S.H.I.E.L.D Helicarrier [CVnU: Mobile Location]

@nordok: Sure :-)

Getting a post in will be the simple part. Deciding on which alt to use is the real problem.

@isabelle_godwinne:

The intercomm buzzed to life in his personal quarters, interrupting his daily meditation. Though little remained of the Ephemeran known as Kallak, there were two daily rituals that had been with him since he was old enough to recall, the only things that truly tied him to his past: practicing his skill-at-arms, and meditating to maintain his arcane defenses. "Eviscitor, we have detected a massive energy surge in the vicinity of the planet. Preliminary reports are still being analyzed, but these energy readings may require your attention."

Without deigning to respond, the undead cyborg rose and brought the data up on his personal monitor. Ephemerans were not, as a rule, particularly comfortable with technology, but the fact that his body was now more technology than flesh had somewhat mitigated that bias. A quick glance at the readings was all he needed; these were far beyond anything something native to Earth would produce, and this warranted investigation. "Bridge, scramble a wing of Strikers. I want this anomaly investigated, and if it is a threat, destroyed."

Within moments, the hangars of the Demon's Fist opened and disgorged a dozen of the demonic-looking, automated fighters, and they sped towards the source of the strange energy readings.

@chaos_dragon: @isabelle_godwinne:

The calm, cerulean blue sky had been shattered by the exotic sight of the unfathomably large vessel which tore through the sky as though it simply didn't care, a hulking mass of indomitable adamantium rocketed through with illogical speeds. Most human's couldn't even tell if the vessel had entered the atmosphere, or was merely above it, for the fact it was so abnormally large. A Titan had been awoken, something not from this world had been sensed, something...Truly foreign. Unlike anything in a lifetime of millenniums, could Myrmidon finally greet one not from this world? Not from this universe?

It hadn't been a slow decision, instantaneously departing for the outlandish disturbance with the an intrigued mind, the Vespa Viper found himself gazing upon the mighty titan of a spacecraft, his face concealed by his crimson mask, the Viper of the Arcani Art's smirked, raising his arms as an unimaginable force of energy propelled him forwards, ignoring the Demon's Fist's troops as his almost unnoticeable, yet venomously deadly frame attempted to land upon the aircraft and attach via Force magnetism onto the top of the ship, swiftly removing a Blade of Division, and trying to cut a small, human-sized hole and drop inside...Paying the newcomers a visit. Being greeted by (one of) the oldest beings in the universe was quite the honor...Or curse.

@myrmidon_: @isabelle_godwinne: [I haven't fully fleshed out Striker stats, but think of them as the equivalent of Imperial TIE Fighters: dangerous in numbers, slightly quick and annoying, but not heavily armed (twin, forward-mounted plasma cannon) or armored, and not shielded. The Imperium considers them highly expendable.]

@chaos_dragon: [Awesome :D]

@john_stark: [I'm a big fan of hordes of minions that exist for no other reason than to get plowed through.] ;)

@chaos_dragon: We all need some good old fodder :P

@chaos_dragon: [I wasn't sure if they fired or not! Let me know if they did and I will edit with some selling :-) ]

The Ultimo-Pattern auger array hummed to life, bathing the system for AU's with its sensory field. Its machine spirit howled out a warning as the Strikers approached.

Isabelle commanded and her bridge-crew responded. Each soul a cog in a vast machine, like a great Swiss watch. "Raise the Voidshields. Bring us about, hard to port. Charge the Ryza batteries and put the gun-clans on high alert. Awake the logis engines and send its spirit song to the point defense clans. Tell them to open fire."

Thousands of Vulcan mega-bolter turrets adorned the adamantium hull. Gunclans lived and died within their confines; each trained from birth to operate the sacred machinery. They learned their sacred craft from their fathers and mothers and would pass it to their children in turn. Each counted themselves fortunate; to be born into a gunclan was to be born into honor and privilege beyond that of ninety nine percent of all Voidborn. Though they rarely raised a blade they were warrior clans through and through.

