. "As you can probably garner, the purpose of my visit to this pit of depravity is to hire mercenaries for His Royal Majesty's campaign against the vile Northumbrians. In one week's time, we will make a push for St. Albans, a.k.a. the Gate to the North. His Royal Majesty is offering £2,000 to any who join him in his righteous war, and an additional £10,000 to the company that takes St. Albans itself. All you have to do to take this gracious offer is sign your name and company right here," he pointed at a pad in his hand, "and show up to the battle. If you don't show, you don't get paid, and His Royal Majesty will be very disappointed."
Already most of the pub was lining up to sign the pad, with only a few staying behind to either finish drinks or discuss with their companies.

Ela Lancaster

It was always the pubs, she mused, where the emissaries sought lowly mercenaries to do their dirty work. It seemed like every time Ela went to a pub, there was some sort of scout or minor officer who was looking to recruit assassins.

But the senior officer to the king? No, that never happened. Ela was certain she would have heard stories from her father if such a thing was the case. So, naturally, she stood up from her chair and made her way to the rapidly expanding line, feeling a twinge of excitement, or whatever pang her half-artificial amygdala substituted for excitement.

If she was feeling emotion, it was positive. Her system's survival instincts had not been activated. She was static, not clamoring or eager or smug or anything like what the surrounding patrons felt. She just knew that she needed to sign up for this. Working for a specific faction of lords was one thing, but the Crown was another thing entirely. It was the ultimate opportunity to gain leverage. Even if she remained conscripted as a mercenary forever, at least she will have had this break, this tiny glimmer, before sinking back into the grim patterns of her life.

She would have to run this by Lord Abraham to gain his countenance for this mission. She was not as independent as she wished to be, though she operated alone; she was servile to the nobles who had saved her, a mere price she had to pay to keep her life. Not that her lack of freedom often bothered her. She was never going to be free, and she knew logically that dwelling on the possibilities was a waste of time. Her mission was to kill, her ultimate goal to survive. Each day she remained upright and breathing was a victory. But she had to keep fighting and moving forward ceaselessly if she needed to make it to tomorrow.

Signing her false name was no difficulty, nor was writing her company as Independent. That was what she was require to do. The nobles could not know who she working for because that would endanger the entire operation.

The alias she put was Ella Zhao. Being of mixed European and Chinese descent, she had a bit of leeway in crafting her last name. She had selected the name Zhao after substantial research and a tingle of what had once been personal preference. The natural part of her brain liked the way it sounded. And adding the extra l to her first name ensured she wouldn't stand out more than she had to.

[Dragos Bee]

Alexander Archer, St. Albans

A large VTOL craft was soaring towards St. Albans, marked with the sigil of the United Nations. This machine, large enough to carry a Mech, was escorted by four Japanese-made Gunships, whose laser-guided rockets and coilgun fire made short work of what anti-air defenses were there. As soldiers began to run away from the fortress-city's courtyard, the VTOL transport opened its bottom bay, dropping its payload - Lumen Humanitas, Alexander Archer's heavily-modified Mech. It was time to start the process of restoring order to the British Islands.

Pointing Lumen Humanitas' coilgun rifle straight at the citadel of the fortress-city, Alexander barks out through Lumen Humanitas' communications, "By order of the United Nations, the Fortress and Citadel of St. Albans is being requisitioned for use by the Peacekeepers in preperation for a major humanitarian mission! Do not resist, or you will be regarded as enemies and be met with all due force!"

[Phaenix]

Old London, the Big Ben Pub

Ellis Shaw looked at Ela and squinted, before looking down at his pad.
"Ms...Zhao, is it? Never thought I'd see an Oriental in person. Or one as a mercenary, for that matter. Never mind, just move along."
With that finished, the line kept coming. Shaw knew most of the mercenaries would die in the first wave, soaking up bullets for the Royal Army. He kept Ela in mind, however, as he felt that there was something different about her compared to the rest of the rabble. When the last name was signed, Shaw placed his pad in his pocket and raised his voice. "His Royal Majesty will commence the attack at dawn, next Saturday. Be there if you want to get paid." With that, Shaw and his guards left, entering an expensive car and driving out of the slums of Old London.

Kingdom of Northumbria, St. Albans

As the UN mech landed, the Northumbrian soldiers formed up into defensive positions under the citadel walls. From the top of the citadel, a holographic image of a giant of a man, dressed in heavy metal armor and wearing a wolf skin, scowled.
"Whee d’ye think ye are, comin here in yor fancy plane an tellin us tae surrender tae the 'United Nations'!? Ye lot haven't had the strength tae swat a fly, let alone boss us aroond! A'll giv ye yen chance tae surrender, git on yor aircraft, an fly back tae New York!"
The Northumbrian soldiers readied their weapons, a mix of AR-35s and rail-throwers, with one huge Northumbrian wielding a chain gun. The holographic general grinned wolfishly. "Weel, will ye come tae yor senses an leave weel eneugh alone, or will A, Lord Roger Knife, hev tae kill ye?"

[Dragos Bee]

Alexander Archer, St. Albans

"Uh huh," Alexander said as he fired his Mech's Railgun directly at the top of the citadel where the hologram had been projected from, even as the Japanese-made VTOLs began to cover him, peppering the Northamburian soldiers with missiles and their own chainguns. "Thank you for giving me a target, you arrogant prick."

His mech had failed to intimidate them the first time, but it was clear that it was because they underestimated it. The humanoid machine fired twice more at the citadel walls, before drawing back the Railgun so that it can climb the large building, stomping all soldiers in the way. Its intention was to find the 'King' of Northamburia's' private command room and grab the man himself - Let's see how brave that prick was when grasped in a Mech's hands!

And just in case the 'Rail-throwers' were deployed against him and his forces, the Japanese-made VTOLs were also battering those with laser-guided missiles before scattering smoke bombs and electronic chaff everywhere once the missiles had hit. The UN was intending to show that it had teeth.