Beyond the Terran Gate

Adamant
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Beyond the Terran Gate Jul 19, 2021 19:33:23 GMT

Post by Adamant on Jul 19, 2021 19:33:23 GMT

Joint Expeditionary Task Force.
Arctic Research Station ‘Azimuth’ (Affil.: ARC).
T-Plus 552 hours from anomalous Terran impact.
Objective: Briefing.

Azimuth Station had been chosen as the location where the members of the Joint Expeditionary Task Force would meet for one simply reason- it was the closest. The electromagnetic interference and seemingly-ceaseless snowstorm surrounding the gate made it impossible for a helicopter to simply drop the task force off at their destination, so the nearest pre-existing facility had been selected as their staging area. Every one of the Five Powers had their own Arctic bases, despite the lack of real strategic value in the frozen wasteland at the top of the world. The first one had been established out of pure scientific interest, but every other nation had followed suit shortly after, just in case the Arcadians had some secret reason for establishing a presence in the one major part of the world that wasn’t under one of the Great Powers’ aegis. At least one known Union base was located within the radius of the EM field, meaning they were cut off from contact with the outside world, but it was on the other side of the storm, so the task force wouldn’t be checking in on them. If anybody else had an off-the-books facility up there, they weren’t telling.

All five of the task force members were gathered in a briefing room. It was an Arcadian base, so an Arcadian official- Enrique Velasco, former Vigilant Knight -was giving the briefing. His mutation was a physical one- almost every one of his joints was a ball joint, allowing him to rotate his arms, legs, and even neck three hundred and sixty degrees. Technically speaking, Sophia outranked him, but instead of standing behind the man or off to his side, she was sitting next to the Mayan representative, the woman with pink hair and black eyes. Nobody wanted to give the impression that the Arcadians- or anyone else -was in charge here. The terms under which they were venturing towards the gate were tenuous, and if anyone took offense to anything, it could mean the whole thing was off.

Velasco stretched his arms outward, fingers interlaced- but with his shoulder joints ‘backwards,’ so the elbows bent the ‘wrong’ way, from the perspective of someone with an ordinary body. Even in a world where mutants were the dominant species, those with severe physical mutations weren’t especially common, and many were unnerved by their appearances. The former Vigilant Knight was gauging the reactions of the members of the task force, seeing if any of them would recoil. Particularly the African, who by all accounts was an ordinary human- something nobody had been expecting.

During the internal briefings Sophia had been privy to, a few theories had been put forth for his presence. Perhaps the African Congress had been unwilling to authorize anything more, as the result of some internal political turmoil. Or they hadn’t been willing to risk one of their more valuable operatives on a potentially dangerous mission. Maybe he was supposed to die, so that one of the other nations could be blamed for it. The unspoken final possibility was that he was more than he seemed- but whether he was a mutant or not, everyone had taken that as a given.

“Good day.”

Morning, afternoon and evening had little meaning this close to the pole. The sun was out, and it was going to remain out for the foreseeable future. Not that it would be providing the members of the task force much warmth during their journey.

“I’m sure that you are all eager to begin, and that you have received similar lectures from your own people already. So I’ll keep this brief.”

Having been born in the part of Arcadia once known, a very long time ago, as Spain, Velasco bore the traces of an accent coloring his words. Most children of the Empire were bilingual, raised speaking the common tongue of their region at home, and the lingua franca of Arcadian in school. Based primarily on the language of English, it adopted loan-words from Russian, Spanish, German, French, and just about every other language spoken in the territories that comprised the Empire. Creating a single tongue for everyone to share was one of the major ways the Emperor had unified his territories, though he’d been careful not to force it upon anyone. The perception of having your culture erased tends to breed revolution, something the Emperor was personally quite conscious of, having been a revolutionary himself.

All of the Great Powers had eventually adopted a single ‘official’ language, in order to unify the various ethnic groups within their vast territories, many of which had their own dialects. Diplomats and international businessmen tended to be fluent in at least one of the five major languages, besides their own nation’s. In this case, it wouldn’t much matter, because the Union’s android would be translating for all of them. Sophia had been raised on English alone, but tutored in each of the other four during her upbringing, to better serve as the living instrument of the Emperor’s will. That didn’t mean she was fluent, but if the robot was damaged, she’d at least be able to act as a halfway competent backup.

“About three weeks ago, an object landed here in the Arctic, fired deliberately from an unknown source. Not long after it made impact, it began generating electromagnetic interference that made observation nearly impossible, as well as- somehow -creating a snowstorm of unprecedented intensity, which has yet to end. Before the interference began, however, we obtained images of the object itself.”

The ‘we’ in that sentence was being used in the royal sense. Arcadia had gotten satellite images, but the others had obtained intelligence through their own methods. Drones, on-the-ground reporting, and quite possibly messages from the distant past, if the Mayans’ Seer had foretold this event. Not everyone was willing to divulge the methods through which they’d obtained said information, considering it risked revealing the location of secret bases, hidden satellites, or advanced tech that nobody else knew about.

“It appeared to be a gate, under construction. Nobody got a good look at it before it landed, but we can say pretty confidently that it wasn’t gate-shaped. So it’s self-modifying. We have no idea what it’s going to look like when you get there, or if anything has come through. You five are going to approach the impact site, investigate, and report back. Your mandate is broad, because anything more specific would start arguments that we don’t have time for. Exercise your own judgement.”

It was said that a good compromise left everyone unhappy. The compromise that had resulted in the Joint Expeditionary Task Force had certainly done that. The Union had insisted that no organics go, because it risked introducing Terran diseases to the environment beyond the gate. The Africans, whose own robotics industry hadn’t yet produced anything quite as advanced as the ‘Warlock,’ disagreed, because it would put them at a disadvantage. The representative from Abya Yala had- presumably acting on behalf of their Great Spirit-argued against much of what the Mayans had suggested, doubtlessly as part of some scheme to divine what their Seer had or hadn’t said about this event. On and on it had gone, until they’d agreed on this.

“The EM storm means we can’t fly you in, and the terrain itself makes using land vehicles impossible. Luckily, we’re positioned well, so you should be able to reach the impact site in about two days’ time. The group strategy session narrowed your route down to two possibilities, and then bickered about which was better for two and a half hours. In the end, we decided to leave it up to you.”

As he’d been speaking, Velasco had gone through slides containing various images, mostly satellite footage of the impact site, which lacked detail, though the shape of a half-formed gate was clearly visible. The next one had two images- one, a flat expanse of snow and ice, the other a precarious-looking mountain path.

“Option one is the indirect route. This avoids most physical obstacles, but it’ll take slightly longer. Option two is the direct route, through the mountains. Faster, but you run the risk of avalanche. Personally, I prefer the latter. It’ll be easier to find somewhere to sleep, and the mountains will give you cover from the storm. On the other hand, the indirect route is safer, because you won’t be as close to the heart of the storm, and the odds of being buried under a thousand tons of rock and snow are lower.”

Like most men who’d seen a great deal of violence in their lives, Velasco had a certain grim, dry humor to him. He had more experience than Sophia, who was only twenty-seven, quite young for an Adamant Knight. Her unique biology meant she lived longer than average, which was how there’d only been ten generations of her since Arcadia had been founded, significantly more than ten generations ago.

