Bells of Judgment

Pride is a universal trait among intelligent beings who grew on battle. Once shattered, it brings naught but resentment. No race knows this better than humanity, even among those who supported the decision to assimilate with the ruling council of alien overlords.

Thus, humanity splintered. There were those who were comfortable living safely as a lesser race, content to wait generation after generation for humanity's chance to rise up and take its 'rightful' place alongside its rulers, and there were those who let their hate spill over.

These people kept themselves hidden for as long as possible; staying in the dark edges of the unmapped galaxy, thirsting for the day to strike back. In the meantime, they committed atrocity after atrocity, for no one would persecute those that brought harm on their own for the sake of their people. Jumping leaps and bounds in military power through experimentation on their own and birthing monsters solely designed for wiping out their enemies.

Everything they could do, they did for even the faintest hope of not only stemming the overwhelming tide of the Collective's power, but shoving them back as well.

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XJ-046 "New Canaidia", Collective Space

Dropship en route to New Hope

Standard Earth Calendar 03/06/2865

Death sat quietly in their dropship. His 'seatbelt' barely held him in place; it was just a single front strap over his chest. Dual Engines hummed from the the back, almost silent with an occasional lull in the sound until it jumps back to life, with Strife at the helm. One glance at the ship was enough to surmise its impressive age. The displays marking fuel level and elevation were old and mechanical, with needles pointing towards fuel indicators and a light burnt digital speedometer, and any nonessential meters were dilapidated and rusted. An outsider would wonder how this team of four somehow managed to have multiple high-grade M.A.S. battle suits but couldn't afford a more modern dropship to deploy from, Death couldn't help but feel as though he was sitting in a flying, metal, deathtrap.

Famine slept soundly in her own seat next to Death, drool trickling down her shoulder while her headset blared loud music audible even over the din of the ship. Hard, heavy, and chugging are all words he would describe what he could hear from his seat. It was obnoxious, so he figured it should suit that women well. Strife, meanwhile, kept her own headset on to drown out the noise from her sister, her choice of music pumping her up for battle. Death couldn't hear Strife's music but he assumed it to be just as annoying.

The two sisters had already donned their uniforms for their upcoming mission. Strife and Famine wore coverall grey bodysuits with padded limbs, and a collar to attach a sealed helmet when operating on a planet with no atmosphere. Different emblems embellished their upper right chests; Strife's patch had the side of a white horse's skull and a bow behind it, while Famine's bore a black horse's skull with a lightning bolt in the same style. Death, however, had not received a uniform. He simply wore his hood and rags he wore since before being forcedly recruited. His arm was wrapped in a brand-new bandage, but the sling remained.

Strife hit the autopilot at times, air-drumming and headbanging to the rhythm of her music, and would drum her fingers on the control stick when she wasn't. This annoyed Death to no end. Such unnecessary movements and complete disregard for proper piloting procedure only added more grievances to an already prodigious list. Top of the list would be the sisters barging into his room and taking his bed, while he got ready for deployment. Death put on his own headset and clicked a button to talk to Strife directly, interrupting her music with a low buzz from the engines ambient hum, making her stop the air drumming as she fiddled with her own headset to get her music back.

"You never told me our mission, Who is the target?" the boy quietly spoke as Strife slammed her fist against the panel when she realized what happened. "Also, explain to me again why you took my bed. Is it because you wish to start a fight? I am more than ready to teach you how to."

She refused to respond to him vocally, opting instead to flip him off.

"I see. Then I shall begin our fight by refusing to let you listen to your 'banging music', as your sister put it," he continued, his slang forced and awkward.

Strife ran her hand down her face, trying to think of some way to get out of this conversation without actually speaking.

"Perhaps I should tell you different methods with which to dispatch an adversary? Firstly-"

"Shut the hell up! If you can just sit there quietly until we get there, I'll tell you!" Strife snapped, smashing her fist on her arm rest, waking Famine with a start,

"I'm awake! What's going on? Are we there already?" Famine stammered as she struggled to collect herself. She looked over at Death to find him sitting quietly with his headset on as her sister smashing her fist down on her seat over and over again. "Oh… Yeah, I'm not dealing with this," she said with a sigh, unbuckling and walking off through the door to the cargo bay.

Strife took a deep breath and hit the autopilot button before turning the seat around to face Death, leaning forward with irritation etched clearly on her face. "Alright, brat, listen up. This is the only mission brief you're going to get. Forget it, and you're shit out of luck," said Strife, taking an envelope out from her bodysuit. "Blah blah blah… go to some backwoods town called New Hope, blah blah blah, held someone's kid hostage and killed him, blah blah blah, kill the terrorists," Strife folded the envelope back into her bodysuit as quickly as she'd removed it, eager to be rid of the conversation.

"We'll be there in a little while. Famine's going to go in with her stealth M.A.S. and use its specialized electronic system to give us the info we need, and then she'll cut their electronic support and provide long ranged covering fire if things go bad. I'll be going in and killing them all one by one. No M.A.S. direct combat assistance is permitted, unless the situation changes, and you're going to be a good boy and stay here," she finished, ending the briefing by starting up her music once again and turning off the autopilot. For the rest of their flight, Death stayed quiet, silently protesting them not involving him in their mission. She was not his commanding officer, and he did not have to listen to her. Behind her back, he glared at her from his seat. plotting on how to defy her.

