Futuristic Issan

[Ping Beifong]

Group one will use this thread. Your ship is a mix of organics and technology; she needs no captain and takes its orders directly from Issan. She, or rather Azriel, has been know to have sass on occasion.

 

[Ping Beifong]

As a Sycophantic of ISSAN, each individual is given a living space (slightly smaller than a single floor studio apartment) to call their own in their designated base. The rooms are hardly cozy as they are frequently inspected and there are often months in which the sycophantic will be on missions elsewhere or just stuck in their team's vessel. Nonetheless, this is where their story begins. Your apartment, if you choice to call it such, is located on an ISSAN colony--one of many that is untraceable and completely invisible in the darkness of space. The colony's entire population, from the chef to the so-called "governor", is made up of sycophantics like yourself. Some are just as happy to be there as you are, others are less or more so. Earlier that day, you received orders to meet in Hall 7 at 07:00.


It is now 06:47.


 

The old man stood in the center of the massive hall. He'd been there for hours. He didn't like being the second person to party-the first person always held the keys of power; therefore, he was always very early to arrive. This would be his first time operating as overseer for this group. Hells, this was the first time any in the group would even meet. But he knew them. He'd read their files and had been watching them for days-weeks-since his last team bit it.


Shifting slightly, his bones cracked at nine different joints. Getting old wasn't for ninnies; especially when under the employ of ISSAN. The company owned his creaky bones and would continue to do so until they cast his ashes into the stars. Or, more likely, kicked his smelly corpse down the trash shoot.

 

[Khryses]

To most sentients Xhela would be considered old. Over a century in age and with the prospect of close to a millennium ahead of her she tended to hold the more Na'varien view that she was barely an independent adult who owed deep respect to the Council of the Stones and should live as close to their dictates as she could. Of course, there wasn't a Council of the Stones. She didn't even have a Flower of the Soul to seek advice from, and she'd traveled many millions of parsecs more than they would ever have dreamed in her few short years.


Yes, there were times that she felt very old indeed.


Since she was assigned to this new team, she had a ways to travel and only arrived here in the colony two days before; just enough time to set up some basic lighting and heaters around her quarters, and start scavenging stray worthy pebbles. She had a wardrobe too - a big clunky thing with a neonglow synthflower on the left door - and a timekeeper clock that was busily flashing 6:47 at her. If she stayed any longer she would be late; instead she chose a robe at random, wrapped it around her and wandered the corridors towards Hall 7.


Knowing that she was due there she'd taken the time to get (and double-confirm) directions there from her quarters the day before. This colony was strange; sometimes the corridors were packed with people, other times it could be as deadly quiet as any ghost ship.


She slipped into Hall 7 at 6:55 and looked around for other possible members of her new group. Surely anyone here at this time had to be here for the same reason she did. Surely! The old man standing there certainly didn't look like ISSAN's kind of leader, but she found his obvious age reassuring and walked a curved course that drew her in beside him. "Excuse me esteemed flower, I wondered if you might be a member of the new ISSAN group being formed here? If so I am pleased to meet you. If not... then there are liable to be a lot of confused people here in a few minutes." Xhela smiled briefly, the corners of her apricot lips drawing up at the corners.

 

[Ping Beifong]

The old man stood taller, if only minisculely, as the door slowly opened. His orange, pupil-less eyes narrowed on the woman that moved uncertainly towards him. Xhela was a strange creature. He hadn't heard of her breed until he'd been handed her files. He couldn't help but feel pity for the poor damned creature. For some bizarre reason she thought ISSAN would do right by her people. Naive, foolish creature. He knew better. He'd seen her file and all their plans for her and her people. But he'd have known even without the evidence. ISSAN had owned his ass long enough for him to know that their Godforsaken minions never had a happy ending.


"Excuse me esteemed flower, I wondered if you might be a member of the new ISSAN group being formed here? If so I am pleased to meet you. If not... then there are liable to be a lot of confused people here in a few minutes."


"DWAGAGA!" The old man half barked, half coughed, his amusement. "Xhela, I ain't never been called no flower and I ain't never smelt like one neither. 'Spect I ain't to be called one 'ver again. I'm yer new overseer. Names Gorg and I've got yer new missions details, once the rest of yer group lugs their lily asses outta bed."

 

[Khryses]

That's not quite what she meant, but she's long since given up on explaining her xeno-social background to everyone who reacts strangely to something she says. It just isn't worth the percentage, to use one of Lukas' old phrases that he refused to explain. Her dark orange-lined eyes fixed on his intently, then she nodded. "'Gorg' then, overseer. You know me, so I need not introduce myself but can you tell me how many there are in this new group of ours? My last was growing small."


