IndyFront
Well-known member
Chapter 1
They were to be humanity's final solution to the xenomorph problem. There were protests and movements among the Free States of Earth – the Earth 7 – but most of them hadn't seen the horror firsthand. They were faster and stronger than any man, could do things believed to be impossible, and were superior to us in almost every single way.
That had to be remedied.
It was the brainchild of one Dr. Frank Baltese, and involved the ubiquitous use of nanotechnology and AI to target the DNA and RNA of its 36 subjects. The results were a success on all but 4 of those selected for the program. Once the mutations were established, then they could move onto the cybernetic augmentations.
They were called the 'MAX', Mechanized Assault X-O' soldiers, assembled into 8 MAX teams of 4 each. She'd seen them perform years ago, using the smaller 2-ton suits that only magnified their users strength about three times that of normal. Just one of them was able to lay waste to an entire Internationalist battalion single-handedly.
Warfare on Earth had transformed radically, with large-scale wars between massive armies a thing of the past. Most of the heavy fighting was done by machines and combat drones – whether they be aerial, ground or even by sea – but the need for boots on the ground would remain a constant. The world had collapsed down into between 21 and 37 nation-states... depending on what you could even consider a 'nation-state'.
The world was cleaved in two by the E7 – the Asia-Pacific Treaty Organization, or APTO, East Africa, the American States, Arabia, India-Pakistan, Korea and the Levant – and the 'Federal Republics' of Eurasia, Canada, Greenland and Alaska, more commonly known as the International State, or 'the Internationalists'. They were spearheaded by the self-described socialists – although they were more akin to left-wing fascists – known as the Union of Progressive Peoples' Party, or UPPP, and were established in the early 2100s in the first UPP Parties started popping up in the former-Soviet Union.
"Hicks!" Someone shouted her surname from the hall. The door to First Lieutenant Alice Hicks's quarters was left ajar, so she had only herself to blame for any unexpected company. Corporal Charlie Rhodes popped his head in. "Hey, you almost ready?"
Hicks blinked and remembered the interview she had to attend.
"Yep," she replied.
"Orders from the top," they said in unison.
Hicks had met Rhodes only a few weeks ago, but they got along and were around the same age, he was around 24, or about 2 years younger than her. Their superiors wanted them in their dress blues and around ten minutes early. Outside, a sortie of seven AD-17K strikeships rocketed upward, two outer and two inner trailing white smoke and the three in between trailing red, in the pattern of the emblem of the United States Colonial Marines against a blue sky – four fireworks exploding, two on each side.
The American States – consisting of the United Americas, Brazil, El Verde and Colombia – were the foremost power on the planet, rivaling that of China, India, Southeast Asia, Japan and even the International State. The Internationalists had almost complete control over Venus and parts of New Eden, but besides the floating communities the planet was virtually inhospitable, unlike the largely terraformed Mars and Titan.
And now, on March 21st 2219, Hicks was about to embark on her first assignment as part of what quite possibly was the foremost military organization to exist in human history – the USCM. A UD-4 Cheyenne purred as it waited in the crisp early morning air, waiting to chariot them to their destination in the heavens above.
"You sure you're ready for this, Hicks? You've heard the stories, right?"
Hicks scoffed, and stopped in her tracks, staring holes in him.
Rhodes turned and threw out his arms.
"What'd I say?"
"Just one of those things wiped out my entire platoon, I barely escaped with my life."
"And now you want revenge, is that it?"
She ignored him and continued toward the waiting spacecraft.
* * *
Aboard O'Neill Station, Hicks and Rhodes were greeted by Captain Murz, a serious but intelligent woman who'd devoted her life to the corps. She was the commanding officer aboard the ship they'd been assigned to – the USCSS Rubicon. Murz accompanied them to the interview room, informing them of the situation.
"Another colony's gone dark," she explained. "We want to know what technology the internationalists were trying to get their hands on, was it connected to the current xenomorphs or something else? Something we haven't seen before?"
"You know more than I do, ma'am. I only work here," replied Hicks.
