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Author Topic: Kurian’s Bruisers  (Read 631 times)

ShiraUso

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Kurian’s Bruisers
« on: 14 March 2019, 05:44:39 »
Hi guys! Well I’ve waited way too damn long for someone to want to do a collaborative with me, so I done went ahead and began writing something on my own. Feedback is greatly appreciated, ESPECIALLY if I do something that’s contrary to canon. If you’ve see my collaborative invitation page, PRETEND YOU’VE NEVER SEEN THE STORYLINE COS DERP THAT’S KIND OF A SPOILER FOR THIS STORY. Anyways, enjoy!

Prologue

Alpheratz
Outworld Alliance
The Periphery
2nd January 3027

New year, new me... so they say... Artemis ‘Maul’ Kurian thought to herself, her lithe body leaning against the cold hard titanium-steel alloy armour of her Atlas’ right leg, her arms crossed as her right shoulder rested her weight against her metal giant protector, her right leg crossed behind her left, her heel sticking up with the balls of her feet on the ground.   The poorly-conditioned temperature of the mech bay she and her prized heirloom stood in was just about every bit as disappointing and backwater as she would expect out of a spaceport in the Periphery, capital planet or not.

Some lovely new me indeed, eh? Her eyes look to Captain Roy of the Exiled Hell Jumpers, whose battle-scarred face was looking as grim as ever. “So this is how it all ends, huh?” A smile akin to that of a citizen of the ancient city of Pompeii cracks along her face.

Her mercenary unit, Hell Juggernauts’, was nothing but bad news. Their last contract in the Inner Sphere had utterly skewered their fighting force, leaving just the Atlas and the Spider, along with just 2 platoons of Roy’s company. Clearly unable to successfully take a good contract in the Inner Sphere, they moved into the Outworld Alliance, hoping to strike the gold mine. The Periphery took its turn to take a swing at them, though, and their dropship, tech crew and anything or anyone who wasn’t on the battlefield during their mission on Mitchella, a planet in the Alliance, was kidnapped and taken by some unknown pirate gang of bastards.

“Ain’t over yet, boss. The Hell Jumpers’ still got one more mission in ‘em.”

“I don’t know if the Juggernaut’s got another mission in her.”

“Third time’s the charm.”

“Third knockout blow’s a TKO.”

“Artemis.” Roy’s head cocks to a side ever so gently, as he takes a step towards her, his right arm stretching out to lay a hand on her left shoulder. Artemis’ left shoulder muscles twitch, her right eye eyebrow rising a few centimetres up. Roy has never, ever touched her before, ever. “We’ve got this. You...’ve got this.” His bright blue eyes stare into her very soul, sending every nerve of the highly-skilled veteran Mechwarrior flying over the moon.

Her mind races, shocks of adrenaline rolling across her body. Facing off against an Atlas would make her less nervous that she was right now, with her infantry captain giving unprecedented encouragement. “I... wha...” What the crap are you doing? Get your head back in the game!

She raises her right hand, her fingers grasping and sliding his hand off her thin shoulder blades. She shifts her weight off her Atlas, walking away from the captain, her hands rising up to her head, running her fingers through her slick jet black hair. “We can’t. The Atlas’ AC/20’s jammed, the Spider’s cockpit still has a hole where...
Look, Hell’s Juggernauts is screwed. I’m not going to let some junky engineers mess up my family heirloom, and we don’t have technicians anymore. Unless you’ve got one more bloody magical miracle to pull out your ass, we’re done.” She turns back ‘round to face him, running her hands down her high ponytail, before releasing it to let it swing back down to her butt. The distance between the two leaders was now about 2 metres, as they begin locking themselves back into a lasting exchange eye contact.

Roy just stands there, hands on his hips, his baggy green fatigues gently swaying with the wind of the mechbay’s fans. Finally, he sighs. “I’ll see if I can cook up some sort of turnaround for us. Maybe find some technician who isn’t ready to watch a Kuritan give up on herself.” He turns to walk away, right hand sliding up to rub his temple.

