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[Highlighter]

OOC:

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On Route: Main Street
Periphery March, Federated Commonwealth
24 February 3044

Felix Maan sighed as he took a seat in the Meridian’s primary lounge. The Union-class DropShip was the Blue Sun mercenary group’s most valued possession, and had come into their control some years back during a very fortunate raiding mission. The Meridian had served the Blue Suns well since her acquisition. She had become the home of the mercenary company, and Felix had invested heavily in the ship, converting one of its lounges to a fairly functional briefing room.

The mercenary commander glanced at the papers he shuffled in his hand. They detailed his unit’s current mission, and while his people were well suited for the task, he couldn’t help but frown. Lately, the Federated Commonwealth had thrown more and more pirate hunting missions at him, and while they paid well and were relatively low-risk, Felix was just not a fan of the Periphery.

A fairly well-built man of German descent, Felix Maan had grown up on New Avalon and attended the prestigious NAMA, and had come to appreciate the amenities of civilization. He was no stranger to the outdoors, however, as he had spent considerable time in the wilds with his family. But there was just a certain lack of appeal of living on a world where sewage systems were a rarity, so Felix Maan had done what he could to avoid the Periphery.

Main Street. What a peculiar name, Felix thought, as he skimmed the mission briefing once again. Nothing special about the planet, just some minor industrialized world that was being hit by Periphery raiders. The planetary garrison had other duties and was unable to pursue the pirates properly. A simple hunt-down-the-bad-guys mission. Not so bad. The mission would be over within a week or so, if all went according to plan.

He looked up as other members of his mercenary outfit started to file into the briefing room. It would be a semi-casual affair, as all Blue Sun briefings were, but Felix would wait until everyone was seated and ready. While he didn’t run his unit with the obsession to procedure found in some military units (the Kuritans came to mind), he did appreciate discipline and timeliness.

As it were, there were still a few minutes left before the briefing was scheduled to begin, so Felix Maan waited patiently…

[MacabreDerek]

Standing with his back to the wall just outside the briefing room door, Barret was growing impatient. In his hand was a odd S shaped butterfly knife, which he let hang open and swayed in a soft motion like a pendulum. The Blue Suns paid well enough, the assignments though were often boring. He may not have known the specifics of the mission being contracted, but he could wager a guess, and the thought of it was building a growing anxiety in him. Kill some pirates, who probably didn't have the armament to put up a good fight, who were not warriors.

Barret grinned at the chance to put them in their place. He drifted for a moment to imagine the 'snap' of breaking a bone, maybe a leg, and watch them try to crawl away from his clutches. Maybe the screams as he'd light one on fire, and helpfully releave himself to aid in the poor sod's delema. His mind drifted to the countless possibilities that would present themselves in this mission to rid the galaxy of this inferior filth.

The knife in hand folded up with a 'click' of metal striking metal. It was about time to get seated, checking his watch for the local time to be sure.

Stepping through the door, he found his seat quickly, and rested back, his eyes feel uppon Felix Maan. He was also of the inferior breed, but it was him commanding the mission that would get Barret paid, so that was good enough not to throw-down with him for the moment. He'd have the chance to 'cut loose' soon enough, he felt like a coiled spring, ready to lash out at a moment's notice, the tension was being felt along his neck, and he tried to rub out the knots that were starting to form.

Placing the knife in a holster along his belt, he said not a word to the CO, instead choosing to wait for the others to arrive. It was a wait that felt as though it would take forever.

[Xinaoen]

The briefing room door whooshed open as Xin strode through it - and that was his way. He never strolled or sauntered; he strode into a room, as if half-expecting everyone within to snap to attention when he arrived.

He was early, as usual. As usual, the number of empty chairs seemed to annoy him faintly.

Until recently, Xin had been a lone wolf; a job protecting a pirate supply depot had changed that. He'd been scouting the outskirts of the compound's perimeter when a barrage of PPC blasts had torn through his 'Mech, seemingly from out of nowhere; he'd barely had time to register the blue sun emblem on his attackers before he'd found himself sailing above the battlefield, his battered Black Knight collapsing in a wreck hundreds of yards below him.

