Analyze. Calculate. Execute.

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Data Sprite
Jul 12, 2023

Character Name

Guns of the Conclave
A slow inhale through the nose filled Xilvius' lungs with the stench of burning ceramic and eviscerated clones. Dead-pan, grey eyes cast out over the remnants of the previous wave of hostiles. His poker-face blank expression remained permanent from years of use; Even as he tallied up the dead across what was once a lush, green landscape. Part of him couldn't help, but to wonder what the profit margin for the corps was for all the equipment used today.

Motion in the distance would stifle his thoughts and bring his attention forward. Helmet grasped from the ground and forced back over his head with a suffocating protection, the HUD flickering to life. There was something reassuring about the display of armor integrity and remaining ammunition in the mag. The comfort of numbers reminiscent of his time spent working for Oda Zaibatsu.

"Movement up front, coming from the vort-in," he reported into his comms as he cleared his mind for the task at hand. Almost automatically, he sighted down range through the lens of his sniper scope and crouched down to make himself a smaller target. Kneeling into the soft mud he blended himself with some nearby brush off the main road. A long clean shot to just before the vort-in complex, making use of his familiarity of this particular colony. Scouting implant displayed a red box over the moving body in the distance, denoting them as a member of the current target faction. Another red box would appear over a shadow silhouetted against the light of the sky, followed by another, and more.

"Yeah, they're all here together. Must have regrouped in cloning. How much time do we have left?" he kept his rifle targeted on the center of mass of the closest enemy.

"Five-ish minutes, you good?" a voice squawked through the speaker in his helmet.

"I'm going to engage and play bait, tell the boys to get some ordinance ready. You can soften them in the open before they realize what's happening," he activated his stims, keeping the closest target locked to his crosshair. Without hesitation a round was squeezed off from his rifle, breaking the quiet whisper of ambient nature with a deafening crack.

One target would fall before a shower of colored laser accompanied with the percussion of kinetic ammunition thundered into his general position. Sniper slung across his back and Orbit retrieved, he moved to full sprint back towards the production facility behind him and away from the incoming hailstorm of gunfire. Just a little farther. His thoughts fought to be heard against the yelling and gunfire closing in. The health monitor on his HUD ticked down with every round dispersed to his armor; battle stims doing all they could to combat against the perpetual onslaught. Almost there. The HUD flashed red in warning as the familiar sting of heat from energy weapons seeped through the ever growing cracks in the plates of his armor. He ignored the calls of impending doom, from the impacts of rounds finding their target on his back to the rumbling of the ground under his feet from the mob behind him.

As he crested a hill his eyes laid onto the fortified checkpoint his cell had erected. Having chased after a single target, the entire strike force had allowed themselves to be lured away from cover and out into the open. Mission Success. With his role finished, Xilvius turned to face the encroaching crowd, laying heavy on the trigger to his rifle and mag-dumping into the mass. The sound of heavy munitions erupted from behind him, a salvo of rockets seen coming from overhead towards the exposed mob as he worked to draw the enemies fire upon himself and away from his fortified comrades.

Brightness filled Xilvius' vision and receded away, leaving only the sight of digital font scrolling lines of code. His training helped him shake off the disorientation that comes with respawn, the glass portion of the chamber rising to let him out. The sterile, hospital smell of the cloning bay was almost worse than the stench of the battlefield. Collecting his thoughts, he moved methodically from the clone dump tube to the quantum gate and punched in his destination before stepping onto the platform.

Upon arrival he was met with his entourage collecting gear off dead clones, and the cell leader speaking with an upper echelon corps official. Turning his attention to the scarred terrain, he made his way to where his last clone had been finished off. He stopped at the rag-dolled corpse on the ground, easily identified by its orange-tinted armor. Reaching down he gripped the helmet and pulled it off the now dispatched corpse he was occupying moments ago.

"Sit-rep?" he requested into the helmet's communications, holding it up to his mouth gripped through a hole blasted through the face plate.

"TC's online. We're getting paid and getting outta here," the damaged speaker crackled with the words as they came through the helmet.

"Copy," he sounded off before dropping the ruined shell back to the ground. A slow inhale through the nose filled his lungs with the stench of burning ceramic and eviscerated clones.