She was eager to get back out on the field, and these interludes were at some points nearly unbearable. But she knew the sooner she powered through them, the sooner they'd be over and she'd be back on the battlefield once again. In the observation room, she immediately made her way to the rehydration station for some coffee before the captain could talk in her ear anymore. Hicks placed a dehydrated cube of coffee under the DR-1042, which inserted a thin metal rod into the cube. It would take roughly thirty seconds, and in this time Murz would press on with her info-dumping.
"We don't have a lot on Devin Grant," she said, referring to the man on the other side of the glass currently being interrogated by the Colonial Rangers. "He used to be with the USCM, before deserting over the border to Canada a few years ago, been working with the Internationalists ever since." Hicks didn't look at him very long, but noted that he had dark brown hair and pale features. "His father was one Daniel Marcus Grant, a billionaire philanthropist who founded the Grant Corporation," explained Murz.
"Daniel Grant," repeated Rhodes. "Isn't he the guy who made that Xeno-Zip crap? Basically a glorified drug-dealer."
"You could say that," added Hicks, taking a sip of her coffee and setting it down. She approached the window to get a better look at the militant. "So we pick this guy up, take him in, and what if he doesn't have the information we're looking for?"
"He does," replied Murz. "It's only a matter of time, he's been in there about eight-nine hours altogether. He knows something, the internationalists want something from him, and I'll bet it has something to do with the Grant Corporation."
"It's pretty out-of-character for the International State to work with corporations, don't you think, captain?" Inquired Rhodes.
"Unless one had something they wanted to get their hands on," added Hicks.
* * *
Former-President of the United States Jonathan Walker campaigned vigorously to be the 16th President of the American States. He was the quintessential insider, but his charisma and experience coupled with his wide centrist appeal had made him the front-runner in the Liberal-Democratic primaries. And in a match-up against his Federalist opponent – the trillionaire philanthropist Enrique Salazar – he was up five, six, sometimes seven or more points.
Furthermore, Salazar's ties to the Chinese Democratic Federalist Party were seen as a stain on his record. Even as the strobe-like flashing of cameras and camera drones became dulled out over the years and decades of political campaigning, and amid the hordes of adoring fans swarming him from every direction as he made his way to the waiting sky-limo, Walker couldn't help but try to wrap his mind around what was happening.
As he approached the craft, he was greeted by a man in a suit similar to his, but far more expensive.
"Mr. President, it's an honor. Donald Rutherford. After you?"
He motioned into the vehicle as Walker and Rutherford exchanged a quick handshake and entered the craft one after the other.
"So... Weyland-Yutani," said Walker as Rutherford poured the rum up aboard Gateway Station. Walker watched as the shuttles, dropships and other spacecraft came to and fro the station above the blue and white curvature of the Earth below.
"My employer, as you are aware," replied Rutherford. "It's a pretty sweet gig," he added, as he handed Walker a glass and smiled. "You know, people of our 'abilities' have a responsibility to humankind. The Three Worlds and their governments – the E7, Mars, Titan – they just love their paperwork, but we have the chance to bring a sword of fire to the stars. Three colonies have gone dark on the Frontier, as I'm sure you're aware. The ICSC isn't telling anyone around here about this. The panic would be insurmountable. The conspiracy theorists are getting closer to finding out the truth about Hadley's Hope, you know."
"What does any of this have to do with me," asked Walker.
"Well," said Rutherford, taking a seat, "I wouldn't trust the polls if I were you. You're closer to a one or two-point edge, cutting it close. You're going to need our help, and there's one thing I want from you."
"What would that be?"
"The Colonial Marines picked up Devin Ian Grant this morning," said Walker, thumbing through his phone and displaying a holographic image of the man in question. "Recognize him? He's a wanted political militant and a terrorist. Not to mention a deserter and a traitor. So here's what's going to happen; we're going to give you all the money in the world, and you're going to give us: one ship, a crew and a company of marines and we're going to go on a little trip with Mr. Grant, to where in the world they're getting what they need to destroy our MAX units."
"MAX units? You mean some of them have been killed?"
Rutherford nodded solemnly.
