[Aureus, Pyracan] – Brainjacked Bomber

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    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~( Pyracan )~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
    Sionnach Pyracan 08:10 PM
    In Character Aureus Landing Pad 21 September 2650
    Nestled into the side of a lushly green dormant volcano, this half mile long by 1000 feet deep landing pad seems to be made of a blood-red plascrete. Enormous chunks of undyed (and anti-microbial) plascrete litters the side of the 45 degree slope around the pad like bald spots in the otherwise verdant landscape. Below and to the southeast, several more of these enormous chunks mingle amidst a modern skyline of skyscrapers squeezed between the base of the volcano and the beach. Many of the skyscrapers are near the height of the landing pad, and the tops of several of them are decorated in lush gardens. Small glimpses of the deep blue sea can be seen between skyscrapers. Above and to the southeast, what looks like a medieval keep bristles dull gray turrets across the lip of the volcano’s cone, with relatively modern-looking additions attempting to mimic these stony facades. Above and to the south, expensive, modern homes cluster at the edge of the cliff. Towards the east, an intricately-carved green and white marble spaceport is half-buried in the side of the volcano.
    This room can be tagged. See +tag/help for commands.
    Shuttlecraft Puddle Jumper Console
    Eiru Puddle Jumper Docking Registry
    Cargo Terminal 1 PY Settlement Node

    <SP> Spaceport
    Type +shuttle/hire to hire a shuttle from this location.

    A Makhaira fighter is parked on a side of the landing pad and Sionnach is up on a ladder, polishing the sleek craft carefully.

    Maxwell is just strolling along casually. Must be a slow day.

    Apparently it is a slow day for the fighter pilot as well. No bad guys to gun down or do a barrel roll against. The Pyracani continues polishing the fighter craft, his ears laid back in boredome.

    Apparently it is a slow day for the fighter pilot as well. No bad guys to gun down or do a barrel roll against. The Pyracani continues polishing the fighter craft, his ears laid back in boredom.

    Slow days are made for whistling poinltess tunes. So the physicist does. Not particularly well, but a whistle none the less.

    A broad-shouldered humanoid, broad-shouldered, dark-haired, and pale – possibly an Ungstiri, steps off the shuttlecraft, along with a dozen or so other other folks. They herd along towards the customs center, taking out IDs and preparing their bags to be inspected as they go. The man carries only a nearly empty-looking backpack over his shoulder.

    This is of no interest to the fighter-polishing Pyracani. The whistling gets his attention though and his ears turn towards it, followed by his head. Spotting the diminuitive physicist, he leans back from his ladder to toss a wave to the human. “Hey!” he calls out, “If it isn’t the master fireeater!” He grins toothily.

    Maxwell pauses his whistling for a bit “Well, everyone needs a hobby.”

    The Ungstiri, or so he appears to be, seems to be the only one not getting ready for the immigration counter, and just stares into space, his face unnaturally blank. A married couple runs herd on their three children, Dad doing his best to keep the young ones contained while Mom handles the business with the immigration official.

    Sionnach chuckles, nodding as he clambers down the ladder. “True enough,” he says, giving the man an enthusiastic nod of greeting, crossing one arm across his chest in some sort of salute. “I probably should get one myself,” he adds, laughing, “You told the tall guy you are called Maxwell Cooke, right? Reub Meuc Sionnach, Pyracani Navy.”

    Maxwell chuckles, not really noticing the famaily shenanigans at customs “Well, generally they’re a good thing to have. But yes, that is who I am. Used to work out of Earth… back when we couldn’t really get out of our own system… then I wound up here one day… much later.”

    Behind Maxwell, the family are just leaving the immigration counter, both parents and the children they herd forward clad for a late summer vacation, colorful short-sleeve shirts and comfortable shorts almost a uniform for the family.

    “Identification, please,” the bored Immigration officer says to the Ungstiri as he steps up to the counter. No response. The Pyracani officer frowns and looks up, annoyed, “Identification, sir?”

    The Ungstiri just stares at the caninoid for a moment, until his face finally contorts in anger and he pulls open his jacket to show a vest wired with explosives. “Die, Scaleface! Death to the Oppressors!” he shrieks out in an unnaturally strange pitch, holding up his hand with an obvious detonator switch in it.

    “Yeah, we were in a similar situation not too long ag…..” Sionnach’s eyes widen as they look just over Maxwell’s head to see what is happening. “GET DOWN!” he yells in the scientist’s face as his hand snaps down to the pulse pistol at his hip. His motion is a blur, not even visible to the human eye and the pistol almost leaps out of the specially modified holster as the fighter pilot tries to line up a shot, just as law enforcement agents all over the landing pad also attempt.

    He may have some talent for running down petty thieves, but lacking even the most basic law enforcement training or armaments, the youngish physics geek does as yelled at, and hits the dirt. Doing equations at a suicide bomber is unlikely to be of much help, after all.

    A pulse bolt sears the air over Maxwell’s head as he drops to the ground, zipping across the landing pad towards the walking, screaming bomb. The surprised immigration officer finally gets his own pistol free of its holster. The family ahead of the Ungstiri turn, their eyes widening in horror. Dad lifts up two of the closest kids and hurls them towards a nearby counter while Mom drops on the ground over the top of the nearest and smallest of her brood.

    Sionnach’s pulse bolt is the first to reach the edge of the explosion that tears through the immigration counter like so much tissue paper. Several other bolts and projectiles disappear within it as well, as bodies fly up and away in a burst of conflagration. By the time the wave front of the explosion has reached Max and Sionnach, the flames have dissipated, but the sphere of force still knocks the standing pilot backwards into his fighter craft, a few minor punctures and scratches from flying shrapnel.

    Maxwell winces a fair bit as the explosion passes over, and looks up tentatively when it’s gone. “Ugh…” There’s a bit of crawling over to the pilot’s landing area. “Hey… you alright?”

    Sirens and alarms blare as the smoke and dust fill the air like a fog. The glow of fire can be seen close to the epicenter of the blast, from whence the reek of burning wire and meat begins to waft. The screams and cries of the injured and the terrified begin to rise above the other noise as chaos begins to ensue.

    Sionnach grunts in response to the humanoid’s query, growling a bit before he nods. “Yeah,” he manages breathlessly, “Just got the wind knocked out of me.” He winces as he begins to struggle to a standing position. “That Rkoh Juto,” he hisses, trying to see some sign of … well anything through the ‘fog of war’ with which the starport has been enveloped.

    Maxwell carefully gets himself back to a standing position “Thought this was supposed to be a peaceful place…”

    The fog begins to clear a little, revealing running people, some in uniform, some not. Charred bits clothing fur have begun to fall from the sky, while the burnt forms they once clad litter the ground near wrecked immigration counter. Some of those forms are actually standing, milling as if dazed, as moans and screams rise from their throats. A tiny, blackened humanoid crawls out from underneath of those which lies still on the ground, too stunned to cry out. EMTs and paramedics scramble to triage and treat the living as quickly and efficiently as they can in the chaos, while the numbing sounds of sirens fill the space.

    Sionnach’s ears perk up as a voice sounds from his fighter cockpit above. “As much as a planet of warriors can be,” the Pyracani replies, retrieving his dropped pistol and putting it back in its holster, “It was. They’re scrambling our fighters to keep any shuttles from landing for a bit. I had better get up top. They’re likely to want to ask you a few questions, so I don’t suggest trying to go anywhere until someone talks to you, ok?” He begins to immediately climb the ladder towards the cockpit.

    Maxwell smirks “Little too dazed to make a speedy escape without a rift.”

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