He'd had to run back to the base on foot in low-atmo to raise the alarm; it hadn't been enough to save the depot, but it had meant that the Blue Suns had faced more opposition than a handful of turrets and powered-down 'Mechs. Xin himself managed to critically wound two enemy heavies before being taken down, piloting a spare pirate Wolfhound. His employers hadn't been impressed, of course. After he'd smoothed over the fallout, Xin had returned to his terminal to find a recruitment offer from Felix Maan in his inbox. A week later the main pirate base was a smoldering crater, and the pilfered Wolfhound was sporting the Blue Sun insignia.

That had been a few months ago - long enough to have given Maan the opportunity to regret his decision, perhaps. Xin had shown up for his recruitment meeting wearing a tuxedo that had looked as if it might have cost more than his battle-scarred 'Mech. He was wearing a plain grey flight suit now, but it looked as if it had been pressed and steamed.

As always, Xin managed to wordlessly convey a deep-seated conviction in the notion that this entire thing was somehow beneath his station; his squadmates had never seen him take any other posture, in fact. The only part of mercenary work that he didn't seem to find degrading was taking orders from Felix Maan, whom he now greeted with a simple but respectful "Chief." A number of choice words had been used to describe Xin in private conversation; "suckup" was perhaps the most common, and certainly the most charitable. It was no secret that he was gunning for a promotion to Scout Lance Leader, and his deference to his CO was commonly taken for apple polishing.

Having greeted his commander, Xin took a seat - deliberately choosing the one farthest from Barret, to whom he said nothing. After settling into his chair, Xin took a moment to compose himself; he always seemed to feel the need to compose himself, and his more violently-inclined associate always seemed to shake his composure. After a few more darting glances in Barret's direction, Xin finally seemed to relax - as much as he ever did, at least. His fingers drummed the table as he watched the briefing room door with a distantly irritated expression.

Xin muttered something under his breath; most of it was inaudible, but the word "punctuality" seemed to feature heavily.

Edited by Xinaoen, 15 April 2012 - 01:57 PM.

[Charles Martel]

Cornelius came in shortly after Xin. Regardless of the opinions of others, he liked the guy, he was a professional, and Cornelius could respect that. As for Barrett, the man liked to wear malevolence like a coat. Cornelius has seen that before, and it never fails to amuse him.

In his short time so far with the Blue Suns he's staked out his usual position as "The Tall Silent Guy". They weren't top-tier mercs, but they were competent which was a pleasant thing considering his signing up had more to do with their dropship being the first one leaving.

Some of the other new additions though, they made him wary but he was trained to deal with that. And the first lesson was to keep your trap shut.

He took a seat, bowing his head to Felix and then Xin in turn. "Sorry I was late. I was double checking the systems on Maddie."

[Janitor101]

Kurt Mauser snored softly, slumped in a lounge chair in the corner, his dreams were that of a circus he'd seen some years back, it always haunted him, especially those creepy guys with red hair, white skin and the bulbous red noses. This time they were juggling hand grenades, and throwing them at people in the crowd on occasion, Kurt wished he was in his Cyclops to obliterate the clowns, but he couldn't find his neurohelmet which he'd dropped.

He cracked his eyes open at the sound of feet, people were shuffling into the briefing room, which Kurt hadn't even left the previous night, Kurt glanced at the half empty bottle next to his chair, considering taking another swig. But decided that hungover was better then drunk all over again for a mission briefing.

Kurt sat up, rubbing his bleary eyes.
"Anyone got a painkiller? My head feels like a soccer ball." He grunted, hands covering his eyes as he spoke.

[Joe Davion 86]

*Clank!* Joe tripped coming into the "briefing room"; cursing as he narrowly avoided falling flat on his face. He sheepishly looks up and mutters an apology for making this much noise early in the morning.

