Fallen Stars

Fallen Stars - Chapter 1: Going where no man has gone before.

Space.

Space is thousands of things to even more people, but it’s not calm. It’s hypnotically beautiful, so vibrantly colourful that it transcends the works of art that clog the Armada’s vast exhibitions. It’s so somber and quiet that you could go mad with just your thoughts and the hum of your ship. It’s enticing, but it’s not calm. Since as far as any living Human can remember, Humanity has been a constant inhabitant of space and it’s endless ethereal planes. They constructed colossal ships to house their families, world shattering weapons to defend themselves, and liars to use them. They've fought for eons to defend their degrading homes. They fought to protect Earth, they fought to leave it, they fought to colonize our system and now Humanity fights even to colonize another planet. They have so few planets you could count them on a natural hand.

The war torn Novaguard, bastion of the Defense Corp.

The Hybrid lead Ferrusola, a planet untouched by war and civil unrest.

Mars, the Transhumanist’s only shelter from persecution.

What remains of Earth, Humanities’ crib and soon-to-be deathbed.

And lastly Styx, the forgotten colony.

Since the Machina revolted, Humanity has been on a gradual decline. The Ascended now posed a risk of replacing Humanity as the greatest race in the cosmos and this fear is felt through the remaining colonies. But, more than the Ascended, more than the Machina, Humanity fears itself. The aristocratic Royal Human Trade Armada, who have an iron clad grip on galactic trade and the Human Armada is in a constant cold war with the Humanitarian Unification Alliance, the democratic warmachine who collectively believe Humanity needs to be led under a single banner to wipe out our antagonists. But, since the equally disastrous war for Novaguard, the Universe has been disarmingly quiet. The gun fire has temporarily stopped and from this welcomed respite of hostility and self-destruction the R.H.T.A has continued to do what it relishes doing, profiteering. Two years since the end of the nuclear war, the colonial parties have been rising and aggressively pushing for more control and galactic provinces for Humanity to pridefully call home. And from these efforts, this tale of unforeseen events was born. Thousands of light years away from the Human Armada, the H.D.C.S. Southern Cross enters the unknown and mysterious system only called Sierra-34. This, is where our story begins: On the outskirts of a mystic system…

“FUCK IT ALL!” Captain Matthew cursed loudly as he dived behind the only cover he could find in the once pristine, now ashen and scorch stained, bridge. As he hit the floor next to one of his fellow crew members he unholstered his silver plated plasma revolver, its green light inside the reinforced glass chamber glowing almost as pale as its wielder’s alabaster skin. The captain was as human as anyone, sans his outward appearance and celestial powers. He was taller than most humans, easily six feet, and had pale skin that glowed faintly. His usually cocky smile and scared face was scrunched up in hate and determination, his golden eyes glowing intensely.

“Hey, Guardsman, what the hell happened?” The Captain asked as he set his pistol to kill, reveling in the sound of the plasma charging up.

“W-We don’t know Sir! We heard scattered reports of Civvies acting odd, but we didn’t know- crap!” he flinched as impacts hit the impromptu cover. “- We didn’t know there were Alliance soldiers onboard!” He shakingly responded, almost jumping as an armour piercing bullet flew above their heads. He was right, the Bridge and Barracks had been receiving constant strings of Civvies acting out, and the fact that the soon-to-be Lord Governor of whatever colony they were going to establish, Patrick Woolsworth, was unable to be reached made the entire thing seem even more insidious. But no one could have expected a hostile takeover attempt by the H.U.A. Brushing his brown and silver fringe out of his eyes, he placed a hand on the guard’s shoulder and looked him in the eyes with a charismatic smile.

“Soldier listen to me, we will make it out of this, we will beat these bastards and we will be welcomed as heroes when we get back to the Armada, parade and all, but for now follow my orders and we’ll be okay, alright?” Matthew said to the high strung guard, who seemed to be calming down.

“Yeah...Okay...Yeah, we can do this!” The guard said as he breathed deeply and then looked at his Captain, a stoic look in his green eyes.

“That’s the spirit…” Matt gestured with his free hand, hoping the soldier would give him his name.

