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Everything posted by Orwell

  1. I do not remember how I got here. I have been around for as long as there has been a time and a place to exist. A fluttering series of images, spread across a million different worlds unrecognizable to mine own eye. I have tried to make sense of these things, and have come to no avail. Perhaps I exist to carry out some task. My taskmasters, whoever they are, are not keen on communicating their desires. I hardly know if the apparitions I see periodically are genuine or a figment of my scattered mind. My actions to appease these unseen eyes are cut short at strange intervals; a sudden loss of eyesight, a loss of sensation in my limbs. A floating sensation in dark isolation. I am left distraught, and confused. Did I do something wrong? I know now there is no sense to these lapses. I could be in one place for two hours, and another for ten. They have been with me as long as I have been with them. I navigate these strange places, confounded by the constraints imposed on me by powers far beyond my understanding. Sometimes, in the chaos, there are patterns. Reoccurring images and archetypes. Figures and voices in a dreamlike haze. Even sound and music. A group. Always a group. Why my existence is tied with theirs in this strange place, I do not know. Some of the faces I have seen before. I even know some of their names. They are cursed to bring conflict. They come, and they leave. Each time, I am bound to watch. Their behavior is sporadic, and their maneuverings vary from place to place. I have tried to interact with them on several occasions. Each time, I am ignored. My identity and purpose remains obscured; but I feel I am not alone. Some urge within me that I am unable to explain. An insistence that I am not the first to walk these worlds. That I am the second of my kind. My past is foreign to me, but this instinct remains. I have nothing else to go on. In this senseless world, I am driven to find my kin. Someone who I can relate to in this strange existence. Tomorrow is a new day, with the hopeful promise of a glimpse into the shining light of truth in a world so swamped in darkness.
  2. all the 112th deserves to die
  3. Fires raging in the brush outside of Dundreary, on Pallas. Fragments of a small Guilder Wave relay station peppered the planet, resulting in a mounting casualty rate. Investigations are underway regarding the planetary defense system, the nature of the impact, and the effectiveness of Pallas' planetary defense system. GUILDER RELAY STATION FALLS OUT OF ORBIT; BLOWN APART BY PALLAS' PLANETARY DEFENSE SYSTEM WITH FATALITIES MOUNTING, SICON SCRAMBLES TO DETERMINE CAUSE DUNDREARY, PALLAS ‒ With a blast heard literally around the world, the planetary defense cannons of Pallas were forced to destroy a small Guilder Relay Station after it fell out of orbit and began hurdling towards Pallas' equator on the 4th of May, 2299. Early in the afternoon, unknown assailants stormed the premises of X Station, and managed to dislodge it from its orbit using what can only be assumed was another vessel with significant thrusting capacity. Home to over 123 million people, Pallas is defended by an array of planetary defense cannons for incoming astronomical projectiles. Just as they have done before, the defense system engaged Guilder Relay Station P1XB499 as it hurdled towards Pallas. The blast was immense, and resulted in the fragmenting of the station into hundreds, if not thousands, of smaller pieces. Despite managing to knock out most of the incoming debris, meteors proceeded to pelt the surface of Pallas. Impacts were noted from as far as Dundreary to Westonhaus in the West, with debris landing in oceans, hills, yards, and the many shipyards that cover the surface of Pallas. Fires rage, and sirens blare on the surface as firefighters and emergency services try to help the affected and displaced. Hospitals are flooded with injured, and fire brigades roll out en masse to try and contain the damage. SICON is on the scene; working with investigative teams and police networks to try and determine which party is responsible for the deaths of thousands. In the context of the Third Bug War, many are now suggesting that due to the catastrophic nature of the attack, it was carried out by human beings who had been compromised by Arachnids. SICON has dismissed these claims, stating that postulation and conjecture without evidence is fruitless, and to wait for the facts to reveal themselves through thorough, empirical, investigation. Do you want to help with the relief effort on Pallas? We need PEOPLE LIKE YOU skilled in the following fields: - Medicine - Firefighting - Fire Prevention - Computer Science - Urban Planning - Disaster Relief - Construction - Infrastructure Development - Engineering - Biology - Social Services Contact your LOCAL RECRUITER and ask ABOUT PALLAS TODAY
  4. Orwell