Flickering holograms projected logis-data onto their prey-scopes. Brows furred in concentration they battled each other for the honors that could only be attained by kill-counts and hit-ratios. A dozen heroes were born in flurries of precision fire and new legends were forged in heartbeats of fury.

A sea of mega-bolter fire poured into the void. The Vulkan mega-bolter was a titan class weapon; two tremendous Gatling bolters linked together in a single, rectangular barrel. One burst could shred a skyscraper. Prolonged fire brought down titans. Thousands fired at once, a rain of boltershells so thick the Blacksword appeared to grow a wing of molten fire.

@myrmidon_After cutting through nearly a dozen meters of adamantine he sawed into the ship itself. Atmosphere vented into the void and klaxons screamed as machine spirits identified a hull breach. Dozens of adamantine bulkheads slammed shut and dozens of compartments were filled with rapidly hardening foam; including his.

I'll wait for the location thread LOL.

@isabelle_godwinne:

Tirelessly cutting his way into the ship, he finally finished, dropping into the breach with a little thud as his Blade of Divison was placed back onto his belt, the Vespa Vanguard curiously peered around, the chaotic sound of alarms screeching overhead as he sighed, awaiting to be greeted...By foam? "Hm," The immortal grunted, breaking into a wild dash, and attempting to literally plow his way through the foam with the strength of a train bulldozing through a wooden house, and like magic, his hand was thrust out, trying to use his Metal Yoso and swish open one of the doors, retracting the door, and trying to slip through and escape the suffocating foam.

Damn the MHA pales to this at times -_-

@_stretch_: Feel free to drop in :-)

@_stretch_: Boo

@myrmidon_: You escape the foam.

@isabelle_godwinne: That's more or less good actually, I'll wreck having tomorrow, gotta go now lol

@isabelle_godwinne: [You're good. They hadn't fired yet, and there's not much their weapons can do to an adamatium hull. They'll fight until they're all destroyed, but they're mainly there to gather data].

It was now obvious that, wherever this unfamiliar vessel had originated, it was designed with battle in mind, even if it was not exclusively a warship. Gun batteries that littered the exterior roared to life, and half the Strikers were ripped apart in the first salvo, before their onboard AIs could effectively respond. The remaining six immediately went into evasive maneuvers, scattering in different directions. Strikers were not particularly durable ships, but they were sufficiently fast that they could be difficult to hit, even by a skilled targeting crew.

The Strikers returned fire, but their plasma cannons had no noticeable effect on the vessel. This was not entirely surprising; they were designed for intercepting other personal spacecraft; not bringing down capital ships. What was important, however, was the data they were transmitting back to the Fist, data on offensive capability, hull strength, and the like could prove to be invaluable, especially if this ship represented the vanguard of an approaching fleet.

@myrmidon_: Boo you, it was just a compliment :P

O_O

@chaos_dragon:

Static filled, monochromatic green holographic displays filled the air above the bridge. The auger arrays fed back line after line of data. Machine spirits recorded and analyzed and projected dozens of conclusions. The craft were not of a pattern known to the cogitator. They were likely Xenos or heretical in origin. Their delta-v was fed into the logis cogitator to amplify future targeting solutions.

"Cease fire." The blanket of bolter fire flickered away like a dragon running out of breath. Thousands of voidserfs and lobotomized servitors begin spraying water on pits half filled with red hot brass. They wore goggles and leather gloves as they hosted brass casings as big as a mans leg out of the ammo-pits and to carts, to be carried to the Munitorium and reloaded under the watchful eyes of a Tech-Priest.

"Refocus the augur. Track the survivor ships. Send out voidwalkers; I want auspex scans of the damage they did to our hull. Launch the Arguses and salvage as much of the debris as the crews can. Have the lighters anointed and send a priest with each crew; no one should risk their souls over this Xenos technology."