“ Field Medic Christopher Robin, Sir!” He shouted out, the formalities ingrained in his head. He looked and sounded like a normal trooper. He wore the same white and red plated combat armour as every other field medic and carried the standard issue 'Red Dwarf' laser rifle, the black gun made obvious by its shortened barrel, burning red beams and augmented scope. His armour was scratched in various places places, his chest plates were dented and scratched, his shoulder pads and  grey fatigues underneath were burnt from plasma fire and his white helmet had a massive dent on the side were a red cross was painted, a testament to its quality if it took an armour piercing bullet and didn’t break. On his back rested a brown pack, most likely carrying supplies, and an old ballistic sniper rifle from the 23rd century or possibly later. around his pale neck rested a black cloth of some kind, possibly a balaclava, and his brown hair was sticking out of the bottom of his helmet. On his scratched chest plate a prominent red cross still stood, despite the damage. On his belt rested a rather large medical kit, no doubt carrying even more medical supplies. All in all, he looked like your average, young soldier geared for adventure.

“You got strength in your voice, that’s good. Listen to me Chris, can I call you Chris?” The soldier nodded as he looked over the crest of the table, looking at the enemies who stood behind the torn bulkhead door of the bridge. “You see that terminal over there? I need you to run over to it and contact these personal. It’s vital that you establish a connection between me and these crew members. I’ll cover you, don’t worry. ‘Sides, they probably want the Captain’s head, not a doctor's.” The captain ordered as he cocked his revolver, tipped his black and platinum hat at him, flashing a huge grin and passing Chris an ornate looking PDA with various numbers and signals displayed on the screen.

“Understood Sir…” Christopher replied as he turned to face the terminal a few feet away from them. The Bridge was a mess, the crew had just enough time to prepare themselves, most of them getting injured or hit. Thankfully no one on the crew’s side had been killed. The various infantrymen stationed to protect the Officers and Agents were fighting valiantly, only ducking into cover to reload.

“Go!” Matthew shoved Chris as he stood up and began firing at the doorway. his lavish black nano-silk suit with platinum accents and small, yet detailed, blue cloak draped over his left shoulder acting as a massive target to the deadly, and well armed, interlopers. Blinding shots of plasma soared through the sterilized air, one or two shots melting a separatist head, while the medic ran to the digital terminal. He huddled in front of it, pressing the necessary buttons to activate the holographic U.I, the ship violently shock for the tenth time in the last few minutes smashing the soldier and anyone else who wasn’t prepared into the white, polished floor. Rising to his feet and cursing under his breath, Chris rose up and looked at the PDA before typing the code into the holographic display.

“Come on, come on...Yes, fucking A!” The soldier muttered under his breath as the connection was established, projecting a live feed of the star ship’s engine room and the audio blasting crystal clear through the in built speaker. On the other side of the screen stood a tall, almost featureless hooded robot working away at the opposite terminal while alarms blared in the background.

“Um, this is Field Medic Christopher Robin acting on behalf of Captain Matthew Alexard and he...Um…”

“Ask him what the hell is going on!” The Captain shouted as he grabbed the charging would-be assassin with his golden psionic powers and hurled him back into the outside chamber, smashing him against the paneled walls.

“Uh, he wants to know what’s happening down there.” The Infantryman continued, the frustrated Machina finally glancing back.

“What’s happening Christopher is the engines have shut down, we have no idea how or why but we’re confident we’ll have this mess sorted out in a jiffy!” The old robot answered, its jovial, androgynous voice weirdly calm in spite of everything. It was typing away at the terminal, inputting commands and checking systems while its companion worked on the engine itself. It typed away, its royal blue, blood red and gold robe fluttered gently, allowing anyone nearby to see its metal, skeletal hands. Instead of blood vessels and nerves, it had wires and synthetic joints. Its entire body was the same, under its majestic, intricate robe, a naked mechanical skeleton, the only covering being a few lightweight nanofiber and carbon alloy plates protecting vital parts like its cooling system, generator and main servo. Anything else that needed protection was encased in its large, blocky head. On the side of its black head the designation ‘DAYNE’ was painted on in faded white lettering. The only hint of advanced intelligence in the obsolete A.I was a bright, blue glow in its three optical lens signaling Ascended origins.

“Well, that’s good to know…”The soldier on the other end replied, turning his head away from the screen to look at someone further away. “The captain wants to know if any Separatist forces tried to attack or destroy you.” The man continued, causing DAYNE to chuckle, its cold voice filled with mirth.

“Oh, those men were H.U.A troopers?! Oh, ho, ho what a riot! And here I thought they were particularly well armed Machina haters. Yes, they burst in with all the swagger you’d expect from that lot, but me and MAG dealt with them!” It responded, its tone upbeat as it continued to work through all the complex software.

“If by ‘dealt with’ you mean ‘killed and tossed out the airlock’ then yeah, we ‘dealt’ with them alright. Hey DAYNE, wanna start being useful for once and fix something?” Its less then helpful ‘friend’ MAG responded from below on the bottom floor of the massive engine room, easily four stories down from where DAYNE stood on the fenced off platform.

