It was supposed to be a simple mission. Show up, wait for the Admiral to finish his 'business,' help load up his 'personal effects,' and then never speak of this side-trip to Tau 37 again. Simple job. Good health benefits too; do as we say and you get to live. 'Course, that was a given in deals like these. At least the admiral wouldn't have them all killed just because. No, only if anyone talked would anyone die.
The outer doors finally closed, and the outcast shuttle shut down its engines. Whirring the motors on the heavy lifter exo-skeleton, private Jacobs started to advance on the shuttle. The doors slid open, and Jacobs had two seconds to recognize the impassive face-plate before him.
Phantoms.
And then the marine triggered a single shot from the Flechette Cannon and blew the privates digestive tract out his back.
((RP THREAD! ONLY POST IF INVITED!))
The sound of the shot reverberated inside the hold. A deathly silence followed. The marines marched forward, past Jacob's limp body still locked into the exoskeleton. Navy officers stared in shock at the sight of the Phantoms in front of them, rooted as if fear was a physical force.
One by one, the officers died. The floor and walls were covered in the various entrails expelled from the officer's now lifeless bodies. The marines headed toward the door, leading to the body of the ship, stepping over the organs littering the floor.
Harrisson stood up on the bridge,
"Did someone hear that?"
All officers on deck looked around nervously. They all knew the purpose of this mission, and the consequences if things went wrong.
"Do you think there is a problem in the cargo bay, Sir?"
"Go check it out, Lieutenant. Report back ASAP."
"Roger that, Sir."
Lieutenant Fuller hurried toward the door. The door slid open and Fuller disappeared out of sight. Suddenly, there was a loud gunshot from just outside the door. Everyone on the bridge turned to see Fuller's head roll through the sliding doors, which closed silently behind it. The Lieutenant at the scanner station fainted instantly. Others fell off their chairs and began to panic. Harrisson took one step back and stared intently at the door. He whispered to himself,
"What the hell is on my ship?!"
Glock stood on the bridge of the Vulcan. Taking the [SA] cruiser’s shields down, and battering the hull to
within an inch of destruction had been very easy. The Marines had been deployed, and crashed through
the light security detail, making short of work of any resistance. Not long now.
The rest of the group were now busy removing any nosy bounty hunters from around Freeport 10, and
the sky was littered with their smouldering remains.
He liked things to go to plan.
The Outcast Guard had been their usual accommodating selves, and the borrowed shuttle would return
quietly to where it had come from, possibly needing a little interior hosing out. The marines were extremely
good at terminating targets at short range, but the collateral blood on their suits was always a little messy.
And Glock liked things neat and tidy on his own ship.
“Lord Glock, we have reached the bridge, permission to continue.”
The commander’s hollow voice crackled on the comm. channel.
“Proceed please, and just take the target in one piece, everything else, remove with the usual prejudice.”
The marines advanced. Glocked grinned momentarily, the marines followed their orders to the letter.
There would be no witnesses.
Greed and corruption had been the downfall of more than one high ranking officer in the past, and he was
sure this one would not be the last.
He switched the channel.
“Lord Darkstar, estimated time of arrival at the Revenant Temple, twenty seven minutes. Things have gone
to plan as usual.” …
The Phantoms' Powered Armor was not just armor. Using movement amplifiers and advanced servos, the suit had more strength then any human, modified or otherwise. It was also fast, and in the right hands could be fairly agile. It took quite a bit of practice to fully use the interface, but the Phantom Marines excelled at it.
So what did this all mean? It meant that the marines were incredibly strong and very fast; arguably the best shock-troopers in the world. Harrisson found this out himself, when the first Phantoms approached the bridge.
CLANG!
The first boot heel collided with the door to the bridge rather suddenly. It seemed that the marines forgot to pack cutters, and were forced to find other means of entry. What a pity.
CLA-CLANG!
Two heels now. The marines must have doubled up.
CLA-CLANG! CLA-CLANG! CLA-CLANG!
They continued to pound on the door mercilessly for thirty seconds. Each kick pushed the dent in a little further. The crew readied side-arms and laser rifles, one last attempt at an exercise in futility. Quite suddenly, they stopped. Silence reigned for a few moments.
"Are they gone?" One of the bridge crew asked timidly. Nobody could answer, and soon nobody had too. The sound of running grew louder and louder, and with a final crash the Phantoms broke in.
