A Mercenary and an Angel
- Locked due to inactivity on Aug 4, '16 4:28pm
Thread Topic: A Mercenary and an Angel
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It was about midnight, maybe one in the morning. A lone figure, shirtless, padded through the halls of his home at the Institute. His chest was covered in scars from fourteen years of warfare and fighting. He couldn't sleep, and he had left his wife upstairs in their bedroom. Now, he had a very specific operation: Raid the refrigerator. That man, was Michael Haghn. He appeared only twenty four years old, in actuality he was closer to thirty. Such was one of the perks of being a werewolf, and an angel. He found his way to the kitchen, and opened up the refrigerator, poking his head around inside. Orange juice, bacon, eggs, blood bags... Finally he reached inside and pulled out a doughnut
Chewing on his meal, he looked out the door into the darkness of the Island. Again, he was stunned by the beauty of the place, created by his wife years ago. Nine years had passed since their wedding, and that caused him to smile over the apple of the pastry. Thinking back over the last ten years, he smiled and sighed softly.
"Sir, are you okay?" a slight, almost musical female voice said, a soft blue glow enveloped the room. The 5'11 full form of the first Smart Artificial Intelligence, a blonde woman with short hair. Algorithmic symbols danced across her form as she thought. Lyra was the first operational Artificial Intelligence System, created by Haghn. She could do six trillion calculations per second, and had no limits on her creativity. However, she would suffer for her genius. Smart AI constructs go rampant after eleven years after going operational. After ten years, they are moved to non-combat caretaker roles, where they provide support to the newer AIs and to the Fleet.
"Fine, Ly," the man replied, not looking away.
"I completed the intelligence estimates on the Vekh," the AI said, referrring to the alien race they were now fighting, one intent on their destruction. She crossed her arms. "And I forwarded it to Fleet Intelligence."
"Do you miss operational life?" he asked, glancing back at the somewhat ghostly form.
"Aboard the Razors Edge?" Lyra asked, smiling slightly. "Every second. I loved it, its complexity, everything. But I guess now I have to take this easier job. I helped recommend this program, after all."
He didn't think it was proper to talk about Cassandra, his new AI for the Razors Edge, with his first AI. He picked up a trace of concealment in her voice, something he had helped program. "I can tell it in your voice, Lyra, what else?"
Well, she looked down, almost embarrassed. "I had some time, so I went through your old files, when you and Allyson first met."
Michael Haghn looked up, "really?"
"Yes, I organized it all, into a book."
Haghn finished his doughnut, and turned around, walking into the Library. He found his favorite chair, a black leather wingback chair by the fireplace. He crashed in it, as Lyra followed him into the capacious room.
"Okay, Lyra, explain."
The AI seemed to lean on one of the tables, looking past him as the information scrolled across her eyes, invisible to him, as the voice began to narrate.
Before I begin, I have to say how hard it is to begin this story. There were so many places where I could start, but I decided to start here, the event that brought them together.
Coming soon: Chapter One: The Goat Farm. -
Surprisingly, I find myself interested. Out of all the stories on this forum, I don't actually feel like dying after reading this one.
My main complaint would be that everybody we've met sounds overpowered and a little sue-ish (I mean, you've got the half angel half werewolf, and the super smart AI, and whatever the wife can do,) but the story also reminds of a lot of exalted, where nobody is overpowered because everybody is overpowered and thus strong becomes the norm. So as long as everyone else maintains this power level, I don't see much of a problem. Description could also use a little work, but that's personal preference. Minimalism is just as valid as maximalism.
I also get a little of a Hitman meets Superman vibe from the title, and am a little disappointed the story doesn't seem to be playing out like that.
Other than that, I'm looking forward to where this setting goes, the development of the characters and how the story plays out. -
*reminds me a lot of Exalted,
Grammar is too important to simply leave incorrect in that specific instance. -
Well, thank you. And the main character does not start overpowered, he gets that way.
Chapter One: The Goat Farm.
Ten Years Ago, Near North Korea
A man, clad in all black, stood in the whipping wind in the doorway of the small executive aircraft, staring into the impenetrable blackness. Fastened to his back was a parachute, which he would open and glide into North Korea. Across his chest was a Beretta ARX-160, a short barrelled rifle which he planned to use on his reconnaissance mission. He had a suppressor for it, but had not screwed it on to the end of the barrell. In a hip holster, he had a Heckler and Koch USP ready.
Staring into the blackness, he had no idea that when he stepped off the plane, he would begin on an adventure that would change his life forever.
In retrospect, he didnt step off the plane, he jumped.
Feet first into hell, like always.
