Monomachiarum is a multifandom experiece that takes the characters into the chaotic future of the 30th century in the great expanse of space. Our lore is a combination of worlds brought in from other franchises, lore created by the site founder, and user-submitted information in order to make a vast and diverse setting. Add your pages to our grand story no matter who your characters might be or where they came from before. This is a place meant to explore possibilities and open new doors. Canons and OCs are welcome, just so long as they can fit into the setting with a little bit of reasonable modification here and there if necessary. So what are you waiting for? Join us today! If you'd like to get to know our community more, feel free to check out our Discord channel.
May 2023 It's been hectic this last year, but we are alive and celebrating our fifth year of adventure and tales. A lot has been worked on to help make the Monoverse one that everyone can enjoy and explore their story while becoming a part of the greater cosmos. All of you, new and long time players, stay safe, and see you in the Sea of Stars!
The trip to the shore and through the market would be much the same as it had days previous. Multitudes of people - both local and visiting from elsewhere - would be moving between the stalls and through the streets, with small groupings huddled here and there towards the edges as coworkers, friends or acquaintances mingled and spoke. The sun still shown through gaps in the ceiling of the massive warehouse like structure that formed the "downtown" section of the markets, although as Clo'telok moved further and further along the streets would once again become less and less populated as civilians avoided the area - and the population accordingly shifted to less savory sorts, largely mercenaries and their ilk.
Towards the end of the darkened streets cloaked in the shadows of the looming dam above, however, a familiar doorway would come into view - as well as a pair of familiar armed guards, although this time it wasn't just them. Another four individuals were now present, all clad in similar clothing and personal protective gear, all armed... and all just as quick to notice Clo'Telok's approach, although this time neither weapons or tensions would be raised as one of the guards from his first visit leaned to speak to their contemporary at his approach.
"Hey, hurry it up. Less time spent out here the better."
Clo' would gesture to each of his arms with the mechadendrites, he felt it would be prudent to let the guards know that the "No Weapons" directive couldn't be fully met.
"Left arm contains a plasma projection weapon, right arm a plasma cutter, for reasons I'm sure you can understand I elected to not waste time looking for a ripperdoc to temporarily remove them."
With that, the 'borg would move to follow the guards into the facility, arms deliberately clasped behind his back. He made some attempt to "lurch casually", though it was unlikely that would be possible. Several dendrites would fidget with the various wooden idols hanging from his neck, beneath the unyielding metal his anxiety continued to linger, a wild fantasy or two regarding the kind of job ahead flickered behind his eyes; the competing feelings of worry and anticipation sat together for a time, waiting to see what was next.
His optics would dilate, expanding their intake a little so he could take in as much as possible in the next few moments.
The annoyance that the guard felt was clear following the cyborg's statement, and for a long moment it looked as though she were genuinely considering whether to turn Clo'telok away - or shoot him. At least until a loud fist banged on the other side of the door she was standing beside.
"YEAH. Fuck, jus- go. Just go." She muttered, glancing to the door before reaching down to key the portal open - which would immediately slam shut practically the moment Clo'telok safely cleared it.
The space beyond the doorway was nothing short of chaos - but of the organized variety. Originally a large double hanger space, both of the rooftop take off hatches were closed, leaving the room to be lit only by harsh fluorescent work lighting. Only one of the landing spaces would be occupied, taken up by a large box hauler of the sort typically used for moving industrial resources and raw materials in bulk. The rest of the space around it had been converted into what could only be described as something halfway between a preparation space and a smuggler's wet dream. Dozens of hardcases had been arranged to form makeshift tables with tarps and canvas thrown over them, many covered in rifles and other weapons in varying stages of assembly with others resembling makeshift chemistry and explosives workstations. Towards the center of the empty space was a much better lit area, and on those hastily put together tables were not weapons or typical contraband but instead a mix of electronics and hardcopy paper, clearly a planning and control center judging by the people mulling over the documents and a handful debating with each other whilst pointing to their tools of trade on the work surfaces.