4815-M4G R-L3, or MAG as everyone called it, was DAYNE’s companion and permanent nuisance. Unlike the antiquated chassis DAYNE was stuck with, MAG was a relatively new model. Its most outstanding feature was its eight, adaptable and armour plated legs. The legs, magnetic plates on the ends of the stumps and the gyroscope inserted into its chassis allowed MAG to climb walls like a giant, synthetic spider. Its torso was like the rest of it: sleek, angular and well protected. The four front legs were outfitted with grasping ‘hands’ able to let it grab most tools and manipulate them with ease. Its head was a small, round frame with plated armour added on, allowing it to move in all directions. It had two large optical lenses on the front of its head and four small, information relaying antennas located on top of the spherical head. He was found painted military standard grey, but overtime it became a sort of game to add to his body. Someone had painted the coat of arms on the front of him in blue paint, someone else had placed various bumper sticks where its butt would be if it were human and some repainted its designation on the back of its head.

“MAG, must you be so insufferable all the time? We’re trying to save this ship!” DAYNE questioned as MAG sighed loudly.

“I knew this was how I was gonna die. Conscripted to serve some Empress I don’t care about, with a bunch of squishy Humans I don’t like and now I’m gonna die on a ship that sucks. Life really is misery…” MAG complained as it climbed up the side of the Engine and began removing tools from its hidden compartment in its torso.

“Oh shut up MAG and stop being so dramatic. Anyway, everything’s fine down here! We’ll hopefully have the engines online soon…” DAYNE responded to the confused soldier who looked eager to get back into cover.

“Roger, stay safe down there.” The medic said as he terminated the call, allowing DAYNE to begin panicking again.

“Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no...MAG please tell me you’ve found anything!” DAYNE pleaded as it began to suffer a panic attack.

“Nope, nada, looks like this is either an EMP, an unknown virus or some other external threat...Sorry buddy, nothing we can do.” MAG replied as he began scaling the massive, dormant machine towards its hooded friend.

“There has to be something we can do, anything, the ship and her crew are counting on us, MAG!” DAYNE declared loudly as it punched the side of the terminal violently, causing the Dampeners in its knuckles to absorb most of the shock.

“Look DAYNE, it’s like this: either we can’t do anything because of the enemy, or we can’t do anything because we just can’t. Either way, we’re not at fault. And if the ship goes down, at least we have a higher chance of living right?” MAG tried, and failed, to rationalize as DAYNE did the robotic version of hyperventilating slightly.

“There...There has to be something I can do…” DAYNE stuttered as it continued to enter commands and search for a cause, while MAG was busy disposing of the dead bodies of the human intruders.

“Killing traitors just isn’t what it used to be…” The sole shock trooper tittered aloud to himself as he placed one of his metal boots onto the back of the last remaining H.U.A soldier. Her legs were crippled and filled with bullets and she was desperately crawling to her handgun. With a nonchalant look of indifference the trooper aimed his black and blue, dual barreled automatic pistol, the M-4 Hunter, at the back of her head and fired a single bullet. Ending her struggling instantly. With a sigh, the soldier holstered his altered pistol into the side of his black belt. The small, barely lit coffee shop he was in was littered with bullet holes, blood stains and broken windows, tables and display cases. While assisting in getting the Civvies to safety he’d seen these bastards run into the coffee shop hoping to grab a few hostages. Before running in, he’d cut the power, activated the camo module in his armour and cleared out the room. No injuries, no dead Civvies and all hostiles K.I.A. It was a damn good effort on his part. Wiping the blood off his glove and armour covered hands onto the clothes of the rebel, he checked his armour for damage.

He wore a light armoured variant of the standard Shock Trooper gear. He’d removed the extra armour plating for pouches on the front of his chestplate so he could carry greater amounts of ammo, rations and supplies and wore the standard, flexible layered leggings. his right arm was noticeably less armoured than his left arm, mostly because his left arm and parts of the left side of his torso were cybernetic. His entire left arm was a sleek, metallic replacement with plated, nanofiber armour. Inside the arm were the usual attachments found in most soldier’s synth arms: a wrist mounted PDA, a heart rate monitor and shock dampeners to make hand to hand combat easier. But, unlike most operatives, he’d added plated armour on the frame of the arm, giving his shoulder and arm a look similar to a medieval knight or Royal Guard’s attire, just painted dark blue and black like the rest of his gear. Aside from the heavily, yet lightweight, armoured attachment he was mostly normal.

