The CEO of UberCorp International was silent.
This did not bode well for the division heads in the call.
Silence meant unhappiness. Unhappiness meant judgement.
Cyber Khan was behind schedule.
“We are building to the original specifications that Engineering signed off on months ago,” said Production, desperately trying to pass the blame.
“Specs that did away with superfluous weight for better bipedal balance,” came Engineering’s reply, sticking to their guns as always.
“The tail saw is not superfluous!” barked Design, “It is an integral weapon system that was added to enhance the destructive properties of the entire package.”
Engineering snapped back, “Wasn’t this system originally designed as a protection unit? We all know that the tail saw has no anti-kaiju capabilities. It’ll only be useful in tearing down the city around it.”
“That’s not the only advantage we gain from keeping the original design,” piped up Marketing, “Small group research shows that the tail saw adds 18% to the design’s intimidation factors, and 27% to memorability.”
“It’s a 60 meter tall robotic dinosaur!” called out Engineering. “It’s already intimidating and memorable without a pointless ten meter chunk of spinning metal affixed to the tail!”
“The tail saw was part of the initial design specs,” came from Design.
“If you keep the tail saw, the jump jets’ fuel reserves will be enough for six jumps, tops. That’s not enough mobility to last an entire battle,” rebutted Engineering.
Operations spoke up, “This bickering isn’t helping us hit the market any sooner. We need a resolution today or our counter demonstration at the GUARD parade will feature nothing but the Carnitron drones.”
“This is the flagship product,” Marketing chimed in, “in the whole Monsterpocalypse Response Mech line. If we don’t make a splash in the news cycle then no municipalities will order their own copy of the system.”
“And we need to secure those sales,” added Finance, “since the whole company is riding on these MRMs.”
Engineering was outraged. “Are you seriously telling me that you want to increase collateral damage, decrease flight capability, and throw off the mech’s entire center of balance because it will ‘look cool’ and might increase sales?!?”
“Yes,” cut through the argument effortlessly.
Silence.
The CEO had spoken.
“The tail saw will be reintegrated into the tail unit. Engineering and Production will run double shifts to make up for the lost time.”
Finance coughed politely before speaking up, “That overtime will add billions to the development costs and we’re already strapped for capital as it is.”
“That’s immaterial.”
Silence descended again before the CEO continued.
“Let me make this perfectly clear to all of you. This product is not just a product. It is a completely new approach to this crisis. No one will be content to rely upon the whims of overstretched governments that might not respond to their pleas for help. Every city on earth will want their own MRM on standby. This system must be on time. Trillions of dollars are at stake. We can corner the market on the Monsterpocalypse and turn a profit from selling survival to a grateful populace. Now cease your bickering, do your jobs, and get Cyber Khan built, running, and combat ready before the deadline.”
After the chorus of affirmations and sign offs, the CEO of UCI smiled.
“After all, there’s money to be made.”
- Details
- Written by Jeff Mitchell
- Category: ÜberCorp International
- Hits: 2702
The Colonel fidgeted in the embrace of his harness.
Waiting.
“Solid boosters armed,” came over the launch channel. Just like it had in the simulator.
T minus 4 minutes and 17 seconds
He reflected on the uniqueness of his situation. Monsters had come to Earth. From Mars, the stars, and dimensions beyond. In response, the nations of the globe had bonded together in “united advanced research and defense.” He’d just recorded his sixteen hundredth hour of flying fighter jets when GUARD was created.
T minus 4 minutes and 3 seconds.
They’d rolled him into this new worldwide military. Pilots were always in demand, and his solid performance in competitive martial arts had elicited strange excitement in his new command staff. He’d been fast tracked into the “Heavy Asset” program before anyone would tell him what it even was.
T minus 3 minutes and 47 seconds
Once there, they’d lauded his combat instincts. They’d tested how he defended key targets. They’d gushed over his focus once a mission began. In the end, out of all the candidates, they’d chosen him.
And to think, all he’d wanted to be was an astronaut.
T minus 3 minutes and 35 seconds.