    Ashley O'Dweyr PK Appeal

    What were the details of the injury? To the neck, yes?
  5. Orwell

    Ashley O'Dweyr PK Appeal

    Neither did I. Who delivered/ordered the A6?
  6. An angle of the eastern section of the memorial. The pictured area was converted from the ruins of the Golf Club du Domaine Impérial. PRANGINS, SWITZERLAND ‒ Today, SM. Ortiz christened the opening of a memorial graveyard for casualties of the Civil War. Attended by several hundred thousand veterans and their families, the memorial is the result of an ambitious undertaking on behalf of Fleet and Mobile Infantry in casualty recovery. The remains of over ten million military personnel are now interred on a massive 2500 acre plot now accessible to the public. Sitting in the shadows of the Alps, the memorial is not far from Geneva, where life is beginning to get back to the way it was before the fall. Speaking briefly, SM. Ortiz stated that honoring veterans was a crucial aspect of rebuilding the Sol System, and commended the brave men and women of the Federation who made the ultimate sacrifice for the safety of all in one of our darkest hours. The memorial harbors remains from all stripes of the Civil War, acknowledging the sacrifice of all individuals who aided in the reunification process. In the wake of carnage wrought by the Arachnids, the throngs of patrons flooding into the memorial were reminded of devastating capabilities of the heartless enemies of the human race. Anxious to finally visit the remains of their loved ones, the memorial's admission goes directly to supporting the war effort and maintenance of the grounds. FUGITIVE ALERT SEBASTIAN BENTLY APPEARANCE: LIKELY TO HAVE CHANGED, 22 YEARS OF AGE, BRITISH INFLECTION LAST KNOWN WHEREABOUTS: NEW MADRID, KARRUS SUSPECT LIKELY ACCOMPANIED BY FORMER SUBORDINATES; CONSIDERED ARMED AND DANGEROUS. DO NOT APPROACH UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES. If you have any information pertaining to the whereabouts of former Lieutenant Colonel Sebastian Bently, or any fugitive crew of the Ulysses S. Grant, please contact your local police department as soon as possible.
  7. ETIQUETTE FOR OUTSIDE BUSINESS Never use your real name. First name's can stay, but surnames must absolutely be changed in public. Do not try and interact with any banking interfaces. Any interactions with your accounts are almost certainly being watched, with people waiting on stand by for you to withdraw any funds. The Federation has all that information, they are not above using it against us. Deny any and all involvement with the Mobile Infantry/Fleet, etc. Cover scars as best you can. If someone asks, you are a stunt driver, you are a laborer, you are anything but a trooper. You fell from a tall height as a child. You get the idea. Travel in small groups. Large groups attract unwanted attention. Do not run your mouth. Information that might not seem incriminating can be used against you in the future. Do not, under any circumstances, bring un-vetted non-112th on to the boat unless they have intentions to stay. We should keep everyone as far away from our ship as possible. Do not waste the PRECIOUS MONEY WE HAVE on frivolous bullshit. Do not get caught up in local affairs. Do not get caught up in local affairs. Do not get caught up in local affairs. We do not have the time, money, or energy to be getting involved if there isn't something we stand to gain from it. If you have a lead, let your superiors know. If you have not already, get rid of any and all identification, any personal identifying possessions, anything that could somehow make you stand out. Never talk to police, sheriffs, marshals, or any form of law enforcement. Be wary around veterans and suspected veterans. It's very likely that more seasoned veterans will be fully aware of the 112th. Make absolutely ZERO attempts to reach out to your family. The Federation, without a doubt, is watching our places of former residence like hawks, waiting for any of us to try and return home, or get in touch with relatives. For all intents and purposes, you are dead to them now. Use common sense. Do as much as possible to draw as little attention to yourself as possible. Do not do anything that would incriminate or compromise yourself, or anybody on the ship. This note will be burned in a few weeks. Read it while you can. - Espinoza
  8. Orwell