She took a few steps off to one side and perched upon the back of a chair, tucking the robe more closely about herself. The hall was unusually well lit for the colony, with rippling hues of warm colours down either wall in a pattern calculated by ISSAN analysts to comfort and reassure. It worked on Xhela too , in a way; though she was familiar enough with the patterns that it didn't have the intended effect, but she had been a sycophant long enough and from a young enough age that it felt like a home away from home. The Na'varien ran her fingertips along the soft fringe of her cheek-petals, musing on memories of past missions.

 

[Daboss]

In the 9 days after his "re-graduation" from the "re-training" academy, Cal Xavian had spared himself little discomforts on the ISSAN colony. He refused himself shelter in his apartment and the small private comforts that would have accompanied it. His hunger, though present, was suppressed and begrudgingly satisfied with water from public fountains. He slept under bridges and on the roofs of buildings, taking pleasure in scaring the hell out of whoever passed by and running himself into utter exhaustion. There was no sky or dirt or plant-life on the colony; he was filthy only from not having changed his clothes in the last 9 days. Even so, the indigo zip-up jacket with black pants and boots were the only clothes he owned. A thick but short beard had grown unchecked along his jaw, his longish hair unkept and tangled. In all honesty, he didn't know how long it had exactly been... and in a small way, he was very satisfied with that.


Satisfaction, for him, was a prey most elusive. But he had learned that it showed itself only in the face of torture. Otherwise, there was little meaning to it all for Cal Xavian.


He would not have even known about the summons to Hall 7 had he not been arrested and informed of it--things in the company of ISSAN had a funny way of finding you. Two 'officers' escorted him to Hall 7, though he would have gone on his own. He figured they just wanted to show everyone that the authorities had power over their sycophant fellows, where they had no power elsewhere. But Xavian knew the truth-- just like everyone else.


After being all but shoved into the largely empty building full of corridors and elevators, the officers left him there. After all, there was no one to show off to. "Thanks for the escort..." He muttered, straightening himself. Turning and starting toward the clearly indicated Hall 7 he felt gravity settling itself on his shoulders again, waking him from his pointless dream and reminding him that he was very hungry, and that was work to do now. It brought up old memories, about the old team. He couldn't help but roll his eyes at the memory, even as his heart twitched from the pain. He caught a glimpse of himself in the shinning steal surface of one of the large door frames. A fire-eyed monster glared back at him betwixt a forelock of oily hair, the collar about his neck blinking its two little red lights--always awake, those little eyes.


Opening the door, he stepped into the massive room and seeing the two individuals standing there, he made his way to one of the chairs and scanned the large table for snacks--usually there were snacks at these sorts of meetings. Seeing none, his bright blue gaze defaulted to his company, though he subconsciously preferred to look at the girl. He knew one of them was the overseer though he made no likely guesses as to which one it was.


"Is there any food?" He said, his voice cracked and low. "Coming, I mean?" He was aware his choice of words didn't exactly make sense but his level of energy for giving a crap didn't permit that he clarify.

 

[Allcure]

Venus sat cross-legged on her bed, her eyes closed, her palms resting on her knees. She had never been taught to meditate, instead choosing to adopt the practise herself in an attempt to tame her own mind. She had cleared her mind, expecting something to come forward, some deep insight into her life. It had been hours and she had finally lost patience. Letting out a groan she climbed off the bed, her feet brushing against the soft carpet as she moved over towards her wardrobe. The room was painted a dark red and the old wooden wardrobe fit in perfectly, opening seemingly by itself as she approached. Picking out a pair of tight leggings, leather boots, vest and leather jacket she changed out of her casual clothes and into the outfit a bit more appropriate for meeting her new team, she didn't have to look at the clock to know the time.


She moved across the room again, heading towards her dressing table, pulling away one of many pieces of paper taped to her walls and allowing the mirror to come into view. Every square inch of her small apartment was plastered in drawings, most nothing more than a blur, others intricately detailed, all of them from Venus's own mind. Ever since she had woken up at the facility she had no idea of who she truly was, only fragments would come to her and even then they would be embedded within the deepest depths of her dreams. So she drew them, what she remembered at least. She kept a sketch pad and charcoal by her bed and every morning she would draw whatever she could remember.


Catching sight of her reflection she brushed a stray strand of hair over her ear as her reflection bit her lip. Letting out a sigh she turned around confidentially before moving over to her doorway. Readying herself she adopted a neutral expression and opened the door walking out into the hallway. She had no problem finding Hall 7, she had spent the last three years wandering the base during her training. She paused in front of the door taking a deep breath before entering. She took a couple steps inside before catching sight of the rooms occupants. The first a mysterious woman, unlike any Venus had ever seen or heard of before. The third, a gruff looking man sat begrudgingly at a table. The other was an old man, she could practically hear his bones creaking. Unsure of who she was addressing she clicked her heels together, standing to attention. "Agent Venus, reporting for service." She spoke firmly, her voice showing no hint of nervousness.