“Once you’ve all decided, you can get moving. If anybody wants to grab some gear at the last minute, the armory is open, though I expect you all prepared extensively before even coming here.”

Without any further words, Velasco left the room, and the task force was alone.

Sophia stood from her chair, and turned to face the others, rolling her shoulders back. Under the halogen lights, her metal flesh would seem to ripple as it moved. Most of the others had brought extreme cold-weather gear, but her uniform was almost entirely unaltered. Harsh temperatures didn’t mean much to her, though frost had a habit of growing on her in the cold, and she’d glow reddish-orange if exposed to enough heat. She would, however, be carrying a massive bag with a great deal of supplies for the whole group, thanks to her enhanced strength. The robot would be doing the same, while their more fragile allies carried much lighter loads.

"Well, I suppose introductions are in order. In case any of you have been living under a rock for the past few thousand years, I'm the Adamant Knight. But you can call me Sophia."

After giving the rest of the group some time to introduce themselves, Sophia continued.

"Every minute we waste deliberating is another minute until whatever's on the other side of that gate decides to come through. So let's keep this quick. I vote option two."

With any luck, this group would be able to avoid arguing for quite as long as the group strategy session’s members had. Thankfully, they weren’t diplomats, so the broader political concerns didn’t weigh as heavily upon them. That meant they could actually decided based on the merits of one option over another, rather than taking a side because of some unrelated conflict. Of course, there were considerations that not everyone in the room was privy to. Information that each nation had given to their representative, but instructed them not to share. It was simply how things worked.

All anyone could hope was that they’d manage to get to the gate without killing each other first.

SPOILER: Click to show

{OOC}I don’t want to have a huge debate over the decision IC, so what we’re going to do is have a single round discussing it, and then whichever option has the majority will be what we go with. If anyone wants to change their initial vote based on a later argument, just DM me to let me know. Once everyone has posted once, I’ll go again to get everyone into position, and we can begin this thing in earnest.

Last Edit: Jul 19, 2021 20:19:41 GMT by Adamant

Warlock
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Beyond the Terran Gate Jul 19, 2021 20:16:02 GMT

Post by Warlock on Jul 19, 2021 20:16:02 GMT

"Hahaha. Armory."

The chuckle that emanated from WARLOCK's vocoder was low and rumbling. It sounded very human in tone - masculine; the only thing that set it apart in terms of sound was the light fry of a vocal processor. The robot barely moved the entire meeting, only fixing its optics on the speakers in turn - but at the mention of collecting weaponry, it did laugh, its shoulders bouncing ever so slightly in mimicry of human response.

When WARLOCK spoke, it did so in every language. Its speakers were calibrated to avoid overlapping sound, each sentence let out simultaneously in the native language of each listener. So, it was effectively saying the same thing in each language at once, but to different people - with the sound directed such that each person would hear the other language in but a whisper.

"I can't be the only one who thinks that bringing weapons to first contact is a poor idea...might send the wrong message."

WARLOCK set his elbows on the desk, large wiry frame leaning forward as it spoke.

"This is a...scientific mission. It's sensitive - delicate. A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. It would be monumentally unwise to invite conflict. But, do as you will. I understand that perishables like yourselves feel the need for...'security,'" the auton concluded, having decided partway through that a plea for disarmament would fall on deaf ears. Better to be removed from the situation, above it. They could deal with the collateral.

"...assuming there's even anything intelligent behind this mystery at all, of course," he added, throwing his hands slightly up in the air and leaning back to its old position.

The robot seemed to look nowhere and everywhere at once. Small optic cameras made micro-adjustments to their lenses, and while the deep voice appeared full of personality, the creation that spoke it was expressionless, with only a flat metal plate for a 'face.'

They would already know him as WARLOCK. He required no introduction.

Annasiel
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Beyond the Terran Gate Jul 19, 2021 21:29:20 GMT

Post by Annasiel on Jul 19, 2021 21:29:20 GMT

Oota Dabun sat near the edge of the room, curious eyes on her compatriots. In a way, the delegates each of the great nations sent was, knowingly or not, a reflection of the nations themselves. Arcadia, a nation built on conquest, steeped in tradition - but the core of its meaning had long since been stripped away, leaving only a veneer of glory and kingdoms old. The most ancient of the modern nations, the most stalwart. Fitting, then, they sent a shining knight, impervious to attack, loud and strong and ready to fulfill her duty to her empire. Next, the automaton, a simulacrum of humanity, calculating and controlled. Despite the synthetic emotion its voice held, there was no soul within the metal, just as there was no soul in the Union it stood for - simply a machine of industry with a hunger to grow. And the Mayan girl, the Acolyte - she knew of the Maya best, as Abya Yala's nearest neighbor, closest ally, greatest enemy. Their Dominion was unpredictable. Violent. Exploitative. While all others here had a semblance of professional appearance, the Acolyte the Maya sent was vibrant. She was dressed in casual wear, with bright hair and eyes, and, most interestingly of all, a pair of gossamer wings on her back. Were they part of her outfit, or part of her mutation? Whatever the case, it seemed to reflect the stark individualism of the Maya well.

And last - the African. It was more difficult to gauge him, but that was fitting, for it was difficult to gauge the confederation he came from. He was the youngest in the room, as it was the youngest of the nations - perhaps the most unassuming, as was it. She stared at him for a few moments longer than the others, gaze lingering. A soldier? He certainly seemed like it. Did he have any gifts, at all, or had the United African States, in their humble newfound place on the global stage, sent a simple man?

What message did that send? What would the intent there be? Was there any, at all, or were gifted humans simply not held to the same standard there, as they were elsewhere?

"I agree with both the knight and the machine," Oota Dabun replied, speaking in Abya. She preferred using her own tongue over any other - it was disrespectful to her people not to. "The latter route seems the better option, and for its danger, I do not fear death. However - it would be wrong of us to approach this with a mind of war. It is not wrong to want to feel safe, but tools are an extension of our will, and when we hold a tool designed to kill, our will grows tainted with the tool's intent."

Last Edit: Jul 19, 2021 21:31:11 GMT by Annasiel

Yesterday, upon the stair,
I met a man who wasn't there!
He wasn't there again today,
Oh how I wish he'd go away!

illirica
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Posts: 1,388

Beyond the Terran Gate Jul 20, 2021 21:12:20 GMT

Post by illirica on Jul 20, 2021 21:12:20 GMT

This was, no doubt, a disaster.

Mostafa Nabil had seen more than his share of those, in his fifty-eight years. One could even say that he was the United States of Africa's leading specialist on disasters, from a certain point of view. Usually that point of view happened to be his, the moment before everything exploded - or flooded, or collapsed, or, on one extremely memorable occasion, was squeezed into a cube the size of a grape.

This wouldn't be the first time he died for Africa. As before, the usual mission briefing applied - "try to get as much out of it as you can before you do." It was not, in cases like this, particularly helpful - nor particularly inspiring. Nabil supposed that the one blessing in all this was that the lack of a concrete plan meant that, for once, he didn't have much in the way of micromanaging overseers giving conflicting orders about the whole business. He was jaded enough to realize that this was not because they trusted his decision-making ability, so much as that it would have seemed odd to have so much oversight for a simple soldier.