    Edgy Speeches Thread

    'The' - Edward Vang
  9. The streets of St. Anthony, a once-bustling hub of industrial development in Salk's southern hemisphere. Following the outbreaks of the 2297 strain of Hart's Fever, St. Anthony has fallen into dire straits. ST. ANTHONY, SALK ‒ A decade ago, before the emergence of the Salk Liberation Front and the subsequent fighting, St. Anthony enjoyed a prominent spot as a production nucleus for Salk's space-faring industry. In the late eighties, the memories of the first devastating wave of Orthomyxoviridae XH3N2 back in 2273 were beginning to fade as the planet's economy declined into the nineties. One afternoon in 2273 on Salk, Sgt. Morgan Franks, head line cook, was checked into the medical bay at Camp Hiawatha with flu-like symptoms. Three hours passed, and thirteen troopers were admitted to the medical bay with similar symptoms. Within five days, 139 troopers were admitted, with 63 of them succumbing to the flu. XH3N2, or Hart's Fever, is spread like most influenza viruses; persons up to six feet away from an infected individual can still breathe in particles from the infected's saliva, excreted through talking, sneezing, and coughing. It is believed that the virus was originally carried towards civilization on Salk by a rodent-like species known as Xenomarmota flaviventrus by clinging to their wet feet as they walked towards the still-expanding frontier of human colonists. The virus was carried to cattle and poultry, where it was then carried to humans. The virus appears to only affect humans, and poultry. The outbreak in 2273 took the lives of 11,000 out of the approximately 35,000 infected. Thanks to the efforts of one Dr. Ionnes Stephanopoulos, a vaccine was synthesized and distributed in the dry season of 2274. But, more than twenty years later, a new strain of Orthomyxoviridae XH3N2 has emerged; now more robust and quicker to mutate. Indeed, for nearly three years a vaccine to combat the new strain has eluded development due to the sheer frequency of the virus' mutation. Dr. Kelly Lummis, retrieving isolates of the 2273 strain of Hart's Fever in Abboud, Salk. A planet already grappling with the throes of a refugee crisis amidst the painful process of rebuilding, throwing a health crisis on top of a teetering tower of issues certainly doesn't improve the lives of the average native of Salk. Marek Kaminski, Federal Councillor for Salk, has drained the planetary treasury by trying to make ends meet for millions amidst the strife. A polarizing figure in Salk's recent history, Kaminski came into power shortly after the fall of the SLF and oversaw the resettlement of millions of refugees from Centennia in the days following Operation Breadbasket, and Salk's entrance into the then-Coalition during the Civil War. Critics argue that Kaminski's practices have been ineffective at preventing further disparity, while others look to him as a symbol of Salk following the shameful legacy of the Salk Liberation Front's destructive tour only a few years prior. Police hold back rioters and demonstrators in Abboud. As the 2297 strain spread, more and more cities have been quarantined in an effort to control the spread of Hart's Fever. Families have been separated, and medical facilities have been overwhelmed with the sheer number of infected trying to receive care. With no cure, hospitals can only provide palliative care before the inevitable. As more cases pop up around Salk, Councillor Kaminski has delcared a state of emergency; civilian travel in and out of Salk has been frozen until a vaccine has been developed. This decision comes after months of struggle between discontented Salkians and police, desperately trying to keep a lid on violent riots that rip through the streets. With many feeling left with no other choice, many are calling for more expansive care measures for infected personnel, but according to Salk's representatives, their hands are tied. For many on Salk, the recent outbreak of Hart's Fever serves as yet another setback for the planet in the wake of destruction from 2297 to 2298. People who have lost their homes and possessions in the tides of war stand to lose even more as Salk desperately tries to control the situation... Are you interested in helping restore the Federation? Are you skilled in the following: - Electronics - Engineering - Medicine - Computer Science - Construction - Agriculture - Transportation - Logistics - Microbiology - Humanitarian Aid - Urban Planning Contact your LOCAL ENLISTMENT CENTER and ASK ABOUT HELPING THE FEDERATION TODAY Would you like to know more?
  10. The pulverized remains of the industrial super-centers surrounding the mouth of the Yangtze River. In nearby Zhenjiang, reconstruction efforts have been spearheaded from the ruins of Nanjing and Shanghai. NANTONG, CHINA ‒ Today, crowds gather to view the unveiling of the recently restored Cao Gong Zhu Memorial Temple, originally built to commemorate a local hero who defended the city from Japanese pirates in 1557. Although humanity begins to approach a year of having reclaimed the Terran surface, the cultural scars continue to run deep. In addition to the massive urban complexes housing millions upon millions, the cultural footprint of the human race was often an unfortunate victim of extraterrestrial devastation. With few historical relics left intact, the energy in Nantong has become electrified. Indeed, this enthusiasm seems to be shared even by colonials who have come to earth to lend a hand. "The last three generations of my family were raised on Karrus," said Evan Zhou, a construction contractor working nearly non-stop on the greater Shanghai area, "...but I was always drawn here by the stories of earth handed down from my elders. I never had the opportunity to go until recently. I can't stand by and watch such an important place fall to ruin." Mr. Zhou is one of the millions of colonials who have flocked to the Sol System as more and more swaths of land are deemed safe for civilian occupation. With neon strongholds from Titan to Venus dwindling in the face of one of the most extensive military undertakings in recent history, many displaced Terrans are beginning to eturn to their homes for the first time in nearly three years. While many diaspora are drawn back to earth, some have decided against returning; the scars of the invasion have run so deep that many beloved locales are now unrecognizable. Undoing the damage of the invasion is projected to take decades, and for some living among the ruins seems to impart a sense of dread for the species. In France, where some of the first territories were cleared of Neons, rehabilitation has been underway for some time. We spoke to some of the laborers on the job about Terra's place in galaxy in the days to come, and the tarnished state of humanity's cradle. Settlements brim with Terrans and colonials alike in Épône, 40 km west of Paris. "All we have now is footage, you see? Recordings. Snapshots and snippets of what once was. Thousands of years of human history and achievement, and so much of it decimated. My children will never be able to see what so many labored for. They will never be able to walk down the Champs-Élysées, they will never be able to experience the products of the greatest minds of this country first-hand." Jean-Paul Blaise takes a break from hefting rubble to smoke a cigarette. In the distance, the Seine River meanders through the bustling ruins, teeming with laborers. "But, it is better than nothing, no?" Blaise watches a civilian freighter rife with