Then it was time. Their dropship landed in a field far away of the town, a product of the early days of humanity's efforts to populate the stars. The structures there were all raised from local lumber and stone. Ancient styles of architecture such as log cabins made homes, and the original metal prefab buildings from the first colonizers still stood strong at the center. They were little more than metal boxes with small, vent-styled windows, and no real aesthetic style showed where the town began before they had expanded. Even their church was still standing from the old days of mankind, something that would have normally been torn down if it was built near the space port rather early in the occupation under the Collective. This is a place ignored and forgotten by everyone, except for whoever hired them.

For one reason or another, time seemed to stop for places like this. They would be settled far away from the space port and had no real use, yet people remained here, be it as vacation spots for the wealthy, people with no money to move to a real city, or people who just wanted to get away from it all. However, this also made it a good place to hide for anyone on the wrong side of Collective law. The town had grown impressively large considering, and indeed due to, their isolation. If some of these people are in a human supremist cell, then having a place to gather outside of human controlled space in the guise of a old colonial village let them grow under the pretense of keeping the poor and unwanted away from the public eye was perfect.

Strife and Famine went over their own checklist of things needed for their hunt. Famine's M.A.S. unit was smaller than average at about four and a half meters tall, and it had little armor to protect it from direct fire. What it lacked in armor, however, it made up for in stealth capabilities. They flicked the advanced stealth system on and off, and light passed through it completely. Unlike other stealth systems, there was no telltale shimmer. Death was impressed. This machine must have been top of the line. With its slender frame and black coating, it was a perfect infiltrator. The only weapon he could see was a long-range rifle attached with a belt of ammunition to a backpack unit.

While they tested its systems, and ignored the boy, Death walked out on his own. He didn't have the time or patience to spend waiting for the weak. With only his handgun, knife, and the few magazines he kept in a small fold in his clothes, he made his way towards the sleepy town.

The cloudless sky above and its bright yellow sun shone down on his pale skin. He raised his hood over his head to protect him from its brilliant light, squinting as he got used to the bright of day. The warm sun disagreed with his choice of clothing, but a gentle spring breeze kept him cool, whenever it blew. Under his bandages, his wound ached. A gentle rub over his gunshot wound reminded him to go slow this time, no more mistakes.

Usually deployments were loud and chaotic, being dropped in the middle of an active combat situation, so this walk towards town was quite peaceful by comparison. He is able to survey the landscape with no need to watch for snipers and ambushes, although he thought he could feel eyes on him from time to time. Wild grain swayed in the wind over long stretches of field, with breaks from patches of wooded areas, and herbivore animals called Wumbmoles grazing in packs, they were hairless, mole-like creatures the size of sheep. High above a pack of another creature flew up from some of the wood territories towards these oblivious grazers. Avian creatures called xenopteryx don't chirp like other avian did on other temperate planets. They were silent hunters, flapping reptilian wings flapping as they passed overhead. Like pelicans, their beaks were attached to a gullet, and their scaly, bright blue skin mirrored the color of the sky for camouflage against prey with poor eyesight.

Death watched them, as he walked, and they pounced on some of the indigenous herbivores and the predators swallowed them whole. They attacked in teams, striking simultaneously to ensure the kill. With sharp talons they pounced, and killed before their prey could make a sound. They were admirable hunters; there was beauty in their skills and simplistic need to hunt for food. They reminded Death of other hunters he fought alongside - the brothers and sisters that he trained with. As he admired them, he didn't quite realize he had reached the border fence of the settlement until his foot hit the road leading into it.

Security looked too lax for a village accused of kidnapping an alien child, especially not in the protective border of human space. Nothing prevented Death from touching the fence, and climbing it, and not even a patrol to spot him from reaching the buildings during a casual stroll. There were no expectations for this mission and Death still finds himself disappointed. 

Death expected to see at least some people out on their daily routine, at least, doing whatever it was people do out here in the sticks, but he saw no one. As he walked into town, all was deadly quiet. The houses he passed had their doors closed and windows blocked with curtains. Every now and then he would catch a glimpse of someone peeking out to look at him, but they would quickly disappear when he looked.

Perhaps there was more to this mission than the woman had mentioned, whether she forgot about details or simply neglected to tell him. 'Should I just burn down the town and dispatch the residents or would that against the mission's parameters?' he wondered. He didn't have all the facts to engage the enemy, so he concluded that he needed to wait and watch the sisters work so he could move in after they locate the enemy stronghold. They could prove to be excellent distractions.

As quietly as he came, he vanished with a thud of a kick, and turned into a blur for anyone that could be watching. He ran between the homes in search of dark places to lay in wait, where he could watch for anyone to step out and lead him to his target.