For the first few seconds, it there was the sound of the rushing wind of the night past him. Then he opened his chute, and everything passed into silence. For unfathomable minutes, he fell silently towards the coast, assisted by the Google Glass-like military grade sunglasses he wore. Although it was night, he still wore dark silver sunglasses concealing his eyes. The world was illuminated in green, night vision, the best available to his people.
It took him twenty minutes before landfall came. Trees came up, and caught his parachute, the shock jolted him forward and back, before he was able to latch onto a tree and kill his movement. Michael freed his knife, a Blackhawk Nightwing, and cut himself free. Falling another seven feet, he landed easily and rolled to break his fall. He listened closely to the night, listening for the sounds of aircraft, motor engines, shouted orders, or footsteps. No pursuit.
Welcome to North Korea, again.
This was his eighth, or ninth? time in this country, he had forgotten. Michael had operated in so many countries, and so many times he had lost count.
He fished into the thin backpack he wore and slid the suppressor onto his rifle. He powered up the sights, and linked the targeting systems to his sunglasses. After a final check of his equipment, he confirmed that every piece was exactly where it was before he jumped.
Michael moved off, his target area was sixteen miles northwest of his drop zone. Satellites in orbit had picked up manhole sized heat emitters in the middle of a goat farm. Other assets had confirmed that no goats were being raised or kept at that farm. Therefore, it was up to nefarious business.
The Director of the Central Intelligence Agency, a shady, nefarious man named Colonel Marcus Bridgoria. That man was the only point of contact for Haghn, the one who gave him the missions. Bridgoria had issued him the orders, and he was bound to follow them.
He was the only man who knew Haghn existed. -
He set off on his trek, keeping his head on a swivel and listening to the night for movement or pursuit. Every tree was cover for him, and he moved silently and efficiently.
After two hours of stalking through the trees, he reached the treeline near the goat farm. He switched to a thermal overlay, and confirmed that only three guards were present in the farmhouse. Each soldier sported Norinco CQ rifles, a Chinese made AR-15 variant. Michael knew only the North Korean Special Forces used these rifles. NKSOF guarding a goat farm? Curiouser and curiouser... he thought, as he raised his rifle. He didn't have a shot on all three, so he decided to hedge his odds. Michael lowered the rifle, and dropped prone, dragging himself across the ground towards the farm. He made sure his movements were silent.
Michael moved to within twenty meters of the house, and raised his rifle again. He got up, stalking through the shadows towards the front door. In a slow crouch, he propped his rifle up and listened. Two were in the front room, where he had seen them, the third was somewhere outside his line of sight.
No more time for gathering intelligence, no more finesse, no more crap.
He ran up to the door, tested his boot on the lock, then brought his foot down, and kicked the door in. Michael rushed in, his rifle up. The two NKSOF troops reached for their rifles, alarmed at the interruption.
They never made it, four puffs from the ARX reached out and took the heads of North Koreas best off.
Michael swiveled, listening for sounds of movement. The last one was in the bathroom, so he stalked there, and opened fire through the door. When he gingerly pushed the door open, he saw the NK soldier, slumped against the toilet, riddled with bullet holes.
A rather dignified death, on the throne, he thought.
Michael found what he was looking for, a door leading down to the basement. He reached down, and pulled it open, stepping in quietly. The tunnel down was dark and musty, covered in the green glow of his night vision. He stepped quietly, his rifle leading the way as he crouched.
He approached the bottom of the stairs, and found a heavy steel door secured by a padlock. He reached into one of his many pockets and withdrew a lock breaking set. With forty five seconds work, he broke through the lock and gingerly pulled the door open. Inside was the harsh white light one would associate with a medical facility, that almost stunned him. The night vision automatically deactivated, and his glasses polarized.
Michael pushed through the door, stepping into the white light with his rifle held high. Thoughts flew through his mind, his initial thought was laboratory, but a lab for what? Nukes? Chemical weapons?
The front desk was deserted, so he stepped through. There was a second door, which he bypassed. The next hallway was dark, lit by red light, dim and casting long shadows. He kept the rifle up, until he heard the clanging.
It sounded like a bell, but a misshapen bell. Metal on metal. The sound carried a message: Things are in motion, and now there is no going back. -
Are you going to keep doing this? Disappear and reappear with a different account? For the record, your friends have missed you and we sure would like it if you told us when you came back.
My apologies for the rude welcome-back, but it's just not the same without you and I've missed you.
This is Lone, if you haven't figured it out by this point. -
I have to, Lone. I can't come back like I did before, not for a while. I miss you guys too. Time needs to pass. I'll get my laptop this summer, and next year I'll be free to return. I miss you guys every day, and Ally and I email back and forth.
Just give me some time, Lone. I'm like the Terminator, I always come back.
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