"It's classified, but two of them have been killed in fighting with internationalist forces."
Walker was stunned.
"That-that's impossible. You're shitting me."
"Nope. In Tajikistan in 2214 and Canada two years after that."
Walker downed his drink in one sitting, but continued to stare at the floor in utter disbelief. The Berserkers were supposed to be invincible. They were the latest iteration of the MAX program, supposed to be crème of the crop, the best of the best.
"We have to find out what he knows. We have to go find out what is happening to those colonies. If the ICSC won't do it, we're going to have to."
"Sounds like a plan," said Rutherford.
"When do we send you," asked Walker.
Rutherford smiled.
"We're already on our way."
* * *
"So, since you were last under our jurisdiction when you deserted, your case will be handled by the military. You're going to be a prisoner-of-war assigned to the USCSS Rubicon after this. Of course, law enforcement has to do their thing and the paperwork needs to be done in a timely fashion, as does this interview. So, let's just cut right to brass tacks here."
"We need to know how you took out those MAX units. We need to know where you got your hands on the technology that caused those wounds. There are few entities on Earth that could produce them," added the lieutenant.
"We didn't kill those guys, we've certainly injured one once during one of the few occasions we've fought them, but we've never killed one."
That was not the response they were expecting, nor the one they wanted. Murz uncomfortably glanced briefly over at Hicks, just as taken aback as she was.
"What do you mean, you've never 'killed' one. Two MAX unit casualties have been recorded in confrontations between the USCM and internationalist forces."
"It's not that hard to put two-and-two together," the lieutenant added, once again.
Grant sighed and placed his face into his unfurled hands, shaking it slightly before wiping his face multiple times, indicating a heightened level of stress and anxiety. This didn't indicate whether or not he was telling the truth, but it could've been a sign that they were getting closer to it.
"I've told this same story so many different times already. I was only assigned to one of those operations. Yes, our objectives were clear – eliminate all USCM personnel including any MAX units. There was one assigned to the drop team on that particular day. Our objectives included that and securing the region – Gorno-Badakhshan, in Tajikistan – we were to help the Uzbek Federal Republic and their Russian and Turkish allies gain a foothold, the drop zone was to be ambushed."
He sighed again and shook his head once more.
"We ended up being the ones ambushed. It... killed... everyone." His voice started to tremble and he kept shaking his head over and over again.
"Everyone."
Murz and Hicks exchanged another expression.
"What did?" Asked Murz leaning in, offering her hand if he needed it.
He just buried his head in his hands and started to sob.
"They're all dead."
"Hey, listen," Murz began, allowing a moment of silence to slip by. "I know you're going through a lot right now but I need you to focus."
"He's having a flashback," said Hicks.
"All of them. They were in pieces."
After another several minutes of relative silence, Grant began to collect himself.
"They said on the news that they'd all killed each other off, I was the only survivor. And I'm glad ya'll got to me before Weyland-Yutani did. They'd kill me to keep this a secret. They'd kill everyone to keep this a secret."
Now it was Hicks's turn to press him.
"Look, I need to know what did this," she said, looking directly at him.
He slowly raised his head to look at her, and then he knew.
"You've seen them, too... haven't you," he said, after yet another moment of silence.
"Seen what?"
He then seemed to smile almost psychotically. "The ghosts."
Hicks felt goosebumps erupt all over her body, chills rocketing down her spine.
"Ghosts?"
"Like phantoms... they're... there. You can tell something's definitely there. But... at the same time, they're not."
She knew exactly what he was talking about.
"They're bigger, stronger, faster than us. They have technology far beyond our own capabilities. And the kicker...?"
He leaned in.
"You can't even see them."
Hicks squinted at him. She didn't trust him, not for a second.
"You know something about those colonies we've lost contact with?"
He shook his head. "No, but I bet it has something to do with them. They've been visiting us for thousands of years. But something's changed in them, in their society. At first they were merely hunting us for sport, but now... they want to wipe us out. Now, they're targeting our colonies. They fear our expansion into the cosmos. And unfortunately for us, this is a war we can't win."