“Goddamn assholes scuffed up my armour!” He swore loudly as he saw that in the firefight one of the pricks had scraped his chest plate, ruining his platoon’s emblem: A black raven in the center of a red, burning sun. As he looked around for his weapons, he heard one of the Civvies that were hiding in the back room quietly walk out and looked around, most likely sick at what he was seeing.

“I-Is it safe to come out?” He asked, holding back the vomit in his throat as the shock trooper looked for his axe, and quickly found the steel instrument lodged in the back of their C.O’s skull.

“Yes, head down that way and head to the first right on your left, there should be a panic room there. Tell them Operative Dan Grayson will be with them shortly.” He instructed as he pulled the small combat axe out, quickly cleaning the blood off the matte, stainless steel and placing the leather handle and ax in its holder. As the Civ and about ten others ran off, his PDA started connecting him to someone.

“Hello, I’m not receiving a visual? This is Field Medic Robin. Operative Grayson, the Captain wishes to know what the situation in the Civilian sector is.” The voice from his PDA asked, his young, unconfident voice drowned out by gunfire and screaming.

“The situation has been swiftly rectified, the H.U.A forces were unprepared for a team of shock troopers to deal with them. The Civilians have been sent to the emergency panic rooms and the market district has been cleared out. Over.” He said as he walked outside and looked for his rifle, which was lying ten feet away from the store on top of a muffin stall. The well lit, spacious market was basically a mall and farmers market rolled into one, multiple stories high and a hundred or so meters wide, it had everything a Civvie or soldier would want while on deployment. Stores lined the walls, holographic displays and signs advertising the wares found inside, and the center of the enormous room was a food court and hundreds of stalls mostly run by the Civvies who worked the hydroponic farms, or people who just made nick-nacks and crap from their culture, religion or historical background. It was a melting pot of consumerism, culture and cheap, non-MRE,  food. As Dan walked over to pick up his angular rifle, the ship violently shuddered and moved, throwing him to the ground and knocking over many of the tables and kiosks.

“Why is the ship rocking back and forth?!” Dan yelled, incredibly annoyed that this was the fifth time he’d fallen over. Everyone had heard the alarms and warnings announcing the engines going offline mid-transit, but usually something like this would have been fixed by now.

“We don’t know, Sir. Head Scientist DAYNE and Head Engineer MAG are both working on the issue.” The soldier replied, not helping the current situation as he picked himself up and grabbed his rifle: the S-9 Infiltrator, assault variant. The weapon was the staple of most Shock Trooper’s arsenal, it was ergonomic, compact, energy efficient and ran on reusable cells making the sleek, small rifle a favourite. But the assault variant was a bit more experimental than the stock standard. It had a larger stock on the end of the adjustable grip, a hair trigger and a tracker scope, an experimental scope that connected to a soldier’s helmet or a Cyborg’s eyes, allowing only the user to utilize the adjustable scope that was able to mark targets. The last two differences were the the ammo it used and the heat emission. The gun ran on what many simply call ‘Yellow energy cells’, or scientifically OCEC, Overcharged Converted Energy Cells. If you took the standard ammunition most soldiers used, changed most of the materials in them and overworked said materials you’d have Yellow energy. It doesn't just burn through armour and flesh, it burns through metal walls, concrete and almost anything else. It’s highly destructive, but inefficient ammo consumption and the heat emissions hold it back. When a gun's grip can burn bare flesh you know it’s not meant for most soldiers.

“Well tell DAYNE to hurry up, we’re on a crash course for a planet right? I don’t think I want my first experience on said planet to be me picking pieces of my face off the wall.” Dan snarled as he picked up the still warm weapon and sprinted to a marked panic room. Inside the smaller, yet still comfy, emergency area sat families, soldiers and everything in between like service bots and officers. At the door stood two guardsman with automatic ballistic weapons cocked and ready. As the trooper rapidly neared them, they began to step away from the door.

“Hurry up, Sir! We need to secure the Civilians before the ship breaks atmo!” One of them shouted, a mix of stoic calmness and contained fear. It was a normal reaction, they had to keep up the appearance for the Civvies but unless your job involved landing planetside in a small pod, you never get used to the feeling of falling from the sky. As Dan cleared the threshold of the door, one of the guards slammed their fist onto the door control panel, sealing the bulkhead door and began pressurizing the room. Everyone was either already in their allocated seat or helping someone else close the safety bars and securing them. The other Guard saluted him as he walked down towards the seats assigned to military personnel, near the front of the room.

“Okay Sir, the captain wishes to know how many Civvies made it to the panic room in time.” The man asked through Dan’s PDA. As he sat down in the adequately comfortable chair, securing himself in position with the belt and bars around me, he quickly counted as many as he could, it took awhile but he got it done.

