Xundar

@boschepg: The former; I'm just doing some setup for later ideas.

"Shuttle XD-17, you are cleared for landing on pad 4."

"Acknowledged."

"Wha-who are you? Where's Karina?"

"Out sick."

"Fine, whatever. Just don't botch this landing; Mr. Corverus is already spitting fire because the shipment's late."

"Acknowledged."

Pad 4

"That crate's been sitting on the pad for 20 minutes; how long does it take to open a blasted loading hatch?!" The man, whose identity badge identified him as an "unloading specialist," grumbled as he hitched up his right shoulder. A subpar-quality intra-muscular implant had left the shoulder both unreliable and achy, which he typically blamed for his frequent bad moods and bouts of impatience. That those who has worked with him longest generally felt that he was none-too-pleasant prior to the operation was generally avoided in conversation, at least within his hearing.

"Eh, you know how twitchy these 370-models are; thing's probably jammed." His companion, whose badge tagged him as a member of the same profession, shrugged noncommittally as he took a drag from his stimhaler. "Give 'em a sec, and I'm sure they'll-there it is."

With a hiss of releasing pressure hydraulics, the shuttle hatch finally lowered, and the two workmen began to move their equipment forward, ready to unload a shipment of rare minerals mined from one of Optavia Prime's moons. When the first one reached the base of the ramp, he glanced up briefly and froze. "Oh, f-"

Whatever term was intended, it was never uttered, as both he and his coworker were immediately shredded by a deluge of rapid-fire plasma bolts that streaked from the weapon of the hulking figure who stood at the top of the ramp. The armored attacker strode off the ramp, his boots crunching unceremoniously over the charred remains of his first two confirmed kills on this world. Behind him marched two dozen legionaries and two centurions of the Abyssal Imperium.

Another onslaught of heavy plasma fire tore apart the loading pad doors, and absolute pandemonium ensued in the corporate offices of RazCorp, with panicked civilians fleeing towards the nearest available exit or panic chamber, and uniformed security trying to mount a desperate and futile defense against the invaders. For their part, the soldiers of the Imperium cut down guard and civilian alike, as they slaughtered their way through the sterile halls of business, stopping only when they came to an inauspicious target: a simple data port. The automatons surrounded the armored figure as he produced a data spike and jammed it into the open port. The spike briefly lit up, and the screen above the port flickered to life, revealing an image of the Assassinatrix. "Objective achieved. I am now uploaded into RazCorp's network. Proceed to Phase 2."

With a simple nod, the brutish being pulled the spike from the port, dropping it to the floor and crushing it under one heavy boot. He motioned the robotic infantry back towards the landing pad, but did not follow, instead waiting for a portal to open in the floor beside him, into which he would step to affect his own escape.

The cybernetic assault team, upon fighting their way back to their commandeered shuttle, initiated the vehicle's self-destruct mechanism and then activated their own memory wipes. The resulting explosion would leave precious little in the way of evidence; most means of investigation would come to the conclusion that the entire incident was a failed attempt at unsubtle theft. This assessment could not be more wrong; the attack had not been to steal anything, but to leave something behind, and in that regard, it has succeeded.

Then you're not going to have any problem getting older. Once you get used to the joints creaking in the morning, you'll look back and wonder why you ever worried, lol.

@aberdeen: I get that. Speaking as an experienced ager though, I have to point out that there's definitely advantages to it. There's a lot less social pressure, and a lot of the things that used to stress me out just don't seem to matter anymore. I used to work out because I wanted to impress people (read: girls); now I do it because I want to be healthy. It used to bug me when something I really liked wasn't popular, because I had trouble finding someone else to enjoy it with; now, I just don't care! I don't care if nobody else like my music or if my clothing isn't stylish. I feel virtually no pressure and no desire to do anything to win some nebulous group of peers 'approval. I don't feel the need to "prove myself" or justify myself to anyone. It's unbelievably liberating.

@adepta-occulta: Good? He's going to be the best. >;P

I'll give you a hint:

@cesc_bo_vera:

Deep within the planetoid prison, the shadows of a darkened chamber were abruptly banished by the activation of technology, control panels and displays coming online like the sensory organs of some great alien beast emerging from a long slumber. At the chamber's center, the focal point of the machinery, a stasis field was deactivated, and the eyes of the occupant, a hulking brute of a man, snapped open as though they had been closed for mere moments, rather than several Terran years.

"Xundar of Delos, step forward. The time to prove yourself has arrived."The cold, electronic voice of the Assassinatrix broke through the silence, although the malevolent AI did not manifest itself in any other way. Though his eyes narrowed and his massive fists knotted like hydraulic presses, the prisoner complied, the heavy thud of his bare feet echoing dully as he stepped from the stasis device and approached a aperture which opened in the floor ahead of him, through which rose a massive, reinforced container.

The container opened with the hiss of automated seals being released, and the corners of a mouth set in a granite-like jaw twitched upwards ever-so-slightly in recognition, the the items that now greeted the Delossian renegade were the closest things he had to old friends: his battle armor and weapons. Without waiting for instructions, he donned the armor and strapped the heavy ordnance into place, turning to wait in menacing silence for further instructions.

He did not wait long.

With a shuddering of space being torn asunder, a portal opened ahead of him. "Your first mission awaits," intoned the mechanical jailer, "succeed and further power will be granted to you, in additional to ample opportunities to employ it."

Without hesitation, the armored dreadnaught of a man stepped through the rift in reality, his only acknowledgement a vocalization that was equal parts growl and chuckle.

@iron-warden: My condolences, as well.

Punk.

Quick poll: raise your hand if you've ever completely overhauled a character just to make them fit with a new look you just had to use, lol.