He wakes up in a snowy, cold tundra. All he sees is a dull, distorted, gray sky with dancing snowflakes falling gracefully to the ground below.
It cakes around him, like a hard shell of ice. Sharp wind slices his torso, freezing whatever flurries dare melt on him. He is getting cold. Fast. The man tries to stand up but is only able to muster the idea, as his limp body will not cooperate with him. For now he lays there, basking in the frigid temps. A stabbing pain comes and goes, and he suddenly regains feeling in his chest and arms. He can feel the snow on his face, which probably isn’t good. He shouldn’t be exposed to this type of weather, not to this extent at least. His leather fingers glide across his exposed head, feeling what's there. Skin, “hair”, and for some reason blood. Fresh blood. There’s no memory of that ever happening… Or anything. Nothing. He has no memory. He only remembers how to walk, and move, and see, and really just basic human… Regardless, he doesn't know how he got here. Or where that blood came from. Or why there’s bits of plastic around his figure. All of a sudden he feels a sharp, almost cutting pain around his hip, which quickly goes away. He starts to feel his legs, and then his feet, and then the multitude of torn muscles and broken bones. He screams an asphyxiated cry, with the pain again going away with a stabbing feeling. No more torn muscles, no more broken bones. He sits up. He can see, in the distance, trees blanketed by gray snow. An almost endless amount of trees and rolling hills. He takes a look behind him and sees a plain, almost stone-like landscape that looks like floor tile. Wherever this man is, it certainly isn’t where he is supposed to be. Supposed to? He stands up and almost simultaneously lurches forward. The man puts his hands on his knees and heaves, expelling reddish-black ooze from his…? He tries to wipe off his mouth but is blocked by…leather? No, plastic. Hardened plastic. He stands up and feels around his head, sensing his flesh, but also a leather like coating that is almost rock-solid. He feels the wound leaking blood. Immediately a jolt of electricity yanks his hand away from the wound, an almost involuntary movement. Yellow tinged buildings labeled [HARDPOINT 5] and [HARDPOINT 2] creep closer to its eyes as the soldier patrols a city street. It spots a civilian… Gray snow continues to pelt the ground, now growing steadier and enveloping the human shaped crater. The man continues to feel his head, however his finger anxiously hovers above the wound. He probes it once more. Gunfire erupts from a building, spewing lead that moves faster than the speed of sound towards it. It’s hit in the chest and leg as they shuffle behind a stone wall. A slim cop in an orange-black uniform hustles a rocket launcher towards the corner of the barrier separating bullets from soldiers. They load a rocket in the back of the launcher and hoist it on their shoulder. As soon as the stream of metal ceases, the cop rounds the corner and fires off the projectile. Smoke floods the immediate vicinity, and he signals for everyone to advance. He removes his finger from the wound. Despite knowing he’s a person, he doesn’t actually know. Why? He looks at his hands. Or really gloves, because he doesn’t have “hands.” Or does he? Think! Think! The man slaps his head over and over, trying to jostle something about the past. The hunter chopper drones over the landscape, colored a solid gray due to the snowy weather system. He faces a red-eyed figure, who holds an iron bar. The red eyed figure enters the loading bay, where dozens of soldiers like itself are kneeled in harnesses. It watches as soldiers fall one-by-one into the gray abyss, with bright red parachutes faintly appearing under the fog. The red-eyed soldier unlatches one of the soldiers, then issues a deployment order. The chopper has begun to move a lot slower now. It mindlessly stands, responding involuntarily to the “Deploy and execute…” command. It begins to listlessly tumble down, faintly seeing his parachute rip off from his back. His head hurts. “I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE!” he garbles. The memories do not care. Nor did they… Before his face hits the ground, he sees a blurry, single eyed soldier swing a heavy bar at his head… Blackness, and endless void of nothing, with his shattered kevlar helmet being buried by snow… …Before he is woken by a gas motor, and someone exclaiming in disbelief.