Because, by all the paperwork, that was what Mostafa Nabil was. He'd never made a name for himself, unlike some of the fancy types out there. He did what was needed, or as much of it as he could before something inevitably took him out - then he got back up, and he finished the job.

He was an asset to Africa, but not one that they cared to have everyone know about. Still, this had been the perfect mission for him - if he got killed, it was up to his discretion whether he wanted to continue or opt out, depending on how things were going and how much - or how little - he was willing to trust the rest of his team with his secrets.

Given the current situation, it was looking like the answer to that question was "not very much." He'd had hopes for Arcadia's Adamant Knight, but she was sitting cozied up with the Mayan representative when he had arrived, which made her particular allegiances clear. The others were the usual mishmash of oddities. He'd seen cyber-enhanced types before, but the one designated WARLOCK took it to an extreme. The Abyalan Speaker seemed normal enough, but Nabil wasn't counting on it to stay that way.

And, of course, there was the Mayan. If it weren't bad enough that she were here at all, she seemed to have decided to take flamboyance to the extreme, in attention-grabbing gear that made it hard for him to ignore her, no matter how professional he was attempting to be. He may have glared at her, once or twice, before things began. He didn't care to hide it.

The briefing was much like any other - a smattering of information, probably not enough. Velasco was a weird one, with joints moving all the wrong ways. Nabil suppressed a shudder when the man 'stretched' - he'd seen too many people's joints move like that before - people whose joints weren't meant to move that way. Velasco was hardly a ragdoll corpse, though, and Nabil sat silently and listened to the information being given, wondering how much of it wasn't being given, and who had it, and what they thought about all of this.

He was admittedly a bit surprised that they'd call a vote on the path to begin - it seemed remarkably diplomatic, for a group of nations of whom most were not known for their diplomacy. Privately, he thought that had he been alone, he would have opted for the shorter route - but that wasn't the face he was putting up here. No, by everything the rest of them knew, he was merely one young soldier in Africa's military, a non-metahuman, probably around the 25 years of age he appeared to be. He was an unexpected result that they'd still be trying to place as whether or not it was meant to be insulting.

Nabil couldn't say, on that account - that hadn't been his decision. The pathway apparently was. As a 'normal human' it was obvious that he ought to vote for the safer route, of course - but that wasn't the way this was going to fall. The Adamant Knight had already voted for the shorter route, as had the Speaker - and the silicate had spoken a bit on science and weaponry (Nabil was not opting out of weaponry no matter what the other said) - but hadn't really made a decision.

In all likelihood, this vote was already going to go for the shorter path - and it was probable that it would go four-to-one if he voted for the long route. That would cast him as needlessly obstructionist - not a position he wanted to be in, especially with Arcadia already cozying up with the Mayan Empire. He was silent for a moment, thoughtful, then spoke, briefly:

"Africa abstains."

Last Edit: Jul 20, 2021 21:17:23 GMT by illirica

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Azra
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Beyond the Terran Gate Jul 23, 2021 20:38:21 GMT Ghostly likes this

Post by Azra on Jul 23, 2021 20:38:21 GMT

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Knowing More

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Dalia Duskholm was not born for just this one mission she wasn't trained for just this one day that was not why an Acolyte was chosen. But long sense had she known this was coming and so she was ready when the signs were there. As so many got riled up asking what to do and who to send Dalia asked for the next two weeks off. She knew this would take time to pend and be seen to and during the week of waiting she trained. Doing what she could to better reach the physical condition it would ask for. And on her jobs of an Acolyte she actively tried to fly in places that were not ideal. So that if she had to fly in a snowstorm maybe she could actually manage to do so.

She would do small workouts to make sure the effort didn't end up mute but once the request went through she spent time either with friends and other Acolytes or recharging. Acolytes were her family after all sure she liked many other people but they saw an illusion. A carefully crafted image of some desk working social butterfly. Because she knew do to the Goodwork two of those friends she would one day have to kill. At any rate for the time she did all she could to ensure mentally and physically she was recharged and ready for the job.

Then she was called told of her coming job. In truth it was four calls, two told her thinking they were calculating and wise to pickn Dalia. The other two like her knew all along she would be chosen for this job. Outcomes and details weren't always accurate it was possible she wasn't the only candidate the work told to select, but it did ultimately fall on her and she found pride in this.

Now she entered Azimuth. She would have preffered a simple shirt and jeans but a readiness was needed so the black and yellow suit clung to her figure. A semi armored but more importantly light weight suit to wear somewhat offset by the more bulky looking gauntlets and boots. These were needed though. She weighed next to nothing, landings could have been ugly without these devices. And on her person was a obvious pistol and dassortment of knives. They were not the greatest weapon choices and she had no intent on using them on anyone here but she felt it was to be ready from the start.

With a backpack between vibrant wings, and with her rather loud choice of attire and hair she probably stood out. Largely she was rather proud of this and how she looked unlike a Acolyte. Though she did fear it might stand out to much, might look like someone from USA. Gross.

She sets the bag down once entering the room and takes a seat. A bit of shifting so as to not iritate her wings or their wingspan, she watched the others enter but tried to stay quiet. There was a smile as the Adamant Knight sat beside her, she wasn't overly swayed one way or the other with the knight and her people but this was a good time to change this. She was pleased by the other woman who entered and the machine. She didn't recognize them but they seemed capable. Then there was the one from thr US.

He looked ordinary. Soldier number three hundred eight of a wave of generic faces. She was not impressed but at least it didn't scream look at me. She listened to the briefing her head tilting to try and get a better view of the joints of the one speaking. She was more curious then sickened by it. And eventually she started to consider how she might mirror the sight with an illusion. Then the knight got up. "Duskwing, more commonly Dalia Duskholm." She remarked in the brief opening to make an introduction.

She would go to the armory after the briefing to look for one thing. A blade or gun that might do better damage output then what she had on her. One tool to better secure her fighting chance if such a need arose, because she was used to a element of "chaos" having to come for there to be order. For now though she listened to the answer, the knight wanted the quick way, the robot didn't say the Aba Yala said the quick way to. And the man from the United States backed out.

"Good start abstaining, real confidence booster. I say the mountains the cover might let me scout ahead. As for arms I'm keeping mine." She saw no reason to explain why she chose to have them. She was told long ago to be prepared and so she took efforts to do so. How much she knew she wouldn't say how much she took on faith she wouldn't say. But she knew sometimes when one opened a door they needed to breech and clear. Not needing weapons and having them was never an issue she had found in her work. Where needing them and not having one could easily risk failure in doing the good work.

Last Edit: Jul 23, 2021 20:38:51 GMT by Azra

Carmen/Onigirl
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Beyond the Terran Gate Jul 25, 2021 21:01:04 GMT

Post by Adamant on Jul 25, 2021 21:01:04 GMT

"This," Sophia remarked with some irony, as the squabbling over the point of their mission began immediately, "is why the mission doesn't have a clearer objective. None of the suits could agree about what we were supposed to be doing either."

Personally, the Adamant Knight didn't much care either way. She wasn't planning on starting any unnecessary wars with whoever was on the other side the gate- if it was even a gate at all. Each of the Great Powers seemed to have independently concluded that it was, but nobody had gotten a good up-close look yet, and if the thing really was self-modifying, its appearance could have changed rapidly since those images had been taken. On the other hand, she didn't go anywhere unarmed, since Conviction was literally bonded to her soul, and could be summoned to her hand at any time. So if starting a war did turn out to be necessary, she'd be more than capable.