@isabelle_godwinne:

The enemy ship had ceased firing. It was possibly the precursor to some new attack, but even if Kallak's unbeating heart had any semblance of sentimentality in it, he would have spared none for a handful of automated snub ships. "Maintain evasive maneuvers. Concentrate your fire on potential weak points: engines, gun turrets, and hangars. Scan for energy fluctuations or areas of increased mechanical activity; that will likely be the origin point of their next attack." There was no sense in recalling the Strikers; the Fist was receiving their data well enough, and he did not wish to draw this mysterious vessel back to their position until he had a better idea of its capability.

@chaos_dragon:

"M'Lady their fuel seems inexhaustible. The augurs have also done all they could."

"A shame. Have the Magos investigate the cogitator data and report to me when he is finished. Oh- resume firing."

With those words the dragon roared again. Vulkan mega-bolter Gatling turrets whirled. Fire spewed from all sides of the Blacksword. Half emptied ammo-pits filled once more. Guncrews turned water hoses upon red hot components. Air sustainers groaned as they pumped gallons of residue polluted atmosphere out of massive firing chambers.

The Blacksword spit bolter fury in every direct, swatting at the lethal fighters which plagued it even as its adamantine surface was pelted by plasma and sparks flew from strikes upon unshielded components.

I see what you mean now this should be interesting to see play out.

@shadowswordmaster: Thanks. It should be fun :-)

@isabelle_godwinne Yeah it seems like it and reminds me that I need to get to work on my space character too.

@isabelle_godwinne: The battle, if it could be called that, was over. Despite the maneuverability advantage the Strikers enjoyed over the larger vessel, they simply couldn't inflict anything resembling substantial damage, and eventually each fell prey to the accurate fire of the capital ship. Kallak held up one gloved hand, belaying the launch of a second wave.

"That's enough. Have the technomages examine the data the Strikers were able to gather. I want active scanning of the entire planetary quadrant until I command otherwise, as well. If there are any more of these ships out there, I don't want to be taken by surprise. Make sure all cloaking shields are functioning at full capacity." With that, the Eviscitor turned and strode back to his quarters. The appearance of a vessel from an unknown civilization was something that needed to be reported to Infernus, and he trusted no others to make the report in his place.

Darn, actually, if I'd gotten back sooner....

@chaos_dragon: Punk.

@schlampe: Your old quarters are quite comfortable, by the way.

@isabelle_godwinne:

For once, the Director busied himself amongst his subordinates, utilizing every ounce of his intelligence to dissect the logistics gained from the Espada's armour, applying conclusions to his holographic notebook, and preparing for the ensuing battle they would face Avalon in. He didn't doubt that the company of playboy vigilantes would change tactics just as he had, but ensured he invested enough time into formulating counter-strategies that could prevent any eventualities. Asher Deadman was nothing if not pragmatic.

"Sir, if you would please consult your nearest projection screen."

His Deputy's voice came in over his communicator and he treated her as white noise for a few moments before complying, activating the screen with a simple voice command. An astounding image greeted him and evicted all attention regarding the work before him, the massive alien ship tearing throughout space garnering his focus instead. The scientists in the room immediately began to buzz with talk concerning the vessel's advanced technological exterior, but by then their commander had left. Director Deadman strode purposefully towards the main deck, speaking to his Deputy all the while.

"Yes sir, it entered our galaxy a few seconds ago. The notification would have arrived sooner, but it seems as though the aircraft is disrupting earth's communication frequencies."

"Not a surprise, considering an interstellar monster like that. We need to contact their leaders, discern intentions."

"No can do, sir. Even our satellites aren't packing enough juice to bypass the disruption and make it to the vessel. You'll have to - "

"I know. Prepare the TEL98. I'll be geared up in a few moments. Oh, and inform the President immediately. I don't want him to think we're holding out on him."

S.H.I.E.L.D's commander was ready in seconds, wrapped in his specialized violet armour, and resumed his march towards the main deck, passing by his laboratory in the process. His heart ached a little. He needed a nap.

