Ton, ton tototon ton toton
Ton, ton tototon ton toton
Betraying their former allies, the Zoners launched a massive attack. The Powerful Order was forced to retreat, losing many of their members to this sudden attack.
Low on supplies, and now cut off, the order is gathering in the remote system of Omicron Mu, preparing to stop the evil Zoner Empire from ever rising again.
Their last hope is a young admiral - Trollanski Orderbringer, the Order hoping that he could lead their dire resistance to victory against the numerous enemy.
Trollanski: "Prepare the Sekhmets, we must lay open the path and convince the Blood Dragons to join forces with us. We intercepted a transmission of the enemy and they to be construction a new temple of the Planet of Erie, such thing must not be allowed!"
And so the small fleet of snubcrafts backed with a meager few capital ships left Omicron Mu during the cover of the Ion Storm and reached the Coronado system, where it rallied up for battle.
"Admiral Trollanski, the enemy had shielded the entire planet! We must destroy the shield generator on Pueblo Bonito!"
On Pueblo Bonito a small group of Order Elite agents, lead by Trollmaster Orillion has prepared to take down the shield generators.
What will it be? Will the Order manage to destroy the evil Zoner plans in Baffin? Discover more on the next episode of... DISCOVERY WARS.
brb writing fanfiction
11000 words of zoner destruction inbound
Golanski frowned. After only a few hours of intense neural net drama, the Order's fuel reserves now consisted of two 500ml canisters of H-Fuel and a bottle of lighter fluid. Things were looking grim.
Far above him, hundreds of kilometers above the surface of Akabat, a flock of Nephilims circled like vultures. Omicron Mu had fallen in less than an hour of concentrated non-warfare; the Order's most hardened veterans had deserted their posts by the hundreds and thousands, fleeing in the face of this highly-improbable behemoth that was the Freeport Defense Fleet. Led by a loose confederation of furries, strangely-successful businessmen, and outright weirdos, this armada dwarfed even the Gallic Royal Fleet at its prime. Even the Core had packed up and gone home, mumbling something about Solaris turrets being 'nerfed' and petitioning their shipwrights to mount more Cerberus cannons on the Mako's undersized hull.
The Order Admiral sighed, listening as each of the individual ships began broadcasting its individual no-fire-zone rules and lecturing each other on the true Zoner way of life. Was this how the Omicrons were to be from now on?
From behind him, there was a small, barely audible noise. He whirled on his heel, drawing his pistol and pointing it into the shadows that lurked behind him.
"Who's there? Show yourself!"
There was a brief pause, before the mysterious figure stepped forwards into the light.
"They owe me some credits," quipped Trent, his facial expression bland as always - hampered by early-2000s animation quality. "And I'm already committed."
"Yeah," added Michael King, following Trent's lead. "They're travelling through one of the major arteries of Omicron space like they own the place. Trent, we can't let them get away. I'm uploading a waypoint to your nav map."
Golanski sighed again, lowering his gun. It was going to be a long day.
"Trent we have to go faster." the words spurred our hero onwards. He ran towards his old hunk of junk on the landing pad, a now out of production Starflier.
"What in Dab's name is that?" Golanski was obviously extremely disappointed by Trent's poor choice in shipping, whilst keeping his disappointment at Trent's poor choice in fashion to himself. "You can't possibly hope to have that tinker toy turned into a weapon."
Trent looks at Golanski like a silent trader stares down a pirate and without saying a word, slowly puts his hand on Golanski's smooth face, tenderly stroking it. His eyes stare into his soul and he moved in closer and whispered into Golanski's tender ears. "One. Million. Credits." He paused for a while, Golanski swallowed his saliva. "They owe me. One. Million. Credits." With that, Trent retracts his face from Golanski and jumps into his Starflier.
"This is Freelancer 1-1. You're cleared for take-off."
With all the fuzz going on in the Deep Omicrons, it was a perfect time for Operation Slevin to start. A small base construction platform flew from Ogashawa to Sigma 17 quickly. The place was deserted. A libertonian-accented voice was heard over the comms. Exceccute Order 23. The base construction platform stood in place. After a simple button push, Freeport 7 was on it´s feet again, now under TAZ control.
The Zoner Empire started to deploy its fleet. From Baffin to Omega 49, from Bering to Omicron 74 all the way up to Alpha. The ships stood at precisely 20 klicks distance from each other, and their added influence extended the Non-Fire Zone for a thousand light years.
(02-03-2015, 05:32 PM)Doria Wrote: [ -> ]The Zoner Empire started to deploy its fleet. From Baffin to Omega 49, from Bering to Omicron 74 all the way up to Alpha. The ships stood at precisely 20 klicks distance from each other, and their added influence extended the Non-Fire Zone for a thousand light years.
and peace was had throughout the land
(02-03-2015, 05:32 PM)Doria Wrote: [ -> ]The Zoner Empire started to deploy its fleet. From Baffin to Omega 49, from Bering to Omicron 74 all the way up to Alpha. The ships stood at precisely 20 klicks distance from each other, and their added influence extended the Non-Fire Zone for a thousand light years.
you killed my thread >: |