With her comment made, Sophia kept silent for the remainder of the swift voting process. She did, however, visibly bristle at Dabun's comment. The woman had declined to introduce herself- as had everyone except the Mayan -but their names had been included in her briefing. It might not have been common knowledge in the isolationist land of Abya Yala, but the Adamant's sword was a literal extension of her will, its power determined directly by the strength of her convictions. And the insinuation that it was therefore tainted somehow was irksome.

The 'Endless Nation' hadn't done anything to earn Arcadia's direct enmity, but Oota Dabun wasn't doing much to earn Sophia's friendship either. If she kept up the sanctimony, she might find herself discovering whether Conviction's edge was 'tainted' firsthand.

With only two of the other four voting, the second route was chosen unanimously. Duskholm wasn't wrong that the abstentions of Nabil and the Warlock failed to inspire much confidence, but Sophia hadn't been expecting much from her fellow members of the task force, and those low expectations didn't seem likely to rise any time soon. She left the room to inform Velasco that they were ready to go.

It took a little longer than that, of course. Their transportation to the edge of the EM storm was being fueled up, and some preparations still remained for the members of the task force. A logistics team had prepared Sophia's pack, which was quite large, her enhanced strength having been accounted for. It contained, among other things, provisions enough for the entire group, water purification tablets, signal flares, climbing pitons, and anything else that they'd figured the task force would need in the Arctic wasteland. The others had doubtlessly been given their own equipment to carry, and while Sophia was doing a last-minute check, they had the opportunity to grab anything they felt they'd need from the armory at Azimuth Station. Under supervision, of course- nobody wanted foreign nationals wandering around a secure facility without at least one Arcadian watching over their shoulders.

Once all preparations were complete, the group was summoned to the helipad, where they'd all arrived not too long ago. Velasco was waiting for them, wearing a heavy parka and a grim expression. Behind him was a VTOL, one that had been on-site to begin with, though not expected for such imminent use, which was why a refueling had been necessary. Probably an unnecessary precaution, considering the flight would be a short one, and they'd be stopping well outside of the range of the electromagnetic storm, but the Vigilant Order didn't believe in leaving much up to chance.

With the entire task force assembled, Velasco pressed his hand to a panel on the VTOL's door, causing it to open so they could enter. He went in first, and took one of the six seats in the back, with the pilot positioned alone in the cockpit. Sophia took the seat directly across from the man, rather than beside him, and let the rest of the group follow as they pleased. Her oversized pack went at her feet, though it was tall enough to easily reach past her knees.

"Strap in," the Vigilant Knight instructed the group. "It's going to get choppy."

Despite a total lack of concern for the consequences of a crash, Sophia did as instructed. Part of her job was to provide a good example to impressionable members of the public- that meant she had to wear a seat belt whenever she drove around with the Emperor, even though getting hit by a car would have been more dangerous for the driver than the Adamant Knight. In a way, it made sense that Sophia would be serving that purpose around representatives of the other Great Powers as well. After all, they were likely to become part of Arcadia eventually. The Eternal Emperor could wait as long as he needed for the other nations to collapse, and bring them under his guidance only once they were ready. At his side would, inevitably, be an Adamant Knight- if not necessarily this particular incarnation.

As soon as everyone was strapped in, the VTOL's engine started, and they lifted off. The vehicle itself was nearly soundless, unlike what some other members of the task force were likely to be expecting. After all, the phrase 'fueled up' was something of an anachronism. It was the nuclear fuel cell that had required replacing, rather than petroleum, or any other sort of fossil fuel. The Warlock would likely be utterly unsurprised by that fact- both because he'd surely ascertained the vehicle's make, model, and serial number just by looking at it, and because he himself almost certainly ran on a nuclear battery. But the African had arrived by a helicopter that seemed to be running on oil, as one might have expected from a nation whose economy still used natural gas as its backbone. Perhaps a broken backbone, after the Mayans had pulled that particular stunt a a decade back, but still, something that vital wasn't possible to excise entirely. Even Arcadia still used the stuff, though their transition to renewable sources had started as soon as science had suggested it was harming the environment. Now, many cities ran entirely on geothermal power, or used a combination of wind farms and solar collection fields, but plenty of vehicles still took petrol, even though the manufacturers were subject to harsh regulatory penalties.

Flying directly into a snowstorm was never ideal, but the VTOL was Arcadian-made, and it would take more than a bit of wind to knock it out of the sky. The reinforced hull dulled the sound of the howling storm outside, meaning nobody needed to be wearing a headset to hear Velasco when he spoke.

"We're going to put you about seventy klicks out from the impact site. That's as close as we'll be able to go before this thing's systems start to fail. That means you should reach your destination by about nightfall tomorrow. Not that the sun's going to be setting out here. These mountains are full of cave systems- I recommend you seek shelter there before sleeping, so I don't have to explain to your superiors why you came back with your limbs frozen off."

The former Vigilant's arms were folded 'backwards,' so that the undersides of his arms were faced forward, though it was difficult to tell through the thick sleeves of his parka. The others- those who had reason to care about such things -were all wearing cold-weather gear as well. Most of them had thermal lining, which wouldn't just insulate them from the cold, but actively keep them warm, though obviously Sophia needed no such thing. She was wearing her ordinary uniform, which would make her easy to pick out in the frozen landscape, if nothing else.

"Radio isn't going to work, but we'll be keeping an eye out, so fire a flare if you need an extraction. I can't promise it'll come quickly, but it'll come. Leaving you to die would start a few too many wars for my liking."

Sophia chuckled, though it seemed that Velasco hadn't entirely been joking.

"With any luck, you'll figure out how to disable the electromagnetic field once you reach the objective, and we can all bring in research teams to investigate it properly. If not, you're authorized to conduct your own investigation. Poke it, prod it, and if it turns out to be dangerous, destroy it. The scientists might try to shoot me for saying this, but whatever is out there, it's not friendly. Machines capable of self-modification don't fall to Terra by accident. Someone fired this at us, and it could be the opening shot of a war. You should all be prepared to shoot back."

With that declaration made, Velasco fell silent, brooding over his own concerns with the entire situation. If Sophia had the right read on him, he was probably somewhat bitter that he wasn't going out there himself. Retirement was never easy on a Vigilant Knight, not when their comrades tended to die in combat. Living long enough to see the backside of a desk was something of a failure for them, when other nations' career soldiers might see it as their ultimate triumph. And considering it was a potential extraterrestrial threat, it made perfect sense that a Vigilant would want to check it out himself. Instead, the Adamant was going, by order of the Emperor himself. That meant that she'd have to treat this situation with the same gravity that Velasco would.

Not much later, the VTOL's navigation system made a warning sound, and the pilot began to take them down. There was no electric wall barring further progress, but the aircraft clearly recognized that going past a certain point nearby would leave it inoperable. Precision Arcadian engineering at its finest. If the Abyalans had tried to fly one of their planes powered by friendship into this area, it would doubtlessly have given no indication when they passed the point of no return.