----
Lmk if ya'll wanna read more of this. Just started writing it one day lol
They were to be humanity's final solution to the xenomorph problem. There were protests and movements among the Free States of Earth – the Earth 7 – but most of them hadn't seen the horror firsthand. They were faster and stronger than any man, could do things believed to be impossible, and were superior to us in almost every single way.
That had to be remedied.
It was the brainchild of one Dr. Frank Baltese, and involved the ubiquitous use of nanotechnology and AI to target the DNA and RNA of its 36 subjects. The results were a success on all but 4 of those selected for the program. Once the mutations were established, then they could move onto the cybernetic augmentations.
They were called the 'MAX', Mechanized Assault X-O' soldiers, assembled into 8 MAX teams of 4 each. She'd seen them perform years ago, using the smaller 2-ton suits that only magnified their users strength about three times that of normal. Just one of them was able to lay waste to an entire Internationalist battalion single-handedly.
Warfare on Earth had transformed radically, with large-scale wars between massive armies a thing of the past. Most of the heavy fighting was done by machines and combat drones – whether they be aerial, ground or even by sea – but the need for boots on the ground would remain a constant. The world had collapsed down into between 21 and 37 nation-states... depending on what you could even consider a 'nation-state'.
The world was cleaved in two by the E7 – the Asia-Pacific Treaty Organization, or APTO, East Africa, the American States, Arabia, India-Pakistan, Korea and the Levant – and the 'Federal Republics' of Eurasia, Canada, Greenland and Alaska, more commonly known as the International State, or 'the Internationalists'. They were spearheaded by the self-described socialists – although they were more akin to left-wing fascists – known as the Union of Progressive Peoples' Party, or UPPP, and were established in the early 2100s in the first UPP Parties started popping up in the former-Soviet Union.
"Hicks!" Someone shouted her surname from the hall. The door to First Lieutenant Alice Hicks's quarters was left ajar, so she had only herself to blame for any unexpected company. Corporal Charlie Rhodes popped his head in. "Hey, you almost ready?"
Hicks blinked and remembered the interview she had to attend.
"Yep," she replied.
"Orders from the top," they said in unison.
Hicks had met Rhodes only a few weeks ago, but they got along and were around the same age, he was around 24, or about 2 years younger than her. Their superiors wanted them in their dress blues and around ten minutes early. Outside, a sortie of seven AD-17K strikeships rocketed upward, two outer and two inner trailing white smoke and the three in between trailing red, in the pattern of the emblem of the United States Colonial Marines against a blue sky – four fireworks exploding, two on each side.
The American States – consisting of the United Americas, Brazil, El Verde and Colombia – were the foremost power on the planet, rivaling that of China, India, Southeast Asia, Japan and even the International State. The Internationalists had almost complete control over Venus and parts of New Eden, but besides the floating communities the planet was virtually inhospitable, unlike the largely terraformed Mars and Titan.
And now, on March 21st 2219, Hicks was about to embark on her first assignment as part of what quite possibly was the foremost military organization to exist in human history – the USCM. A UD-4 Cheyenne purred as it waited in the crisp early morning air, waiting to chariot them to their destination in the heavens above.
"You sure you're ready for this, Hicks? You've heard the stories, right?"
Hicks scoffed, and stopped in her tracks, staring holes in him.
Rhodes turned and threw out his arms.
"What'd I say?"
"Just one of those things wiped out my entire platoon, I barely escaped with my life."
"And now you want revenge, is that it?"
She ignored him and continued toward the waiting spacecraft.
* * *
Aboard O'Neill Station, Hicks and Rhodes were greeted by Captain Murz, a serious but intelligent woman who'd devoted her life to the corps. She was the commanding officer aboard the ship they'd been assigned to – the USCSS Rubicon. Murz accompanied them to the interview room, informing them of the situation.
"Another colony's gone dark," she explained. "We want to know what technology the internationalists were trying to get their hands on, was it connected to the current xenomorphs or something else? Something we haven't seen before?"
"You know more than I do, ma'am. I only work here," replied Hicks.