He snickered at Kurt's lament of a hangover. "You know we had a briefing today Kurt and you still drank that heavy...sheesh." Shaking his head, he reached into one of the cargo pockets on his field utilities and tossed a packet of I-B200 towards him. "These'll take enuf of the edge off for you to concentrate...I hope."


He took a seat next to Cornelius and promptly zoned out. He was thinking about his old BJ-1 that had taken a pounding in the last drop. It's right arm had been mangled beyond repair and he was still waiting for the replacement so the Techs could get to work. Til then he was stuck with a CRB-27, nice enuf 'mech but it didn't have any autocannons...he missed the rumble and visceral feel of them, but at least the Crab was easy on the ammo bill.

Snapping back to reality he asked Felix " Hey bossman, when we gonna get this show on the road?"

Edited by Joe Davion 86, 16 April 2012 - 03:27 PM.

[guardian wolf]

Chris Wolf walked down the corridor to the briefing room. His Dragoons patch clearly visible on his leather jacket. He sympathized with these other "freebirths" such as himself. Barret, was probably in the briefing room, he laughed at how a trueborn like him, and a freebirth like Chris ended up getting to fight alongside each other. Chris looked at the doors, and continued down. These, "Blue Suns" were paying decent for these contracts, but never really informed them of what the job was before hand. Chris looked around as he could have swore someone was watching him. He kept his pistol in his thigh holster, and knife across the small of his back. He had trained with elemntals before, but one could never be too sure. Satisfied with the inspection, Chris turned back down the hallway and entered the room, it was already mostly full. Chris found Barret, and sat next to him. He whispered quietly to him.
"They tell us what the job is?"

[Dreadstar]

John 'Mac' McQuillen walked into the room, and at the same time another Mechdriver had the unfortunate timing of stepping into Mac's flight path. Mac was not the sort of man that paused, or walked around anybody...or anything, for that matter. He looked down at the fellow pilot, a common occurance since Mac was perhaps one of the tallest, not to mention largest, Mechdriver's in the service.

His size was nearly enough to have permanently banned him from the corps, but there were few people that rarely said no to him. Even so, and even with his mountainous frame, Mac was one of the best Atlas Drivers in the Corps. His attitude of 'Blast First, and Protect his Squad' was due to his friendship with his squadmates. When Mac made a friend, they knew it. He was overprotective of his current squad, and on several operations, he would put his mech between his squadmate and enemy fire until they could be transported from the area. This earned him the nickname of 'Mother Atlas' to his teammates.

"Um, your in ma' way mechboy." He grumbled, a plume of thick cigar smoke rolling from between his grimaced lips.

"Oh jeez..." The other driver stated as he looked up at Mac, realizing his mistake, and wishing he hadn't drank so much ale the prior night. "Listen ...Mac, I didn't see you..."

"Oh, you didn't 'see' me?" He looked down at his massive frame, and then back at the other pilot. "Ya sayin' that I'm losin' ma' girlish figure, or sumtin'?"

"Oh, jeez, no Mac. I ...'urk'" Was all that the pilot could get out before Mac lifted him by the front of his uniform with one grubby giant of a hand, and casually tossed him against the closest wall.

"*** **** Eagle Pilots, makin' um more ***** like, and smaller every day." Mac grumbled and strode towards the rest of his squadmates.

[Hanyit Greyhame]

As Hanyit ambled down the polished metal halls. He had just woken up, as was evidenced by his red eyes. "Fethin' alarm clock, never works right," he grumbled to himself, "And now I'm late to the briefing. Heck, even that savage Barret is going to be there before me!"

By this time Hanyit had reached the door and palmed the security lock to let himself in. "

"Sorry I'm late everyone," he said, and acknowledged Fleix with a polite "Boss".