 

[Ping Beifong]

"Six, including you." Gorg replied. "Not sure how many'll be back from yer first mission though." He chuckled gruffly, as if their deaths seemed amusing to him. And in a way, they did. Death was, after all, one of the great humors of life. He might have elaborated that to her, but others from her team started trickling in. The first was Xavian, a critter he'd grown up thinking was just an old wives tale, and the second was Venus, another sorry sucker duped into believing ISSAN was on her side.


"No food here Cal, but there was in the food court. Coulda eaten that had ya not been sulking under bridges. An' Agent Venus, welcome to yer new crew. Names Gorg, I'm yer overseer, or ya prefer the ISSAN approved term, I'm yer Representative. There'll be six of ya total, if they get their asses over 'ere."

 

[Mud Guppy]

Thomas stared at the clock and with very motion of the long hand his angst grew. His first mission. His first group. His life, so young, was over. Now, instead of being a lab rat, he was a minion "employed" by a multi-bizillionaire company that pretended to be but a humble helping hand when it was really a . . . a . . . insane cesspool of crazy people with severely overgrown god complexes. What was he going to do? He had to lie about everything so far and the lies would only have to continue and continue and of course they'd grow and grow and they were going to make him do horrible things and that just wasn't what he was supposed to do because he was made to be healer but they didn't know that because he had to lie because he didn't want anyone tinkering with his DNA and blood and he didn't want them to make others like him and he didn't want to know what happened to his siblings because he just couldn't handle the knowledge that he left them and he never came back for them and if they were still alive then they were here too and they were working for ISSAN and they'd hate him and they might expose him which be their right since he never came back for them because he was-is-a horrible coward and now he was to be consumed with horribleness and his soul was going to go black from the lying and the doing of horrible things and---


Oh shut up Thomas! You're going to hyperventilate. We've been through this. We will continue working on a way out, but you have to get out there before you get your first strike for not showing up! Aramus wasn't angry, or at least not very much so, but he was running out of patience.


Thomas swallowed hard, his throat very dry. I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry. I should have listened to you. I am so sorry. Tears welled up in his eyes again. Wincing with discomfort, the boy brushed them aside with his sleeve. His eyes, bright with their relatively new blue hue, were also red and swelled and sore. He'd been crying a lot since they'd caught him over a year ago. At first, the tears had been out of fear, then the tears were from pain. They didn't believe him about the syndicate at first. Nor did they believe he'd just hacked ISSAN by coincidence. And Thomas had to swallow months of pain before they accepted his lie.


Stop wallowing in your angst. This is your reality now. Lets just get this over with.


Swallowing a sob, Thomas dragged his bones into motion and started down the dimly lit corridors. His feet just barely left the ground with each step, making his shuffling steps sound like one continuous step, not unlike the sound of someone being dragged to a hanging tree.


Really child? Aramus asked dryly.


I'm sorry.


I know.


What if they ask me to kill someone?


Let me take over.


That'd still be like me killing them. I'd still be responsible.


You're assuming I would kill them.


No offense Aramus, but your moral code isn't quite as lengthy as mine.


Perhaps, but I am not of the mind to kill innocence without reason either.


Can't we just . . . I dunno, off ourselves now?


Give me a chance to save us, alright? If you start feeling that strong moral fiber of yours breaking, let me handle it, alright?


. . . . yea, ok Aramus. You've been so kind to me. Thank you. I really mean it.


I know.


Thomas' slithering shuffled slowed further as he reached to corridor before Hall 7.


It is unavoidable. It may be horrible, nightmarish or even perhaps pleasant, but it is unavoidable. Might as well get it over with on your own terms.


Yea, ok. My terms. Right.


Thomas pushed the door open and forced his back to straighten. He couldn't do much about his puffy, swollen eyes, but he forced a kind smile on his face and walked in with actual life in his step rather than the zombie shuffle he had about him before. It wouldn't do to burden them with his worries. They hadn't seen what he had. They might think ISSAN was the good guys and if ignorance wasn't bliss then Thomas didn't know what was. Besides, if he was to off himself soon, he wanted to be remembered as a happy, go lucky person or at least not bother anyone else with knowing otherwise.


"Hi! Good morning! We're not late yet, are we? I'm Thomas, nice to meet you all!" He saluted, waved, and bowed deeply, as he wasn't sure what was customary in their culture. But he didn't meet eyes with any of them. Not yet. He needed a few more moments to fortify his smile.

 

[Khryses]

Xhela stood silently as the other members of her team began to trickle in and the Representative's attention was drawn away from her. Her eyes nictitated as she examined the very tall humanoid with the red hair. He looked filthy though, ill-dressed and there was something strangely intent in the way he looked around at her. He seemed hungry as well, but Gorg was against the idea. Maybe there was something dangerous in the way he ate? In the big wide universe she'd met any number of strange creatures she would once have been confident could never, ever exist. She returned the gaze of his bright blue eyes for a few more moments, then her lids flickered and she turned away.