The girls, in the meantime, were ready. Not even a invisible shimmer showed their position as the M.A.S. stomped across the same field Death had traversed. The thumps of her M.A.S. running scared the xenopteryx away, screeching as they took flight with their prey in claw.

"Stealth system still runs like a dream. You got the data?" Famine's staticky voice rang through Strife's radio. Her sister sat in the palm of the mech's hands, covered like a bug in the grasp of a child. Strife checked a screen on her arm and swiped around a map of the area, pinpointing some of the larger buildings. These seemed like good spots to check first. "Yeah, just going over the plan in my head. Get somewhere far away and provide long-range support like we discussed," said Strife as she closed the map on her arm.

"You really gonna do it? You know War's gonna be pissed if he finds out about this," said Famine. The stomps slowed, and Strife could feel herself being lowered down, freed just a short run away from the village.

"Yep, I'm not gonna let him stay around. The kid is dangerous, but he won't see me coming," said Strife. The uniform she wore on the way here now had a helmet. Its visor was coated in an opaque white screen, masking her identity. "Besides, I'll just take that drive back from him and you can look at it after we get back."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. Just make sure the job gets done. Intel isn't on our side here and I could only do so much with the distant flyby we did, we have no idea how many we have to take out," replied Famine. The radio static intensified as Famine ran to a better vantage point. "Got it. Radio silence from here on. Over," said Strife, hitting a button on her collar and quieting the noise. She unholstered two slim handguns with long, blue-ringed barrels. She pressed a button next to the safety, and the blue lights extinguished with the barrel unshackling small plates and shifting them forward over the muzzle to form a silencer. "Nice and quiet then."

Both hunters were now in the quiet town, and both made themselves unseen. Like any good ambush predators, they would wait to move in dark places and towards new spots in which to find suitable prey.

Death watched the houses and curtains carefully. They would move slightly every so often as someone would peek out. Everything felt wrong, like there were enemies everywhere reporting his position. He had the distinct impression he was right in the middle of the enemy stronghold. After a short while, he found a larger building to work towards - a church.

Strife kept a similar pattern, but knew exactly where to go first. The church was the place last known to hold the hostage they sought. She also knew who these people were - Humanist, a terrorist organization that took great pains to raise humanity above its lower status by any means necessary. What they did here and who they killed was irrelevant, because someone was paying The Horsemen a fat check to silence them.

Strife and Death both held the same thought. 'Who is the target?'

They each made efforts to avoid being spotted by anyone, but there was still the occasional eye watching them move. They both made it to the church without incident. The church was built in the center of town, two stories high with a tall belfry. The buildings next to it were at the perfect height to get to the second floor easily. Death felt his nerves start to grate and instinct began to take over, he needed to become unseen before the enemy springs their trap and the belfry looked perfect.

Strife thought about going across the roofs. It would be loud if she wasn't careful but this town was acting sketchy, and it would be best to have the high ground if everyone stormed out of their homes and decided to lynch her. She was preparing to do just that until a bell rang out three times, and Strife flattened herself against a wall and some crates opposite the entrance to the alley. As she hid in an alleyway, an old man stepped out of the church in the robes of priests from old earth. His hat was reminiscent of the Pope of Earth's halcyon days. He raised his arms as if to embrace the air in front of him and smiled widely, with the bell signaling for the townspeople to leave their homes and head towards the church.

Strife held her breath as some came uncomfortably close. She kept herself calm with the thought that they wouldn't see her unless they looked directly at her, until someone held a gun to her back.

"Move. Father Crowley asks for an audience," the voice of an older man came from behind her. At that moment, it dawned on her. The town was the target. Everyone here was a terrorist.

"Shit," whispered Strife, raising her hands behind her head and walking out with the crowd. The mission had already gone south and not a single bullet was fired. She couldn't even radio her sister for support without alerting the mob around her. Before Famine could open fire, they would tear her to shreds.

"My children! Rejoice, for we have weathered the storm! Our beliefs in the God above have rewarded us, and we have captured another non-believer!" Father Crowley's voice boomed as the crowd cheered. Strife was shoved to the feet of the priest, and he looked down to her, flashing the smile of a righteous and pious man.

"Are you man or beast under that armor of lies? Show us what secrets you hide, and God's mercy be upon you!" he said, grasping Strife's helmet and ripping it off her head. Her hair was a mess, and she sneered at him.

"Not man, but woman! They send children and women to subdue us! How sad are the beasts who look to enslave us!" he exclaimed, raising her helmet high, like a trophy, as the crowd cheers again. Strife was helpless in this situation. Her weapons were stripped from her, and her support is unable to come without killing her. She sighed and looked up at the belfry. The sun cast a shadow into it and the bells had stopped ringing. Inside, however, was a glint.

She wasn't sure, but she thought she could feel eyes watching them from above. Familiar, empty eyes watching from a perch, looking for the chance to pounce. She shook her head and looked down again, hoping her message was conveyed without notice.

The crowd reveled in their victory and the priest had her escorted inside. Divine punishment awaited her within those walls and lurking from above is something demonic. The boy should have been one of her targets today, but now he was her only hope.