As he sat down, thoughts of his BJ-3 BlackJacks ruined leg actuator were tumbling through his mind. The techs said they should be able to replace it soon, but Hanyit wasn't sure whether it would be fixed in time for the next mission. "Stupid pirates getting a lucky shot at my lower leg actuator with an Arrow IV, only damage I took put me down for the count...."

[Dreadstar]

Mac stooped down and turned sideways slightly as he stepped through the doorway, grumbling something about them being too short and narrow, and then straightened himself up looked around the room. His thin lips, still chomping on a nub of a thick smoking cigar, grinned slightly at those that were already there.

Making his way past the assembled pilots, he took a seat across the table from Kurt, and blew a thick plume of cigar smoke across the table at him, and then sat back in his chair, which groaned metallically under the stress of his massive bulk. "Damn candy a$$..momma not teach ya how ta handle ya booze?"

He turned and looked expectantly over at the Commander. "I don't suppose that we'll be doing somethin' other than wiping some more pirates a$$es again Commander. I'm kinda hopin' for rescuing some damsel in distress tha wants ta become the next Missus Mac, or somethin' of that sort."

Edited by Dreadstar, 18 April 2012 - 04:28 PM.

[Highlighter]

Felix Maan watched as his warriors filed into the room. Each was unique, with his own quirks and ticks. It was certainly different from the Armed Forces of the Federated Commonwealth. He acknowledged those who had saluted or greeted him and waited until most had taken a seat before flipping on the projector.

A holographic image of Main Street flickered to life. Little flags indicated the probable locations of the pirate forces while a large triangle showed their primary drop zone. Data about the planet's atmosphere, terrain features, and so forth scrolled down in lists along the side. The projection slowly rotated as Felix stood.

"Welcome everyone. Glad you could all make it." He pointed at the display. "We're on approach to Main Street. What a name for a planet out in the middle of nowhere. Anyways, you've all had your preliminary briefings, so you all know we're on another pirate hunting mission. Certainly not the most glamorous of jobs, but there's combat and the pay is good."

Felix punched a few buttons on the holo-projector, and the planet disappeared in a wave of static to be replaced by several 'Mechs. They were heavy and medium designs, painted a dull gray primer. "These are our targets," he continued, "the pirate group Linda's Raiders. They're about a company in size, so we're matched up pretty evenly. Intel says they've grounded in the northern continent, and we've got satellite images of their forward base."

He looked at Mac. "Sorry, Mac, but our mission is to go in and take them out. Simple as that. If you're lucky, maybe you'll meet that nice Linda and she'll fall for your charms." Felix chuckled at that thought. "Maybe not. In any case, does anyone have any questions so far?"

[Janitor101]

Kurt waved a hand slowing in front of his face to dissipate the smoke.
"No Mac, your momma taught me how to handle my booze and we can see how that went." Kurt shot back, a half grin spreading across his features, he popped a painkiller into his mouth and swallowed, nodding thanks to Joe.
"Either that or some twerp cut this stuff with paint thinner, the latter is more likely cause it tastes like gasoline." Kurt added as he picked up the half empty bottle and dropped it into a wastebasket.

Kurt glanced at Mac.
"We should stop feeding you Mac, if you grow any larger you won't be able to move from room to room, or sit in normal people chairs." Kurt winked at the large MechWarrior.

*

Kurt stopped talking to pay attention to the briefing, as much as he could with his subsiding headache.

Edited by Janitor101, 18 April 2012 - 06:23 PM.

[Xinaoen]

Xin reacted almost instantaneously to Maan's offer to answer questions - by raising his hand, hilariously enough. Only after Felix had acknowledged him did he speak, ticking off points on his fingers as he went.

"Salvage rights: yay or nay? Any possibility of air support? Most importantly: do they know we're coming?"

[Dreadstar]

Mac grinned at Kurt, though Mac's grins looked something akin to a shark just on the verge of chomping on a victim. "Aww, poor whittle Kurtsy wants ta make fun of Momma Mac now, and then poke fun at a real man's body. Har, dee, Har....I'll 'member that when ya need my Auntie Ann ta pull your skrawny little a$$ outta a firefight....again."