'Agent Venus' looked still more like the humanoid norms found all across the known universe; save for her fiery hair and the youth in her face she could almost be the image of Lalai from her last group. They had never been very close; they hadn't had the opportunity to, for Lalai had just disappeared between one mission and the next. Those were the early days of her time with her first group though; the others lasted longer until after a few decades it was just her and Lukas. Maybe she could do better with this group, this time? She missed having a family, even the kind of patched-together surrogate family ISSAN specialized in. Typically this would be about the time she would meet her Eric, whom she would end up at odds with for years until one of them melted within a floating cloud of purple dust.


Almost without volition, her eyes slid back across to the door and caught the arrival of the Thomas-being from his first moment in the room. She saw his back straighten and the smile spring onto his face and she saw his swollen eyes. There was something different about him; the way he switched from worry to cheer hinted at a talented liar, or deeper issues. Regardless, she had enjoyed many hours of thought on where she and Eric had gone wrong right back when they first met. She wouldn't make the same mistakes again if she could help it, and so she uncoiled from her reserve and stepped away from the table to greet him.


"Not quite late, Thomas; there are a couple of minutes before we're due to start." She bows, waves and salutes in return; a strange custom, but she's seen those that seemed odder. "I hight Xhela Na'vari, and you are respected. Have you found food in your time in this colony?"

 

[Cerberus13]

Alex forced himself up from his hard lumpy bed. He yawned hugely as he stretched before gaining his feet. He padded silently over to his closet and selected his usual set of clothes. He briefly considered jumping in the shower, but one glance at the time made him grimace. He was going to be late and there was certainly no time for the luxury of a hot shower. With speed, Alex dressed in his black pants, knee high leather black boots, and his white dress shirt. Once he had the shirt tucked in he donned his vest and his white leather gloves. Once that was done he inspected himself in the oval mirror that hung on the plain white wall which was practically the only thing in the room. His room would have been considered small except with only a bed, closet, and mirror, it appeared for larger than it actually was.


Alex quickly ran his gloved hands through his white hair to smooth out the bedhead. The action did nothing to elevate the general messiness of his hair, but he had long ago given up trying to tame it. He nodded his approval of his appearance before he grabbed his heavy cloak and departed the room.


He swung his cloak over his shoulders even though it was not cold. Alex knew he would be getting a new mission today which could lead to planetside and all the sunlight that came with it. But that was actually a much happier thought then what else awaited him in Hall 7. He was to meet his first crew today. There was so much emotion attached to that one word: crew. The idea of working as a team made him nauseous and a little shaky to boot. He hated the very thought of being responsible for others. His own mistakes were hard enough to live with.


He sighed as he stopped outside the door to Hall 7. Alex could hear conversation taking place inside the room but paid them no mind, for he was far too focused on not entering the room. He considered arguing his case with more passion this time but knew it was pointless. ISSAN would never let him go solo again, and he could hardly blame them after his enormous fuck up. It was actually amazing that they had let him live. He wondered briefly if he considered that a good thing or not.


Just get this over with, Alex thought irritably as he stepped inside Hall 7, his cloak flowing behind him. His silver eyes took in the molted crew and their surging hot blood. This was going to be a very trying time.


“Alex Walker reporting in,” Alex stated in a clear voice that carried.

 

[Daboss]

Cal Xavian wanted very much to hurt the pompous old bag for his ignorant reprimand and for a moment entertained amusement in the thought of eating him, rather then whatever half-rotten pickled substance waited in the kitchens.


Though, in all honesty, the old man probably wouldn't be much of an improvement. I've eaten worse. He thought to himself as he looked Gorg up and down.


But the thought came and left with very little outside reaction save for a quirk of his lip. His eyes flicked back briefly to the bizarre female but as she looked away so did he, dropping himself into one of the swivel chairs by the table. Resting his head on the back of the chair he closed his eyes and waited for the meeting to begin; no doubt there was already a mission on hand. Even so, Cal Xavian felt strangely indifferent to it all.


Through the closed door and down the corridors outside, the footsteps of others coming closer rang distantly in his unusual ears, largely hidden from sight in the shoulder length of his hair. One set of footsteps sounded close and yet another farther, perhaps just entering the building. He paid the sound little attention, inhabitually focusing more on the thought of food. And indeed, as they came in and introduced themselves (something he realized he hadn't done, but also did not care to correct), the galdrake did nothing but wait and listen, still overly preoccupied with thoughts of sustenance.