She was eager to get back out on the field, and these interludes were at some points nearly unbearable. But she knew the sooner she powered through them, the sooner they'd be over and she'd be back on the battlefield once again. In the observation room, she immediately made her way to the rehydration station for some coffee before the captain could talk in her ear anymore. Hicks placed a dehydrated cube of coffee under the DR-1042, which inserted a thin metal rod into the cube. It would take roughly thirty seconds, and in this time Murz would press on with her info-dumping.
"We don't have a lot on Devin Grant," she said, referring to the man on the other side of the glass currently being interrogated by the Colonial Rangers. "He used to be with the USCM, before deserting over the border to Canada a few years ago, been working with the Internationalists ever since." Hicks didn't look at him very long, but noted that he had dark brown hair and pale features. "His father was one Daniel Marcus Grant, a billionaire philanthropist who founded the Grant Corporation," explained Murz.
"Daniel Grant," repeated Rhodes. "Isn't he the guy who made that Xeno-Zip crap? Basically a glorified drug-dealer."
"You could say that," added Hicks, taking a sip of her coffee and setting it down. She approached the window to get a better look at the militant. "So we pick this guy up, take him in, and what if he doesn't have the information we're looking for?"
"He does," replied Murz. "It's only a matter of time, he's been in there about eight-nine hours altogether. He knows something, the internationalists want something from him, and I'll bet it has something to do with the Grant Corporation."
"It's pretty out-of-character for the International State to work with corporations, don't you think, captain?" Inquired Rhodes.
"Unless one had something they wanted to get their hands on," added Hicks.
* * *
Former-President of the United States Jonathan Walker campaigned vigorously to be the 16th President of the American States. He was the quintessential insider, but his charisma and experience coupled with his wide centrist appeal had made him the front-runner in the Liberal-Democratic primaries. And in a match-up against his Federalist opponent – the trillionaire philanthropist Enrique Salazar – he was up five, six, sometimes seven or more points.
Furthermore, Salazar's ties to the Chinese Democratic Federalist Party were seen as a stain on his record. Even as the strobe-like flashing of cameras and camera drones became dulled out over the years and decades of political campaigning, and amid the hordes of adoring fans swarming him from every direction as he made his way to the waiting sky-limo, Walker couldn't help but try to wrap his mind around what was happening.
As he approached the craft, he was greeted by a man in a suit similar to his, but far more expensive.
"Mr. President, it's an honor. Donald Rutherford. After you?"
He motioned into the vehicle as Walker and Rutherford exchanged a quick handshake and entered the craft one after the other.
"So... Weyland-Yutani," said Walker as Rutherford poured the rum up aboard Gateway Station. Walker watched as the shuttles, dropships and other spacecraft came to and fro the station above the blue and white curvature of the Earth below.
"My employer, as you are aware," replied Rutherford. "It's a pretty sweet gig," he added, as he handed Walker a glass and smiled. "You know, people of our 'abilities' have a responsibility to humankind. The Three Worlds and their governments – the E7, Mars, Titan – they just love their paperwork, but we have the chance to bring a sword of fire to the stars. Three colonies have gone dark on the Frontier, as I'm sure you're aware. The ICSC isn't telling anyone around here about this. The panic would be insurmountable. The conspiracy theorists are getting closer to finding out the truth about Hadley's Hope, you know."
"What does any of this have to do with me," asked Walker.
"Well," said Rutherford, taking a seat, "I wouldn't trust the polls if I were you. You're closer to a one or two-point edge, cutting it close. You're going to need our help, and there's one thing I want from you."
"What would that be?"
"The Colonial Marines picked up Devin Ian Grant this morning," said Walker, thumbing through his phone and displaying a holographic image of the man in question. "Recognize him? He's a wanted political militant and a terrorist. Not to mention a deserter and a traitor. So here's what's going to happen; we're going to give you all the money in the world, and you're going to give us: one ship, a crew and a company of marines and we're going to go on a little trip with Mr. Grant, to where in the world they're getting what they need to destroy our MAX units."
"MAX units? You mean some of them have been killed?"
Rutherford nodded solemnly.
"It's classified, but two of them have been killed in fighting with internationalist forces."