He noticed that the commander was looking at him, and Mac seemed to suddenly find something on the floor that caught his attention. "Sorry Boss."

Mac listened intently as the mission op was laid out for them. His face actually frowned a bit that there wasn't going to be any damsels to save, but then smirked broadly when the Commander said the pirate groups name. "Linda's Raiders?!?" He stated as he pounded the table and broke out in a braying laugh. "Aww, man...now I kin say I heard it all. Do all their mech have little pink bows tied to their cockpits?"

Edited by Dreadstar, 18 April 2012 - 07:42 PM.

[MacabreDerek]

"If we get Salvage, I am sure we can outfit you with a pretty pink with bows mech, Mac, it wouldd suit you." Barret grinned smugly.

"So how long until we reach Main Street? Are we taking POWs, or is this Extermination at its finest? And any bonuses coming with this job? Please do not tell me we are going to have to baby-sit some wounded pirate waste because our contractor has a conscience. It always takes the fun out of the job."

Barret leaned onto the table, looking at the holographic display. He was hoping to add to his mech's decor, having stripped faces off of victims who were unfortunate enough to make it out with a face in tact, or for the time still breathing, and use them as a stencil for painting his mech. He was at 23 so far, and he was hoping to at least round it off to 25 by the end of this mission.

"I am guessing being pirates, their own equipment is questionable at best? These 'Linda's Raiders' should not be well supplied, but are we talking about ex-mercs gone pirate, or are we expecting real military-grade regimenting? Plus there is gonna be terrain and configuration problems.. There always are."

His eyes focused on Felix and narrowed, clearly having a chip on his shoulder. If it were not for the pay, he might have another stencil to use...

[Dreadstar]

"I wus talkin' about 'their' mechs ya flamin' psycho." Mac grumbled at Barrett.

Of all the members of the squad, it was Barrett that he was not able to give too much care about. He could take the drinkers, the stim users and even the drivers that were just out there to cause mayhem. But Barrett and his **** for bloody trophies made his skin crawl.

He didn't particularly like the way that he challenged the Commander. He saw the way Barret looked at the Commander when he wasn't looking. Mac and Commander Mann had been through some heavy sh!t together, and he had seen many a mech pilot succumb to battle psychosis, and 'Mother Atlas' took care of his squadmates, but even he didn't know if he would lift a thousand pound finger to save Barret.

[Charles Martel]

"And, do we have any info on what kinds of 'Mechs we can expect to be up against?", Cornelius rolled his eyes at Barrett, making sure he saw him do it. It was easy to mask his disdain for the man based on his boorish behavior, when in reality it ran much deeper.

"Relax Mac, it's all he knows how to do. And that's why you're the ladies' man, not him." Oddly, it was easy to play the peacemaker, even when your motivation isn't entirely pure. Cornelius did idly wonder if Barrett was a vatjob like himself. Though he had never seen any vatjob that mentally unhinged, unless it was an act. But with The Others, nothing could be quite so certain.

Edited by Charles Martel, 19 April 2012 - 08:15 PM.

[Joe Davion 86]

Joe piped up, "Hey boss, im just gonna echo Cornelius here...what are they running tonnage wise...do they have vehicle support, what other assets are on planet we might need to think about?"

Edited by Joe Davion 86, 19 April 2012 - 09:27 PM.

[MacabreDerek]

Barret smiled eerily to Cornelius. "A ladies-man huh?"

Leaning back a bit, he kept his eyes locked on the hologram. His eyes seemed to glaze over into a thousand-yard stare, his hand resting on the knife at his side. "Perhaps you need a reminder of exactly what is being asked of us. You seem to think of this group as some rag-tag group of academy wash-outs who want to play out dreams of rebellion. Let us recall what a Pirate is. He exists in a world where eating a days ration is considered a luxury, sledging out an existence in filth that would make most men succumb to disentary. He does not have the luxury of going home after a days work. He is in the cold and wet, if not the barren and freezing, with the clothes on his back and the fire-power he had to kill to take. He is a hardened warrior that knows no rest, who paranoia is a constant, and who knows a depths of misery that most could not keep their food down if they tried to understand it."