contractors land across the river, and start to disembark to begin demolition of un-salvageable city blocks. "The bureaucrats will argue about what is to become of all these old cities, who is to settle where, and so on. All the displacement has made many eager to reclaim old lands, and try to stir up old bad blood from centuries ago. Can you believe the gall? It's pathetic. Whatever happens to Terra, it will always be remembered‒ even if it is a shadow of its former self." A projected map of remaining Neon presences on Terra. Blue denotes areas that have been deemed safe for civilian habitation, but this does not mean that the occasional neon doesn't make an appearance. Cities marked are those that have been bolstered by Federal subsidies to encourage migration, as many population centers were entirely decimated. On the Larsen Ice Shelf clinging to the Antarctic Peninsula, Mobile Infantry swaddled in winter gear patrol the never-ending white horizon. In the distance, foundations are being laid on terra firma to accomodate Terran diaspora following the turn of the century. "Here's one!" Sgt. Murray Harriman drops down and grunts. With some help from his subordinates, they heft up the rigid body of a frozen Neon. Its disgusting skin slowly pulsates as it tries to thaw. Not long after, it is set back down, and shot apart by a barrage of Morita fire after a few photographs. Troopers of the 83rd Moritas mopping up what's left of the neons in the far flung reaches of Antarctica. "I don't mind it so much. Here, we usually find 'em in ravines and crevices, sometimes frozen together." Sgt. Harriman points down a warped crack in the ice to an amalgamation of tumors pinned between the two walls of ice. He motions for some explosives. "Kerouac over there got transferred here from coastal duty in Namibia. Bet you miss it now, huh Kerouac?" The troopers mill about, scanning the horizon for any 'roamers' as they are called. "...As far as I'm concerned, we've still got a job to do, whatever brass ends up doing with Terra. I'll stay here for however long it takes to make sure people can come back safe." Are you interested in helping restore the Federation? Are you skilled in the following: - Electronics - Engineering - Medicine - Computer Science - Construction - Agriculture - Transportation - Logistics - Microbiology - Humanitarian Aid - Urban Planning Contact your LOCAL ENLISTMENT CENTER and ASK ABOUT HELPING THE FEDERATION TODAY Would you like to know more?
  11. What remained of the Federal Fleet Headquarters shortly after the final days of the Civil War. MADURA POINT, SANCTUARY ‒ The Federal Fleet Headquarters were the nexus of the Federation's naval capacity, and served as the military and intelligence hub of the system-spanning arms of the Federation. Hanging suspended in orbit over the terrestrial jewel of Sanctuary, the duo were regarded as vital keys for the survival of the human race. Up until the Civil War, Sanctuary's precise location was a matter of such secrecy that not even the Sky Marshal was allowed to know. Following the invasion of earth, Sanctuary finally served its purpose; millions upon millions of traumatized Terrans were funneled onto the planet's surface in the wake of total devastation. A 'fallback' in the event that the cradle of humanity was ever compromised by extraterrestrial threat, Sanctuary would be just that; an ace up the human race's sleeve were earth to ever fall to alien hands. However, history would have different plans. In the hands of Admiral O'Brian, Sanctuary and the FFHQ would be fortified to incredible lengths leading up to the climax of the Civil War. Using their seizure of humanity's military center and contingency plan to legitimize their claim as the 'true' Federation, O'Brian's militant faction became eponymous with the planet itself. After the system-hopping campaign through Sanctuary space, a final confrontation was destined to occur between the final defenders of Sanctuary proper and the combined Fleet and Mobile Infantry presence of the Mobile Infantry. But it wasn't until the Progenitor Ark arrived midway through the battle that the FFHQ was sent falling out of its orbit. Falling with leagues of decimated Sanctuary and Coalition spacecraft alike, the wreck slammed into the Siemel Mountains near Madura Point. The impact was reportedly heard up to 3,000 km away. Following the blast was a massive plume of dust and debris that darkened the sky for nearly two hours after the initial hit. Not shortly after the FFHQ fell was O'Brian and her seditious cadre captured and sent to face justice in Iskander. After its brush with the Ark, vital areas of FFHQ were blown asunder. Reclamation for Fleet has been arduous and time consuming. With the anniversary of the battle nearing in the months ahead, the rehabilitation of the FFHQ remains a high priority for the Federation following reunification. Military personnel and crew work day and night to comb through the ravines and crags of the Siemel Mountains for vital pieces of the former nucelus of the Federation's muscle. Fleet researchers estimate that a full restoration of the station to pre-war conditions runs upwards of 70 trillion pounds. Nevertheless, significant progress has been made in reviving the once-proud station to its former glory. To O'Brian's credit, analysts postulate that without the extensive bolstering of the FFHQ's defenses, any attempt at complete or partial restoration would be completely off the table. According to Sky Marshal Ortiz, the restored station will be launched by the end of the 23rd century. Are you interested in helping restore the Federation? Are you skilled in the following: - Electronics - Engineering - Medicine - Computer Science - Construction - Agriculture - Transportation - Logistics - Microbiology - Humanitarian Aid - Urban Planning Contact your LOCAL ENLISTMENT CENTER and ASK ABOUT HELPING THE FEDERATION TODAY Would you like to know more?
  12. [The following is scrawled out on a piece of paper attached to the bulletin board. The penmanship is poor. ] THE PATENT PENDING EDWARD VANG HUMAN POPULATION RECOVERY PROGRAM ladies and gentlemen the facts are staring us in the face -- the bugs' primary advantage is their numbers, plain and simple. a battalion can be deployed for weeks and kill THOUSANDS of bugs and their actions are negligible to the greater ARACHNID POPULATION if the human race is meant to last, we must come up with a more effective means of creating human beings to fight the BUG MENACE get rid of the family unit i am 100% serious. mommy and daddy system sires only a few children in the grand scheme of things. we need to expand beyond monogamous relations. we take a page out of brigham young's book, and we up the spouses. male citizens assigned a harem of AT LEAST 10 fertile females in order to keep institute 'brood system' - 'families' will be replaced with BROODS - entities of 100~200 writhing spawn from a single male patriarch. runts of the litter will be consumed. FATHER becomes BROOD KING. if a pregnancy typically lasts 9 months, and we allow brood kings unfettered access to his harem we will be able to achieve these numbers and then some in a relatively short period of time conscript children now look, this sounds bad but if little timmy can load and shoot a Morita then we need to start being practical. this is the path to success! it may not sound pretty, but we need to secure an existence for the human race! if you'd like to debate or take up any questions, please raise them with private first class ed vang
  13. Orwell

