Chapter One: Same Stuff Different Day?
We're always the bad guys, aren't we? The global military cabal dead set on ruling the world with an iron grip. The shadowy organization that "disappears" people or creating an endless supply of genetically modified living weapons with undying loyalty. Oh, and don't forget the mind control and the fact that your conditioner is conditioning your brain to agree with us. At least that's the picture you'd get from any news outlet nowadays. If it's bad and it isn't Robotnik, you can bet money someone's pinning it on us. It is almost as if everyone forgot our mandate as Guardians and all the good we've done over the course of over half a century. It's like everyone forgot the day we almost lost it all...
May 16th 2014
Fort Pendleworth
27km Outside Station Square
Invasion Minus 12 Hours
It had the makings of a beautiful day as the sun poked it's head just above the horizon of Station Square. The orange glow of the sunrise, a cool temperature, and a slight breeze coming in from the west. Perfect running weather in the mind of a Ssgt. David Branson as the sun started to illuminate his T-shirt which had three simple letters printed on it. A "G", a "U", and lastly an "N".
Now Staff Sergeant Branson wasn't usually one for routine or early morning runs before he joined G.U.N, but military life for the past few years had remedied that. After running the interior perimeter of the base he'd grab breakfast from the mess and then hit either the weight room or the rifle range. He'd focus on his breathing as he rhythmically made contact with the Tarmac, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth.
He'd throw his mind back to what the twenty-year old him would have thought about this. Him, a soldier? In command of his own squad? Sure, just like some of the other kids he hung out with, he imagined things like this. Being in the ranks of the good and righteous fighting against the hordes of evil to uphold the noble ideas and virtues that every citizen of the United Federation holds dear. Of course his perception of this occupation changed with the passage of time, but he could see himself serving his country and fighting the good fight.
So when he enlisted at 20, it was just his luck that separatists in the eastern states calling themselves "The Hand of Freedom" were executing a violent attempt to split from the United Federation on the issues of trade, taxes, and self governance. G.U.N was sent to resolve the conflict and Private Branson was sent off to war. What followed was an insurgency, and what came after that were some dead G.U.N soldiers, a lot of dead insurgents, and patchwork relations with those eastern states ever since. That was five years ago, but the hurt of losing some of his friends still stung slightly for Branson, so he refocused on his run and the eventual finish-line.
He'd soon have his goal in sight — the mess hall's building. He'd break out into a dead sprint and run the last couple hundred meters to the door of the mess, and after catching his breath for half a minute, head inside.
Invasion Minus 5 Hours
"Sarge, you sure you aren't getting old?" A corporal asked him, passing him on the physical training course.
"I'm only a couple years older than you, Royce." Branson replied. "Besides, I don't see you going out for morning runs. Someone need his beauty sleep?"
With that Branson would scale a cargo net obstacle at a slightly faster pace than Royce, the two now being neck and neck with only a sprint to the finish left. Other soldiers would chime in with words of encouragement as the two neared the finish line.
"Come on Sarge! I got ten bucks riding on this!" One soldier shouted
"Royce, I got a twenty down on this, and I sure as hell am not going to lose it!" Another one would yell.
"You got this Sarge!" Encouraged a third.
They would be only meters from the finish when Royce stumbled on a mound of dirt, throwing off his stride just enough for Branson to cross the line first. Money would change hands and mutterings of bad luck would be heard.
"I'll getcha next time Sarge," Royce said. "If I didn't trip I would have won."
"So you say Corporal, so you say." Branson replied. "Let's at least agree that we're pretty much even, okay? And you owe me a round next time we get weekend leave."
"Sure thing Sarge. I think one of those tropical milkshakes with those tiny umbrellas would suit you just fine." Royce said with a wide grin on his face. It seemed that some times corporal Jason Royce was one of those people who you could never quite tell if they were joking. He was also one of those people who would pull pranks during boot camp, and it would be a long month or so if you were the unfortunate soul who was his bunkmate.
"Jason, if you buy me one of those I'm going to have you cleaning the bunks with nothing but your hair comb." David would jest.
"Okay, so no tropical milkshakes with umbrellas..." Jason responded. "What about a two litre bottle of diet soda?"
To this Staff Sergeant Branson could only laugh.
Central City Space Observatory
Invasion Minus 4 Hours
A senior astronomer would quickly her gather notes, charts and loose papers then scurry out of her somewhat spacious office. Papers falling by the wayside with each hurried step, the astrologist would head down the hall towards an office on the corner of the floor. Once there, she'd knock on the door and it would quickly swing open revealing an old man in a white lab coat, which was an odd sight to see at an observatory.
"Ah! Doctor Hennessy! What news do you have for me?" The old man said in accented English, his eyes lighting up at the prospect of a new discovery.
"Well, Doctor Schneider, these photographs from our satellite telescopes came in just a few minutes ago, and they seem to show a comet that we haven't identified. From what I can gather from these images, it looks as if it will pass very close to our atmosphere." Doctor Hennessy replied, excitement tugging at her face and in her speech.
"Haven't identified it as in we haven't been able to confirm which one of the comets it is, Doctor Hennessy?" Schneider questioned.
"Haven't identified it as in we haven't ever seen it before, Doctor Schneider." She'd let it sink in for a second. "We just found a new comet, Doctor."
A smile would creep across Doctor Schneider's face. "Come inside, Miss Hennessy," He'd say. "We have much to celebrate!"
"If it's all the same, Doctor, I'd rather get back to work and find out as much as I can about this comet from additional photographs that will be at a much higher resolution." Doctor Hennessy would reply.
"Ah, but Doctor Hennessy, it is not every day you find a comet." Doctor Schneider would protest. "Besides, all of that boring cataloging and identification goes much faster after a glass of champagne. Believe me, I have tried it!" With that Doctor Schneider would let loose a raucous laugh and beckon Dr. Hennessy inside his office.
Despite his age, Schneider would waste no time in digging out a bottle of champagne and two thin wine glasses. He would pour a small amount in the glass closest to Dr. Hennessy and quite a more generous amount into his own glass. "I'm not the one working right now," would be his justification.
"So, Doctor Hennessy, what do you plan on naming this comet?" Doctor Schneider inquired.
"Uhm…" The female astronomer would think it over for a couple of seconds. "How about Hennessy's Comet?"
"Ah yes. Short, sweet, and to the point." Schneider would say. He'd then raise his glass.
"To Hennessy's Comet!" He'd say.
"To Hennessy's Comet!" She'd echo. The two of them would then follow the toast with a clinking of glasses and then drain them.
At that moment, higher resolution photos would finally have been transmitted and downloaded from other satellites, and they would have a very interesting tale to tell about "Hennessy's Comet".
A/N: So there it is, the start of a story and the start of my activity on this site! But by no means does this restrict you in your criticism of whatever this story turns out to be. Tell me about plot holes, grammatical mistakes, spelling mistakes, ways I can make sentences and paragraphs sound better and more cohesive, anything and everything that I can change to improve my writing. And don't mince words either! Your feedback, while not required, would be greatly appreciated as it shows me what I need to fix or things I should consider going forward. Stay frosty and stay safe!
-GolfUniformNovember