Early April, 2320
Yasny System, Kitezh, Chekhovsk: planetary capital, one day after landfall
It was hard to tell if it was morning, or noon, as snowfall shrouded the entire city in a bright white blanket. The core towers of the city loomed in the distance, tall and thing giants holding a thousand hands together.
Billhook gazed at one screen on the interior of his armored shuttle as it rolled forward, a false window that displayed the outside surroundings, buildings blanketed by this planet's frozen, powdery H20. He knew that the heat pipes snaking beneath the industrial rooftops were working nonstop, melting away the weight accumulating on top of them, the slight slants of the roofs guiding the melted water down into storage containers to be used for food, industry, and portable energy. It was primitive technology, developed two or three centuries ago, but like the human spirit, it was timeless, dependable, necessary for survival.
The armored shuttle too, took up an archaic design, resembling the first tanks developed during the "Great War to End All Wars" on the European continent of Earth. Boxy treads that flanked a metal box with angled armor plating, covered in sensors and communication equipment. Most of the time the shuttle was controlled electronically, its viewports shuttered, cameras providing all the visuals they needed, but when shit hit the fan, the eyeball Mark I was always given easy access to the outside world. They took pride in their analog methods.
The task force's leader checked his watch. Two minutes. He tapped his earpiece while he watched the rest of his team check their weapons and equipment. Magazines clacked into place on their SAk-47's, flashbangs, ropes slipped into pouches and belts in light, crumbly cloth noises. Froststorm already had himself covered head to toe while the others were strapping on their goggles and pulling their masks over their faces.
"Cobalt, do you read? Is your team in position?"
----------------------------------------------------
"Roger that, Billhook. Arrival in one minute. We'll have thirty seconds to announce our presence and thirty seconds for a reply." Eberhard replied, slipping and weaving through the underground tunnel system of Chekhovsk. The whole underground was made of a cynically pragmatic grey concrete lit by oppressive white LED lighting lining the ceilings, not even decorated by paintings like the tunnel systems of Silbern's large space stations. Then again, this was a planet, still a hundred times easier on the psyche than even the most luxurious space stations. Maybe it didn't need the color. Regardless, Eberhard felt at home here, in his IVAS in the claustrophobic environment. It could use a bit less gravity though.
What was weird though, was the lack of foot traffic, allowing the Lancers to move through the tunnels hastily, even without transportation. Either the population density in this area was non-existent or the local law enforcement kept the residents in their buildings, or both.
"Lancers, sound off." Eberhard stopped at a corner, looking past the wall at a set of double doors shut tight, the underground entrance to Omnigrow's headquarters, evident by the sign that hung above the entrance, in its green, stylized font. "Mari, we have access to their comms?"
Yasny System, Kitezh, Chekhovsk: planetary capital, one day after landfall
It was hard to tell if it was morning, or noon, as snowfall shrouded the entire city in a bright white blanket. The core towers of the city loomed in the distance, tall and thing giants holding a thousand hands together.
Billhook gazed at one screen on the interior of his armored shuttle as it rolled forward, a false window that displayed the outside surroundings, buildings blanketed by this planet's frozen, powdery H20. He knew that the heat pipes snaking beneath the industrial rooftops were working nonstop, melting away the weight accumulating on top of them, the slight slants of the roofs guiding the melted water down into storage containers to be used for food, industry, and portable energy. It was primitive technology, developed two or three centuries ago, but like the human spirit, it was timeless, dependable, necessary for survival.
The armored shuttle too, took up an archaic design, resembling the first tanks developed during the "Great War to End All Wars" on the European continent of Earth. Boxy treads that flanked a metal box with angled armor plating, covered in sensors and communication equipment. Most of the time the shuttle was controlled electronically, its viewports shuttered, cameras providing all the visuals they needed, but when shit hit the fan, the eyeball Mark I was always given easy access to the outside world. They took pride in their analog methods.
The task force's leader checked his watch. Two minutes. He tapped his earpiece while he watched the rest of his team check their weapons and equipment. Magazines clacked into place on their SAk-47's, flashbangs, ropes slipped into pouches and belts in light, crumbly cloth noises. Froststorm already had himself covered head to toe while the others were strapping on their goggles and pulling their masks over their faces.
"Cobalt, do you read? Is your team in position?"
----------------------------------------------------
"Roger that, Billhook. Arrival in one minute. We'll have thirty seconds to announce our presence and thirty seconds for a reply." Eberhard replied, slipping and weaving through the underground tunnel system of Chekhovsk. The whole underground was made of a cynically pragmatic grey concrete lit by oppressive white LED lighting lining the ceilings, not even decorated by paintings like the tunnel systems of Silbern's large space stations. Then again, this was a planet, still a hundred times easier on the psyche than even the most luxurious space stations. Maybe it didn't need the color. Regardless, Eberhard felt at home here, in his IVAS in the claustrophobic environment. It could use a bit less gravity though.
What was weird though, was the lack of foot traffic, allowing the Lancers to move through the tunnels hastily, even without transportation. Either the population density in this area was non-existent or the local law enforcement kept the residents in their buildings, or both.
"Lancers, sound off." Eberhard stopped at a corner, looking past the wall at a set of double doors shut tight, the underground entrance to Omnigrow's headquarters, evident by the sign that hung above the entrance, in its green, stylized font. "Mari, we have access to their comms?"