“145 Civvies, 15 military personal.” Dan reported, breathing deeply to calm himself down after the small skirmish and sprint.

“...Alright, looks like everyone on that level of the sector is accounted for. Thank you, Field Medic Robin signing off.” As the signal was dropped he looked around at the scared civilians, calm soldiers and screaming children, all bathed in the vibrant red glow shining from the small lights in the ceiling. He silently prayed that he wouldn’t be in there for long, because nothing in the known universe was more annoying than a screaming baby.

“Get the fuck back here!” Shouted the large, muscle bound and freakishly modified Augmented terrorist who seemed trigger happy as he continued to fire explosive rounds at the round, short man he was chasing after.

“No! Fuck off!” The Lord Governor shouted back, exhausted and sweating. Years of sitting on his arse managing a toy and figurine factory had left the chubby redhead more than a little out of shape. His large, ornate, golden linen suit was weighing him down, the metal shoulder pads and decorative sword more so. Being a noble was pretty cool, but the suit was far from practical when it come to running away from murderers.

“Come on you prissy little noble, we’ll make it quick if you slow down!” The roid user’s friend mocked as they were beginning to catch up.

“Oh jeez, it’s all going tits up now!” He swore to himself, his brash and loud voice sounding more and more tired as he ran down the dark, poorly lit pathways of the storage area. He didn’t want to be here, but his pursuers had been chasing him halfway across the ship at this point and he’d lost almost all of them now, he couldn’t give up just because the ship was shaking. Every room and walkway was dark and the scrubs chasing him were determined to curbstomp his head in. Coming to a split in the path he chucked the torch he was using to guide him down the right tunnel and ducked behind a crate further down the left path.

“Come on, fall for it you idiots…” He whispered to himself as he heard them approach the split in the path...And go right, their footsteps fading away.

“Ha! See ya, shitlords!” He cried victoriously as he got up on his feet and kept walking, trying to catch his breath.

“Man, you bribe your way into office, and all of a sudden everyone wants you dead...Ah shit where am I?” The minor noble asked himself as he marched onward, guided by the dim lights in the ceiling. The bowels of the Southern Cross were massive, the tunnels seemed to go on forever and the drone of the ship’s reactor was constantly in the background. As the dorky soon-to-be Governor of a colony walked onward, he saw a long stretch of light further up. Curiously, he waddled over and saw it was a reinforced window. It was the first one he’d seen in what felt like ages and was thankful for the light.

“Wow...Space is boring.” He said to himself as he admired the vast expanse of nothing and the large, green and blue rock he was heading for...Then he noticed the star REVOLVING AROUND THE PLANET.

“...W-What?...A-Am I seeing this right? No...I must be going insane…” He said to himself as he rubbed his eyes...He would have kept freaking out if it weren’t for the PDA in his pocket letting out a loud beep, alerting him to the fact that someone was trying to call him. Without looking away from the massive planet with a sun revolving around it, he activated his PDA.

“...Yeah?” He simply asked, too dumbstruck to do anything else.

“L-Lord Governor Woolsworth, Captain Matthew requests your audience on the Bridge immediately...Wait, where are you?” The soldier asked, his questioning tone muffled by people talking loudly and the sounds of bodies being dragged.

“I-I’m in the storage sector...Dude, am I...Am I insane or is there a star revolving around a planet?” Patrick asked, his eye twitching slightly.

“...Yeah, the scientists, Captain and everyone else on the Bridge are asking that as well...As for if you’re insane, that’s debatable...Wait, the storage sector?” The man continued to question.

“Yeah, some assholes were chasing me, trying to kill me or something. Hey, where’s the nearest elevator?” The Governor pondered as he kept walking, trying not to have an aneurysm.

“Hold on, let me track your location on the ship wide map...Okay, you’re pretty close to the service elevator, it should take you to the Bridge.” He confidently stated as he typed away at his terminal.

“How do I-OH SHIT!” He screamed, interrupting himself as the muscle man from before barreled down the hallway, now armed with a shotgun and decked out in nanofiber armour.

“Quick, give me directions!” He continued as he sprinted down the halls, dodging shells.

“Right, then left through the custodian’s change room!” His helpful caller directed. As he turned the corner twice he quickly opened the door, ordering it to slide into the ceiling at the push of a button, then back down and locked the door. As he fall to his arse, panting from the sudden chase he laughed at the pissed off killer who was trying to break the small glass panel on the door by firing straight at it, not knowing the fact that the glass, and almost all the glass on the ship, were designed to withstand, and even reflect, gunshots. He only laughed harder as the roid abuser fell over dead from his own shell.