“Engine gimbal test completed,” said the launch engineer over the radio
“Ecks, gimme a quick sitrep,” he called out as he tapped his foot.
Ecks chirped into his ear, “All systems are green across the board. Intercept course plotted. Target designate ‘Gorghadra’ has yet to enter the city. Evacuation 87% complete. The only anomaly is your rhythmic muscle contractions, Colonel.”
“Is that what you call tapping my foot impatiently, Ecks? Rhythmic muscle contractions?”
T minus 3 minutes and 13 seconds
“If the boot fits, Colonel. Medical claims that your elevated heart rate, dilated pupils and rhythmic muscle contractions are signs of stress. Are you stressed, Colonel?
He chuckled. To himself and to voice in his headset.
Stress. As if this feeling could be described as mere stress.
T minus 3 minutes and 2 seconds
Here he was, strapped into the command module in the center of the head of a mecha that stood over 20 stories high. His onboard fuel reserves alone couldn’t carry him to the combat zone, so his giant robot was bolted to an external tank that held half a million gallons of rocket fuel.
His mission was to pilot this huge mechanical humanoid through a crowded cityscape to engage and defeat an equally large monstrosity that had burst from the Harbinger comet shard and destroyed Chicago. Command called the thing a Planet Eater. And his job was to punch it to death.
Stress? This pressure was too much for such a simple word.
T minus 2 minutes and 52 seconds
“Colonel?”
“Yes, Ecks. I’m a little stressed. I’m waiting.”
“Would you care to explain, Colonel?”
That was odd. Ecks hadn’t asked about his feelings in the simulator.
T minus 2 minutes and 35 seconds
“This is always the worst part. The mission is set, the course is plotted, the green light is on and I’m waiting, Ecks.”
“Waiting for what, Colonel?”
“To engage and destroy the enemy.”
T minus 2 minutes and 18 seconds
“Launch vehicle cleared,” called out the nameless engineer.
“How about you, Ecks?”
“Colonel?”
“Are you stressed?”
There was a pause.
T minus 2 minutes and 8 seconds
“Ecks?”
“I’m considering your question.. We are prepped for the mission and all systems are designed to endure the physical stresses of the launch, if that is your question, Colonel.”
“No, Ecks, it’s not.”
T minus 1 minute and 37 seconds
“This is our first mission together, Colonel”
The Colonel nodded his head. Ecks was opening up as much as possible.
“We have simulated every combat scenario Command could throw at us, but this combat will be our first in the field. I am not scared, or nervous, or uncertain. I have run all diagnostics thrice over and we are in the green, Colonel.”
There was some small thing that Ecks wasn’t saying.
T minus 1 minute and 14 seconds.
“But?”
“But I cannot help it. I am anticipatory of the battle to come. I am ready, willing, and able to fight, but cannot at this moment. It is a frustrating experience. You are correct, Colonel.”
“About?”
“The waiting is the worst part.”
T minus 60 seconds. Time to act. The waiting was over.
“Visor closed and locked, Command. Ready to assume manual control.”
“Roger that, Heavy Asset 3, you are T minus 55 seconds.”
“You hear that Ecks? We’re going for a ride.”
“Roger that, Colonel. We’ll give them hell.”
“Damn right we will, Ecks. Together.”
T minus 43 seconds
The AI would be his only companion on this mission. Command would bark orders. His support vehicles would lend fire support. But Ecks was with him in body as well as spirit. Ecks controlled the thousands of onboard systems with the sophisticated processors taking up most of the command module volume. But the Colonel didn’t mind the lost space, as these processors were what enabled a human to actually pilot the massive mech.
Some of the candidates had been wary of leaning so heavily on an artificial intelligence. They’d washed out due to such fear. But the Colonel knew the truth. Ecks had his back. Ecks was built for a purpose. To enable human combat instincts. To make humans capable. To make humans better.
To make him better.
T minus 37 seconds
The Colonel smiled as he looked around at the readouts of this glorious machine. It was more than a machine, it was an extension of himself. A trillion dollar marvel of engineering had been built to defend the Earth itself from threats beyond understanding and someone’s bright idea was to entrust it to him.
