On other notes, this the start of a new series, which will run parallel to the fantasy one I started the blog with. I’m going to call it warspace, and whenever I write something, I’ll tell you to which category it belongs.
Plus, I just found out that I’m a day behind, so from now on I’ll try to write something new every day.
Enjoy!
***
You move slowly in this desolate land, knowing you’re at the mercy of enemy fire, knowing you are in the middle of a nowhere that hurts your eyes.
You shiver a little, while snow falls on the tundra.
At least it got a bit warmer, otherwise you’d be in big trouble.
Trapped inside the parade uniform –completely useless, it’s only for formal occasions-you have to walk three miles on the polar caps of this damned planet.
And luckily you’re on the equator, otherwise imagine the situation!
You can see your breath in front of you.
Shitty cold.
And luck.
Not only you’re completely without weapons, these stupid shitty clothes don’t keep you warm.
And besides this, you’re even without weapons.
Well, actually, there’s the naginata-itself a ceremonial weapon.
At least it’s reinforced, and so you have a hand-to-hand weapon.
You stop for a moment, to take the ice off the polarizing glasses, and in the meanwhile you look at your weapon.
What to the uninformed mind would look like a short sword mounted on a stick takes on another shape to your eyes.
The iron on the blade-forged with the same technique used to make the best katanas -is free of imperfections, and reflect the sun in an admirable way.
Of course this renders you very-very- visible to all enemy forces passing within a couple of miles of your position, but A): you don’t have anything with which to cover it, and every scrap of cloth you have you need for warmth and B): You don’t want to. After all, you just have to go a couple of miles.
Of course, three miles in enemy territory aren’t a mean feat, but hey!
You’re a great soldier, aren’t you?
No, you’re not a great soldier.
You managed to get all the men under your command killed, to get your client killed, to ruin a diplomatic meeting, and now the side you were fighting for wants you dead.
You just have to hope that those pirates will hold up to their end of the deal, and that they didn’t just run with the money.
‘Cause otherwise you’d be really screwed.
So walk, brave little soldier of humanity!
Walk walk, it’s useless you know!
C’mon, better not go down that line of thought.
Of course though, there is nothing to do but walk.
Walk, walk, wal-
Twinn!!
Mine drones of Cowl fabrication at hours two and seven.
Armed with machineguns model strong-arm.
Variable camouflage. That’s why you didn’t see them.
Third level Ai. About as much intelligence as a dog.
You register all these things in a fraction of a second, before actually seeing them come out of the snow, while your autonomous systems start evasive action to dodge the bullets.
Those damned things were hiding in the snow, operating on standby.
You must have triggered a motion sensor.
Damn.
Like every soldier of the Humanitas armada, you’ve been augmented with bioelectronic implants to better your combat efficiency, but without decent weapons you’re pretty much fucked.
Your bones, plated with polycarbonate steel, are as resistant as the shells of those mine drones, and the various pistons connected to them, together with the preprogrammed war maneuvers, make you fast enough to dodge all their shots, but you can’t go on forever.
Eventually, the muscles connected to those marvelous indestructible bones will tire of being abused at supersonic speeds, and the mine drones can simply wait for you to die of blood loss from the resultant internal hemorrhaging.
Shit.
While you and the drones go through a dance no non-augmented could see, you think of a way to save your skin.
Lesse…you could try to make the drones hit each other.
You try immediately, but after the third try you remember that third level Ai are stupid, but not that stupid.
Waitaminit.
You forgot of the naginata again! Of course!
It’s much harder than the drones’ shell, and maybe you’ll even split them in half!
You proceed immediately with your plan.
The drones, not having anything similar, are doomed, and you do short work of them.
You’ve won! You’re still alive!
Then the burning pain in your knees takes you back to reality.
You may be alive, but now you have to march three miles with legs that feel as though they’re on fire.
Damn.
You shiver a little, while snow falls on the tundra.
At least it got a bit warmer, otherwise you’d be in big trouble.
Trapped inside the parade uniform –completely useless, it’s only for formal occasions-you have to walk three miles on the polar caps of this damned planet.
And luckily you’re on the equator, otherwise imagine the situation!
You can see your breath in front of you.
Shitty cold.
And luck.
Not only you’re completely without weapons, these stupid shitty clothes don’t keep you warm.
And besides this, you’re even without weapons.
Well, actually, there’s the naginata-itself a ceremonial weapon.
At least it’s reinforced, and so you have a hand-to-hand weapon.
You stop for a moment, to take the ice off the polarizing glasses, and in the meanwhile you look at your weapon.
What to the uninformed mind would look like a short sword mounted on a stick takes on another shape to your eyes.
The iron on the blade-forged with the same technique used to make the best katanas -is free of imperfections, and reflect the sun in an admirable way.
Of course this renders you very-very- visible to all enemy forces passing within a couple of miles of your position, but A): you don’t have anything with which to cover it, and every scrap of cloth you have you need for warmth and B): You don’t want to. After all, you just have to go a couple of miles.
Of course, three miles in enemy territory aren’t a mean feat, but hey!
You’re a great soldier, aren’t you?
No, you’re not a great soldier.
You managed to get all the men under your command killed, to get your client killed, to ruin a diplomatic meeting, and now the side you were fighting for wants you dead.
You just have to hope that those pirates will hold up to their end of the deal, and that they didn’t just run with the money.
‘Cause otherwise you’d be really screwed.
So walk, brave little soldier of humanity!
Walk walk, it’s useless you know!
C’mon, better not go down that line of thought.
Of course though, there is nothing to do but walk.
Walk, walk, wal-
Twinn!!
Mine drones of Cowl fabrication at hours two and seven.
Armed with machineguns model strong-arm.
Variable camouflage. That’s why you didn’t see them.
Third level Ai. About as much intelligence as a dog.
You register all these things in a fraction of a second, before actually seeing them come out of the snow, while your autonomous systems start evasive action to dodge the bullets.
Those damned things were hiding in the snow, operating on standby.
You must have triggered a motion sensor.
Damn.
Like every soldier of the Humanitas armada, you’ve been augmented with bioelectronic implants to better your combat efficiency, but without decent weapons you’re pretty much fucked.
Your bones, plated with polycarbonate steel, are as resistant as the shells of those mine drones, and the various pistons connected to them, together with the preprogrammed war maneuvers, make you fast enough to dodge all their shots, but you can’t go on forever.
Eventually, the muscles connected to those marvelous indestructible bones will tire of being abused at supersonic speeds, and the mine drones can simply wait for you to die of blood loss from the resultant internal hemorrhaging.
Shit.
While you and the drones go through a dance no non-augmented could see, you think of a way to save your skin.
Lesse…you could try to make the drones hit each other.
You try immediately, but after the third try you remember that third level Ai are stupid, but not that stupid.
Waitaminit.
You forgot of the naginata again! Of course!
It’s much harder than the drones’ shell, and maybe you’ll even split them in half!
You proceed immediately with your plan.
The drones, not having anything similar, are doomed, and you do short work of them.
You’ve won! You’re still alive!
Then the burning pain in your knees takes you back to reality.
You may be alive, but now you have to march three miles with legs that feel as though they’re on fire.
Damn.
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