In the decades following the great nuclear holocaust…
The guards stepped along the catwalks, glancing down at the prototype generator that Crest Industries was about to unleash to the public in the following days. Reaching a hand to his ear, the guard with the larger gut glanced up at the cascading waterfall that rushed down on the giant device, turning turbines and cooling the gargantuan device as it shot steam along the sides of the rock walls. Dimly lit lights pulsed over the machine, flowing in the directions of the twin cables on either end which powered the entire vegetative park area.
The Corporations control the world's dwindling resources.
The other guard took a look towards the south, over the jungle landscape that obscured their visibility. Somewhere, out in that mesh of gigantic leaves and towering trees stood a pair of MTs, Muscle Tracers. Machines of various shapes and sizes designed to be anything from a mobile weapons platform to full blown flyers. In the distance, the guard spotted one of them, stomping along with its reverse jointed legs and sporting a mini-gun upon its torso that swiveled, seeking a target in the insanity of the dense shrubbery. Overhead, the sound of choppers slicing the air barked as air patrols swung through, casting lights that left shadows of tree growth upon them before taking off into the night air.
Masked underneath the presentations of the media and publications…
"Do you hear that?" The larger guard asked. The second one strained his ears and nodded slowly. There was something else in the air, the sound of jets screeching their own path in the sky, almost perfectly masked over the waterfall and rush of the VTOLs.
A war is fought between the juggernaut companies.
Then there was a new sound in the air. The sound of machine guns chopping and violent explosions that thudded out the ambient sounds of the jungle. The smaller guard's eyes widened as something orange illuminated the skies above, as the copter that had just passed over sailed through the air streaking smoke and flames. It settled with an abrupt shock on the ground, its nose bending before the fuel in the engine ignited and sent the propellers swimming through the air.
Private corporate armies engage in battle everyday… for profit.
The nearby MT quickly twisted its torso towards the sky, unleashing a volley of rapid fire rounds whose tracers sent dotted lines through the night sky. Leaves and debris rained upon the area as a second MT from an undisclosed location followed suit. Both machines tried to have their streams of fire touch the shadow of the colossus that masked the artificial stars of the sky dome above.
Between the exchanges and contracts however… are the elite.
The MTs stopped for a moment as they had lost sight of their target, twisting around to bring their guns to bear to the east. Somewhere, something fast was kicking up leaves and shrubbery as it strafed near the ground, closing the distance between itself and the unseen MT. The guards could only watch as a flash of red light briefly crackled in the sky, and assaulted them with the smell of burnt ozone. The sound of metal screeching against rock followed soon after, as the other MT found its target and opened fire more from the need to survive then aggression.
Armored Core pilots of incredible skill and ferocity…
The sound of rounds sighing through the air caught the second MT in the leg and torso, sputtering flakes of reactive armor and knocking the twin legged walker from its standstill. The machine jerked left as a third round tore away the entire right leg, letting sparks fly in the air as the MT was incapacitated. It fell to the ground with a ground quaking slam, guided by gravity. Pieces of the machine trickled down the grass into the watery crevice of the polluted river, a gift of the underground city.
Guided by fame, money and power…at the forefront of the fighting.
The man shaped machine glided upon bursts of its thrusters, hovering just over its sparking kill. Its body shined a soft purple-gray from the lights of the generators, flat shins and chest plates holed in a gritty fashion. The right hand, human with its four digits and thumb, lifted a massive rifle towards the generator. The guards stood, paralyzed by the V-shaped eyes of the AC, its appearance an angry, near vengeful glare against them. There was no where to run as the AC unleashed a pair of rounds on the large volatile object behind them. The two men could only watch as the machine turned an about face and dashed from them as the generator went critical, and engulfed their lives in the imminent explosion.
They are simply called… 'Ravens,