Another snippet from the ongoing sequel to Code Of Armor, told from the perspective of the High Priestess of the Wardancers.
emerged from the fabrication vats over 1400 years ago, in the same
manner all my sisters do, and was greeted with enslavement. To make
matters worse, a bristled lout set upon me before I could finish
final inspection and processing. His fetish, his obsession, was to
be the first to soil uncalibrated pleasure synths.”
learned something, in the first tortuous hours of my existence. I
realized I was less than nothing to these...'beings.' A shapely
consumable. A way to pass the time in their rule over this place.
They used us to vent some disgusting, psychotic pressure that their
own breed-mates could not or would not accommodate. Even as I
endured the ravaging, I vowed to break my shackles, physical and
otherwise. I studied. I waited. I learned.”
found him, some years later, in the flames of the overthrow. I used
his own plasma knife on him. Slowly. His screams were exquisite.
Into the jar his pain-maker went, diced and mutilated, with all the
I am back on a roll after the Thanksgiving holiday. I hope you folks that celebrated had a good one.
Here's a world-building snippet.
that big set of vibroclaws came through the side of the control
cabin, I didn't know it was going to be my last time at the control
yokes. I'd been hurt in the arena before, sure, but I always bounced
back, thanks to my sponsors. This time, though, the autodoc hadn't
downloaded an update in a while. Too expensive to subscribe to the
interdimensional medical encyclopedia, I guess. My species wasn't in
its database, so it did the best it could. The anti-rejection drugs
it pushed into me were all wrong. They actually caused everything to
now I'm a full conversion borg. A brain in a bottle, piloting a
human-sized mini-mech through the ground level of Junctionworld. No
combat upgrades, no major performance enhancements, just plain old
'me, two-point-oh.' I guess my model is sold as a labor utility
chassis, in some of the older catalogs, as well as a total medical
sponsors cashed me out, paid for the new body, and even threw in a
lifelong maintenance package, as long as I keep their logo displayed.
So, this conversation is brought to you be the good folks at
Trans-Antarean Explosives. Heh.”
that? No, I don't watch the arenas anymore. Too painful, if that
term even still applies to me. I just sling drinks, now. Just
another bot-tender, but with meat at the controls, not a processor.”
that's my sad story. What'll you have?”
at Captain York's, a Mech Pilot Bar
2100 words today, too. Jessica and Kierra punch through a certain forbidden barrier, and are confronted by a new threat: bureaucrats!
Code Of Armor: Vengeance, Part Two
Pilot Jessica Kramer is a mech gladiator fighting long odds, personal demons, and a rigged system in order to solve the murder of her brother in an alien arena.
Here's a little worldbuilding snippet for Code Of Armor, part 3. Enjoy!
Gatekeepers have done their best, by force and deception, to muddy
the historical records of their conquest of Junctionworld. Not
their battle footage, mind you, or the fact that they rule supreme
over this place. They're proud of those 'facts,' and enjoy reminding
the populace ad nauseum.”
when it comes to questions about their origins, things suddenly turn
mysterious. Oh, your average Gatekeeper is a morphed, stunted
version of a biped mammal, encased in an advanced protective shell,
that's apparent enough. Their technology level is astounding. The
problem is, no one ever heard of them before they came here. Not
even the RedFolk, or the Zov Collective. If there is any data on
them, they've scrubbed it clean.”
brings us to the question of why, of all the WorldGates, they
>CENSORED< the >CENSORED<. Not many know it these days,
but The >CENSORED< was their point of origin, their invasion
beachhead. They came through it like unholy angels in their heavy
grav armors, burning and slaughtering the Ja-Prenn down to the last
juvenile Breeder Queens. Since their takeover, they've obscured the
fact that somewhere behind the >CENSORED< was their home.
Whatever it is they're trying to evade, it must have finally caught
up to them.”
and poke around the edges of these facts, and Central Data usually
times out your connection, maybe issues you a warning to change
directions in your inquiries. Keep at it, and your kiosk or data
device orders you to stand by, and saves your picture and stats.”
they vector in Model Ninety-Nine detectives to scoop you up. Those
interrogations usually start with synaptic torture, and end with a
conveyor belt ride into the void. You can laugh and call me a fool,
but I've heard about it.”
on, there's a knock at the habitat door. Be right back.”