    Edward 'Eddy' Vang

    Ed Vang, standing in formation at Camp Cohen. EDWARD KOU VANG POB: MERCED, CALIFORNIA DOB: 2277/2/2 BLOOD TYPE: B+ FAVORITE FOOD: BEER-BATTERED COD BIO: The furthest back Vang can trace his family's origins to is the flight of Hmong diaspora following the Laotian Civil War's end in 1975. Initially settling in Monterrey, California, the Vang family and their descendants kept a low profile throughout the Disorders and into the creation of the Federation. Their 'ancestral holdings' eventually amounted to an almond farm outside of Tulare, California, but beyond that little is known about the Vang's legacy. Edward was born in Merced, California where he lead a fairly ordinary life visiting Yosemite National Park- which had become so encroached with urban development that it was rapidly shrinking. Edward cherished these outings with the family, and he would lead an unexciting existence until the invasion of earth, and the subsequent coup. Vang, along with his immediate family, were shipped off to Sanctuary. He and his family lived fairly comfortably under Sanctuary's yoke until Sanctuary itself fell in the last days of the Civil War. Now that the Federation has reunified, Vang seeks to take the fight back to Terra to make sure nobody else would get swept up in the tides of war as he was. If he can break out his tackle box and crack open a cold one with the boys along the way, that wouldn't be such a bad thing either. THE DREAM "THE WELLBOUND" - SAMSON - YOSEMITE -SAN JOSE Get home. Evade the law. RELATIONSHIPS (ASK TO BE ADDED) THE FEDERATION - It's unreal. All of it. Everything feels like a lie. HOLTZ - This guy's emotional. STRATTMANN GUY - This guy looks like he belongs on the side of a strudel truck. HARTWICK - This guy's alright. I get the sense that he knows how to stay alive, which in this line of work is a good thing to have. I figure I could get to know him better over a beer or something, it's hard to get a gauge on a guy when you're usually too busy trying to not die together. Or, maybe it's a great way, depending on how you look at it. I feel bad for these NCO's, man. It's a struggle, wrangling us. I get this sense that he's held back by us apes. Maybe he wanted to be a painter, or a florist, or something-or-other. Maybe he's in the MI because his dad wanted him, or he wants to be a politician or something, and he's gotta suffer with us for a little while. I get the feeling that he's itching to get some more people of his caliber under his command. Who knows. EMMET - Jesus Christ. Horrible way to go. BENTLY - Bently has a solid base of troopers who would die for him. I think he envies the dead. More than anything, I feel sorry. CORBIN - I've never met a medic that was so excited for combat. Usually they're all anal retentive, but not her. HONDA - I ought to spend more time with this fellow, he's got the spirit. AJAX - Something changes a trooper's brain once they do their two years and get kitted out in that fancy AEGIS suit. A lobotomy, perhaps. He is very fun to annoy. TANNER - I'm kind of confused. This guy used to be a sergeant, but I think now he's an engineering specialist. Regardless, we get along well enough! We've been in some tight spots together already, and he seems more than capable of handling himself. I figure, he ought to be. STOKES - Stokes and I, we're professionals. Drop us in a tight fix, and we'll get you out. I'm kind of glad we've managed to survive as long as we have. FARIS - Just what we need. Civilians with cameras, running around a military ship. I'll gladly send that camera of his cascading down the stairwell if he tries anything with me. SHAW - This guy's pretty cool. Spirited. LARSEN - I think the rumors are true. Hard to forget.
  14. Orwell

