{Quest} Out to Pasture

Quest on a new board, where I might not have the time, energy, or motivation to continue shortly thereafter? Why the hell not. I've had a new idea kicking around anyway...

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You are twenty-seven years old.

Serial number Foxtrot-112-381-142. A Type-F made at Station 112, from the three hundred and eighty-first batch, personally numbered as the one hundred and forty-second one produced. You're not a hundred percent sure, but you think that you might be the last one from that batch still alive. Hell, according to official reports, of the Type-F's produced less than thirty percent survive their initial tour.

Too clever for their own good, they'd get themselves and their charges in over their heads too much. Some were smart enough to get themselves out. Most weren't.

You can still remember the crack the glass you were holding made when you read that the Type-F line was to be discontinued. Lucky one of your little ladies was on hand to patch you up afterward. You never told her what happened, and she never asked. But she was a clever little troop, and you had your suspicions that she was breaking into your personal comms for fun.

She took to holding you real tight for awhile after that.

It's an intriguing realization, knowing that you're about to become an endangered species. From a strategic and tactical standpoint, you agreed with your superiors reasoning. Type-F's just weren't as reliable as Type-C's or Type-D's. Hell, Type-E's were miles ahead of your kind when it came to keeping everybody alive.

But you managed to beat the odds, and keep most of your troops alive, even through hell. Both figurative and literal ones at that.

Even careful engineering for mental stability and regular counseling don't help with that sometimes. You're still alive. And a handful that haunt your dreams are not...

With practiced ease, you mentally push that thought back into it's box.

You're alive. And considering that you've done twenty-five years of service in the name of Peace and Justice, that's more accomplishment than most in your position can brag. As such, you are now entitled to the full benefits of a well deserved retirement. Quite honestly, you're still not sure what to make of that.

Since the War began, your kind have been produced as soldiers, healers, guides, and recruiters. You had a childhood of two years that was much training and education as it was playing around, before you were packed off to War with the promise that if you were a good soldier and survived long enough, you'd be looked after.

You survived long enough.

And now, in thanks for fighting the good fight, you get to have your own life.

To a point.

Being what you are, getting a job on most planets is kind of a pain in the ass. Clandestine op's means that most worlds never really know what your kind are, or even that people lived in the stars beyond their own. Sure, plenty of places at the Core are willing and able to hire, but that's the Core. The Capital. You've been there once or twice. It's not bad, sure. People are nice, respectful, and very much aware that a Type-F will generally themselves and the people under them killed.

It's a unique stench of pity, fear, mistrust, and a quiet loathing.

Not that they really know they're doing it. But they see, and make that inner judgement. If you're willing to strike up a conversation, to reach out to them, they'll realize you're not so bad. Most of the time.

But you can't say you like explaining yourself to everyone you meet.

So, since you would rather not be in the Core, that leaves a military job on one of the quieter parts of the frontier. A quiet intelligence op, in a place marked as 'Strategically Unimportant'. Essentially an observation post with a little make-work to give retired old vets like you some cash and a place to rest their old bones in.

Technically speaking though, you've got at least another sixty-years or so in you, if the factory warranty is anything to go by. You've served a third of your life, and now you get to live the rest as you wish. Theoretically.

Still, you'd best look over the file on the dirtball you'll probably be spending the rest of your life on. You've arrived to some surprises before, and aren't really in the mood to receive an IED as a welcome mat again.


[ ] Planet local name: Earth. Barely space-capable, but at least it's not as backwater as it could be.

[ ] Planet local name: Europa. There's a unique element here, but the Ragnite belongs to the people of this world, not your own.

[ ] Planet local name: ERROR. Huh, seems the data's been corrupted. Let's see what you can do to fix that... (Write in)

 

[X] Planet local name: Earth. Barely space-capable, but at least it's not as backwater as it could be.

 

[X] Planet local name: Europa. There's a unique element here, but the Ragnite belongs to the people of this world, not your own.

 

so uhh... What are we?

 

Something alive, that was mass produced to fight a war. Not merely as the soldiers, but the guides, teachers, recruiters, and healers.

As has been said, of the batch you were produced in, which incidentally had two hundred in it, you are most likely the last one alive. If you do the math, that station produced over 70,000 Type-F's. And that's just from before you were made. It produced many more batches before the Type-F was discontinued.

And that's just Station 112.

As for what you are, precisely, I'll sit on that for another update or two.

 

[X] Planet local name: Earth. Barely space-capable, but at least it's not as backwater as it could be.

 

[X] Planet local name: Earth. Barely space-capable, but at least it's not as backwater as it could be.

 

[X] Planet local name: Earth. Barely space-capable, but at least it's not as backwater as it could be.

.....

We're a Magical Girl Familiar, aren't we?

One of those cutesy looking creatures that convinces young girls into becoming MG's, then leading them into battle against our creators enemies.

Nifty.

 

[X] Planet local name: Earth. Barely space-capable, but at least it's not as backwater as it could be.

 

[X] Earth.

Sure, let's do this.

 

[X] Planet local name: Europa. There's a unique element here, but the Ragnite belongs to the people of this world, not your own.

Wait, was that Avatar? Or Valk Chron?

 

>Ragnite.

I can only hope that this strange element shines forth with multicolored light.

 

[X] Planet local name: Earth. Barely space-capable, but at least it's not as backwater as it could be.

 

[X] Planet local name: Earth. Barely space-capable, but at least it's not as backwater as it could be.

 

[X] Planet local name: Earth. Barely space-capable, but at least it's not as backwater as it could be.

 

[X] Planet local name: Earth. Barely space-capable, but at least it's not as backwater as it could be.

 

If we are a MG advisor please not Japan

 

[X] Planet local name: Earth. Barely space-capable, but at least it's not as backwater as it could be.

 

[X] Europa

Because if anything says fun like slaughtering the locals for their shinies, its getting paid to do so.

 

[X] Planet local name: Earth. Barely space-capable, but at least it's not as backwater as it could be.

 

[X] Planet local name: Europa. There's a unique element here, but the Ragnite belongs to the people of this world, not your own.

 

[X] Planet local name: Europa. There's a unique element here, but the Ragnite belongs to the people of this world, not your own.

 

Earth.

Fairly unremarkable, and of no real strategic relevance. You've never been there, and neither has the Enemy. Apart from the listening post, there's no facilities for your use there either.

Which suits you just fine.

Between your comms and the laughable security of the planet's own networks, you can effectively set up a ghost identity for yourself. The entertainment value of successfully passing yourself off as a human being when you don't even have thumbs most of the time can be variable, but in an age of information it's made more amusing by the fact that so many will rely on digital information.

During your month of transit, you undergo most of the necessities. An identity to operate with, personal property, and the all important local currency.

Honestly, it's that last bit which is most important. You have a well paying 'job', and quite the sum of back-pay, but all that's in UC. This being a planet without a legitimate connection to the Core, you can't go and spend all that UC there. Still, you're pretty sure you can work something out.

There's plenty of discreet jobs you could do.

[ ] Grave-keeping.

[ ] Consultation.

[ ] Park Manager.

[ ] Something else?

 

... All those are actually supernatural Am i right?

[X] Park Manager.

 

[X] Grave-keeping.

 

[X] Consultation.

 

[X] Consultation.

 

[X] Consultation.

 

[-] Shady Shopkeeper
[-] Cafe Owner!