And behind it all, half hidden in shadow and dimmer lighting, was something else entirely. A massive form, roughly eight to nine meters tall were it standing, roughly humanoid in shape but clearly not a living thing, at least not by traditional metrics. Standing in front of it was a single mercenary, helmet wedged under an arm and the orange pinprick of a lit cigarette end held between the fingers of another hand, the dull gray of the man's hair tinged a discolored blue by the surrounding lighting.
Not that Clo'telok would have long to take in the sights as someone soon took notice of him by the doorway.
"Hey. Hey! If you're one of the mercs you're over there!" A man from the planning station shouted, raising a hand to wave so as to get Clo'telok's attention before pointing to the freighter's emptied out cargo box, a number of other individuals milling there.
"Think you're the last one, they're not going to wait much longer!"
Staring for a couple seconds completely motionless at the hulking shape in the shadows, the mercenary would jolt himself back into motion and head towards the freighter as directed. Arms still behind his back, he strode over to the other mercenaries, still stealing glances at that unknown machine.
"How much can be told of that large mechanized man-thing over there? This is a far larger operation than I had anticipated or am accustomed to."
Clo' would make sure to save a few frames from the last minute for long-term storage, even if he couldn't get any closer or get a clearer view, he wanted to still have that reference. A future project, he'd have to decide what such a thing would be used for first, military and industry being fairly likely choices. Right now though his priority was doing the job, surviving, and then getting paid. He'd also glance about, looking for signs that may identify his potential clients.
"This doesn't look like I'll be dealing with a fixer, do you know who the Johnson is? Also, if we are to work together, refer to this one as Clo'Telok or some variance thereof."
Hopefully the others would understand what he was asking, would be a little awkward if they didn't, needing to ask the same question differently.
As Clo'telok made his way towards the cargo space he'd been directed towards he wouldn't find it to be quite as empty as an initial glance might have suggested - nor as small. Easily large enough to contain several good sized ground transports, much of the interior had been similarly set up as the exterior hanger was. That was where the similarities ended, however. The individuals occupying the space shared little in common with each other at a glance aside from their species, covering a wide range of ethnicities and even apparent backgrounds. No two uniforms were the same, and many lacked anything that might've been identified as one. Without their own weapons and gear to prep, however, the space was instead filled with a different sort of chaos as many had coalesced into a handful of different groups, well over a dozen different voices reverberating within the contained metal space as they spoke in hushed tones. The occasional words here and there suggested that many were just as in the dark as Clo'telok himself was, while others were simply conversing to pass the time and outwardly unconcerned by the lack of context and information.
None, however, seemed to take note of Clo'telok joining them as directed - that, or they simply did not care, his initial words seeming to be swallowed by the combined hum of voices in the cargo bay. It wasn't until he started to speak again that one of the other mercenaries would take note of him, speaking to his compatriots for a moment before breaking from the group to approach the cyborg.
"Isn't that kind of job, man. You're not really going to find anything like that this far on the fringes, Smuggler's Cove just isn't big enough." Well built, of darker skin tone and with a clean shaven head, the man's tan fatigues suggested a background in planetary defense, hailing from any one of the dozens of governmental militias that had sprung up in the Frontier - although the faded nature of the clothing likewise hinted that the individual had not been part of such an organization for many, many years.
"Grossi. And my guess is whoever's hiring suddenly found themselves shorthanded, or the job expanded and they bit off more than they could chew." The mercenary responded, introducing himself in kind - only to pause, the slightest shift of his eyes to the space behind Clo'telok being all the warning that would follow another voice speaking out from that space.
"And you'd be right."
Standing several meters behind Clo'telok, far further than his voice might have suggested, was the individual that had been standing in front of the machine that had caught the cyborg's interest. His face, however, was no longer visible, obscured by the helmet that had previously been carried under his arm - the glowing blue visor standing out in stark contrast to the otherwise darkened surroundings. From almost the moment the man had spoken the other noises in the cargo bay would quickly peter off and quiet down, the mercenaries in the room taking only moments to notice the new individual's presence.
"Apologies for the lack of information, nature of the job somewhat demands it. I'm told this is everyone we're expecting?"
The borg gave Grossi a respectful nod before addressing the new individual.
"It was said that I would likely be last."