T minus 30 seconds
He would not fail.
“Heavy Asset 3 you are go for main engine sequence start.”
“Roger main engine sequence start, Command. Main engine sequence started.”
T minus 20 seconds
There was no conversation left to shout over the roar of the engines. Ecks was physically and mentally prepared. The Colonel’s foot no longer tapped.
T minus 10 seconds
“Throttling up main engines!”
9
The world was in danger.
8
Ghorghadra was just the first.
7
The first of many.
6
They threatened his people.
5
His home.
4
The planet Earth..
3
No more.
2
The Monsterpocalypse was underway,
1
And he was going to end it.
Zero.
“Solid booster ignition!”
“We have liftoff,” came over the radio, but he didn’t have time for it.
The pressure. The blackness pressing in on the edges of his sight. He went through the controlled breathing and muscle contractions that had been drilled into him to remain conscious as a massive, controlled explosion propelled him upwards.
Towards the stars.
The literal weight of the world pulled on him, grasped at his mech and tried to haul it back down. He continued his exercises as the pressure built and built and built.
And then there was silence.
He looked at the stars. At the black sky above, and the curved globe below. In this moment, there was no pressure, no battle to come, no weight at all. Just him, and the stars he’d always dreamed of seeing.
“Colonel?” chirped Ecks. Right. There was a battle to be won.
“Begin combat assembly separation!” he replied; focused once again.
“Separation complete, Colonel.”
“Begin controlled descent.” Toward the enemy.
“Descent begun, Colonel. The enemy is aware of our presence.”
“Target the tubby bastard, Ecks. Let’s see if it can break our fall.”
“Roger that Colonel”
“Command, this is Heavy Asset 3, moving to engage. Requesting new callsign.”
“Roger that Colonel, new callsign approved.”
A massive blob of copper and brown stood out on the surface below them; impossibly huge and moving into the city. Gorghadra, their first enemy, had arrived at the battleground. Spreading fear before it in a wave. Well no longer.
“Excellent. Let’s see how these Planet Eaters like battling Defender X!”
Now their enemies would fear them.
- Details
- Written by Jeff Mitchell
- Category: G.U.A.R.D.
- Hits: 3817
Transcript of file 65028A-F5BB70 (GUARD Research Mainframe -> Enemy Research -> Lords of Cthul). Note: This data file was heavily corrupted; beyond what would be expected from the physical damage to the hard drive imparted by the rubble from which it was recovered. Audio is plagued by a constant bass hum and video is recoverable in only small fragments.
First discernable audio is of a single unknown male voice; referred to in the transcript as “Head Cultist”.
[Head Cultist] When first the comet moved, I felt the blindness leave my sight, and the path was clear. The Lords of Cthul, those who have whispered throughout these eons, must be unleashed. All of you here have heard their whispers. Have seen their majesty in your nightmares. Know of their glorious power. Though these are troubled times for the occult arts, I know that their release is our salvation.
An unknown number of other cultists chant in response.
[Cultists Chanting] Abjekrehan Fthugneh Ziqua'knor
[Head Cultist] But this salvation does not come without cost. This price must be paid. Blight shall descend upon the land. The abyss we all know so clearly will be spread to those with lesser wills. Fools will call our work here today a corruption of the natural order. But all of you here know that this cost must be borne. That we must force those unwilling to pay the towering toll. That nothing is accomplished without...sacrifice.
[Cultists Chanting] Ygthsheth Oquarin Ul'rothgek B'denkora
[Head Cultist] The time is now. The chosen is here. The preparations are complete. Bring forth the offering.
[Cultists Chanting] Rap'utgrosh Vak'shteth Cas'shteroth
Unintelligible screaming. Video shows a brief flash of a bound woman being hauled before a figure in a robe.
[Head Cultist] Hushing, comforting noises. Child. Be not afraid. I was once like you. I knew nothing, and the blessing of the eldritch was beyond me. I struggled in vain to make sense of this broken world. I found the truth only in our dreams of other dimensions. I sought out the truth, and beings from beyond this world whispered it to me in languages you cannot comprehend. But will now, on behalf of the Lords of Cthul, speak.