Under the weight and momentum of the armored Phantom, the bridge door was simply bashed in. It fell to the deck with a clatter, the Phantom who had rammed it rolling across the floor. The two behind it leaned in and leveled their Flechette cannons. Deadly bursts of razor sharp metal clouds took out the officers in quick succession, one by one. All except for Harrisson, whose vision was filled with the intimidating face-plate of a Phantom marine, and then turned to darkness.
****
The darkness passed all too quickly. A bright light stabbed Harrissons' eyes, quite nearly burning out his retinas.
"Awake at last, are we?" The cruel voice was like a slap. Harrison raked his eyes, searching the darkness for the owner of the voice. Instead of a person, a window opened. It was as if it had opened into a different world. Dark purple clouds drifted across the window, and hanging in the void was a black rock. Harrison had heard tales of this rock, dark tales. The smooth obsidian asteroid was immense, and the station inside supposedly darker then the rock around it. It was a beautiful sight to behold... as beautiful as it was terrible.
"Welcome to the Temple of the Revenant, Mr.Harrisson. You'll be staying here for quite some time."
Harrisson looked around. His men were in a state of panic around the bridge. The clanging on the door was deafening.
"What are you men doing?! This isn't a time to be cowering in the corner, unless you want the same fate as Fuller!"
He picked up the head from the floor and looked at the face. The look of terror was sickening. He had to look away.
"Get your arms at the ready! Concentrate all fire toward the door when it comes through!"
Harrisson stood resolute beside his chair. He wanted to break down and hide for his life, but his men deserved more than that from their leader in their final minutes. Harrisson knew he and all his men would die. They were not armed for combat, and he could not use the Naval marines for a mission like this. He knew they were doomed.
The clanging stopped. Everything went silent. Harrisson saw the confused faces on his men.
"Are they gone?"
Harrisson looked back at the door. It was dented beyond belief. It would take a few more hits, but they would definately get through soon. Why did it stop? It can't have given up... Then he heard the running.
"Get back in position!! Get ready to fi.."
BOOM
Harrisson saw it as if it was a bad dream. The door flew to the floor and slid to the side, revealing a hellish body of metal and skin, rolling across the bridge floor. Two more of these creatures entered the bridge, wielding cannons, picking off the Navy officers one by one. Each shot was followed by a flash of red as shards of metal ripped through the officers bodies, leaving them inert on the floor, in pools of their own blood.
Then Harrisson saw a third enter the bridge and head straight for him. He took a step back, unsure if it was an attempt to defend himself, or his cowardice was taking hold. Then he saw the face of the thing headed to him. He's knees buckled at the sight of the yellow eyes in the metal skull. His eyes were open just enough to see it reach out for him...
****
Harrisson awoke in darkness. His thoughts roamed to the only thing possible, he was dead. Then he felt the restraints. Somehow, he wasn't dead... yet.
"Awake at last, are we?"
Harrisson tried to look around to see where the voice had come from. The restraints were too tight, however. He struggled a little and gave up. Then a window opened in front of him. Dark purple clouds dominated the scenery, except for a dark rock. This rock made Harrisson wretch and heave. He had been told about it. Rumours had been spread all around Sirius, all of them horrible to the point of sickening.
"Welcome to the Temple of the Revenant, Mr.Harrisson. You'll be staying here for quite some time."
Harrisson's eyes got a last look at the outside of the Temple, before he blacked out again...
Glock stood by one of the large viewports over looking the space of Omicron 82. Home again for a while, he
was now more comfortable in his long black morning suit and plain white shirt. The armour was away now
for service and upgrade.
The previous fight outside by those sent to stop them, had ended quickly and decisively. There was no one
left to tell tales of The Revenant.
His bodyguard had been dismissed for the night, and he held a glass of Canarian Claret, and smelled the
oak filled nose. A good vintage, Darkstar had returned with, from his last trip to that odd planet.
He sipped it slowly and savoured all the intricacies of the fine body. The time was drawing close to beginning
that pleasurable process known as enlightenment. Well, pleasurable for him anyway, the subject was probably
going to have other ideas.
His own was such a long time ago, he remembered so little about it anyway. Though he had escaped any
torture beforehand as he had submitted willingly, and was really never in the position of having a head full
of vital military secrets, as was Harrisson. That greedy corrupt Admiral deserved everything coming to him.