"Gentile-men, you are talking about going against a group that has no qualm about strapping charges to a hostage and setting them free just to explode when they just get in arms reach of their supposed 'saviors'. The human body contains enough bones that can splinter and turn to devastating shrapnel. It will be enough to puncture lungs, pluck eyes, sever arteries, and leave you crippled and begging. He wants this to happen to you, because it needs to happen. He is good friends with desperation, and he has lived a life-time of using that desperation to come up with the worst ways to put you all in the ground. To really understand the pirate, you have to understand a world that goes beyond Kill or Be Killed. It is a world where maiming you is a greater advantage than killing you. It is a world that says you are something to be used to the based degree, and to be tossed aside."

"Slaves are lucky to last a week, those that last longer are prone to suicide in the conditions a pirate lives in. They find the least likely places to colonize because they do not want to be found, and that environment makes them more dangerous than any Inner Sphere training regime could prepare you for. They can live on maggot rice and filth-ridden water for months and still be ready to bring a living nightmare. They will feed you your own fingers to make you talk, and that's if you are feeling co-operative. The pirate knows the lay of the land, and just because their mechs are not completely show-case worthy, that only adds to the desperation."

"And then we have to consider this Pirate company itself. We are talking about a group that not only made a name of itself, these Linda's Raiders, have been at it long enough to amass enough hardware to put many merc units to shame. And they did not get there by playing by the rules of engagement. They got there by leaving pilots with Draconian Neck-Ties. Try and imagine your tongue hanging out of your throat, the feeling of that burning sensation as your head gets light and numb, and hopefully everything goes dark soon. That happens to the lucky ones. And how many people do you think they have at that camp keeping things rolling? How many people they had to break to make sure everything in the op runs smooth."

"The last band we hunted was nothing, no name, no real equipment, hardly a camp to consider. That was a training exorcise. These... people. They are going to be something else. When we engage them on their home turf, we are quite literally, Inviting Hell."

He gave a moment of silence to give those in the room some time to ponder on his words.

[Dreadstar]

Mac didn't even give it a moment before he raised his thick sausage-like fingers in front of him and waggled them at Barret. "Ooooo, now ya done got us all scared Barret. Ma' boxers are all gettin in a twist because ya got us all good an frightened o'er some slackjawed, sandfleas tha doan wanna earn their wages in a lawful way, and wanna steal, murder and scare people to get it."

"Ya seem ta tink that everyone in this here room hasn't put in the time, blood an sweat against trouble before? Ya think we haven't shared tha same mud and blood, and faced tha Devil a few dozen times before?"

His steely gray eyes narrowed to slits, and he leaned forward in his chair, causing it to creak loudly in the silent room. "I doan see anyone else in dis here room that needs yur sorry dead defilin' a$$ to remind 'em ta not underestimate tha opposition. Ya tink that we all got these beauty marks..." He points to the large scar on the side of his neck that he recieved during a mission last year. "...by sittin' in the back o'the lines sippin' peen'yo colatas wit' the nurses?"

"Sh!t! Ev'n tho' Kurt's a frickin' stimhead, Joe's as clumsy as o' three legged dog in a obstacle course race, I'd trust tha' guys to do their jobs"

His thick cable-like arms slam down on the table as he rises from his chair and leans towards Barret, and feral-like sneer curling his lips. "Ya Gods damn, condeesendin', son of a bi...."

"Mac..." The Commander says in a quiet, controlled tone.

Mac pauses for a moment, giving Barret a final gaze, and then his features soften, and his eyes look to the Commander, as he sits back down. "Sorry Boss, I just doan appreciate Mr. Doom an' frickin' Gloom here, bringin' tryin' ta bring ma' boys down."