Walker was stunned.
"That-that's impossible. You're shitting me."
"Nope. In Tajikistan in 2214 and Canada two years after that."
Walker downed his drink in one sitting, but continued to stare at the floor in utter disbelief. The Berserkers were supposed to be invincible. They were the latest iteration of the MAX program, supposed to be crème of the crop, the best of the best.
"We have to find out what he knows. We have to go find out what is happening to those colonies. If the ICSC won't do it, we're going to have to."
"Sounds like a plan," said Rutherford.
"When do we send you," asked Walker.
Rutherford smiled.
"We're already on our way."
* * *
"So, since you were last under our jurisdiction when you deserted, your case will be handled by the military. You're going to be a prisoner-of-war assigned to the USCSS Rubicon after this. Of course, law enforcement has to do their thing and the paperwork needs to be done in a timely fashion, as does this interview. So, let's just cut right to brass tacks here."
"We need to know how you took out those MAX units. We need to know where you got your hands on the technology that caused those wounds. There are few entities on Earth that could produce them," added the lieutenant.
"We didn't kill those guys, we've certainly injured one once during one of the few occasions we've fought them, but we've never killed one."
That was not the response they were expecting, nor the one they wanted. Murz uncomfortably glanced briefly over at Hicks, just as taken aback as she was.
"What do you mean, you've never 'killed' one. Two MAX unit casualties have been recorded in confrontations between the USCM and internationalist forces."
"It's not that hard to put two-and-two together," the lieutenant added, once again.
Grant sighed and placed his face into his unfurled hands, shaking it slightly before wiping his face multiple times, indicating a heightened level of stress and anxiety. This didn't indicate whether or not he was telling the truth, but it could've been a sign that they were getting closer to it.
"I've told this same story so many different times already. I was only assigned to one of those operations. Yes, our objectives were clear – eliminate all USCM personnel including any MAX units. There was one assigned to the drop team on that particular day. Our objectives included that and securing the region – Gorno-Badakhshan, in Tajikistan – we were to help the Uzbek Federal Republic and their Russian and Turkish allies gain a foothold, the drop zone was to be ambushed."
He sighed again and shook his head once more.
"We ended up being the ones ambushed. It... killed... everyone." His voice started to tremble and he kept shaking his head over and over again.
"Everyone."
Murz and Hicks exchanged another expression.
"What did?" Asked Murz leaning in, offering her hand if he needed it.
He just buried his head in his hands and started to sob.
"They're all dead."
"Hey, listen," Murz began, allowing a moment of silence to slip by. "I know you're going through a lot right now but I need you to focus."
"He's having a flashback," said Hicks.
"All of them. They were in pieces."
After another several minutes of relative silence, Grant began to collect himself.
"They said on the news that they'd all killed each other off, I was the only survivor. And I'm glad ya'll got to me before Weyland-Yutani did. They'd kill me to keep this a secret. They'd kill everyone to keep this a secret."
Now it was Hicks's turn to press him.
"Look, I need to know what did this," she said, looking directly at him.
He slowly raised his head to look at her, and then he knew.
"You've seen them, too... haven't you," he said, after yet another moment of silence.
"Seen what?"
He then seemed to smile almost psychotically. "The ghosts."
Hicks felt goosebumps erupt all over her body, chills rocketing down her spine.
"Ghosts?"
"Like phantoms... they're... there. You can tell something's definitely there. But... at the same time, they're not."
She knew exactly what he was talking about.
"They're bigger, stronger, faster than us. They have technology far beyond our own capabilities. And the kicker...?"
He leaned in.
"You can't even see them."
Hicks squinted at him. She didn't trust him, not for a second.
"You know something about those colonies we've lost contact with?"
He shook his head. "No, but I bet it has something to do with them. They've been visiting us for thousands of years. But something's changed in them, in their society. At first they were merely hunting us for sport, but now... they want to wipe us out. Now, they're targeting our colonies. They fear our expansion into the cosmos. And unfortunately for us, this is a war we can't win."
----
Lmk if ya'll wanna read more of this. Just started writing it one day lol
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