He would learn the hard way before seeing the light.
A noise behind him made him turn, the slayers were filing into the room.
“Good evening my dear, … Gentlemen, how you all now we are home and together once more. It has been
a little time since we were all here.”
He pointed to the bottle and glasses on the table.
"Curtesy of our Lord Darkstar, please help yourselves. I am sure your accommodations have been well looked
after since our last visit, you all look very refreshed.”
He turned back to the large window, and looked into space once more.
“ We just await our commander, and I’m sure you are more than ready to begin a little light entertainment
with our evening’s subject. Onyx, no taking parts of your work home tonight though, and please leave the
flechette pistol on the table on your way out.” …
... He awoke again... Cold... Wet... Naked... Restrained... In complete darkness. His mind shuffled through his previous thoughts. His dream had been strange. People around him with no decernable faces, dark black rocks littering the floor, a light in the distance that he had to run away from... Then he remembered. The window, the huge rock outside of it, the overwhelming fear that had risen in his body... He bent over as much as his restraints would let him and heaved uncontrollably. There was nothing to release except the fear of impending torture. Death was not worth worrying about. He was sure he would be wishing for it soon enough.
His stomach began to feel as if it had been ripped open by the dry heaving. The pain allowed him to gather his wits enough to straighten out and stop retching, though the fear still kept hold. He tried to peer into the darkness, searching for something to focus on. Finding no shred of light, he tried to manouver around. His restraints began to slide forwards with him,
"What the..."
The restraints were on some kind of rollers above him. He tested the movement a little. They seemed well oiled. He walked forward pulling the restraints along, until he hit a wall. It was solid and strong. He smashed it with his knee and there was no echo from the sound. Solid wall, far too thick to give any hope of escaping.
The fear began to well up inside him again. He reared back and planted his head into the wall with some force. The pain was the only thing keeping him sane right now. He couldn't stand the darkness. No-one knew where he was. There was no chance of escape, or rescue. There was no company, except himself. There was a warm trickle down the side of his face. He couldn't tell if it was a tear or blood.
All hope had left him. Pain was all he had to look forward to.
Onyx stepped down from the Black Widow. It had been some time since she'd lighted down on the polished black floor of her personal docking bay. The hushed and meditative atmoshpere of the Revenant enveloped her; the sepulchral halls welcomed her home.
Her quarters were adjacent to the fighter's bay. The rooms were large and lit from the translucent tiles beneath her heels, the entire west facing wall was a floor to ceiling viewport while the remaining facets were black mirrors. Small black lights, almost candle-like, flickered from the floor plates. The deep-set up-lighting and purple clouded abyss beyond cast an eidolic glow on Onyx's sillouette.
Everything in her arsenal would be needed for this job. She walked to a glass case and gently took
down bottles of ancient terran elixirs, or poisons as they had been referred to in ancient times. She chose for this night both hallucinatory and sense amplifying 'medications'. Onyx was usually first to interrogate, dosing the victim with mixtures so they'd be readied for the rest of the slayers.
Most saw her as their savior when she arrived to lull them into a false sense of security. She'd perfected her art to the point where the victim would be just on the edge of death or at least they'd wish for death as a means of sweet escape. Onyx had earned the name Black Widow for good reason. She reached into a drawer containing cables, barbed wires, crocodile clips, batteries, scalpels, needles and endless lengths of rope and chain.
All this she carefully placed into a compartamentalized bag. Now that her supplies were packed she readied
herself. A touch of gloss on the lips before she slipped on the arm length, skin tight gloves that would
stop the blood from getting under her fingernails.
Satisfied, Onyx hoisted the heavy bag to her shoulders and turned to leave, hesitating near her pistol on a
side table. She tucked away the Flechette even though Glock would refuse to let her use it. She could at least try.
Onyx headed toward the holding cell where her victim awaited her ministrations. She nodded toward her brothers as they met in the corridor and silently fell into step with them.
----------------------------------
Onyx opened the cell door to where Harrisson was being 'held' and stepped out. Her face was flushed with pleasure; this was food for her soul. She closed the door gently, as if only now she was concerned for the admiral's comfort and welfare. The sounds of sobbing and retching could be heard as the door closed.
Glock raised his head, cocked it to one side and smiled, "How went your evening my dear? More wine anyone? I have a feeling this will be good."
She smiled angelically and placed the heavy bag gently on the floor, it's contents clanging and sloshing.