    Shane Emmett

    ed vang
  15. Orwell

    SST Quotes Thread

    Amazing. After receiving an adrenaline shot to the heart, Larson was somehow brought back to life, reborn into a screaming and hellish landscape that he happily lent his voice to.
  16. Dec 29, 2297 We've spent the whole day setting up mines off the coast. Everyone's exhausted. I'm lying on the dirt in this tent we put up with bugs buzzing around my face. There's finally enough space that's been cleared for us to set down a proper encampment. People are still shaken up about what's happened in Sanctuary. A lot of the guys are worried about if all their folks got out or not. Captain Conrad rallied us and told us that we signed up to serve the Federation. Hudson had failed in his duties as a Sky Marshall, and his actions have put our entire species at risk of being eliminated. He's requested discharge papers from command, and is giving us a chance to leave in light of current events. My only family's on Sanctuary now. O'Brian's our best bet at keeping as many people alive as possible. On the bright side, there are worse places to be stationed. Jan 1, 2298 Happy New Year. I passed out papers this morning. At the end of the day, we only had a handful of signatures. Most of them were fresh out of boot camp. I don't really blame them. I figured that current events hadn't changed what my duties and responsibilities were as a trooper. Apparently others felt the same way. Captain Conrad keeps trying to get us off of Samson to go to where the action was on Earth. It's all people seem to be talking about. There's nothing we can do about it, for now. MOBCOMM has tasked us with maintaining an outpost on these tiny islands to keep water tigers from getting to the mainland. Don't we have more important things to be doing? We're needed in the Sol System, not here. Jan 15, 2298 Every now and then, the buzzing of insects and lapping of waves is interrupted by a dumb bug swimming into one of the mines off the coast. Whenever that happens, everyone cheers. We have begun to call this place home. The heat is miserable, and the ocean is as warm as bathwater. Most articles of clothing were shed after the first few days. We started sleeping in shifts after the first night raid, a little over a week ago. Captain says command is stiff-arming him about reassignment. There is absolutely fuck-all to do here besides swim. When the sun sets, Josephides sometimes picks up his bass, and we all sing dumb songs together. Feb 2, 2298 The boredom has set in. Between zipping around coordinating with Fleet to blow holes on the ocean floor with our skimmers and standing guard staring at waves, the lack of activities has become mind-numbing. On the upside, I've been getting quite good at swimming. I can swim between all three of the islands three times in a row now. All we hear about the war outside is through our radio. People are becoming more and more frustrated. Conrad's hands are tied on the matter, he says. Feb 29, 2298 We lost Lewis today. There had been a fight, and his cap had been thrown out into the surf. He swam out to get it and got caught in a riptide. He was swept out to sea, then disappeared under the water. He washed up all sliced apart. The bugs have been getting a feel for our methods. We buried him, and Captain Conrad said a few words. It's been some time since he broke the news that command has denied his requests, and a malaise has set in over the troops. We encountered Unionists (maybe? hard to tell) who rode out on a little skimmer, like ours. They refused to answer any of our calls, and fired on us. Nobody got hurt. Couldn't tell if we had gotten any of them. No bodies have washed up since. Now they know where we are. Dumbfounded that these jack-offs are trying to shoot at us when there's Arachnid about. Sometimes we can see dogfights over the water. Mar 4, 2298 We got buzzed by a TAC today. It's shaken everybody up. Our command tent is shredded; two of our prefabs have been ripped open. Andersen had a splinter of a tree blown through his arm. Janus has parts of a door hinge embedded in his side. Between the Bugs and the Unionists, I'm beginning to get really fucking sick of this place. Every time we try to make a move on the Unionists, we get fucked over by Arachnids. Every time we try to get one over on the Bugs, they can see our tracers and hear our blasts as we try to mop them up. We've tried to get our hands on different munitions to compensate, but command has decided that life is too easy for us, and wants us to suffer. Fucking useless. Apr 12, 2298 Supply lines are becoming more spread as more Unionists move onto Samson. We couldn't always rely on the Sekigahara to be there for us. The Bugs, of course, have noticed this. Janus is dead, and Wong has had his right leg cut off below his kneecap. He's managed to get transferred to a hospital ship. May 9, 2298 I miss my family more than anything. I feel confined on this miserable island. I find myself dreaming of being back home more often. We got hit by another TAC barrage, this time by a group calling themselves the Coalition, and the camp has been practically ruined. I got up, and looked around, saw Sedgewick with a look on his