The screaming begins again. Wet noises and gagging interrupt the screaming. Video cuts in again to show the robed figure holding an ornate, bloody knife in one hand, and a human tongue in the other. The bound woman is vomiting blood onto the floor before the robed figure.
[Cultists Chanting] Vic’jec’nah Iet’kay Cthugrosh!
[Head Cultist] Let your words speak through our offering to you!
Video shows Cthulian tentacles emerging from the mouth of the bound woman. Eventually touching the floor and lifting her body off the floor by the mouth.
[Head Cultist] Observe! As the chosen rises to speak in the tongue of the Lords of Cthul!
Video cuts out suddenly. A new voice begins speaking. Analysis has concluded this voice could not be made by a human trachea.
[Eldritch Entity] I am here, prophet. As I foretold. Your work thus far pleases me.
[Head Cultist] Oh great and mighty Cthugrosh! We implore you-
[Eldritch Entity] Silence! We know what you seek. You know what has been asked. Use the dagger!
[Head Cultist] Yes, Lord Cthugrosh! I have it here. I have so many questions. Please-
[Eldritch Entity] Do as you have been bidden, human. Release me, and then we shall speak.
Video cuts back in to show the robed figure plunge the knife into the chest of the bound woman.
The bound woman screams again. Overlaying this scream, Cthulian laughter becomes steadier and steadier.
[Eldritch Entity] Good, good. Now, to answer your questions, it is quite simple.
The bound woman’s body begins to grow, distort, and change color before the video cuts out again
[Head Cultist] Please, great one, teach us you wisd-
There is a choking, gurgling sound. The previously chanting cultists begin to scream in panic. The bass hum builds in volume.
[Eldritch Entity] Your soul shall provide, succulent morsel. Your flesh shall serve, slave of meat. Your world shall perish, foolish mortal.
The remainder of the data is too corrupted for recovery
- Details
- Written by Jeff Mitchell
- Category: Lords of Cthul
- Hits: 3260
Arisu Kaneko, PhD, MD, Nobel Laureate, and scientific living legend, was annoyed.
"The Board" as they called themselves, droned on, unconcerned with her annoyance. They were debating whether to deploy assets in South America. A patently ridiculous idea, she reflected, since there would be no advantages (martial, material, or in the media) to be found in combating the Terrasaur threat at this early stage.
She drummed her immaculate nails on the burmese blackwood table of the board room, and fervently wished that this collection of powerful criminals would finish their incessant yammering so that she could get back to her lab.
As if to grant her wish, silence descended. Glancing up, Dr. Kaneko could see that all the holograms of the various board members were looking at her. This board of a dozen powerful humans, controlling roughly a fifth of the world's wealth, tastefully garbed in impeccable clothing meant to demonstrate their funds and power, could meet any time they needed thanks to her, and her apparition hologram system. They all needed the same hundred million dollar sensor/projection array, and identical rooms within which to deploy it, but money was no obstacle to them. Ever.
As this cabal of corporate and criminal royalty stared at her across continents, her eidetic memory replayed the last 30 seconds of debate and the question that had been put to her. She didn't need the six seconds she let the silence linger to craft her response, but she took it anyway to relish, relax, and ready herself for the idiocy she was about to address. .
"Yes, we could deploy Zor-Raiden to Argentina. Given the sub-orbital ramjet capability at our disposal, I'd estimate less than three hours between a vote here and deployment to the combat zone. But you've seen the demonstrations. You're not asking me about logistics that we all know are beneath us. You're asking me a different question. You're asking me, 'is he ready? Correct?"
"Yes," her questioner begrudgingly answered.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the Board," how she hated that ridiculous self-appointed name, " Your money has not been wasted. Your assets will be protected from this, 'Monsterpocalypse,' as the press insists on calling it. We can, and will, crush anything or anyone who moves to take from us. I can assure you that my Zors are the pinnacle of human ingenuity.. They are perfect. Blending nanotechnology, biological mutation, advanced materials and weapons technology to create beings unparalleled in the history of the world. They walk this earth as monsters but they are still human at heart. They owe everything to us. Zor-Raiden is ready. Yes. But I have a question in return. Is this deployment necessary?"