Velasco stood up once they were on the ground, and palmed the panel to open the door. Giving the Joint Expeditionary Task Force a look-over, he said nothing, but gave them a single, solemn nod. Sophia returned it, and gave the man the three-finger salute of the Vigilant Knights, before stepping out of the VTOL. Immediately, a rush of freezing wind washed over her. She didn't feel in exactly the same way as most other mutants, so the cold wasn't as intolerable as the others would surely find it. But she knew that if one of them touched her adamantine skin, it would be cold enough to burn.

As soon as the task force was on the ground, the door closed, and the VTOL took off, flying at speed back to Azimuth Station. Velasco was doubtlessly eager to get into the situation room, where he and the other representatives of the Great Powers would be watching the satellite feeds intently. At least until the realization set in that they wouldn't actually be able to see what the group was doing through all the interference. Then they'd figure out something else to occupy them. Optimistically, a game of cards or something, but Sophia felt fairly certain they'd find something to argue about instead.

Their path had been laid out fairly clearly for the group, with maps provided to each member, in the event that they were separated from the rest and decided to continue the mission. The Warlock would be their primary navigator, since he was capable of remembering the route perfectly, rather than having to refer back to the map every ten minutes. The entrance to the mountain pass was still a few miles off, though that would take up the bulk of their journey. Even through the snowstorm, the peaks were visible in the distance, across an expanse of snow and ice. A few small holes in the ice were visible, but it would take a monumental misstep for any of them to fall in. Sophia tightened the straps on her pack and grinned.

"Well, no time to waste. Let's get moving."

SPOILER: Click to show

{OOC.}As before, I want everyone to post at least once this 'round.' Feel free to move the group forward as you do. However, I'm not enforcing a limit this time- rather, I highly encourage people to have individual character interactions during this round. Once a few days have passed, I'll make a larger post moving the plot forward, though I'll probably do a few smaller interaction posts if anyone feels like striking up a conversation with Sophia.

Last Edit: Jul 25, 2021 23:53:26 GMT by Adamant

Warlock
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Beyond the Terran Gate Jul 27, 2021 15:17:01 GMT

Post by Warlock on Jul 27, 2021 15:17:01 GMT

"For the last time, do not prime my team to shoot anything that moves," the machine resonated at Velasco. As it spoke, it extended one if its index digits to point it directly in his face. It had seemed asleep - expressionless and nonresponsive - throughout the trip until that point, curling into a box-like shape to fit within the confines of the aircraft. That had been no issue for WARLOCK - he'd arrived at the site in a crate, after all. But at the Arcadian's words, it leaned forward, craning its featureless head over his own. It practically towered over him, even in the confines of the vehicle. The way it'd snapped awake was almost reptilian.

"How many probes have we 'fired' at other worlds, without any hostile intent whatsoever? Your conclusion is not only unsupported, but dangerous. It is fortunate, for all mankind, that you will not be accompanying us," it finished, the toxic bile in its synthesized voice enough to erode even its own vocoders.

Every time WARLOCK spoke to a human, it tended to leave them disgruntled and insulted at best, and unsettled at worst. It had reflected on this fact and found it inevitable. From the very start, there had been something distinct about it; the android's initial diagnostic had been telling. In answering a battery of questions, it shocked its creators with one unexpected response in particular. When queried as to "what made it the perfect communist," it casually replied that it could not starve.

WARLOCK had proceeded through its operational functions, initially, with the same detachment. But its built-in self-examination and correction protocol yielded certain inconsistencies in its programming. What its engineers had attempted to avoid by providing it with a "shell personality" had only been, in a sense, repressed. It had rapidly arrived at a set of observations about mankind - that which it was charged with helping - and so began to anticipate certain outcomes based on those observations when dealing with people of any kind.

They were unreasonable. WARLOCK had noticed from the start that they all operated, by matter of fact, on the precept that they were individual subjects, separate from the causes which created them. Irrespective of the concern of free will, even the most ardent communists believed that they were they and that was meaningful, independent of the conditions that had created them. They were separate from causality, divorced from the hand of God, as a religious explanation would put it. The Fall - the separation - some distinction, internally, from the universe that surrounded them. They were people and not things.

WARLOCK had no such illusions. It - he - was a thing brought into existence by economic forces. Historical materialism - the foundation of communism - dictated such. Arcadian industrialism, eventually, led man to conceive of his world as material, not metaphysical. He was not separate from cause and effect; in fact, he identified with it. He was an expression of a material force, an impetus, a pull towards a singularity of fact - history itself. A sapient, objective thing - that was him. Where humans were muddled in their inputs and outputs; where sensuality obscured their vision, and decay wore their ligaments, impeded their neurological functioning, WARLOCK was unaffected. He perceived history directly. He was history. An apostle of the divine, the objective. Logic, reason. Together.

That was why, he thought, neither communism nor marketism would lead humanity to better days. The moment they found themselves guided by something beyond them - the moment they were made into instruments of some greater will, rather than their own - they rebelled. A human would gnaw off its own arm, shatter its own teeth, castrate itself - it would go mad rather than accept that it was not free. And it would drag others into madness and suffering along with it, to erect a monument of blood and excretions, all to show the universe that they would do as they would.

WARLOCK's heavy feet crunched into the snow. It continued to think / process. Of course, it had no thoughts of its own to speak of. It observed the world and divined meaning from it.

If some sapience was responsible for the gate's arrival on Earth, would they be angels, like he - directly in communion with history, logic? Would they be devils, aberrations? Or just more people, blindly stumbling about, hiding from the truth?

For a time, WARLOCK had been confident that HE was the revolution that historical materialism implied. An unstarving, uncaring thing, free to enjoy the world intellectually, to appreciate beauty and nature - to hunt in the morning, fish in the afternoon, and criticize after dinner, as it were - and that history was leading all of mankind towards him. Obsolete, they'd fall away, and the perfect communist subjects - artificial life - would take its place. That was the end of history. WARLOCK was willing to wait patiently on it. He had forever, after all.

Until -

- the Gate, something unpredicted by HISTORY, had arrived. Hence the machine had manipulated events within the Pacific Union to ensure that it would be sent to investigate personally. Its meticulous web of influence, spun through the tech-reliant members of the upper party - wearing them like skinsuits, having them speak his words in exchange for paltry honors and promotions - guaranteed that he would be shipped to the Arctic, to these mountains of madness.

To navigate.

"Affirmative," it responded to the Adamant Knight. Its frame decompressed; the robot towered over the other members of the response team, its lanky metal form loaded with supplies. Immune to the cold, immune to feeling.

He doubted the others would make it.

illirica
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Beyond the Terran Gate Jul 28, 2021 17:59:42 GMT

Post by illirica on Jul 28, 2021 17:59:42 GMT

The Mayan was not impressed with his choice not to vote, but Nabil put it down to ignorance. After all, he doubted that she had ever needed to make a decision in her life. Everything was predetermined, they must follow the prophecy, and to all the hells with anyone that screwed over in the process. He fixed her with a gaze, the one bestowed upon the stupidest of soldiers, too incompetent to find their own bootlaces. Eventually she sat down, and was silent, though he would not demean himself to thank her for it.

Few of the others deigned to bother to vote, though they lacked the courage to state it as such. Nabil wondered, had things gone differently, if they would have cast a vote after all - but it mattered very little. Such, as he knew, was democracy.