face. Started hollering and crying; throwing punches at anyone who came near him. Took a few people to get him to calm down. Captain Conrad is becoming more highly strung. He's snapped at me a few times, and I sometimes catch myself acting coarsely with the NCO's and enlisted. The whole situation seems to be getting to people. June 17, 2298 I've found myself glued to the radio with the rest of the men. The Unionists have merged with the Coalition, and I have a feeling that it's only going to get worse. The raids have become more frequent, from both Arachnids and these rebels. Conrad is becoming irate with command. We all are, at this point. MOBCOMM has insisted that we stay here, so we will. We'll continue to sit here with our thumbs up our asses, listening to things fall to shit from a voice in a box. Fuck this god damned island. July 24, 2298 We buried Montez and Cars- [The page becomes illegible as it had succumbed to water damage.] August 22, 2298 They are lying to us about what's happening out there. These bastards never cease to amaze. This fighting has done nothing but lead to more and more troopers dying. They're lying through their god damned teeth. FedNet, command, they're full of shit. Command is threatening Captain Conrad with a CM if he tries to pursue reassignment further. I should've left when I had the chance. Brass would rather see us die on some good-for-nothing islands than send us where we're needed. Why? How many more need to die? How much longer will I have to tell them, "No, we're staying here for another month," and see the frustration and hatred in their eyes? This whole thing is pointless. God damned pointless. Sept 3, 2298 Captain Conrad is dead. Arachnids attacked in the night, and as the Bugs were storming the beach, we were hit by a TAC barrage. The island was coated with napalm, and everyone in a tent was burned alive. There was fire and smoke everywhere. I tried to get as many people to the beach as possible, fighting off bugs with what little ammunition we had left. We'd been separated and scattered by the fire and bugs. I was knocked out when the ammunition cache exploded. It is about four in the morning now. Our numbers have been more than halved. Captain Conrad was trying to radio for help when he was wrapped in the burning tent he was inside of. The fires have died down now. Command has finally decided to retrieve and reassign us. I want to forget this horrible place. I hate this war, and I hate what it's made of us. I hate this life that we are forced to lead where good men die for nothing. To whoever finds this, know that all I wanted to do was fulfill the terms of my oath, and serve the human race. Conrad's Corsairs were good men, who stuck it through to the end. Whoever wins this stupid war, I hope that it's not too late for them to remember who it is being fought for. - Lt. Yanick Blanchard, 202nd Moritas, Alpha Company * *Alpha Company dissolved shortly after September, and Lieutenant Blanchard was formally promoted to captain on September 10th, 2298. The records from Sanctuary are spotty, but we can confirm his death on Epsilon Prime during the last days of the Civil War. Captain Blanchard was leading some of the last troops outside of Achilles when he was shot, presumably by the 92nd Moritas who were operating in their AO. According to the record, had he survived for a few more hours, he may have been able to flee to Sanctuary when O'Brian issued the general retreat on Epsilon Prime. We've cross-referenced the dates listed by Blanchard with some of the drives that Spc. Merchant recovered from Fleet HQ down on Sanctuary, and they line up with Coalition operations in the late summer in the Samson theater. Planning to dispatch a crew to exhume corpses to corroborate old Sanctuary records on the island. Not many first names mentioned, makes a bitch to track down. Copies made. Useless now. Return physical to SSgt. Holtz. Might as well. - Espinoza
  17. Orwell

    The XA's try out Kenshi!

    slave start is OP. when you finally break out of prison and get your arm you have lockpick skills on overdrive and a huge toughness buff from being beaten so frequently i've set up a camp not too far from one of the slaver camps in the desert near the coast and i've made it my mission to emancipate all the slaves and murk any slave traders/manhunters that try to violate the NAP. we train all day and prey upon the caravans that snake by at night i've amassed a group of half a dozen hardened serfs with a knack for banditry and bloodletting. only the sand skimmers can stop us.
  18. You've been causing trouble, and pushing the envelope since I joined the server, and saw you acting a fool during the drop. You were kicked (with a final warning, mind you) prior to being banned, and you continued to act in a way that was irreverent to both players and event runners who were trying to enjoy the event. You are not the first to post an appeal obtusely and not know why you were banned, and you most certainly will not be the last. If you want to join the server again, you can do so in 3 days. The ban stays, unless you can somehow convince me that your immediate reunion with the server would be a good thing.
  19. Orwell