The Board erupted into consternated shouts. They had just been discussing that very point. Battle lines were beginning to be drawn again. Arguments were starting to be rehashed. Chaos and tedium would reign once more.
Dr. Kaneko would allow none of that. She pressed a button and at the center of the table a holographic globe appeared. In the brief moment of recognition and acceptance, she struck.
"The Terrasaur Terra Khan is already within Argentina. It moves, even now, toward the Planet Eater Gorghadra that advances towards the coastline. Their battle will be completed within half a day, leaving nothing but devastation and ruin in their wake. Zor-Raiden's presence would accomplish nothing, but the cost to us would be surprisingly substantial."
Her hand pressed another button and a dozen spots on the globe lit up.
"These are much more likely battlegrounds The latest predictive models show these cities as being the pre-eminent target sites for invasion by either Martian or Cthulian sources. If we ignore those that have disposable concerns..."
Another button snuffed out half of the global hotspots.
"And those that GUARD is properly deployed to defend..."
The last spot on the spinning globe glowed angry red.
” You can see where a Zor must be deployed before the battle commences.”
The board member who had put the question to her earlier spoke up. "You think yourself very clever, Dr. Kaneko."
"Oh?" she replied offhandedly. This reaction was not unexpected.
" You planned your little light show to win you the votes you need to press your own agenda. Well the Shadow Sun is a Syndicate, Dr. Kaneko. And I, for one, will not fall for your trick."
"Trick? This is not a trick. This is an explanation.
"What? "
" Perhaps I should have led with that,” she said, mostly to herself. “Members of the Board. On my authority as head of research and development on the Zor project, I have deployed Zor-Maxim and a full complement of battle shinobi to New York for combat trials. I expect them to be engaged in giant monster combat within the day."
"You cannot do that, doctor! . None of your little science projects can cross the pacific without my approval. I will personally block your transfer!"
" You should have made that threat when I actually deployed them. Last week."
The Board sat in stunned silence. The globe at the center of their myriad identical tables spun half a rotation before the angry red glow centered on New York city began to pulse. Flat screens began to appear in the hologram, news reports full of blurry images of Cthulian minions. Reporters breaking into yells about eldritch horrors pouring across the river from New Jersey. Bright red text rolled across the bottom of the screens with the headline, 'Monsterpocalypse comes to NYC!'
Dr. Kaneko smiled. Her predictive model had been accurate to within 13 minutes.
- Details
- Written by Jeff Mitchell
- Category: Shadow Sun Syndicate
- Hits: 23521
Rage. Hatred. Pain. Then cold.
These were her last thoughts while being carried by the humans crude devices into the cold darkness of space.
Cold. "Sleep" came the command from afar, and she obeyed. Drifting in the noiseless calm of space. Awaiting the next command.
Time passed, no further commands came, so Gorgahdra continued her slumber.
Cold. Noise. Metal? She stirred, still no command from the collective consciousness, but no matter, hunger consumed her mind for a moment while she felt the finished metal beneath her. Pain! Something jabbed into her and the blackness reclaimed her mind.
Cold.
That single feeling crossed her mind as it slowly became conscious. Before more came to mind everything went black again.
"The creature is resting again, I suggest we make this quick, we don't know how long it will remain out." the analyst said to the warlord via the inter-ship link "The transport is ready for deployment." The warlord simply nodded approval and made a quick gesture to carry on. The analyst nodded in understanding and the link went off. Turning to the assembled technicians and scientists the analyst made the announcement "We proceed - let us start the deployment. The humans must be distracted so that we may extract more resources undisturbed."
Over the next few hours, the assembled martians went about their orderly and assigned tasks, loading the gargantuan beast into the captured meteor that had been hollowed out. While typically they wouldn't bother with such trivial nonsense as trying to make use of a planet eater, as they were far more trouble than they're worth, the elders demanded more resources, and they were not able to face the humans head on... yet.