Moments later he strode up a short set of stairs and joined his Deputy at the helm of Helicarrier 67, his reasonably thin frame just managing to wear the armour without looking ridiculous. Before him stood the TEL98, a teleportation device of sorts capable of putting a man on the far side of Mars. It was but a small circular platform in the floor, a very modest design created by the Director himself. Deadman stood at it's centre and clapped his hands twice so as to garner the attentions of every high ranking officer in the room, busied at their supercomputers. They turned and he faced them with a grave expression, almost dissatisfied.

"This is a Code GREEN. That means this takes priority. I want fluidity and communication, understand? Anybody that fails me today is fired and charged with treason. Keep that in mind."

He nodded at his Deputy and winked.

"I'm outtie."

He simply folded in on reality and popped up in space hundreds of thousands of miles away aboard the Navigator's deck, split-seconds before his pitch black environment was torn asunder by malicious gun-fire, an armada of interstellar aircraft obliterated within seconds by a cruel streak of red that refused any passage to the afterlife. There would only be non-existence. It had taken Deadman mere nanoseconds to transform into Amphetamines, the sheer pressure inflicted upon him as a result of the sudden alteration in atmospheric conditions an agony deserved by none. His armour possessed an inter-dimensional rebreather, and it sat across the bottom half of the Jade Giant's features in an unidentifiable sheen, like a second skin across and within his lungs. It was technological miracle at it's peak.

I suppose it's just you and I now, old friend. What say we take a look at what's inside of this bitch?

Remaining calm despite the internal beast tearing at the chains of patience and understanding, Amphetamines threw both palms at the surface of the vessel, hoping to breach it's epidermis before any defensive mechanisms met him, a handful of split-seconds having passed since he arrived atop the Navigator. He didn't doubt the possibility that at any second some otherworldly technology would jump out of the deck at him and start blowing chunks off of his skeletal structure, and quietly prepared himself for it, knowing that his alter-ego would be very unimpressed at the notion.

@amphetamines: Just to clarify; you are on the outside of the ship, smashing against the hull to attempt an access the area the navigator is in?

@isabelle_godwinne: Oh shit, I thought the ship was called the Navigator lmao. Nah he just landed at like, one quarter length of the way atop the ship, wherever that may be. And he's trying to break in yeah.

@the_devil_of_deicide: Hehee, no its called the Blacksword.

@isabelle_godwinne: That's on me >_> But yeah, the TEL98 popped him up at a rough estimation of somewhere close to the centre of the ship, so go crazy wittit.

@the_devil_of_deicide: Can do! I might not reply until later tonight; got some stuff going on, but it should be fun :-)

@isabelle_godwinne: All good. I might head off soon anyways.

@the_devil_of_deicide: I didn't forget you. A horde of barbaric relatives invaded my dominions ;-P

@isabelle_godwinne: Happens to the best of us ;)

The green monsters palms slapped into the adamantine hull of the Blacksword. Meter after meter of solid adamantine rang out with the unearthly power of the blow. Dozens of resting voidmen were hurled from their pallets. Supplies bounced off shelves and ration packs clattered. A shrine collapsed, the polished and engraved skulls of a dozen honored crewmen was buried under a pile of devotional trinkets, scented candles and offerings.

So powerful was the blow that an alarm flickered at the helmsmen's station upon the bridge. "M'Lady, portside impact. No atmospheric loss."

"Boarding party? Redirect the voidwalkers to the area when they finish their auspex scans and prepare to repel boarders."

Voxbeads screeched with orders inside void-suits of the party of workers walking the surface of the Blacksword. One by one they turned toward their new coordinates. Maglocking boots clanged silently in the void as step by cumbersome step carried them across the adamantine hull and toward the giant green beast.

LL makes me think...

I'm going back to studying; I'm feeling drastic need to improve drastically again.

@isabelle_godwinne: (Sorry for tha delay I've been out of it.)

Every sense heightened past human comprehension, even whilst indulging in his more temper based vices, the Green Machine Amphetamines detected the arrival of several presences, no doubt the aircraft's defence. He allowed himself one more slamming upon the ship before he turned towards them, his mountainous frame rising and falling with powerful breathing, the blood pumping throughout his limbs like a torrent of red fury supplementing each aspect of his physicality. He'd only intended on garnering the Blacksword's occupants attention, something he was now positive he had achieved, but upon seeing that the defenders possessed considerably nasty looking weapons, he doubted he'd be able to take it peacefully from here. Nonetheless, Amphetamines calmed himself a little, raising two palms up and, with a tremendous voice drenched in authority and fearlessness, said,

"Take me to your leader."