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love me some lore former hgm, npu dvl (sentry), lvet co
It cakes around him, like a hard shell of ice. Sharp wind slices his torso, freezing whatever flurries dare melt on him. He is getting cold. Fast. The man tries to stand up but is only able to muster the idea, as his limp body will not cooperate with him. For now he lays there, basking in the frigid temps. A stabbing pain comes and goes, and he suddenly regains feeling in his chest and arms.
He can feel the snow on his face, which probably isn’t good. He shouldn’t be exposed to this type of weather, not to this extent at least. His leather fingers glide across his exposed head, feeling what's there. Skin, “hair”, and for some reason blood. Fresh blood. There’s no memory of that ever happening…
Or anything.
Nothing.
He has no memory. He only remembers how to walk, and move, and see, and really just basic human…
Regardless, he doesn't know how he got here. Or where that blood came from. Or why there’s bits of plastic around his figure. All of a sudden he feels a sharp, almost cutting pain around his hip, which quickly goes away. He starts to feel his legs, and then his feet, and then the multitude of torn muscles and broken bones. He screams an asphyxiated cry, with the pain again going away with a stabbing feeling. No more torn muscles, no more broken bones.
He sits up. He can see, in the distance, trees blanketed by gray snow. An almost endless amount of trees and rolling hills. He takes a look behind him and sees a plain, almost stone-like landscape that looks like floor tile. Wherever this man is, it certainly isn’t where he is supposed to be.
Supposed to?
He stands up and almost simultaneously lurches forward. The man puts his hands on his knees and heaves, expelling reddish-black ooze from his…?
He tries to wipe off his mouth but is blocked by…leather?
No, plastic. Hardened plastic. He stands up and feels around his head, sensing his flesh, but also a leather like coating that is almost rock-solid. He feels the wound leaking blood.
Immediately a jolt of electricity yanks his hand away from the wound, an almost involuntary movement.
Yellow tinged buildings labeled [HARDPOINT 5] and [HARDPOINT 2] creep closer to its eyes as the soldier patrols a city street. It spots a civilian…
Gray snow continues to pelt the ground, now growing steadier and enveloping the human shaped crater. The man continues to feel his head, however his finger anxiously hovers above the wound. He probes it once more.
Gunfire erupts from a building, spewing lead that moves faster than the speed of sound towards it. It’s hit in the chest and leg as they shuffle behind a stone wall. A slim cop in an orange-black uniform hustles a rocket launcher towards the corner of the barrier separating bullets from soldiers. They load a rocket in the back of the launcher and hoist it on their shoulder. As soon as the stream of metal ceases, the cop rounds the corner and fires off the projectile. Smoke floods the immediate vicinity, and he signals for everyone to advance.
He removes his finger from the wound.
Despite knowing he’s a person, he doesn’t actually know. Why?
He looks at his hands.
Or really gloves, because he doesn’t have “hands.”
Or does he?
Think! Think! The man slaps his head over and over, trying to jostle something about the past.
The hunter chopper drones over the landscape, colored a solid gray due to the snowy weather system.
He faces a red-eyed figure, who holds an iron bar.
The red eyed figure enters the loading bay, where dozens of soldiers like itself are kneeled in harnesses.
It watches as soldiers fall one-by-one into the gray abyss, with bright red parachutes faintly appearing under the fog.
The red-eyed soldier unlatches one of the soldiers, then issues a deployment order.
The chopper has begun to move a lot slower now.
It mindlessly stands, responding involuntarily to the “Deploy and execute…” command.
It begins to listlessly tumble down, faintly seeing his parachute rip off from his back. His head hurts.
“I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE!” he garbles.
The memories do not care.
Nor did they…
Before his face hits the ground, he sees a blurry, single eyed soldier swing a heavy bar at his head…
Blackness, and endless void of nothing, with his shattered kevlar helmet being buried by snow…
…Before he is woken by a gas motor, and someone exclaiming in disbelief.
former hgm, npu dvl (sentry), lvet co