When the beast was loaded, the massive walkers in the bay welded the outside of the rock shut - no need for the beast contained inside to escape early. "It is done" the analyst sent to the warlord "Shall we commence?". A simple one word answer came - "Yes."
The rock hurtled out of the bay - silently in the vacuum of space set on a collision course with the blue and green orb below. Guided in purpose and direction but left to look like "natural" causes guide it to a landing site, somewhere far from the actual intended invasion target, a remote resource rich area in a land called "Russia". Gorgahdra had other plans however, as she stirred restlessly in her slumber, throwing the rock off of it's intended course. The meteor hit the humans' sensor net, and smashed straight through the debris cloud of junk the humans had put in orbit over the years - everything from satellites to pieces of space shuttles and stations. It careened through their orbit - burning away some of the outer layers, enough to cover up the fact that it was artificially handled.
Coming down like the fist of an angry deity, the artificial rock smashed into the ocean roughly a hundred miles east of the Falkland Islands in South America. As it crashed into the seafloor the rock shielding did what it had been designed to - it broke open upon impact. Steam billowed forth from where the super-heated rock contacted the water and the ocean rushed back in, quick to bury that which had become a part of it.
Alert! Impact! Wetness. "Awaken". There it was, the joined consciousness returned, and it commanded Gorgahdra to rise from the depths - both slumber and the water.
Hunger. Gorgahdra rose, shattering her rocky tomb fully and standing. She could sense the hidden spawns on the mainland to the West of her position. They must arise and consume, she would make sure of it. She started moving towards them, and as she left deeper waters her towering form erupted from the surf, revealing her in all of her enormous majesty. In the ruined cities and jungles of this southern continent smaller planet eater spawn stirred, waking from their dormancy more quickly than the gargantuan beast approaching - they had one directive. "Feed"
- Details
- Written by Ersatz Gnomes
- Category: Planet Eaters
- Hits: 2123
The deck of the mothership’s bridge hummed with power beneath the Warlord's four toed feet. As the impossibly large silver and green saucer streaked through the void, the Warlord reflected on all that had transpired between stasis and waking. The centuries had passed in an instant to the Warlord, but the changes were remarkable.
Their home had been destroyed.
Oceans of dust had swallowed the cities, buried the long dry canals, and interfered with the progress of The Plan, may it come to glorious fruition. Thousands had died from stasis collapse. Friends and family and neighbors perishing from the failure of systems designed to last centuries, not millenia.
The New Blood had struggled valiantly against the dust. They had performed their duty for generations. Stealing from New Home and returning the supplies to the Stasis Cairns of their ancestors who yet lived. The New Blood had crafted the ships, the walkers, the pods necessary to take New Home. They had crafted this very mothership that hummed with such power.
But the hairless apes on New Home had changed too. Their crude metallurgy and barbaric infighting had evolved faster than any prophecy model predicted. Their wartechs had developed steel, gunpowder, chemical warfare, supersonic flight, microprocessors, and plasma weapons centuries ahead of schedule; all to wage war upon each other. But then, they had foolishly reached into the stars, and touched the prison of the All-Consumers. That threat had bonded them, as the Warlord's people had been bonded by The Plan.
This bonded enemy jeopardized The Plan, may it come to glorious fruition. The grand fleet was incomplete. The population a pittance of the ancient times. Resources were spread thin. Some had even doubted. But the New Blood had done something remarkable, something genius.
They had given the hairless apes the atom splitter. They had carved the canal to victory in less than a century. The atomic fuel needed to power The Plan, may it come to glorious fruition, was pulled from the ground by the very armies that had become such an impediment.
So as the mothership hummed with nuclear power, the Warlord was pleased. This mobile battle factory would lay waste to the hives of hairless apes scattered across New Home and craft an armada from the ashes. The armada would crush the meddlesome armies of their enemies. The mountain striders and battle dreadnoughts would destroy all that stood in their path. New Home would be theirs, by right of conquest.
The Warlord reflected, as the blue oceans of New Home loomed larger in the main monitor, that now was the moment. After millenia, they would be saved. The Plan would come to glorious fruition, as was destined. The only alternative was unthinkable.
Extinction.
