It was indeed a black day on the JetPack server… Well, technically, it was actually more of a gray, cloudy, overcast sort of day, but to the beleaguered defenders of a little patch of virtual dirt, it was, for all intents and purposes, a grim, black day. Blackened craters scar the land, a layer of ash covering the once verdant ground - scattering through the air by the whims of a breeze. A pall of inky black smoke rises amongst the bombed out ruins of what was once known as Big City, now referred to as 'The Rust-Bowl'. The wind, while fierce, seems dead and listless as it whips through shattered skyscrapers and across despoiled land, feeding flames and carrying upon it the stench of oil, rust, and above all else, death. The stifling silence was shattered by an almighty 'boom', in its wake, a mushroomed cloud of ash and detritus rising from the banks of a nearby hill.
"Incoming!" Screamed Katastrophic|Kat, who, from her perch atop a stack of crates, had managed to detonate a set of sticky-bombs in time to mulch the first few runners of the vanguard, as another wave of Pony-morphs rushed the ad-hock fortifications. "Jesus Christ, they just keep coming!" bemoaned the Man in the Mysterious Ushanka, who was currently trying to retrieve his knife from the back of some winged abomination's head after a botched back-stab. Quickly locking in another rocket, Heisenberg looked around and asked, "Does anyone know where the fuck Valentine ran off to?" Gustauve, who was currently treating a rather nasty arrow-wound to Hell's Angel's torso, quickly answered, "He ran off towards the warehousing district, shouting some nonsense about saving the server or some-such nonsense!" A brief, yet strangled yelp of pain from his patient was met with a contrite quip from the German as he snarled, "Oh, quit your bitching and hold still, I've almost got it out."
To which his rather involuntary patient snapped, "Yeah, well it fucking hurts, damn it!" All the while, the scuttling tides of sub-human brony filth continued on a mad dash towards what many on the server referred to as 'The Glue Factory', a cleverly situated ring of trenches and crenelations situated at the top of a steep hill, offering a good vantage from which to hold out until a more permanent solution could be had. Said solution was a bunker complex being constructed by both PolarStar and Somedude further into the hills beyond the hydro-purification plant, far and across the stretch of rubble that was once a part of the Old Town district. While not invulnerable, the hilltop holdout had managed to weather several dozen waves of furious horsified freaks for the past twelve hours or so, and while there were a few casualties, the overwhelming majority of the defenders had managed to hold fast.
Of course, this didn't seem to help the fact that there appeared to be no end to this cancerous scourge that threatened our dear server. If anything, it only seemed to drive the bronies to into a greater frenzy, as recently they had begun using such butthurt tactics as Rage Heavies, W+M1 Pyros, Caber Kamikazes and even a few Pomson Potshots! Worse still were the Piss Snipers and Buffalo Soldiers, who had a nasty habit of targeting the Engineers who maintained the sentry gun network that ultimately kept the ponyfuckers off the hill. As the enemy vanguard faltered once more under the withering storm of a dozen turrets, the outlying elements prepared for a skirmishing run – a tactic that had been growing increasingly bolder as time went on. The first of these raiders to come into firing range was a strange amalgam of some sort; cross between a scout and a some sort of pink unicorn, or at least it could have been a unicorn; there was no definitive way of knowing due to the fact that as soon as it got in range, it's head seemingly decided to burst into a million tiny bits of ichor and bone.
"Oh man!" Exclaimed Remi as he jumped up and down excitedly, "Did you guys see that shot?" To which Flanny replied, "Yeah, Rem', nice shot - now get down!" before tackling his friend just in time as a yellow beam of discharge gave proof to the attempt on the marksman's life. "Fucking Piss Shooters," grumbled Jupiter, "No skills whatsoever -" he proceed to take aim with his own rifle and downed the would-be assassin with a perfectly precise head-shot, "Real sniping is an art form." he huffed. The cacophonous staccato of a nearby level three sentry gun was the only indication that one of the bastards had managed to breach the interior range, a narrow band of open space spanning a mere seventy five meters from the front-line trench - far too close for comfort. "Hang on," shouted LemonCake as he grabbed a wrench and a handful of scrap, "Cover me while I fix this, okay?"