Artemis rolls her eyes. “It’s Kurian. I’m not a Kuritan dammit!”

“Keep telling yourself that.”
« Last Edit: 17 March 2019, 02:40:18 by ShiraUso »
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ShiraUso

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Re: Kurian’s Bruisers
« Reply #1 on: 26 March 2019, 11:16:33 »
Hi guys! Sorry for the super long delay — took a break from like 90% of stuff in life for a week, which included writing.
Once again, I really appreciate feedback. Tell me if you love it, hate it (and why you hate it ;.;), and everything in between. Thanks again for reading!

Also, if you ever see any edits going on it’s probably because I found a few mistakes in my writing, or want to try to improve it further. Do tell me if I made any mistakes :$



Chapter 1

Alpheratz
Outworld Alliance
The Periphery
2nd January 3027

“Another.” Artemis raises her right hand, her gaze fixed upon the dull, plain glass mug before her, residue unfinished alcohol at its bottom glittering gently in the dim lighting of the bar. The stocky bartendersilently fills her mug with another batch of beer. She slips out a gold coin of some currency she can’t be bothered to identify, launching it at him with the flick of her thumb. What the heck am I going to tell my father… She raises the mug to her lips, tipping her head back to take a long swig of the burning, bitter alcohol. She rarely drinks, never really understood what’s so appealing about it, but tonight’s a special occasion: the day she was finally ready to throw in the towel.

Thank God I’ll only have to listen to his damn lectures in the afterlife. She breaks into a soft chuckle to herself, her eyes finally break away from staring at her drink, turning to look to a screen of some sorts. Up hanging from the ceiling on her left is a holo-screen, some nonsensical scandal news about House Avellar. Even in the Periphery, interest in the lives of pamperous privileged buffoons is present. She lets her eyes linger on the screen for a few more moments, before moving her gaze downwards to rest on the other drunkards occupying the left side of the bar counter.

“Pleasant evening, yeah?” A new presence slides himself onto the stool on her right. A quick mental check reminded her of her slightly drunken state. Probably not the best time to conduct a conversation with some obviously infatuated fool.

“Pleasant time to be alone, yeah.” She returns her body to its original sulken bent over posture, her gaze resting on her mug once again.

“I’m sure I could change your mind.” He calls for the bartender, ordering a bottle of liquor. A bottle is swiftly placed in front of him, and he slips a C-bill towards the barkeeper in response. His use of currency does not escape her, though her somewhat alcohol-influenced consciousness could not care less. “Want some?”

“Screw off.” She grunts, taking a swig out of her beer.

“Look woman, I’m trying to be nice here.” He rotates his torso to face her, his hands removing his bottle cork with a distinctive ‘pop’.

“Can’t possibly imagine what you’re otherwise like then.”

“Want to find out? A fine woman ain’t gonna get a free swing at my ego and get away with it, I can promise you that.”

“Try me.” A chuckle escapes her lips, as she takes a last swig out of her drink, before turning her own torso to face him. Her weary eyes take their time to assess him. This should be interesting.

She sees the punch being thrown in his eyes years before he actually throws it. As his right shoulder twitches to begin the violent action, she sends out her own left arm forward to block it with her forearm. The impact rocks her slender frame. Pain wastes no time, the sting of the blocked punch shooting up from the point of contact. She retaliates with her right arm, propelling it forward in a shield bash-like attack. As expected, he blocks it with his left elbow. Her right knee then launches out into his belly, her hips twisting to give the attack more strength.

He stumbles back in recoil, a grunt of pain escaping his lips. He would get no respite from her, though. She steps forward, swinging a right punch at his face. He blocks, and she fakes another right knee launch, before giving him a lightning fast left uppercut into his chin. Not letting him recover, she squats and compresses herself, before giving him a right jab. He swings his right arm at her in desperate retaliation, only to have her slide past it. She springs up with a jump, her body twirling in mid-air as she swings a full roundhouse kick into his side.

