Deltole III - Moon 1 - Core Complexion.Inc Warehouse
The powerful Navy Megathron has seen the end of many a threat to the Federation's security...
Colelie. Planet Six, high orbit. A massive, green warship navigates through the thick clouds of debris and his energy-shields effortlessly bounce back any scrap-metal and scorched, floating ship components in his way. Once out of the local area his ship accelerates to top-speed and leave the battlefield. It exits warp at the Deltole gate, and makes the jump. Soon after it docks with the only station in the local system. The one kilometer and eighty-three meters long vessel glides in to dock in a pre-arranged hanger, slotting neatly in besides another great beast, a standard civilian issue Megathron. Soon the Baiken powers down besides it's twin and the massive military-grade ship enters a state of rest, it's crew power her down and most of them disembark along with their captain.
Unlike the ship however, the captain can't rest. Rapid and shallow breaths display his agitated state. He exits the capsule and drop to his knees on the cat-walk. Still covered in ectoplasm his stomach aces for a bit, then involuntarily spasms; his dinner of four hours previous leaves him. With shaky hands and unsteady gaze he gets back up on his feet and makes his way to the showers as best he can. The water is warm. It washes off the cooling pod-go and brings a feeling of comfort to his body - a strange sensation when mixed with the icy dread and the sinking feeling he experience in his lower abdomen right now.
His hands are still shaking. He has killed countless people in the same manner as he did only minutes earlier, but never before has he slain Republic Military. Allies of the Federation are not the usual targets under his guns, but today was different. The sense of guilt is massive. He want's to cry, let the misery he feels out, gain some relief. He is alone, no-one will know. He suppresses it. Normally he always does. He has not shown weakness like this since his sister. This though changes his mind, and the shower takes longer than planned.
Exiting the showers he sits down on his couch, comfortable synthetic leather supporting his muscular and scantly-clad frame. The towel is still slung over his back, catching the remaining trickle of water from his pale, shoulder-long hair. After a few moments he turns to his neo-com and starts surfing the InterGalactic Summit. The news are breaking.
Plenty of shocked and bewildered faces discuss the recent events. Some are gloating. Some are happy to hear of this. The usual repulsive suspects, mostly. He makes a few replies, shares his opinion on some of his peers. Soon he find he must stop what he is doing and calm down, his responses to hard and angry for his liking. He takes a deliberately deep breath then lets it out slowly, while flexing the muscles in his hands, curling the fingers into fists and opening them again repeatedly to fight the annoying shaking. It works. His anger at the gloaters and the honorless turns into more hatred. He packs it down, suppress it and store it deep inside, as usual. There is a time and place for everything, and right now he needs to go over the recent events in an organized, controlled manner.
It has been a couple of hours. His hair is dry by now but the towel remains. The shaking to is subsiding, and so is the sinking feeling in his guts. After contemplating the events of the day and their possible consequences he has made his mind up. He will go through with his long-term plan after all. It seems the most logical and long-term beneficial move to make. Several things will need to be dealt with for that to happen though. He has to prepare. First of all, he will need sleep. He mutes his neo-com and disables all means of making contact with him and lie down in bed. Surprisingly, despite recent events he is calm enough to relax. Sleep comes faster than expected.
The next day he leave his bed late. Well rested, but behind schedule. In an hour he has prepared and loaded his possessions back aboard the civilian-issue warship. While piloting it back home the workers in his Deltole hanger enacts the changes he requested. They add an addition to his military-issue warship's name.
Never forget
07.05.115
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Topic: 07.05.115 (Read 706 times)