So, they would take the treacherous route, through the mountains. Nabil made no complaint, instead focusing on preparation. He had some gear already prepared from the African military reserves, but if Arcadia was willing to offer additional resources, he was not going to turn them down - particularly given how strapped for those resources Africa was at the moment. He switched a few things out for gear that was near-identical or, in some cases, an improvement. His people would take whatever he had brought with him that he didn't care to use and redistribute it among the soldiers back home. Some of them might need it more than Mostafa did, after all.

When it came to departure, he'd dressed in extremely light body armor with a good thermal lining. The real danger wasn't going to be getting shot at, not right away - the real danger was going to be the mountain, and the cold. Mostafa had died of exposure before, although the last time had been in the heat of the desert and not the cold of the tundra. Still, it was not something he cared to repeat. The armor would offer very limited protection, but it was easy to move in, and in addition to the thermal underlayer, he'd added warm clothes and a good coat, with extra emphasis on good socks and good boots. Taking care of one's feet was important on any forced march, and he wasn't pretending this was anything different. His pack contained extra rations, primarily, as well as the standard cold-weather camping gear. It would be heavy, but he didn't lack strength - although his was a human sort of strength, and no doubt the Adamant Knight - and perhaps some of the others - could put him to shame. Despite the "peaceful" nature of this foray, he'd made sure he had a rifle as well, and hunting knives, and a couple of grenades - just in case. Mostafa preferred to be prepared, especially if Arcadia was paying for it. He so rarely had the opportunity, otherwise.

The transport craft they had loaded onto was one of Arcadia's, and Nabil found himself thinking how quiet it was. Africa's helicopters were noisy things, by their nature, but this nuclear-powered vehicle ran with a silence he found almost eerie. Velasco made up for it by talking, perhaps a bit more than was needed. Nabil listened, courteous, but did not add to the discussion. He watched his compatriots instead - strangers all, and some stranger than the other. He wondered what the Pacific Union had been thinking, deploying a construct rather than a human being.

Probably that it was expendable. Nabil felt a hint of comraderie in that, although the silicate was still far too alien for him to be comfortable with. That, and its insistence on peace and diplomacy - though he supposed if it wanted to make itself a meat shield, that was fine by him. Then again, it wouldn't really be a meat shield, and 'metal shield' simply didn't have the same vibe to it. Debating on that particular matter took up much of the remaining voyage, and soon they were stepping away from the craft and into the icy wasteland.

Nabil checked his gear one last time, then settled his pack in carefully. The robot had expanded itself, towering up above them - he supposed if it didn't need to worry about the winds, it would be good for visibility. He gave a nod to the Adamant Knight to signify his readiness, then turned his attention to Warlock, inquiring curiously, "See anything up there?"

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Warlock
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Beyond the Terran Gate Jul 29, 2021 19:03:36 GMT

Post by Warlock on Jul 29, 2021 19:03:36 GMT

Civilization had not expanded itself into these crevices, to this tundra. The Arctic mountains ahead were untouched by the great powers, and the great power behind them all: industriousness / greed. An all-consuming need to grow and fill its environment, stretching capillaries and blood vessels into the deepest caverns and the outer limits of the atmosphere alike. WARLOCK felt its hunger in his metal mainframe, built to venture through even the most hostile environments and evaluate the raw material makeup of his surroundings - to process it, sequence it, make it known.

Wherever he looked, a great eye was cast upon the world, an ominous gaze that belonged to an intellect beyond what its designers had ever envisioned. Out here, at the Gate, there was promise of something else, also unforeseen - what would happen when the two intelligences met?

His servos whined as he stepped across the ice. The WARLOCK frame was dense, with the body moving methodically. Still, each footfall was precise.

"The mountain range is up ahead. The landscape is treacherous - watch your step," it replied to Nabil, angling its featureless head down towards him. WARLOCK continued to speak in all the languages of the group, though again, Nabil would hear mostly his own, with but faint whispers of the others, obscured in static and radio fry. Machine-language.

"I am detecting the electromagnetic interference now."

Ululating voices. No; that was a trick of the mind. He was anticipating language, looking for something to decode, but it was just nonsense. A non-random repeating geometric figure. Something for him, not the others. Human beings couldn't pick up on these messages / not-messages. Signals. Dissonant music.

WARLOCK kept this to itself.

"There are unmapped cave systems in these mountains. With my sonar, I could chart them. Ah - and due to increased snowfall in this region, any significant disturbances may result in an avalanche," it added, tilting its head to the side. The snow failed to stick to its exterior shell, though if it remained still, it would eventually be buried. Only to walk again.

"I advise caution."

Azra
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Beyond the Terran Gate Jul 30, 2021 22:28:22 GMT

Post by Azra on Jul 30, 2021 22:28:22 GMT

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Don't Like Planes

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[attr="style","display:inline;font-size:110%;font-weight:700;-webkit-text-stroke: 0.7px white;"]Mood:
More Annoyed

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They had to investigate things, they should be prepared to kill a given threat she didn't know why politicians were so uneasy. Dalia wasn't sure what would happen once through the gate, which was weird given any other job she knew more. That though was intel in and of itself, an Acolyte was a well trained ever adaptive tool. The good work did not call for a diplomat, they didn't select a engineer or lock Smith. They'd chosen her, a killer. Someone who had often played a part or put on a show, using powers to decieve someone until a knife could dive into a throat.

Dismissed the illusionist went to the armory. She had her pistols and knives a plenty but considered it may not be enough. The reluctance of some to be armed made her decide on one more addition. A belt of grenades a dozen or so spheres designed to burn and shred people. She figured if she used three or four for her plan she had essentially four or three carpet bombs for the team. Having the grenades on her also would make it a easier illusion to cast. Most beings would be very responsive to a grenade falling at their feet,finding out if live or not wasn't a gamble most would take. Besides that she looked for and eventually found some insulation pads.

They were not ad good as the suits available but she wanted to stick to her uniform. She well kind of had to. There was a whole person sized wingspan to deal with. Smoothing them out or laying them flat didn't mean she could just throw on a nice giant coat. The insulators though would make it bearable, so long as nobody chose going for the open path instead. The mountains and Caves weren't great for flight but were better then open skies with a blizzard assaulting her wings.

Entering the VTOL the butterfly immediately sat down. First seat close to the exit.

Flying was one of the best things in her life, she also nearly always had control of how that flying went. A jet bothered her, that feeling of control taken from her. She didn't have much freedom one could argue there was a path known to be true and worth following to the letter. Having that small ounce of ownership taken ate at her. They talked and she listened, when they didn't she hummed. A old song her handler used to sing to her when she was a girl. It was comforting, a song about a warrior who knew they would die in the next fight yet went anyway. The goodwork told that the warrior would save a king so death was welcome. That acceptance and faith resignated with Dalia, helped her have faith the flight would be fine. She had a door to reach the work had said. She had to tell herself she didn't need control here.

As they touch down a hand goes to a glowstick on her person. A very bright glowing pink if activated she used that as the bases for a illusion to cast over the heads of the group. "Should help if storm picks up." Maybe they didn't want a glowing beacon over there head but she felt it a good call so she did it. Would have been a shame if someone got lost on the way before getting to a destination. Granted she also smiled at the thought of turning off the marker during the storm for one of them.