He falls back from the force of the kick, his body sprawling all over the bar counter on his right. She stands over him, fists at the ready. Right hook, left hook, then a smash of her right fist onto his face. Not bothering to survey the damage done, she steps away from his heavily beaten body, letting off a light sigh of satisfaction. The surrounding patrons of the bar were staring her with a variety of faces; surprise, intrigue, annoyance, confusion, and so on. She pays them no mind, reaching over to her drink on the counter and finishing the beer.

<|>

“I don’t care if you were drunk! That was a total bag of stupidity from you!” Roy’s booming voice rings in her ears, as he steps back, his fingers through his short military-cut hair. His eyes look to the hospital bed, where the man Artemis beat up lies unconscious. They had brought the man to the hospital after one of Roy’s privates had watched the whole fight unfold and called him. Possibly unnecessary, but after what Artemis did to him, it was the least they could do.

The other outsider in the room watches Roy give Artemis an all out dressing down. He was the man Roy was told to call while they were on their way to the hospital. Roy looks to him, then back to the hospital bed, then back to Artemis. “I would expect better out of you. I shouldn’t even have to scold in the first place.”

“Alright Roy, I get it. Somehow keep my cool when I’m freakin’ drunk. Can you shut up about it now?” Artemis rolls her eyes, breaking away from his gaze to stare at the ceiling. Roy grits his teeth, his arms crossing in front of his chest and his eyes burning holes into her cheek for a good long minute before finally turning away, instead rotating his body to face the outsiders.

“I’m terribly sorry for what my friend here did. I hope we can find some sort of agreement on a compensation for…”

“Anders. His name is Anders, and I’m Bryan. I wouldn’t worry too much about it. I’m sure Anders is just as guilty as she is. We’ll see what he thinks when he wakes up again, though. If you’ll excuse me, I have to make a call.” Bryan offers a smile, before making his way out of the room.

Roy swerves back ‘round to face Artemis. “I still can’t believe you went and did something that dumb. Trying to show off your traditional family’s martial arts? Look what you did. I don’t even know what this’ll do for our reputation. A single mech company is screwed as it is, without its only mechwarrior running around beating other people up just because she can’t hold her beer.”

“Oh shut up Roy. The Spider’s still up and running, so no need to start spouting bullshit to mix around with your scoldings.”

“I’m not talking about the hole in Greg’s old cockpit, I’m talking about your Atlas! Don’t pretend the busted autocannon’s its only issue. I’ve seen the full damage reports.”

“Oh screw you. The Kurian Hokori is far from totaled, you ******. Aren’t you the one who told me we’re still in business?”

“That was before I watched a talented mechwarrior get drunk and beat up some random guy!”

“Oh for f-“

Anders’ suddenly stirring from unconsciousness cuts the heated exchange short, as the two warriors turn to look to the man in question. Anders sits up in his bed, droopy weary eyes looking to the two other souls in the room. “Somebody said Atlas.”

Artemis raises an eyebrow at him, perplexed by his weird, borderline delirious statement. The door opens, revealing Bryan, who takes in the whole scene in one glance.

“Bryan, I think we’ve found ourselves a new team of mercenaries.”

“Sorry?” Artemis steps forward, her hands on her hips.

“What’s your name, miss?”

“Kurian. Artemis Kurian.”

“Well Kurian, I need a fresh team of mercenaries to work for me. I’ve got a fantastic contract with a drop and jumpship just waiting around.”

“Define a team of mercenaries. I’ve got two mechs and me as our only mechwarrior. Not much of a ‘jolly good’ team of mercenaries.”

“You’ve got an extra mech? That’s your head technician Bryan over there, and you’ve got an extra mechwarrior, right here.” His index fingers curl inwards to point at himself, the injured recently beaten up man under hospital sheets. His lips form a smug smile, his head leaning back to rest against his bed backboard in delusional self-awe.

“Anders, you’re still injured.” Bryan pipes up, his arms crossed as his bright blue eyes regard the blabbering mechwarrior.

“I’m fine. I can go right now.” His head rolls back down, his hands grabbing and pulling his sheets off. His swings his legs off the bed, and gets up to…
Tumble over to hit the floor.”