BREATHE!

Blows it outta the sky!

@arquitenens: I remember a time when I would demand you get in line for such a claim. I enjoyed this thread.

@the_mercenary: I remember when Mikpool would say "Aww!" pats head to me when I did that.

@arquitenens: I remember when Mikepool changed his named to the Assassin because of me. You want me to remember more? I can remember all day, buddy.

@the_mercenary: He'll always be Mikepool so long as the right people - my people - are around.

Actually I might be the last one of us right now.

wait is Deadman active again? or was this bumped for other reasons?

@lord_naru: Bitch, I might be.

cool, if so i welcome you back :)

Independence.

Once, there had been Helicarrier 67.

She'd boasted ridiculous proportions, floated atop the world like an omniscient mechanical structure, and often times decided to take naps. In the ground. At a trajectory of sometimes horrific speeds.

She had been home to thousands of S.H.I.E.L.D agents, their numbers an incredible set of statistics. Their proficiency? Collectively, even more so.

General Asher Heath Deadman had commandeered her to many a victory, both on and off-earth, in the air or on the ocean, from above or from within. For more than a decade, Helicarrier 67 had been the world's premier source of safety. Whether they knew it, or not. And now? Now she was gone. Dismembered. Stripped of her flesh. Recycled.

And in her absent seat, sat Jolene.

A substitute - smaller - yet so much more powerful. Stemming from the very beginnings of Deadman's career, Jolene had been an artificially intelligent computer designed to aid him in every endeavor without allowing the people he worked for to dirty his paperwork with their bloodied fingertips. Additionally, she had been, in some cases, an only companion.

Pathetic?.. Perhaps.

It had been more than a year since the disappearance of both S.H.I.E.L.D and her commander, the formidable, polarizing Amphetamines. A man with all the power in the world flowing through his wiry frame; a mutant with green blood, the universe's lock-picked Pandora's Box. A mastermind with physical capabilities to, occasionally, match.

Operatives had split up into other organisations, rejoined the military, retired, taken up golf, sat on their porches and moaned about the old days, married, had kids, become addicts, alcoholics, wife beaters... Some had even killed themselves, feeling little desire to live without the adrenaline rush that their days under 67's titanic ceilings had provided. Deadman had heard about this.

He had little to say. He felt even less.

Jolene was a new start for S.H.I.E.L.D. Investors from all over the globe had pooled their resources together, under Deadman's "wishes", and managed to create a base of operations as essential as Helicarrier 67, but without the liability of her bulk. It was, by all intents and purposes, manufactured to never exist. An aircraft designed to be undetectable, the perfect home for the world's premier Black Ops Division. Asher had even set this new sect of the organisation up independently, told by the UN that, should he manage to perform this impossible resurrection, he would be allowed to govern it by himself. They didn't want any blood on their hands. At least, not any more.

They had all been very easy to exploit. He hadn't been aware they possessed such deep pockets, either.

"Nothing more money hungry than a few closeted skeletons," He'd told himself in the mirror the morning of Jolene's completion, straightening his bowtie firmly with one pale hand, the other holding a briefcase containing the files of every new S.H.I.E.L.D operative he'd recruited. And some of others, like thee Champion's offspring, the Azure Son. An affiliate. An asset. An agent.

Nobody knew they were back yet.

The General walked out onto the massive airstrip and past a small army of operatives without glancing at them, his exquisitely tailored baby blue suit a harsh contrast to what sat beneath the layers of clothing, the rounded spectacles centimeters from his retina equally as misleading. Finally, he came to a stop upon a grounded silver platform, which, after an imperceptible nod, rose into the air and up until it entered the Jolene's hull.

The return of a Deadman.