Clo straightened a little and dusted off a bit of his robe, even if this person wasn't here for inspection he was likely going to be rather important judging from his words and the fact that he previously stood in front of that machine in a belonging fashion.
"Judging from the number here, this will be a loud operation?"
He was fairly confident in his abilities in a standup fight, especially against the chromeless, so long as their weapons weren't too powerful he should be able to find cover well before his shield broke and even then small caliber arms weren't much threat. He guessed that the enemy would be appropriately armed, however, so relying on armoured carapace would be a bad idea. Eyes would lock on the helmeted one, it was time to listen and observe again, this one would be the 'fixer' for now.
Clo'telok spoke in response, an affirmation of the helmeted man's assumption - which, while garnering a nod in response, would quickly be followed by a slight turning of the helmet as the individual ran his gaze over those in the hold. A deep breath in, a slight tilt of his head to the side in what could only be described as subtle resignation.
"Better hope not." He muttered under his breath, taking a handful of steps forward to directly address those gathered in the hold.
"As I said a moment ago, apologies for keeping you all in the dark. This will be your one and only warning. Know you're all here because you're either hurting for pay or just have no where else to go, but I'll be blunt about it. This job is a heist, and if we're lucky none of you will have to fire a shot." The gray armored mercenary spoke, voice steady as he looked over those in the hold. A glance was thrown back to Clo'telok before he continued.
"As your friend suggested, though, it might get ugly. And if it does there's a good chance few if any of you will be making it back in one piece. Those that do might find themselves marked men. If you want out now that you have this new information, now's your chance. If not, be aware that you'll be unable to communicate with anyone outside of this hanger until the job's over. Stakes are too high to risk word getting out once I fill you all in on the details. Any takers?"
A simple shake of the head is all Clo' would respond with. He had nobody that he knew to blab to anyway, everyone he knew was back on Xitalacan.
no friends, no life. we know everything anyway.
Eyes glinting with a momentary flash of irritation, he'd furl his metal brows as he continued to wait on the soldier to provide briefing. He was not expecting to get a big job yet, he fully anticipated a rather long series of jobs cementing his position within the merc community. He had thought this would end up being a military engagement, clearing out pirates or competitors.
A shake of the head from the cyborg behind the gray suited mercenary, and while there were a few somewhat hesitant individuals among the small crowd gathered in the cargo bay none of them voiced any intentions of backing out despite the warning given. A moment would pass as the glowing blue visor's gaze passed over those present before a slight shrug would follow in response.
"Don't say I didn't warn you. Change your minds later on and you'll be detained until the job's over. Target's an IMC facility, we're not risking word getting out until we're done."
While the soldier's previous warning seemed to have been taken somewhat lightly, that got the attention of those that hadn't been taking the man seriously up until that point. While the room had been largely silent following his arrival the response to those words was telling, filling the space with hesitant murmurs and quiet dissent. Many of them had found themselves in Smuggler's Cove trying to get away from the IMC - every day the coalition of megacorporations was slowly tightening its grip and spreading its influence throughout the Frontier. And while none of those present were about to shy away from a gunfight for adequate pay that wasn't the same as saying they were suicidal - and as the mercenary had said, getting into a firefight with a private military that outgunned all of the Frontier militias combined would get ugly.
"As I said-" The soldier started, raising his voice to be heard over the raised volume within the hold, "-you'll be well compensated. And if everyone does their jobs you shouldn't see more than a single member of the security staff or two. Job's simple enough, you people are going to be divided into groups. Each group will have two of these." Pausing for a moment, the mercenary unsheathed what at first glance looked to be a normal combat knife from his tactical rigging, albeit with a handful of oddly placed buttons on the pommel and handle. Pressing one, the side of the blade slid back with a sharp shink to reveal copper electrical contacts within.
"Little marvel of engineering. Each group will have two of these in case something happens to the first, and they're your key through IMC security and cybersuites. You see a door you need opened, find an input and jack it in. Same for any Spectres you happen to come across. We'll fill you in on the exact details on the way but each team will be assigned a target to get to, once you reach it you plug this into a port and preloaded software will do the rest." Letting go of the button to allow the blade's protective sides to slide back into place and returning the knife to its sheath, the helmet would once again pass over the men and women in the room.
