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This should be the right place for this.

Tell us about your adventures, amazing stories, wow us with your wit...use your imagination, tell us some of the greatest moments in your life.

Post Mon Feb 05, 2007 6:14 pm

This should be the right place for this.

Alrighty. I need an opinion on this.

Drink Ninja.

Post Mon Feb 05, 2007 6:15 pm

Deep down in the crust lays truth. The cold hard constant of our world. Buried deep within everything there is the shining beacon of hope, the glimmer in the otherwise dark void of the human soul. This is my story about the extinguishing of one such eternal flame, the destruction of my hero, my mentor, my friend. My name is Jacob Mitchell; I was an Investigator in the Eastern Coalition, ranked Third Class. December 31st was when my love died, along with the Eastern Coalition and her allies. It was the day a warrior fell in battle, when the champion of Adimere fell from grace. The day Agent First Class Anatoly Korenchkin was swept from the face of the earth. It was the day that my hope died.


I suppose I should remember where this all began, try to think back to the origin of this catastrophe. My memory has faded from time, but the date is as vivid as a fresh print. December 4th, 2125. The day I returned from Bay City. It was meant to be a routine covert investigation. It was a trial run, so to speak, to test to see if I could handle Second Class. I failed in the worst way possible. I lost the data, my cover, and most devastating of all, I lost the trust of the entire Eastern Coalition. I was reprimanded and demoted for my actions. All was not lost however; I had one slight ray of hope, not to my knowledge at the time.
For on the 4th, the Eastern Coalition got word from one of its outposts in the north of its territories. Silverton, an old mining town on the edge of the Coalition’s influence, had found something that was unlike anything that had been discovered anywhere on earth. A wreck of something had been found after a minor skirmish with North Star, close to a mine towards the north fringes of Silverton.

After finding the wreck, the Eastern Coalition had assumed that the North Star Mining Trust would kill for this artefact. To protect itself, The Eastern Coalition or commonly known as the Remnant, decided to acquire knowledge about the threat North Star posed. This was my second chance. This was my golden opportunity, the one ray of light, the chance to prove what I was truly worth. I had to try and get on that mission.

The High Command of the Coalition was not of the same mind, citing my recent failings at Bay City to be the official reason. I had no way to prove myself to the High Command, no way of ever getting out of the southern capital of the Coalition, lovingly labelled Remnant City by all those who dwelled within its borders. There were times where I had forgotten what it was originally named.

The small anti-grav craft glided over the asphalt roadway, the small turbine engine propelling the craft forward, the old ruined buildings slipped past my view, their shadows cast over the cockpit, the only reminder of the speed at which you were travelling. The majority of the buildings were still in use, as residential quarters for those not in the Coalition Military, the civilians who toiled to preserve their way of life. Gliding past the facades, the crumbling doorways and broken windows made me wonder why we still lived like this, still lived in paranoid fear of our neighbours, living in a state of cold war, frozen still in time due to old rivalries.

Past the old residential sectors, were the Coalition Government facilities, which were sprawled out over what was once a great city, over all the old rails, all the old arcades, all the old markets. My little speeder landed outside a block of old terraces, refurbished into living quarters, a gentile whine could be heard as the engines powered down. I had left my speeder in an old car park outside the building, and proceeded inside, my cold, empty quarters awaited me on the seventh floor. My small life was catalogued by my rank, file, and designation, and all I had to show were three failed tours to lands that used to be our own. This place made me sick at times.


“Run Jake, Run!”

All around, all I could see was black. No light, nothing could be seen.

“They’re almost here! Get out Jake!”

Flashes of colour, screamed past, as I tried to run, following the order of the voice.

“Oh god, no! Jake, I’m sorry! Just don’t hurt...”

All I could hear was screaming. A woman screamed for me, trying to save me, only to be silenced by some unknown assailant. I knew her voice; I knew exactly who was trying to save me. And before it all ended, I realised who she was.

Throughout all the screaming, all the pain, I knew who she was.

She was my mother, and she never lived past that day.


I woke up with a start, the cold air seeping in through the cracks in the window frame. Once again, it was the same dream, the same nightmare, constantly reminding me of what they did. I fought it every day, the urge to just give up, finding a corner and just falling to pieces, a mess of tears and alcohol. The booze kept me together, kept me from completely going insane. I climbed out of bed, forcing my feet to the floor, the worn carpet beneath my feet barely keeping the cold away. I reached groggily for the light switch, finding only empty bottles of whisky, my hand knocking them over in the search for light. Some fell with a thud, others breaking, the sound piercing throughout my apartment, the smell of alcohol filled the air, making me nauseous, a reminder of what I had consumed the night before coming back to haunt me like so many memories come back to haunt me now.

I had pulled myself into some form of decent state; clean enough to make it back to the city, to see what new nonsense they came up with, what crap they expect me to carry out as a lowly third class. The air here in the morning was frigid, a dense mist forming from my breath as I made my way to my speeder. The frost on the ground crunched under my feet, the noise echoing around the now deserted park, the noise bouncing off the old buildings and travelling for miles in all directions. A thick layer of ice covered the top surfaces of the speeder, an old beat up civilian craft, all I could afford on a meagre wage, not eligible for a personal military transport, not high enough rank, not good enough in their eyes to warrant such an expenditure. The ice fell as I opened the side door, falling to the ground, softly impacting on the frosted asphalt. With a whine, the old engines sputtered to life, shaking the remainder of the ice from the speeder, the faded paint and rust patches visible over the entire body of the craft, wear and tear from a hard life during a pointless war. I pointed the craft south, and headed in for another day of misery.

Drink Ninja.

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