 

[Mud Guppy]

The room was vast. It was easy for the boy to settle his gaze on something just close enough to his group that he appeared to looking that them. Thomas didn't want to see them yet. Keeping his eyes unfocused, but his expression friendly, the boy tried to decide how to exist within this group and within the larger beast that was ISSAN. Would he make friends with them? Could he watch them murder? Could he watch them die? Could he stand idle as ISSAN took one of them away to torture or kill them? Should he talk to them as little as possible and lock himself away in some corner? He was just the medic. He didn't have to go with on each mission, did he? They might need him to hack so he'd be with the ship, wouldn't he? He never needed to know what they were actually doing, right? Could he look away when they came back in perfect health, but covered in blood?


"Not quite late, Thomas; there are a couple of minutes before we're due to start."


Thomas blinked, his eyes automatically focusing on the source of the voice. Humanoid mixed with Flora. Exact species unknown. Glows--possibly charged with some kind of energy or retains reflected light.


The boy watched her as she bowed, waved and saluted--his greeting reflected back at him. "I hight Xhela Na'vari, and you are respected. Have you found food in your time in this colony?"


Thomas chuckled softly at her greeting, even as his mind noted more about her. Friendly. Confident. Not her first job for ISSAN. Her question about food was . . . odd. Did he appear starved?


You always look starved Thomas.


Oh. Do I? I guess I never noticed.


"Thank you, may I call you Xhela? I have found food within the colony. It's very healthy." It wasn't a lie and was perhaps the nicest thing he could say about the colony food. Enriched with every mineral and protein, the food was at least healthy even if it tasted like what he imagined socks to taste like.


I'm surprised you've eaten enough of it to remember it's taste.


Yea, well, maybe I'd eat more if they'd accept that I'm vegetarian.


You are part canine, remember? They feed you what you need.


Not having this argument again.


The door opened behind him, saving him from Arymus' response.


“Alex Walker reporting in.”


Again, the boy's body responded automatically as he turned to look at the new comer. Humanoid. Not meeting eyes with anyone--doesn't want to be here. Time with ISSAN unknown. Thomas' eyes narrowed curiously on other boy as with each step Alex took warmth slipped away from his own body. There were very few species that had that effect; still five popped into his mind along with other variables for the change in temperature. Could be something on his person as well.

 

[Ping Beifong]

As the little minions engaged themselves with each other, Gorg looked again to his ancient time piece. With seconds left, he decided he'd had enough of their fake little greetings. "Times up. Isaac's late. Yer first mission ain't gonna be a hard one, so don't yer dare fuck it up." His orange eyes narrowed and somehow bulged slightly beyond their sockets as he took a moment to glare at each one of them, "For years now ISSAN has been monitoring the planet Yuk-Tzu. Don't be surprised if ya ain't heard of. The war hasn't touched. The war can't touch it--damn thing is livin' just as we are, and every time a ship goes planetside these tentacle things pop outta the planet and swallow the ship. Yuk-Tzu don't seem to mind other, non-flyin' types of things on it though, since its got dozens of species on it. But they're kept dumb by the planet. Every time they try to make a flying vessel, Yuk-Tzu gobbles it up. Least that's what we . . . . "gathered" from the natives."


Gorg paused, scanning the group again, though this time his eyes stayed nicely in their sockets. "Years back ISSAN placed a few hundred data pods Yuk-Tzu an' 'bout six months ago a team was sent to get 'em. Well, they got 'em. Last transmission we got from them said they was on their way out but they never made it off the planet. That's where you lot come in. You're going planetside to get the data an', if the other team is still alive, bring 'em back. Any questions?"

 

[Cerberus13]

Alex frowned as he considered the crew member who was missing. What would that mean for the mission? Would that stale the mission? Perhaps the late comer would meet them later. IF he had known that was possible he too would have been late. He shook the thought out of his mind, it was far too late for such thoughts now.


Alex couldn't stop his eyebrows from going up as the details of the mission unfolded. It sounded difficult if not impossible to him and yet, this elder seemed to think it would be easy. Surely he was missing a vital detail. ISSAN must have found a way around the problem of the ship eating planet. Or perhaps they assumed this team was capable of handling such an obstacle. Surely ISSAN was not relying on him to battle an entire planet, so then maybe one of the other members of this crew was dangerous enough to take on Yuk-Tzu. That was an interesting and scary thought. Alex turned his gaze to the other members of the team. All of them were humanoid in shape and none looked threatening enough to fight off a planet's attack. Don't judge a holo by its cover, Alex reminded himself. There was no telling what this crew was capable of.


"I assume the mission includes a ship that is capable of leaving the planet?" Alex asked to try to clear up his confusion. He rather hoped that was the case for he didn't relish the idea of taking on an entire planet.