They settled in to listen to her narration.
Her head fell back, long raven hair rolled down her corsetted back and she laughed sweetly. "I think our
Admiral was a bit surprised to see me," she began....
Nothing had changed. The cell was as empty, cold and dark as before. Harrisson was half standing, half hanging in the centre of the cell. No sound had entered the cell ever since he awoke in there, and he was toying with the idea that they had left him to rot... Then, he heard footsteps somewhere outside of the walls. Some muffled conversation followed, then a lock in the far side of the room clicked and light began to flood the cell. The light blinded Harrisson and forced him to close his eyes and take a few steps back. The light left the room quickly, but left footsteps in its place.
Harrisson opened his eyes to the cell and let his eyes wander. The room was shrouded in a dim blue light. Upwards, the walls were everlasting and disappeared into darkness. The floor was plain and bare, except for a table in the corner. Then Harrisson became aware of the footsteps, getting closer from behind him. He turned as much as his restraints would let him. What he saw surprised him. Completely clothed in leather, a woman stood behind him.
Her black hair shone in the dim blue light. The suit stuck tightly to her body, her curves enhanced by the shine of the leather. Harrisson was completely entranced for a second... Then he noticed the bag. The trance left him immediately. Fear took over and he began to back away across the room. The woman watched him and smiled, as she set the bag on the floor. Harrisson heard the clinking and shuddered. Her smile widened,
"Scared?"
He tried to regain his composure,
"In front of a woman like yourself? Heh, not likely!"
Her smile faded slightly,
"Now now, you know nothing about me. Don't judge by first impressions... Just so happens I'm only here to talk."
This took Harrisson completely by surprise. In any normal situation he would have evaluated his surroundings and completely dismissed that statement as false. This situation, however, left him longing for hope and safety. Though this woman seemed strange, her smile was warming to him. He began to relax and the fear began to leave him.
"So, Admiral Harrisson of the South Alliance, how did you end up way out here, outside your precious Liberty?"
"Well, I would assume you already know that. Those 'things' on my ship didn't appear by accident."
"Ah, not too bad in the intelligence department, are you? I suppose we have some explaining to do..."
She sat down on the floor. The creases in the leather folded in all the right places, making her even more distracting. Looking up at Harrisson, she smiled a friendly smile and began to explain.
"We have taken a pleasure in watching you from afar for a while. The corruption and decomposition of the houses is a wonderful thing, Admiral, something that you seem rather good at. I'd like to thank you on behalf of all of us for making our job much easier, by the way. Corruption is but one step to destruction."
There was a twinkle in her eye as she said this. Harrisson didn't notice...
"We wanted to bring you here so we could have a talk about both of our agendas. Your personal agenda, of course."
Harrisson suddenly realised what he was here for. If they want information from me, he thought, they must know what I'll want in return. They know I'm willing to give information for personal gain, and they obviously know how to get things done, and efficiently. This could be a really good opportunity to get what I really want! Harrisson smiled slightly, and then grimaced. As he had become more relaxed, the pain in his shoulders increased.
He muttered, "Damn shoulders."
She looked half concerned,
"Oh, they must be getting tired. You seem interested in what I have to say, so no need for those chains anymore, don't you think?"
She stood and reached for her bag, unzipped it, and took out some large chain cutters.
"Sorry, there are no locks on those chains. Welded together, just incase our captives get a little frisky."
She leaned up towards the chains with the cutters. Harrisson longed to get these restraints off so he could sit and rest. Then he felt a strange sensation. Something cold was sliding along the knuckles of his fingers. He looked up at his hand... She smiled back at him. The warmth had left her.
He felt the two blades of the cutters close in on his fingers. The skin broke, the bones snapped with an echoing crack, his flesh tore apart, his two fingers dropped to the floor. His scream was deafening. His blood, black in the blue light, streamed down his arm. He began to whimper, trying to grab his mutilated hand with his other. He backed off toward the wall, pathetic and weak. His left side covered in his own blood.
"Y-you... why?! WHY?!"
"Who do you think I am? Do you really think I came here just to talk?"
Her smile stretched across her face. She looked uncontrollable. A complete maniac at the sight of his pain.
"Don't judge me by your first impressions... Judge me when I'm finished with you!!"
Her laugh echoed around the cell, as if a demon of destruction had possessed her entirely.
****