“What a goddamn idiot! AHAHAHA!” He cried out in between fits of body shaking laughter. After composing himself. He looked around for something to wear. His Governor’s suit was spiffy, but not exactly survival material. The small room was poorly lit, kinda dirty and lined with lockers, boxes and supplies. Only one locker was open and at the bottom of it, crumbled into a small pile, was a plain grey jumpsuit, his favourite kind of jumpsuit. After stripping down to his tightie whities, he threw the decorative, expensive, one of a kind suit into a dirt and water stained corner and donned the stained jumpsuit. Now in more appropriate attire, he looked at a mirror to inspect himself.

He was easily the shortest man on board, just over 5 feet tall, and chubby as all hell, the jumpsuit just able to contain his body rolls. Despite being in his late 20’s he was already losing most of his fiery orange hair, compensating with a sick red beard. Without the uniform, he looked just like a normal loser. After reading the name on the blue patch above his left nipple, Kenny, he quickly shuddered and ripped it off. Something about that name really irked him. Now in his disgusting grey worker’s jumpsuit. He followed the soldier’s directions.

“Oh, there you are! What too-...Is that a janitor’s jumpsuit?” The guy on the other end asked, perplexed at seeing a member of nobility in a nondescript jumpsuit.

“Yeah, wearing gold is pretty boss but not if it gets you killed...I’m almost there, just gotta head down-oh, never mind I’m here...Huh, it was a lot closer than I thought it’d be…” He stopped himself as he approached the wide, metal cargo elevator.

“Great, the elevators on it’s way just hang tight.” The young man said, smiling slightly.

“Where are you, you imperialistic fuck?!” The women from before screamed somewhere behind the janitorial looking man. Thinking quickly, he dived into a room to his left and closed the door shortly before the women came running down the hall looking for him.

“What was that?” The soldier asked, confused and worried.

“Some crazy Alliance soldier who has it out...For...Me...What the…?” Patrick exclaimed as he looked at the room he was in. The first noticeable thing was the clearly Chinese man, dressed in ancient tan and yellow layered armour with a large helmet capped with black and red feathers, who was sealed in a giant block of ice attached to some kind of cooling machine that had it sealed in place and protected by glass. He held a slightly curved steel sword in one hand, a white qing dragon bow and massive wood and metal rifle, a wall rifle he thought to himself with amazement, on his back, a young yellow leopard at his feet. His bald, angry face permanently stuck a state of pain quickly unnerved him. But was even more alarming was the passed out man on the floor.

He was a crazy tall man at nearly 7 feet tall and was wearing a full black BDU with plates of advanced nanofiber armour all over his torso, arms, legs and neck. His muscular body had multiple weapons on him, most noticeably a replica AN-94, an old Human weapon, designed to function as a normal gun with a scope and suppressor attached, an old M1911 with a large magazine jutting out of the bottom of the handle and a large black suppressor, a weird curved sword that had small sparks of blue energy shot off the white blade and a specialized anti material rifle. The rifle was something else entirely. It’s barrel was ridiculously long with a rectangular muzzle brake on the end, an extended magazine that, if the writing on the side would have you believe, held .50 custom rounds. Weirdly, the gun had no scope, just a jack for a pair of headphones or something where a scope would be. For once in his life, Patrick was thankful for all the times his dad had made him study ancient Human weapons.

The man's face was what a polite person would call ‘ghoulish’. His chiseled face would look rather attractive if it weren’t for the massive, deep, chin to temple, scar on the left side of his head and the two large, clearly lethal, bullet wounds above and below his right eye. If it weren’t for the fact that no sane person would dress up and heal a corpse this nicely Patrick would believe this man was long dead. He was a giant of a human, wearing non-R.A.D.C armour, using old Human weapons and had more healed injuries then a well maintained crash test dummy. As Patrick turned to leave, the ship lurched again, causing him to stumble back, trip over the unconscious person, and waves his arms around in a desperate attempt to stop himself. As he hit the ground, he felt his right hand press something, and felt the colour fade from his face when he heard the machine behind him loudly announce-

“Alert, Experimental Resurrection Pod powering up...Beginning the thawing process…”

“What the hell is going on down there?!” The unknown soldier demanded, anxious to know why the Governor was so quiet.

“Umm...This armoured guy was tampering with some stuff down here so I whacked him in the back of the head and he landed on some control panel…” Patrick lied, hoping he’d believe that over ‘I just accidentally fucked with someone’s stuff.’

“Okay...We’ll...Um, send someone down there after we land...Head back to the elevator, it’s almost there.” The man instructed, buying the lie. Quickly getting the hell out of there, Patrick scanned the hallway and the nearby rooms for the girl still hunting him.