 

[Daboss]

Cal Xavian gazed lazily at Gorg *what the hell kind of name is that anyway?* as he doled out the details of their assignment. It was annoying how the grizzled old bag acted like he knew something more then everyone else, which he most likely did. Irritating nonetheless. Scoffing slightly as he finished, he let his head set back lightly against the chair. *Guess they're taking it easy on the new guys.* Glancing at the young man who spoke up, he aloofly pondered if he was as gay as he looked. It was that or he was fresh off the stage of Phantom of the Opera. Whatever the case, the kid had at least one doubt....the origin of which amused Cal Xavian considerably. Typically, enemies of great size didn't much phase him-- on the contrary, he very much looked forward to such inclusions.


It had been a long long time since he broke free of this weak, artificial skin.


"If it did, don't think the last guys would be in the situation they are in now." He said, looking at Gorg. "Why are you even bothering to go get them? Seems to me it would be easier to leave them."

 

[Allcure]

Venus stood there looking stoic, off to the side but still at attention. The mission sounded easy enough, all that remained was solving the problem of leaving the planet. Letting her thoughts wander she searched for any solution, a few coming to mind but none she would risk her life with. Instead she looked to her new team, listening to them as they voiced her own questions. Despite the threat of facing an entire planet, Venus was excited rather than nervous. One more thing to add to the resume. She looked towards Cal as he spoke up, questioning the necessity of the mission.


"If Issan is willing to sent a team of highly trained agents to retrieve the data than it must be important, besides 'asking why' is above our pay grade." She reminded the man, er tone flat and factual.

 

[Ping Beifong]

"She's got a point." Gorg spat out at Xavian. "You ain't gotta know that. You could learn a lot from her." His pupil-less eyes shifted to Alex. "You'll be dropped onto the planet in small pods. Once you hit the ground, get your mission done and Xavian will get all of you, including the other team if they are alive, back to the vessel." The stout old man paused and looked again to Xavian. "You do not have clearance to transform at any other point during the mission."


Glancing back to his watch, the man half growled then continued, "Looks like you're a team member short. Your pods will land within a mile of the last team's camp. Keep together, get the data and find out what happened to the other team. If they're alive, bring 'em back. If they're dead, bring what bits you can find of them so we can bury 'em proper. All of you will have the standard issued communicators." He reached into his vest and pulled out a small, silver case. "Grab a set an' pass 'em on." He said, and tossed them to Xavian first.


The ISSAN standard communicators were small stud-like earrings pierced into both of their ears. They could be activated by pressing the specified button their ISSAN standard watch (which was also a compass and informed the wearer if the air was safe to breathe) or voice activated by saying a key word each each ISSAN member made up on their own. As ISSAN was keen to remain anonymous, no two watches or ear sets were identical and it was impossible to hack into their frequency.

 

[Mud Guppy]

Thomas listened and wondered if he dared to believe that ISSAN was actually concerned for the lost team. They wanted to bury them, right?


They want proof that they're dead. Don't be so naive Thomas. Don't place your faith in the company. And do try to read behind the lines. You are being sent to retrieve the other team; hurt, half-dead or, worse, unwilling.


Thomas swallowed hard as his eyes skimmed over his new team. Do they know that? Are they all ok with that?


They had about as much choice as you do. Still, not all of them are newbies. Perhaps they do this often and get a thrill from it.


Don't say that. That's horrible.


They don't know what we do. Most of them probably think they're greatest hero around. You thought it yourself; ignorance is bliss and there is plenty of that going around here. Beyond that, little treasure, your opinion of "horrible" is more encompassing than most. The company tells all their sycophantics that they do evil for the greater good.


No. No no no no no! Some evil is beyond any good that may come out of it! ISSAN doesn't see that! What they did to him was . . . nonredeemable. Nothing good can come from that evil.


The quiet in his mind assured Thomas that he was right.


The boy looked over his team once again and wondered how many of them had crossed that line too. How many would cross it while he was amidst them? Would he himself cross over? Or would he have the will power to kill himself first? Or let Aramus take over?


Just remember that if you do kill yourself, you're making yourself a murderer anyway. I am alive. If you take your life, then you take mine as well.


I know. I know. Can you promise me that you will not kill anyone though?


Oh, I see. So you think killing me is for the greater good? ISSAN has already weeded its way into your weak little mind boy. Already they've got you thinking about that evil you can do for the greater good.


NO!! That's not it . . . Thomas winced visibly and stared down at his feet. His shoulders suddenly tense and hands balled up at his sides. I'm sorry! Ok?! I'm sorry! I don't want to be responsible some someone's death? I know, I know you have a life too! I know it! But this is my body! I would be just as guilty as you if someone died by your hands--MY hands!! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I don't know, ok?! I don't know what's right, I don't know what's wrong . . . I'm so sorry . . .