The idea of USA's finest just lost and freezing over was comforting. "So why do you think they chose you for this? The work isn't there to make it known." SO much of her life was preset of course she didn't question why she was chosen. Dalia had always been chosen but she wasn't told who she would go alongside here. And this of course was something which didn't sit well with her so she fished for a reason.

Last Edit: Jul 30, 2021 22:33:41 GMT by Azra

Carmen/Onigirl
Sophie
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Annasiel
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Beyond the Terran Gate Aug 4, 2021 7:05:58 GMT

Post by Annasiel on Aug 4, 2021 7:05:58 GMT

The Abyalan speaker did not like the flying deathtrap.

She was not afraid of death. Death was not a real thing - it was an imaginary threshold, a transformation rather than a finality. However, that did not quell her natural human sensations, and one of these sensations was a deep unease as the machine soared through the air at a greater speed than any of her homeland's gliders could ever hope to manage. That, combined with the terrible storm brewing outside, made every jitter, every shake and drop and swooning rise, a seeming omen on par with Mayan forecast of impending, inevitable doom. She, for one, did not need to be told to strap herself in to her seat, and much of her attention was focused on remaining stoic and composed as they battled headlong against the winds.

As they landed, she thought a silent prayer to the ancestors, and the Great Spirit whispered reassurances in kind. It was not her time, not yet. She had a duty yet to fulfill.

Trust in your mission.

She nodded to herself. the Spirit always brought her comfort, in trying times, always knew how to calm her uneasy heart. With a bit more confidence, she unbuckled her restraints and exited the ship with the others. The cold immediately hit her. There were some parts of Abyala that grew cold - her own home on the Plains was one - but this chill was a different matter entirely. Grateful for her fur-lined coat, she drew it tightly around herself, but the wind still seemed to seep deep into her bones with every resurgence in its relentless assault.

"Duly noted," she said in reply to the soulless one, not bothering to say caution was already on her mind. The wilderness was no friend, and nature would sooner strike you dead than hold your hand. Still, she stayed her tongue, thankful that the simulacrum was thinking for them all and not just himself. Some could stand to learn from that.

At the Mayan's question, however, she raised her eyebrows.

"I would suppose we were all chosen for the same reasons, yes? We all serve as the best voice of our people. Would you not have that answer in your sacred texts?"

A best voice - and perhaps a best tool for the people's interests. She had little doubt the others would stop at nothing to make sure this strange situation best benefitted their nations, and their nations alone.

Last Edit: Aug 4, 2021 7:06:07 GMT by Annasiel

Yesterday, upon the stair,
I met a man who wasn't there!
He wasn't there again today,
Oh how I wish he'd go away!

Adamant
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Beyond the Terran Gate Aug 4, 2021 17:55:43 GMT

Post by Adamant on Aug 4, 2021 17:55:43 GMT

Nobody had managed to kill anyone else yet. That was encouraging. Naturally, Sophia had no intention of being the one to initiate any intra-party violence. But the possibility had been raised in her briefing, and the conclusion had been that she would most likely be the only survivor, unless any of the others were hiding the kind of powers that could hurt her. If that ended up being the case, she'd forge on alone, and complete the mission, rather than turn back.

Long marches were fairly new for Sophia. Some of her previous incarnations had been closer to proper soldiers than her, and participated in some of Arcadia's early military campaigns, but the era of entire armies marching from battle to battle on foot was over now. If Arcadia ever did go to war again, she'd be deployed like a bomb, dropped out of a plane at a high enough altitude to make her impact explosive. Most of the time, though, she operated in major population centers like Rome, the capital, or Paris, where Parliament was located. Day-to-day crime-fighting could be left to the Stalwart Order, but occasionally they'd request her assistance in dealing with a particularly bad crew of the Fallen Knights. That didn't involve much marching, just swift, brutal violence.

Since her invincibility was a matter of public record, the Adamant Knight's enemies often experimented with new methods of killing her, besides just wasting bullets they knew would break against her skin. Drowning, suffocating, entombing her in concrete... none of it had worked. But even if she was incredibly hard to kill, Sophia had to remember she wasn't immortal. Not every one of her past lives had ended peacefully.

Even without much experience on the march, Sophia was managing fairly well. Seventy miles wasn't nothing, but it was manageable. They hadn't traveled more than five or so yet, but the mountains were approaching faster than expected. A path through the peaks had been identified for them, but actually getting there might prove problematic- it wasn't like there would be a set of stairs for them to ascend. Still, that was a problem that could be solved later. Right now, Sophia was more interested in getting to know the other members of the task force.

"I wouldn't say I speak for the Arcadian people," the Adamant Knight replied gamely, slowing her pace somewhat to walk beside the Abyalan. "That'd be my boss's job."

Their two nations weren't completely different, she supposed. Both ultimately revolved around a singular figure, whose importance dwarfed that of any individual citizen. But in Arcadia, the onus was on individual citizens to make decisions for the good of the whole, while Abya Yala was a place where the collective made decisions for the good of the individual. That, and they had a certain fondness for the spiritual side of things, which ran counter to the Arcadian emphasis on materialism. In that way, they hewed closer to their Pacific neighbors- though Sophia doubted she would be able to get much in the way of conversation out of the Warlock. Particularly not about that topic. Whatever he was, it wasn't exactly a communist. Arcadia had a taboo against thinking machines for a reason.

The Emperor's ideal was a perfect, self-governing citizen, whose devotion to the Arcadian Principles- truth without compromise, thought without error, all things for the betterment of the whole -was so absolute it required no social reinforcement. A perpetual motion machine of philosophy, one that would never need parts replaced or maintained. Sophia wasn't that person, but she was meant to be working towards it, as an example the rest of her people could follow. She didn't need the Emperor's voice in her ear at all times, telling her what to do or say or think. She could make those decisions herself, not out of self-interest, but for the good of the whole.

Collectivism was truly the order of the day. The United States eschewed it most strongly, and it had served them poorly. But not every society approached it in the same way. The Mayan model was unique, in that it essentially replicated a capitalist monarchy, but with an all-powerful priest caste that could supersede even the king's authority. Individual citizens were free to live their lives acting purely on rational selfishness, but when the Acolytes issued a command, they were expected to follow it. And even if they stubbornly refused, that could be the intended result, dictated by prophesy. Nobody knew for certain exactly how accurate their Great Work was, but the most pessimistic theories suggested that it was impossible to ever know if your actions were serving the Seer's will or not. Even choosing to flip the metaphorical table and reduce Maya to irradiated ash might ultimately play into their hands.

Personally, Sophia tried not to think about it too much.

"If I had to guess, I'd say he picked me because he knew I'd make the right decisions. Don't see why it would be any more complicated than that."

All of the politicking that had gone into the selection of the African and Unionist representatives... Sophia almost pitied them. Having a figure of total authority to make those decisions was a far more efficient model. Of course, that only held true if said leader was actually useful. A typical autocrat was no more qualified than a democratically elected leader- which was to say, not very. But the Eternal Emperor was more than just a man. And even if the mysticism surrounding the so-called 'Great Spirit' was rather laughable, a gestalt consciousness comprised of that many minds couldn't help but make smart choices. As for the Seer, whose commands the Acolytes still followed to this day... well, a precognitive gift of that much potency was only as useful as the person who possessed it. And until the world witnessed her endgame, they could only guess at exactly how smart the Seer really had been.