“Hey, what’s your name, man?” Patrick asked while he approached the closed doors, waiting for the elevator to arrive.

“Christopher Robin Sir.” Chris replied as he checked the progress on the elevator.

“Chris huh? Well, you’re not a total loser so I guess you’re alright.” He complimented as he shuffled awkwardly waiting for the elevator.

“...Thank you Sir?”

“No prob-SHIT!” He stopped himself mid sentence as a beam of ludicrously hot plasma barely missed him and melted a small hole on the elevator door, which opened just as the final assassin showed up.

“You! You killed my brother, you piece of shit!” She furiously screamed as Pat dived into the elevator and hammered the close door button repeatedly.

“Your brother killed himself, be mad at him not me!” Patrick begged like a total coward as the H.U.A soldier stormed down the long hallway while firing rounds at the slowly closing elevator doors.

“Come on, come on, come on, come on…” he muttered as the doors almost completely closed before she shoved her hand in between the doors and grabbed Patrick’s collar and tried to pull him up.

“Hey! Let go of me and pull your goddamn arm out!” He shouted as she pulled him up and tried to aim her gun at his squirming head.

“This is for my brother you piece of-” Her sentence was cut short as the metallic doors slammed shut, severing her arm and muffling her screams of pain. As the elevator rapidly ascended all the way to the top of the warship, a severed arm in Pat’s lap, all he could say was one thing.

“Always pull out…”

“Okay, now chuck the bodies in the janitor’s closet and let him deal with the mess...Hey, Chrisy, where the hell’s Pat?” Matt asked as he looked away from the various Guards who were carrying the lead riddled, partially melted and psionically crushed bodies of the H.U.A soldiers out of the Bridge. All in all the crew had done well, only one or two crew members had been killed and only a few dozen injured. For a crew exceeding five thousand that was a pretty good number by most people’s standards, but not the Captain's. Looking away from the waste of Human D.N.A called H.U.A, Captain Matt looked at Chris who was walking over to him, his helmet finally locked in place and now looking normal, walking calmly with his rifle in hand.

“He’s on his way, Sir, he said he was assaulted by H.U.A forces but was able to lose them in the Lower Storage Sector.” Chris reported with a clear tone. The Captain nodded as he moved past him and up the small flight of stairs that lead up to the top of the Bridge, where the Captain’s chair and various holographic screens sat attached to the comfortable leather chair.

“Tell Pat to get up here and grab a seat, we’re in for a rough landing.” He ordered, taking his spot in his still immaculate chair overlooking the rest of the Bridge. The Bridge, like most of the ship, was primarily white with blue lines painted on the wall and the Defense Corp coat of arms, a black raven with a sword and scroll in each foot painted in front of a shield, parallel on each wall. Below the Captain sat dozens upon dozens of terminals and holographic computers designed to monitor the ship, contact ground teams or function as cyber warfare suites if it were engaged in Ship to Ship combat. Pressing a variety of buttons, the Captain began reading the multiple warnings and alerts throughout the ship. Although he wanted to stay focused, like everyone else in the hectic room, he couldn’t because he was still shocked and in awe at the planet currently spitting in the face of modern science. If the Armada knew there was a sun circling a planet and not the other way around, they’d launch about a thousand vessels to figure this shit out.

“Holy shit, what the hell happened here?” Matt heard Pat loudly exclaim as he entered the room, stepping over the scrunched up body of a now dead enemy.

“Oh you know, had an arguement over who should use the rest room first-what the fuck do you think happened, Pat?” The Captain snapped at the Governor, causing him and a few nearby guards to step back in surprise.

“Hey, we’re both Nobles here, I could take you to Imperial Court for saying shit like that to me.” Pat threatened as he walked down the stairs to the right of the Captain’s chair, and sat down in an unoccupied seat.

“Yeah, but my family has a long line of Admirals, Generals and Nobles to brag about, you’re an ex-factory manager, who the hell do you think the Empress will listen to?” The captain shot back, a blank look on his face.

“...Touche.” Pat simply replied as he locked himself in place and looked out the Bridge’s massive window at the rapidly approaching planet.

“...Plus I can throw you out the airlock with my psionics.” Matt continued with a smirk.

“Dick.”

“What was that? I believe I have a title Mr Woolsworth.” Matt asked with a mocking tone of authority.

“Fine, Captain Dickhead of the Royal Armada.” Pat said with a long sigh.