Gedab, who was lazily panning his scatter-gun from side to side nodded in affirmation as the Cakemeister made his way to the sentry. Just as he reached the contraption, the tale-tell hiss of a cloaking module deactivating was all the warning anyone had as a hideous brony-spy appeared! "Look out Lemon!" cried Gedab and several others who had been watching. "Fuck!" Cried LemonCake, who had managed to turn around just in time to avoid instant death, and instead took the blow to his shoulder. He quickly brandished his wrench, and with a mighty heave, belted the dastardly equinetard right across its ugly face. The sickening crunch was satisfying to most everyone present.
Unfortunately, the strike had been a critical hit, and LemonCake was dangerously close to death. Seeing a friend in need of medical assistance, Gustauve quickly grabbed a med pack and shouting, "Hang on Lemon, I've got you!" hopped the fortifications and made a mad dash towards the wounded Engineer. Upon reaching his staggered ally, he quickly went to work, deftly applying the necessary triage, and had it not been for LemonCake's constant vigil of their surroundings, the sudden ionization of air would have been missed, and the supposedly dead spy would have struck true. Fortunately that had not been the case, and so the Medic was given ample warning by his cohort; "Gus, behind you!" Quickly realizing what a monumentally stupid blunder he had just made, the German had just enough time to draw his Ubersaw, turn towards his adversary, and with a practiced, almost instinctual motion, jammed the saw straight through the creeper's face, spraying the both of them in a bout of neon-yellow blood and green brain matter; a random critical hit!
"Nice kill, Gustauve," congratulated LemonCake as he quickly finished repairing the defense array, "And thanks for the help." Gustauve, for his part, merely wiped the viscera from his trusted sidearm, and with a stiff nod, replied, "It was no problem my friend, I was merely doing my job; namely keeping your sorry ass alive." The two of them grinned at each other as a silent nod of understanding passed between them. Their moment of camaraderie was abruptly interrupted when Sebass, who had just woken up and was currently rotating shifts with Jupiter (who was struggling to keep his eyes open), quipped "Hey you two, save the bromance crap for later – we've got more inbound." With a roll of his eyes, Gustauve turned away, mumbling something about the merits of lobotomizing team mates, as Lemon shouted back, "Fuck you, Sebass." The semi-pro troll merely chuckled in response, delighted in the fact that even in such a dire situation, there were still jimmies to be rustled…
Legends of JetPack: The Battle of 'The Rust Bowl', Part One
It was indeed a black day on the JetPack server… Well, technically, it was actually more of a gray, cloudy, overcast sort of day, but to the beleaguered defenders of a little patch of virtual dirt, it was, for all intents and purposes, a grim, black day. Blackened craters scar the land, a layer of ash covering the once verdant ground - scattering through the air by the whims of a breeze. A pall of inky black smoke rises amongst the bombed out ruins of what was once known as Big City, now referred to as 'The Rust-Bowl'. The wind, while fierce, seems dead and listless as it whips through shattered skyscrapers and across despoiled land, feeding flames and carrying upon it the stench of oil, rust, and above all else, death. The stifling silence was shattered by an almighty 'boom', in its wake, a mushroomed cloud of ash and detritus rising from the banks of a nearby hill.
"Incoming!" Screamed Katastrophic|Kat, who, from her perch atop a stack of crates, had managed to detonate a set of sticky-bombs in time to mulch the first few runners of the vanguard, as another wave of Pony-morphs rushed the ad-hock fortifications. "Jesus Christ, they just keep coming!" bemoaned the Man in the Mysterious Ushanka, who was currently trying to retrieve his knife from the back of some winged abomination's head after a botched back-stab. Quickly locking in another rocket, Heisenberg looked around and asked, "Does anyone know where the fuck Valentine ran off to?" Gustauve, who was currently treating a rather nasty arrow-wound to Hell's Angel's torso, quickly answered, "He ran off towards the warehousing district, shouting some nonsense about saving the server or some-such nonsense!" A brief, yet strangled yelp of pain from his patient was met with a contrite quip from the German as he snarled, "Oh, quit your bitching and hold still, I've almost got it out."
To which his rather involuntary patient snapped, "Yeah, well it fucking hurts, damn it!" All the while, the scuttling tides of sub-human brony filth continued on a mad dash towards what many on the server referred to as 'The Glue Factory', a cleverly situated ring of trenches and crenelations situated at the top of a steep hill, offering a good vantage from which to hold out until a more permanent solution could be had. Said solution was a bunker complex being constructed by both PolarStar and Somedude further into the hills beyond the hydro-purification plant, far and across the stretch of rubble that was once a part of the Old Town district. While not invulnerable, the hilltop holdout had managed to weather several dozen waves of furious horsified freaks for the past twelve hours or so, and while there were a few casualties, the overwhelming majority of the defenders had managed to hold fast.