“Clearly.” Artemis rolls her eyes, her gaze wandering to rest on something more interesting.

“I’m fine! Just a couple of bruises.” He jumps back off to his feet, dusting off imaginary dust and straightening his black leather jacket. “She bruised me up good.”

<|>

“Artemis, I’ve done a full inspection of both mechs. The Spider’s cockpit repairs are a standard fix, but we need to talk about your Atlas…” Bryan holds a datapad in his hands, his eyes giving its contents one last look before bathing her in their gaze. The two are standing in front of Artemis’ giant metal behemoth of an assault mech, Bryan having paged for her through a radio-contactor. The heat of the poor air-conditioning of the mech bay leaving droplets of sweat trickling down the head tech, whose bright blue eyes meet Artemis’ hazel brown. Artemis barely felt the heat; it was nothing compared to being cooked alive in an overheating mech.

“Its AC/10 is jammed, and the torso’s myomers took damage, I know.” She places her hands on her hips, letting of a gentle sigh as she relaxes her muscles, training her eyes on his to fulfill the tiresome duty of eye contact. Her black windbreaker gently ripples in the wind of the mech bay’s fans, its zipper down to reveal her red plain t-shirt underneath.

“Alright, firstly, we have to talk about the whole damn thing. Don’t lie to me. I know an AC/10 when I see one, and that is definitely an LBX-10. I’ve looked at the side torsos too. There’s an extralight engine in there. That’s an…”

“Atlas II? No. It’s not. It’s pretty damn close, but it’s not. It’s a family heirloom, the pride of my grandfather who fought in the wars against the Star League. It is covered in Lostech, and is priceless beyond words, so I would very much like to not see it lost in any way, shape or form. Please take good care of it.”

“I… well… I’ll do my best. The autocannon jam won’t be hard to fix, and the myomer damage is standard. We still need to talk about what the heck is that thing.”

“It’s the pride of my bloodline, and it’s an Atlas II that lives in an Atlas. That’s all you need to hear from me. Thanks Bryan.” Before he can send another barrage of questions, she quickly turns to leave, making her way towards the bay’s exit, right up until she sees Anders, dressed in brown trousers and a black leather jacket, standing in a laid-back relaxed position, as he talks to some well-dressed noble who is clearly out of place.

“Ah Artemis, right on time. This is our new employer, Minister Gordon of the United Deep Worlds.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Artemis.” Minister Gordon stretches out his right hand for a handshake, one that Artemis obliges to, her eyes silently analysing the man as the two exchange pleasantries.

“Bryan tells me that you’re his partner in this newly formed mercenary unit.” His attire is totally spotless, possibly bordering OCD. His freshly pressed black suit tells of his wealth, and probably brings him great discomfort, judging from the beads of sweat present on his face. The heat of the mech bay shows no mercy. His voice is smooth, yet firm. His face features a weak jawline and low cheekbones, with combed short black hair. His dark blue eyes stare into hers, no doubt analysing her in a similar fashion.

“So we are. I’ve never heard of the United Deep Worlds.”

“Most outside of the Deep Periphery have not. It’s an alliance of systems that share collective protection from bandits. We need more mercenaries to garrison our worlds, hence my presence here.”

“As long as you guys have the bucks, we’ll make sure your days of getting plundered are over.”

“I would expect so out of a mechwarrior who pilots a mech so…” He turns to marvel at the sheer size of her Atlas, as a small grin curls into existence on Anders’ face.

“Trust me. On the battlefield, she’s a lot more deadly and intimidating than beautiful.” She allows herself to smile at the awe-struck minister. For the first time in months, she could feel the pride of her bloodline flowing through her veins once again.

“Let us hope so, for both our sakes.” His face shifts back to face her, nodding and offering a smile before turning his attention towards Anders.

“I take it your unit has a name?”

“Sure as the Inner Sphere has a planet named Earth in it.” He smiles confidently, his yellow teeth showing themselves in the brightly-lit mech bay.

“Kurian’s Bruisers, that’s who we are.”
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