 

[Daboss]

A distinctly annoyed smolder in his blue eyes, Cal Xavian's gaze rolled to the red-headed little miss "yea I think I'm all that" and back to their vexatious handler, who took the opportunity to inform him what exactly his 'clearance' permitted him during his mission. Is it just me, or is the little bastard trying to piss me off? He felt the sting of his once monstrous temper stab up into his throat, making him want to spit insults at the very least. But he washed all that down with a dry swallow, forcing his gaze to become distracted-- to wander away from the pest known as Gorg. The boy who had introduced himself as Tomas seemed distressed suddenly, though in reaction to what was unclear to the galdrake. Perhaps he was upset about the fate of the last team...? Surely, ISSAN did not employ such sensitive souls in their shinning ranks of silent killers and cold hearts. Uninterested in the emotional lad, his fettered attention slipped back briefly to the female who gave him the little lecture about asking questions. What the hell was her deal? Cal Xavian found her obvious disdain for disobedience in the team a little... interesting. Of course, he had not bothered to read the file concerning his teammates that was no doubt sitting abandoned in his apartment, along with his sabers and clean clothes.


*God damn it I am getting hungry.*


As Gorg tossed him the silver case, he caught it effortlessly in one hand and slammed it on the table, enjoying the startling sound it produced. Pinching the latch between two black claws, it flipped open and he removed one set of the comm devices and pushed the box cross-wise to the other side of the table where Tomas, Venus and Alex were standing.


Of course they were earrings. ISSAN likes to dress up their dolls whenever reasonably allowable.


The corner of his mouth pulled up in a sarcastic grin as he stood up, quickly jabbing the earrings into the tiny holes in either ear-- the process of which pulled his flush-laying ears from the concealment of his messy hair; very long and shaped somewhat like the auditors of a rabbit, towards the ends they were plated with shiny blood-red scales.


Finishing that, he looked down his nose on the significantly shorter Gorg with an unconcealed air of supremacy and resentment, though if one knew Cal long enough, they might think it was just the way he naturally appeared. And of course, his intimidating height did more then half the work. "If we are done here, I have to go to my apartment and collect a few things before we leave." He said.

 

[Mud Guppy]

Tomas silently braced himself as he forced himself to look at the other team members. He didn't want to know them, didn't want to get attached to them, didn't want to imagine them doing horrible things in ISSAN's name. But obviously he wasn't going to get much to go his way at this point. With a friendly smile, his eyes first landed on the girl whom spoke as if she were quite experienced with ISSAN. And seemed to approve of them as well. She looked very humanoid. Long red hair, tiny build, but obviously skilled with what few weapons he would see on her. Tomas was sure there was more to her than that. She was just too small and too confident. His observations lasted but a moment, then he nodded to her and moved on to the most obviously unhappy member of their team. And his heart faltered.


It's not him.


It's not . . . yeah, of course not. You're right. I just . . .


I know.


The little boy's smile almost failed him, but he caught it just in time and nodded to Cal Xavian as the earrings were shoved towards him. Tomas took his eyes off the taller man and picked out his own communicators. They were little yellow studs with smiley faces on them. Cal Xavian was humanoid-ish. His massive ears left Tomas a bit perplexed as to his species since the man obviously had a massive secondary form . . . or perhaps this was his secondary form? Either way, there were about a dozen possible species. The man was about as happy to be there as Thomas, but seemed to have no reason to hide his misery. What were they holding against him? Family, friends, or perhaps a lover?


Whatever his story was, the boy had to get it through to himself that despite their similarities, Cal Xavier was not him. His friend was . . . no longer on missions for ISSAN. Although, by the way Xavian was acting, he might share his story before too long.

 

[Cerberus13]

Alex's lips thinned with every word the elder spoke. The whole mission would fail or succeed by the acts of this redhead, and so far what Alex had witnessed of his actions, the mission was sure to fail. He would be stuck on this planet a very long time. Surely, Gorg saw this too? No, Gorg looked far too amused to care about something as trivial as the safety of this newly formed team. The elder would let this play out, however, fate decreed.


But that left him in a very hard spot: relying on others--worse, relying on the 'I don't care' redhead. This whole mission was going to be a mess. Furthermore, it was far too clear that his other team members were clearly not over joyed at the idea of uniting. Perhaps they were all used to working alone? If so, then this was going to get really ugly. Though, that wasn't really likely after all ISANN wasn't that careless with its pawns. So, some of them had to have worked with other teams; which meant they were the sole survivors of their last teams.


Alex sighed as he bit back all of his complaints, and reached for one of the sets of earrings. Once they were in place he turned back to Gorg, who he was liking less and less.


"When shall we report to our ship to began our mission?"