"Open communication with the entire fleet.”
“Aye.”
“Warlord to all ships and walkers. My people. It is time. It is time to show the ‘Humans’ that inhabit ‘Earth’ that this world is ours now. It is time to claim New Home for the Martian people. It is time for our glorious rebirth. Execute The Plan. Begin the Invasion!"
- Details
- Written by Jeff Mitchell
- Category: Martian Menace
- Hits: 2230
We were young when the first war happened. We watched as the greatest war we had ever heard of unfolded before our very eyes. Things from the deep, from the darkness, from the wilds - it was as though the universe itself was waging war on our doorstep. We all wanted to be members of G.U.A.R.D., to pilot Defender X itself against the array of enemies trying to take our planet, but right in the middle of things, it suddenly stopped.
It's unknown what happened, but the invaders all disappeared at once. Even the creatures from the deep wilds and the aliens all seemed to vanish. The global network had collapsed, information was spotty at best, but once it came back up months later, no trace could be found of the hostiles at all. Even the collaborators who we were sure would turn on us dropped off the radar. That didn't stop us, as soon as we were of age we signed up for G.U.A.R.D. anyhow, we all bought in to the films and TV specials and enlisted, which brings us to present.
"Eight years since last contact." the message on the board was the same as it always was when PFC Ryan logged on to his terminal. It was a markedly ancient piece of equipment, like most of the things around the base since the end of the war, it hadn't been updated. Like the others he had signed up in a rush of patriotism, what he wasn't counting on was spending his time watching for something that most believed would never happen. Or that he would at least get to stay in a place that didn't smell of dampness and barely functioning electronics. The building that G.U.A.R.D. had for this particular watch post was less of a forward watching station, and more of a bunker converted to the purpose of being a scanning station since it was "cheap" and "still standing". The concrete was cracked in places, the occasional earthquake caused dust to filter down from the ceiling, and so would the launching of a bot if it ever actually happened. The only equipment that ever got used since the end of the war were the tanks, and that was just to make sure they still moved. The "large assets" as they were referred to couldn't be touched without special authorization from high command, something unlikely despite Commander Mitchell's constant protests during readiness meetings and briefings with command. With the way the base looked, most of the grunts on site joked that it was funded by the Commander himself, and that he didn't even take a salary just to keep the base barely operational. The man was a relic of the old guard, and ran a tight ship despite the fact that he had pretty much been forsaken by high command. He'd had his budgets cut, the majority of the base assets "reallocated" to "higher priority" locations that rhymed with "long term storage". Meanwhile when the troops would get the occasional requisition form it was hard enough to get working pens much less parts for vehicles and tech upgrades.
High Command justified this by noting that peace was declared eight long years ago, there was no need to continue to fund a war effort against an enemy that the new civilian-based elected high command didn't believe existed any longer. Since what the world was fighting had disappeared so suddenly, after a few years the world went back to how it was before--fighting with each other over resources, carrying on petty squabbles, funding a massive united defense force just wasn't important as the musty bunker around him told. Cables and cracks patched with duct tape, cannibalizing pieces of equipment from one to another just to keep the most important systems running. It was so bad that where people used to flock to the G.U.A.R.D. enlistment offices, now they barely trickled in, and those who had joined out of some misplaced since of unity and patriotism spent their days sleeping and hoping that their contracts would soon be up so they could go back to civilian life. It wasn't all terrible, he'd enlisted with his parents permission when he turned sixteen, and like most he had been excited that he would be a part of the war effort, basic training was intense with recruits being trained in all aspects of the G.U.A.R.D. logistics command, everything from basic piloting of large assets to driving tanks and working the command bunker. Unfortunately like most things once the enemy had vanished, so did public support and funding, and the equipment they had was the same as what they had been using during the last war, despite rumors of there being "private interests" who had developed new technologies since then to locate and combat the enemies of the world. He sighed to himself, despite his low rank he was considered one of the "command staff" here at the bunker, he knew that they only had one large asset left, not that it mattered as they'd never get to deploy it since High Command would have to authorize it, but just once he'd love to see it roar to life.