"Finer details should be answered in your briefings during transit, but I can answer general ones now if there are any. We've got a few minutes."
"The Software on these knives... do you have it in a form that I could directly make use of? Clo'Telok could make use of such a thing."
There were many uses he could think of for such hacking software, and he was rather curious to see how it would compare to/improve his own scripts/methods. The knife was a rather beautiful fusion of archaic and modern, even if he couldn't get the software package he hoped to be allowed to keep a knife.
"Other than that, all I can think of for further help is some liquid rubber, possibly some camouflage tarp that I could cut into a robe. Are such things free to use?"
He could use the rubber to coat the bottoms of his feet, reduce the sound they'd make and provide a little extra traction, he'd just deal with the annoyance of cleaning it off after the job. Hopefully, this outfit would make for good employers, hitting the IMC would make things dangerous for him throughout the Frontier, corpos tend to hold long grudges and he wasn't exactly inconspicuous.
A glance back to the cyborg over his shoulder, and a moment of silence-
"Afraid not. I didn't make the things, and from what I understand neither did the people who handed me them. If we're lucky you'll come across a handful on the job since the design was IMC originally, that happens and you're free to help yourself to one. As for the rubber and tarp, speak to the man outside and to the left, around the corner and towards the front of the freighter. Smells of alcohol but he'll set you up." While the initial moment of quiet might've been interpreted as somewhat judgemental, the following answer held not a hint of such tone - rather, it was nothing short of conversational, although the man would be forced to raise his voice as the other mercenaries in the hold started muttering amongst themselves again. To that and following his answer to Clo'telok, the helmeted individual would turn to look back at the others in the hold.
"That it, then?"
This time his voice did nothing to quiet those speaking, and after another moment or two of waiting for any response the mercenary would simply shrug and turn to leave, walking past Clo'telok as he made his way back out and to the hanger.
Five minutes was plenty of time, he could just apply the rubber and cut the tarp during transit. The borg power-lurched his way over to the booze-smelling man in front of the frieghter. He couldn't help but analyze the ship as he passed by, the exhaust and armour seams, doubtless there were better ships out there, but this was leagues ahead of his Amalgam.
jealous? rip it apart, make it whole again. rivet off 0.1 microns.
Finishing his little trip, Clo would hold a hand up and speak: "Quartermaster, I was directed to you for my acquisition of liquid rubber and a camouflaged tarp. There should be plenty to spare, yes?"
He wasn't expecting much conversation, he was hoping to just get the stuff and go back to the hold where he could finish his preparations without worrying about being late. Hopefully, there wouldn't be much combat outside of whatever facility they were hitting if there was to be shooting, he only had action and documentary trids to go on for jungle/forest combat.
Already occupied with a datapad in one hand and clearly not paying much attention to what the other people around the area were doing, it wasn't until Clo'Telok's metallic footsteps made themselves well and truly known that the man in the flight suit would pause to glance over his shoulder, only doing a double take when the cyborg began speaking. The easy smile that had been on his face moments before would vanish, eyes glancing the outsider up and down before shifting to look to a set of crates over behind Clo'Telok.
"You want a tarp, feel free to grab one from the pile. Green's best we got, you want better and you'll have to do it yourself. No can do on the liquid rubber, though. Pretty sure we've got none and if we do I don't know where it wound up."
Clo' would simply nod thanks and then move to grab a tarp. He'd lurch back to the ship in the hangar, assuming that's where everyone would need to gather anyway, and begin cutting it to shape with his in-built multitools. His plasma blade on extreme low setting provided heat to weld pieces back on to form the hood and sleeves. The new 'robes' would be baggy, ugly, and poor quality, but the borg had to admit that them being waterproof would be a major plus. A few holes for the dendrites and the beggar's camouflage was finished. He'd probably try stealing the boots off a hostile if stealth continued to be a concern after contact.
The green-covered merc simply watched and waited from there, ready to follow orders. There wasn't anything further he could think of to prepare, they likely wouldn't let him back in if he went to get his rifle.