Of course, this didn't seem to help the fact that there appeared to be no end to this cancerous scourge that threatened our dear server. If anything, it only seemed to drive the bronies to into a greater frenzy, as recently they had begun using such butthurt tactics as Rage Heavies, W+M1 Pyros, Caber Kamikazes and even a few Pomson Potshots! Worse still were the Piss Snipers and Buffalo Soldiers, who had a nasty habit of targeting the Engineers who maintained the sentry gun network that ultimately kept the ponyfuckers off the hill. As the enemy vanguard faltered once more under the withering storm of a dozen turrets, the outlying elements prepared for a skirmishing run – a tactic that had been growing increasingly bolder as time went on. The first of these raiders to come into firing range was a strange amalgam of some sort; cross between a scout and a some sort of pink unicorn, or at least it could have been a unicorn; there was no definitive way of knowing due to the fact that as soon as it got in range, it's head seemingly decided to burst into a million tiny bits of ichor and bone.
"Oh man!" Exclaimed Remi as he jumped up and down excitedly, "Did you guys see that shot?" To which Flanny replied, "Yeah, Rem', nice shot - now get down!" before tackling his friend just in time as a yellow beam of discharge gave proof to the attempt on the marksman's life. "Fucking Piss Shooters," grumbled Jupiter, "No skills whatsoever -" he proceed to take aim with his own rifle and downed the would-be assassin with a perfectly precise head-shot, "Real sniping is an art form." he huffed. The cacophonous staccato of a nearby level three sentry gun was the only indication that one of the bastards had managed to breach the interior range, a narrow band of open space spanning a mere seventy five meters from the front-line trench - far too close for comfort. "Hang on," shouted LemonCake as he grabbed a wrench and a handful of scrap, "Cover me while I fix this, okay?"
Gedab, who was lazily panning his scatter-gun from side to side nodded in affirmation as the Cakemeister made his way to the sentry. Just as he reached the contraption, the tale-tell hiss of a cloaking module deactivating was all the warning anyone had as a hideous brony-spy appeared! "Look out Lemon!" cried Gedab and several others who had been watching. "Fuck!" Cried LemonCake, who had managed to turn around just in time to avoid instant death, and instead took the blow to his shoulder. He quickly brandished his wrench, and with a mighty heave, belted the dastardly equinetard right across its ugly face. The sickening crunch was satisfying to most everyone present.
Unfortunately, the strike had been a critical hit, and LemonCake was dangerously close to death. Seeing a friend in need of medical assistance, Gustauve quickly grabbed a med pack and shouting, "Hang on Lemon, I've got you!" hopped the fortifications and made a mad dash towards the wounded Engineer. Upon reaching his staggered ally, he quickly went to work, deftly applying the necessary triage, and had it not been for LemonCake's constant vigil of their surroundings, the sudden ionization of air would have been missed, and the supposedly dead spy would have struck true. Fortunately that had not been the case, and so the Medic was given ample warning by his cohort; "Gus, behind you!" Quickly realizing what a monumentally stupid blunder he had just made, the German had just enough time to draw his Ubersaw, turn towards his adversary, and with a practiced, almost instinctual motion, jammed the saw straight through the creeper's face, spraying the both of them in a bout of neon-yellow blood and green brain matter; a random critical hit!
"Nice kill, Gustauve," congratulated LemonCake as he quickly finished repairing the defense array, "And thanks for the help." Gustauve, for his part, merely wiped the viscera from his trusted sidearm, and with a stiff nod, replied, "It was no problem my friend, I was merely doing my job; namely keeping your sorry ass alive." The two of them grinned at each other as a silent nod of understanding passed between them. Their moment of camaraderie was abruptly interrupted when Sebass, who had just woken up and was currently rotating shifts with Jupiter (who was struggling to keep his eyes open), quipped "Hey you two, save the bromance crap for later – we've got more inbound." With a roll of his eyes, Gustauve turned away, mumbling something about the merits of lobotomizing team mates, as Lemon shouted back, "Fuck you, Sebass." The semi-pro troll merely chuckled in response, delighted in the fact that even in such a dire situation, there were still jimmies to be rustled…