As one of the maintenance personnel was walking by, Ryan stopped him "Hey Phil, can you fix my bunk again? The bolts rusted out and the entire bed fell to the floor in the middle of the night last night." Phil nodded and simply said "If you can get some bolts requisitioned I'll more than gladly fix it for you, otherwise it's duct tape and bubble gum for you Ryan. The commander has been trying to get cleaning surprise and things to repair infrastructure for the past 3 months, High Command doesn't want to hear anything about it, something about 'surprise budget shortfalls' with relations to facility maintenance. I can't even get a can of WD-40 out here on this rock." PFC Ryan sighed and nodded, only another four months and he was out, "Guess I'll just have to sleep at my console like everyone else then" he grimaced, thinking about the remarkable uncomfortable chairs that had been patched together so many times that they were essentially duct tape over cardboard strapped to a metal frame. Phil went along on his way muttering something about wishing he could open a window for how musty the place smelled. Ryan knew that in reality he was going to go to one of the few working simulators and get a few missions in since that's all there really was to do around this barren rock anymore. Originally they had ten simulators, now there were 3 barely functioning ones that hadn't been updated in five years, but any time something went down, those on base took up a collection to buy parts to get it going again, even the Commander pitched in as part of his "constant readiness" initiative that only he and a few other commanders across the world seemed to believe in.
Peace. Eight years of radio silence when it came to anything of interest. The last briefing from High Command said that they were looking to close down another wave of bases, reducing person ell and stations by half since everything had been quiet for so long. Supposedly the grapevine on base had it that they were threatening to force Commander Mitchell to retire and this base would be one of the ones closed, despite it being the last in this region. Everything was quite. At least, that's what they expected. It was about the moment he was about to doze off as much as he could with the Commander around when all of the sudden the alarm klaxon went off. He groaned as he sat up - surely it was another drill from the long list of things that Commander Mitchell sprung on them fairly often. He pulled up the alerts and sensors on the barely functioning and flickering screen and that's when he saw it - the marker on the screen was one he'd seen a dozen times in his simulations, but even in drills the marker was a green color. This one was huge and red, turning to his comrades he yelled out "PAGE THE COMMAND-" and at that very moment Commander Mitchell walked through the door with the authority and air of someone who had prepared his entire life for this moment.
"Status Report! I need to know what this is yesterday!" he barked at the bare bones team of young enlistees "What is it? We need to know what to pass on to command." The officer on duty scrambled--another young one who had just missed the war--to pull up the identifier on his console and with it seemingly to have frozen, pulled out a dust covered binder from the shelf above his station and flipped through the musty pages "It's Gorgahdra sir! I-i-i thought it was dead!? Didn't they send it to space ages ago?". Turning to the officer, the Commander puts down his comm having called into command "Your job isn't to think, it's to identify these things before they happen, and give us details when they do. Don't be mistaken people, this is the real deal, as real as it will ever get. After eight years of quiet, the storm has come again." About this time the comm in his hand buzzed again and he listened to it carefully before in a marked display of anger and fury screams into it "WHAT DO YOU MEAN DENIED? IT'S A DAMNED KAIJU INCURSION YOU INSOLENT FOOL!" turning to PFC Ryan he says with a stern look on his face "Do we have visual?". Ryan scrambles for the right display and flips through the video feeds, landing on one that shows a towering behemoth of a creature that without mistake was Gorgahdra. "We have visual sir, he's 50 clicks out and closing on a civilian population center, looks like New Portland sir!"
The commander leaned hard on the railing, and spoke in a calm voice to everyone in the room "High Command has denied our request to mobilize the asset, they say that it's not in the budget. They seem to have forgotten that our purpose is to defend this planet and the people on it. What I'm about to do will be court martial-able and can be considered treason, anyone who is uncomfortable with this is free to leave now." The room remained silent and not a single person of the bare bones staff moved.
Seeing that his crew was with him, Commander Mitchell continued "Right then. Mobilize Defender X."
- Details
- Written by Ersatz Gnomes
- Category: G.U.A.R.D.
- Hits: 2017
Page 1 of 2