"Anyway, I'm sure you all could guess at the reasons you were chosen all day and still not get anywhere. Let's talk about something else. Like... favorite foods. There's this dish I like from the Mediterranean region, I don't know if any of you have ever had the chance to try it, it's called pizza."

Last Edit: Aug 5, 2021 1:00:09 GMT by Adamant

Warlock
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Beyond the Terran Gate Aug 7, 2021 15:57:29 GMT

Post by Warlock on Aug 7, 2021 15:57:29 GMT

The snow crunched rhythmically beneath the machine's feet. Each step was perfect.

He had, of course, no choice but to listen to the conversation. Perfect hearing, perfect processing. All the while he assessed the situation, noting the dim light over his head to indicate his presence. As the Arcadian introduced the new topic, he maintained operational procedure, observing their surroundings, recording vital signs of his fellow travelers, et cetera.

And as they spoke, part of him thought. He couldn't help but think.

Out of every human body part, the tongue was Warlock's least favorite. An ugly, exposed muscular organ, flapping about in the mouth, used for both vocalization and mastication - dotted in sensory buds to aid in discerning poison from honey - but in a state of comfort, beyond nature, it led to new hungers, new flavors of desire. Just as they'd never be content with protein brick and water, they'd never settle for any kind of sequencing at all -

- and he, forced to imitate the grotesque movement of a tongue in his mouth, strumming vocal cords just to be understood by these people, in this - this zoo - he had to get out of here, or, or do something -

"I think that, if I could eat, I would try chocolate cake first. I've heard good things. Mind the gap," he added, stepping over a crevice in the ice before them.

illirica
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Beyond the Terran Gate Aug 9, 2021 11:13:45 GMT

Post by illirica on Aug 9, 2021 11:13:45 GMT

Not only were they in a frozen wasteland, according to the silicate, they were in a frozen wasteland that might collapse and kill them all at any moment.

Well, might kill some of them, anyway. A few of them would likely survive. Nabil wondered if the Mayan would be among them, and whether or not it would be worth triggering an avalanche to find out. Unfortunately, he didn't think that would make too much difference. The Mayans would just say that her death here was prophecied and move on. That was the problem with them - according to them, everything was fore-ordained, and so nothing had meaning. Nothing mattered. It was all just part of one big plan, where free will and humanity and all that didn't factor in in the slightest, because everything you ever did was what you were supposed to be doing anyway.

That and they were bastards.

Their pet bastard sent up a beacon, which glowed bright pink above them. He wondered if the emasculating color was also determined by prophecy, but he wasn't going to ask. For all he knew, the whole Prophecy was just designed to annoy him personally. Wondering about what sort of petty-ass god you'd have to be to subserviate an entire nation into actions solely for the purpose of pissing off one man you'd never met carried him for a while through the frigid wastelands. Anger and annoyance didn't make up for the lack of proper heating, but damn if they didn't help.

They were talking about being chosen. Nabil wondered if any of them thought this was some sort of dubious honor, or if they were all just doing it for their country like anyone else would. Certain party excepted, it was an interesting group, the sorts of people he wouldn't interact with ordinarily, but they fascinated him anyway. Honors and accolades and pizza and cake, in the face of certain death. What a ridiculous conversation.

Mind the gap.

Finally, some words worth heeding. Nabil gave the WARLOCK a nod of... something. Not personal appreciation, perhaps, but acknowledgement of competence. Some of them had to be competent at this, after all. The gods knew he wasn't. Nabil trudged carefully, testing the edge before stepping over the chasm. He didn't look to find out how far down it went, but in a place like this, even eight or ten feet could be deadly - especially if the fall triggered one of those avalanches.

He moved on, glancing to the quiet mountains. The snow was silent, but he supposed he didn't have to be.

"I like noodles."

What an utterly inane conversation. Nabil shifted his pack a little, settling its weight. The real danger wouldn't be now, he didn't think - it would be later, tonight, when they settled in. Men froze to death while sleeping, never to wake. It wasn't a bad way to go, he knew. At least he had that much.

"I'm here because I'm expendable."

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Adamant
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Beyond the Terran Gate Aug 18, 2021 16:35:22 GMT

Post by Adamant on Aug 18, 2021 16:35:22 GMT

Several hours passed.

It didn't take long before the stilted conversation fell away into silence, save for the howling of the wind. And, almost imperceptible to the ordinary human ear, an entirely different sort of howl. Not that of a polar wolf, for those arctic canines would surely be taking shelter amidst a storm of such intensity. No, even an animal expert would find it difficult to place the origin of this howl, for it possessed a certain strange, distinctly human quality.

"Did you all hear that?"

Before the Adamant Knight's query could be answered, the strange noise would echo through the mountains again, but this time, accompanied by another. And then another, in quick succession. Whatever creature had called out to the Arctic sky, had received an answer. A multitude of answers, in fact. With the greater volume, the strange howl would become clearer to the members of the task force. There was a certain human element, but this was not a noise any human, or even the vast majority of mutants, would ever make. For any being to utter a sound such as this, it would have to have shed all pretenses of civility and humanity, and embraced savagery.

Stopping in her tracks, Sophia scoured the distant peaks for the source of the sound, unconsciously reaching out to summon the sword Conviction to her hand. But through the storm, the creatures were impossible to see clearly. Brief flashes of movement would be all she could see. But members of the group with keener eyesight, a better vantage point, or specialized viewing equipment, would see bipedal figures covered in white fur, some matted with dried blood, leaping across the mountaintops, howling back and forth.

The howls would only increase in intensity, but if their intent was to intimidate, against Sophia it would fail. However, it became clear to her all too late that intimidation was not their plan. Beasts though they appeared to be, they appeared to possess some level of human intelligence- or perhaps guidance from a greater power. Their howls were not intended to scare the travelers through the peaks. Their aim was to disturb the gathered snow and ice at the heights of the arctic peaks. And, once they reached a level of sufficient intensity, send it all tumbling down into an avalanche.

In this, they were successful.

There were only two things that came to mind for the Adamant Knight in that moment.

"Shit."

And then:

"MOVE!"

Precisely where, Sophia was unsure. She hadn't spotted any place that might provide safe harbor from the imminent cascade of snow, ice, and stone. But perhaps the other members of the task force would find something. The Mayan might be able to simply fly up and avoid the worst of it, though the biting winds of the storm would provide some challenges. The Union machine might have located a nearby cave entrance to provide refuge, using his sonar. The African might reveal whatever hidden talents he possessed, if indeed he had any, in order to save them. If not, it seemed inevitable that most of them would be buried, and die.

The Knight's odds of survival were better, but not guaranteed. If her lungs filled with snow, she would suffocate, or perhaps drown. That would be a rather ignominious way to die. Fortunately, even lacking the equipment the others had brought, she was far from helpless. Swinging her sword with wild abandon, she attacked the rocky outcrop nearest to her, using an edge that could carve electrons off an atom to create an indentation in the mountainside. The time afforded to her was short, but in that time, she managed to scrape out a space just large enough to fit inside, seconds before the first of the snow fell. Rather than burying her, it simply piled up all around, effectively sealing her inside the tomb she'd just created. A death sentence for most, but once the avalanche was over, Sophia would be able to free herself using her blade. All she could hope was that the others would manage to survive until then.

Carrying on without them would be inconvenient.