    Erhart Von Strattmann

    ed vag
  20. [LOADING ENTRY] ... ... ... [FILE CORRUPTED] [RECOVERY IN PROGRESS] Ọ̻͔̥͇̪̤͡f̶̕͏͙̥͓̣̭̼̳͖ ͎͔͓̥̣̮̀̕c̢̮͍̲̲̗ͅo̷̧͔̝̤͉u͏͕̥̠͓͇ŗ̸͎̯s̷̨̪͈̘̝̰̳ͅe͓͓͍͖̮͚͢͝ͅͅ,̡̖̞͔͍̘̤́ ̝̱̪͖̳͜͟n̢̳͚͖͎o̵̕ͅb̴͈̲̠͎͇̠̥o̪̦͜͠dy has been returning our calls to Abboud. Dr. Watson's at his wits end, trying to provide what little palliative care that we can. It seems like every day there's more patients, despite the lockdowns. According to one of our nurses, they're closing hospitals further south where the resurgence is worse. I don't think I've ever seen anything quite as bad as the situation on Salk. I was doing my residency when the first outbreak happened back in '73. How long ago that was. This strain is much, much harder to pin down. Ivan laments to me that the second they manage to isolate it and synthesize a vaccine, it's already mutated. Outside, everything smells like ash and cinders. They're burning down the condemned blocks. They, being the few-remaining police detachments that are garbed up in protective suits, just like us. As the days drag on, we're seeing fewer and fewer of them. Every now and again, I accompany the interns to the station to retrieve supplies. The conditions have deteriorated at such a tremendous rate that I wouldn't have believed that such poverty and destitution existed if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes. When we go, we pass unresponsive bodies on the street; some of them are patients that we were forced to turn loose. Sometimes, I even recognize their faces. They lay on the pavement, gasping for air as their lungs fill with fluid. They struggle to hold down food, and they slowly drift from place to place until they stop moving altogether. They mix with the vagrants, many of whom have been kicked out of their homes in an attempt to control the spread of the disease. This, in turn, makes it even easier for the virus to spread among the encampments that have sprung up. I've had patients die on me before, I'm no stranger to it- but it pains me to watch these people slowly suffer and being able to do nothing about it besides ease their pain. Sick mothers becoming estranged from their infant children, knowing that they won't be around to watch them grow into adulthood. It's soul-crushing. The streets have become dangerous. Roaming gangs smash storefronts and loot the few businesses that haven't been closed down. Money has stopped flowing into the city. People know they are living on borrowed time, and are acting accordingly. I've been threatened on numerous occasions. The scars from the fighting last year are still present; many buildings have been left in different degrees of ruin. The Kaminski administration is tearing at the seams, and it shows in this place in particular. The government has issued a litany of restrictions on travel, and have prioritized screening and detection over palliative care. As a result, many places have been quartered off, and the people inside have been left to hang in the wind. Ivan fought on Salk, and I can tell he's got a lot of opinions about Kaminski and his cronies. Either way, our frustration is palpable. We've had to discipline some of our nurses for snapping at patients. I can hear a pack of dogs outside, fighting over a corpse, probably. Tomorrow, we're meant to pick up our month's cut. Sometimes, we've received packages of supplies that have clearly been tampered with, with several articles missing. It's disheartening to see such behavior. Sometimes, I think of Sally and Fatimah, and that gets me through the long shifts. It's hard to keep in touch with your humanity when each day you're the one who has to break the news to a patient that they're not long for this world. I fear that the government will soon relocate us, and stop all operations here. It's been an uphill battle. Wherever we get moved to, we'll inevitably get moved somewhere else, and blockade everything. Burn down the condemned blocks, and start all over again someplace else. Sometimes, it reminds me of my time developing trauma equipment for the Mobile Infantry. There's only so many ways you can protect and mend a person who has been sliceḓ̷̛̻̖̼̝͝ ̷̪̝͚̺͓͎̰͙͟ͅų̸̡̹͎̮̗ͅp̶̡̖͍̼̗̯̱ ̶̥̹̣̯ͅḅ͈̖̦̕͘y̢̞̮̹̘̩̩ͅ ̭̼̤̲ą̩̲̩͉̲͕͝n̫͓͇ ̹͘͠͡Á̷̧͓̬̩̩r͈͚͉͇͈͝a̶̢̞̱̻̻c̝͙̳͙h̖̻͢͡n͞҉̴̤̻̯ͅi͙̪͘͘͡d̞̝̯̣͉̻͘͟.̱̣̩̞̭̭̗̮͝ͅ ... ... ... [RECOVERY FAILED]
  21. Orwell

    Charlie Scott

    I would like to know more