“Thank you...Jeez, I thought this was gonna be an easy assignment....H.U.A attack, engines falling and now a planet that defies nature...What’s next? Flying technicolor horses that talk?” Matt shouted into the air in exasperation.

“Sir, if we run into talking horses, I’ll eat my own shoes.” Chris said from his chair below the Captain’s perch, his voice a mix of humor and exhaustion.

“Direct all control of the Ship’s steering to me.” Matthew ordered as he cracked his knuckles.

“Sir, without the engines we’ll only be-”

“-Able to change our angle of descent, I know, but from this angle the crash will be catastrophic for us and whatever primitive life’s down there. So I’ll say again, direct all control to me.” Matt ordered, cutting off the female Officer mid sentence.

“I sure as Styx hope you know what you’re doing Captain…” Pat muttered as he held onto his chair tightly. As he finished his less than confident statement, a large screen displaying various statistics, numbers and an image of the Southern Cross popped up, along with multiple holographic buttons and handles. Ignoring the warning about the engines being offline, as it was the 253rd warning he’d heard in the last hour, Matt began inputting orders and maneuvering the ship into one of history's most well known crash landings.

The night was still and all was tranquil. The moon shined over the sleepy country of Equestria. From the quiet hamlet of Ponyville, to the Opulent streets of Canterlot, to the dusty, weary plains of Appleloosa and the Illuminated port city of Manehatten, all was enveloped in quiet night. Those who were still awake throughout the nation, admiring the billions of glittering, silver stars, remember seeing a star that shined brighter than the rest. It was a radiant, almost golden, yellow and twinkled twice as bright as any other star. Those who saw it were transfixed by it’s beauty. But, as the ‘star’ came closer and closer, the Ponies and many other races saw what it truly was. A colossal vessel, easily hundreds, if not thousands, the size of a generic Equestrian warship. Those stargazers watched in awe as it neared their planet, watching it blot out the stars as it closed in on the planet. Many screamed in terror, fearing it would smash into their nation and wipe them all out in a fiery display of cosmic power. Instead, as it broke the atmosphere and was engulfed in flames, they watched it gracefully swerve and soar over Equestria. Almost everyone in the nation was awake to watch the underside of the ship fly over their homes and country, seeing the thousands of glowing blue lights, canons of unknown material and the sight of a gargantuan black raven with a white sword and scroll held within its feet painted in front of a giant royal blue kite shield shield.

The ship was intimidating in its design. It had two massive holes on the back of the bulk of the ship, and two smaller, yet equally tall, parts of the ship attached to the sides with multiple smaller holes. The ship's front had various canons and weapons pointing out of it, the biggest being a massive, dazzling, barrel with dull blue lights around the rim. The top of the ship slowly declined as it neared the front, where it ended at a small, heavily armoured room with a massive window allowing anything within to see outside. The sides of the ship were littered with windows, holes with smaller vessels inside them and a giant section of the ship covered by metal plates. As the monstrous, metal vessel soared through the sky, roaring loudly as it broke the sound barrier, it steadied out and flew off into the horizon. Unseen by many Equestrians below, it would violently crash land deep within the expansive and primordial Everfree Forest, on the other side near the Changeling owned mountains, often also inhabited by dragons and other races. Although few saw it land, all heard it’s thunderous crash as it impacted with the ground, violently shaking and upsetting the forest and far off cities. As the obsidian black smoke ascended from the crash site, many knew something never before witnessed had just occurred. Something that would change the fate of the ancient planet, and it’s peaceful inhabitants, forever…

“Ah, another happy landing…” The captain declared as he sank into his plush chair and sighed deeply.

“I’m fucking invincible!” Cheered the governor as he shakingly rose from his chair and ran up the stairs, sidestepping the various items that had been thrown around mid crash, personal items like pictures, plants or cute holographic displays of cats.

“Christ, I never wanna do that again…” The medic dizzyingly mumbled as he picked himself off the floor, his seat getting thrown around by the hard impact.

“This is your Captain speaking, we’re now planetside, the H.U.A threat has been dealt with and our engines are still offline. All clear folks you can unbuckle your seats and change your pants. Thank you for flying Air Cross, we know you didn’t have a choice but I wanna thank you anyway. Will all high ranking Officers, Head Researcher DAYNE, Head Engineer MAG, Lord Governor Patrick Woolsworth and any Royal Guards stationed aboard gathered in the War Room. Thank you…” The Captain requested into the small, extendable microphone attached to his chairs left armrest, his voice echoing through the still empty halls of the Southern Cross, before getting up and walking away, leaving someone else to clean up the mess in the Bridge.

“Looks like this mission just got a whole lot more complicated.” He said to himself as he adjusted his suit.