 

[whitefoxkiller]

Gota slowly opened his eyes up to his highly decorated apartment and breathed in deep. He had been meditating and praying to gather his thoughts and to prepare his body for the new team that he was sure to be assigned to soon. He unfolded his legs and stood up slowly, blowing out the incense he had lit as a tribute to Akivie, the Goddess of change. Gota had managed to make his room look very much like the one at home. He hung tapestries and traditional rugs up on the wall, he took out the bed, put in a sleeping mat and covered the light fixtures with red cloth to make the room darker and more accommodating to meditation and prayer. All the sudden there was a flood of fluorescent light coming from the door. An agent appeared there and said, "you've been reassigned and you're being sent out immediately, report to Hall 7 in one minute." After that, he left quickly and the light ceased as the door closed. Gota whispered profanities under his breath as he quickly put on a traditional Hakan robe made from chameleon fabric and over that he fastened the armor ISSAN had given him that protected the areas of his body that weren’t covered in the tough plates. With that, he ran off in the direction of Hall 7. He was shocked that they would give him so little warning.


As he ran he cursed the hindering armor ISSAN had given him. They recently found out that all Gota had been covering himself with was his robe and some leather armor the shamaan of his tribe had made for him, and they did not like that. They said that his armor would not protect him and that if he wanted to wear armor he should wear something they made him. Being eager to please, Gota gladly took their armor made of unnatural plastics and metals and stored his leather armor away. He was now regretting that he had not tested this armor, because it caused him to have to run much slower than he was capable of.


He reached Hall 7 and, taking a look around, was delighted at the diversity of individuals he would be working with. He took this as a learning experience, a chance to learn the weak points of another species so that just in case he was eventually told to kill one, he would know right where to strike.


“I apologize profusely for my tardiness, I was just recently made aware of my participation in this group. I hope you can forgive me.” He explained, bowing to the old man in the back, who was obviously the leader with the way everyone was centered toward him. He found it odd that a man would be the most superior in the room. Although he knew and had experienced many cultures where the men and women were equal in power or in fact the men were more powerful, it still made him feel slightly uncomfortable. He scanned the room for any reaction to what he had said. Gota reminded himself that because he had not yet, he would have to pray to the Goddess of work on the ship to the mission. He hoped his new team would not react adversely to him praying as it was not something that Gota would ever stop doing.

 

[Ping Beifong]

The double doors, archaic in their existence here, swung sharply open again just as Gota finished his introductions. Beyond them, a four legged beast waltzed into the room with his owl-like gaze intent on Gorg. "My apologies, Master Gorg, but there have been a few last minute changes to your team. Issac has been reassigned. Likewise, we believe Xhela's skill are better suited to another mission that has just became available." With an barn owl's face and neck and a red fox's body, the creature was clearly some sort of chimera.


Gorg, who had been all too eager to release the team, frowned at the fox-creature-thing and looked to Gota. "An' I suppose this guy's her replacement? Wasn't she hand picked fer this mission with 'er plant smarts an' whatnot? What can 'e do that'll help? Don't look like 'e got a bit a green in 'im."


"His skills will suffice nicely." The creature stated coldly, daring Gorg to argue his point further. Alas, Gorg knew the beast was far above his own level. Apparently, it was so high up there that it didn't even see the point in simple introductions! Not that Gorg really cared what the bastard's name was . . . It was mostly just very rude.


"Righ', take 'er away then." He looked sharply to Xhela and nodded.


Xhela, for her part, needed no assurances from Gorg. Turning to group, she bowed, "Perhaps we shall team up again later." Her eyes landed once more on Tomas and, before she turned to follow the fox, she waved her farewell to the strange boy.


Gorg watched the two leave, then turned his orange glare to the "new kid." "Righ', Gota, how much do ya know 'bout yer mission?"

 

[Daboss]

Xavian darkened (if it was possible to get much darker), snarling as Gorg ignored not only his inquiry but also his...soul, as some lover of drama somewhere would put it. Though in all honesty, his own kind used the word "soul" quite commonly in reference to those times when a drake displayed his power over another; in his current circle of company, the term was merely descriptive of 'emo'. Infantile. Dramatic.


Even so, there wasn't much time to react to the slight (undoubtedly a blessing) as the meeting was promptly interrupted by some form of talking hacked-up critter. The new arrangement seemed a mite unprofessional of ISSAN to the galdrake, never mind strange in its last-minute nature. Usually, the elite company had it's shit together a little better then this. Indeed, most often ISSAN had it's shit together on such a level as to make whole pretty little cities with all their shit. Complete with senior centers and bridal stores and schools for the children.


*Some dumbass upstairs screwed up.* Came the obvious conclusion.


As the other human-looking male finished his brief apology and the bizarre woman left, he leaned against the table and crossed his arms with an obnoxious sigh as he leveled his clearly annoyed and blatant glare back on Ugly, assuming but not particularly hopeful that this delay wasn't a trend-setter.