1 Authors Note (Again): I made up some names and places that are not
true to the game. I am just being original and please don't say I copy
names.
2 Chapter 2: A New Goal, A New Purpose
Feyhander jumped, his AC unit flew through the air soundlessly without his boosters. His energy was low, drained on his plasma cannon and rocketing around. His opponent was not much better than he was. Both were on their last thousand points of armor. Both with only a few rounds left in their weapons. Both with weapons that only needed that many to kill of the opponent. The missile flew under him and exploded in a small sun. Feyhander was consumed by the explosion, he saw his armor points drop to the red but, he was not dead yet. He dropped back to the ground, his foe was there waiting for him. Before hitting the ground Feyhander hit his boosters and sidestepped the energy blade. Strafing his opponent he fired the last few rounds of his plasma cannon. The rounds hit and the enemy AC burst into flames and stood in a standing position; spent and charred. Feyhander stopped too. They both opened whatever remained of the cockpit doors and crawled out and jumped to the floor.
The battle was over. Robotic drones came and took their AC's away. His enemy walked up to him.
"Good battle. You won fair and square like always." Said Gregoruf.
" How many times are you going to challenge me?" said Feyhander.
"Until I either beat you or someone else beats me and becomes second," laughed Gregoruf.
"Well then I'll see you later." Said Feyhander.
They both walked away in good moods as always. The costs of rounds and repairs were paid for by the people controlled the Arena's. They made their living selling tickets and videos of the battles. The prize money and free costs was the incentive for AC pilots to fight in the televised Arena's.
People could make a living off of fighting in the Arena, Sub-Arena, and Ex- Arena. But none did. They made their livings off of the bounty of the mercenary jobs they did. Although lately things were in a dark age, the companies who sponsored the AC pilots all mysteriously collapsed. So did the Ravens Nest and other organizations that helped keep things in tune. But life went on; human nature for you only cares about immediate life and surroundings.
Feyhander traveled back to his home base, where his AC was waiting for him having repairs being done by the diligent robotic arms. He sighed. Life had gotten extremely dull despite the Arena battles. Few people offered missions these days. Only large organizations had the resources to hire an AC. Most of them were gone thanks to him and his destruction of the Ultimate 9-ball. The supercomputer apparently downloaded its systems into it in attempt to ensure its victory. But life would go on and people would recover. Only thing was that now he no longer had a purpose to fight as an AC pilot. He had sought vengeance. It was brought. He fulfilled his goal and purpose. So then now what? He no longer had a purpose for piloting, no longer a goal to work for, why not just relinquish his title as top ranking Arena champion? He never had a girlfriend, never had time, forever the pendulum of mission after mission, and battle after battle. He did not think he could. He was never the social type. Only time for fighting and training was he. What more could he be now? Admittedly he was only 26, he never met anyone who he was attracted too or any who had anything other than admiration for being top rank.
He wondered why he was so depressed. He still had a whole life ahead of him, there was still always time. All things considered, he had a pretty exciting and good life. He woke from his stupor. The com-link for his mail was blinking. He opened it with a click of a button.
To: Feyhander
From: Gregoruf
Great, thought Feyhander, he probably wants to challenge me to another match. But so soon he wondered.
I've just been defeated.
Those four words together Feyhander thought he would never see Gregoruf say. Next to him, Gregoruf was the best damn AC pilot in the world. He rushed to Gregoruf', doing some suicidal driving. He knocked but the door opened automatically. Inside was gloomy Gregoruf.
"Come, sit down." Choked Gregoruf. Through the window were the charred and battered remains of his AC.
"How? Who? When?" asked Feyhander. To him only an hour passed since his battle with Gregoruf. In truth it was 17 hours.
"Just an hour ago, by this man who calls himself Hustler 2 and his AC 8- ball, and he did so with all these new weapons and gadgets and armor pieces. I've never seen the kind of arsenal that guy had. He had weapons I have never dreamed of. I didn't even manage to hit him once." Sobbed Gregoruf.
Hustler 2? 8-ball? The old top Arena champion and his enemy was Hustler 1 piloting 9-ball. Could this be a new menace? Could the computer have survived? Could it be a new one? He considered everything. He had learned long ago that there was no such thing as coincidence. A year ago he killed 9-ball now a year later 8-ball?
"Don't worry I'll stop him." Said Feyhander. A menacing grin broke his other wise sorrowful face. He was sorry for Gregoruf but he just truly woke him from his stupor. He now had a new purpose, a new goal, and a new thing to devote his time and energies towards. He would stop this 8-ball. No matter how many there were. He would find the Master Supercomputer and crush it once and for all. And assure that no more ever; ever arise out of the depths to wreak havoc on humanity again.
2 Chapter 2: A New Goal, A New Purpose
Feyhander jumped, his AC unit flew through the air soundlessly without his boosters. His energy was low, drained on his plasma cannon and rocketing around. His opponent was not much better than he was. Both were on their last thousand points of armor. Both with only a few rounds left in their weapons. Both with weapons that only needed that many to kill of the opponent. The missile flew under him and exploded in a small sun. Feyhander was consumed by the explosion, he saw his armor points drop to the red but, he was not dead yet. He dropped back to the ground, his foe was there waiting for him. Before hitting the ground Feyhander hit his boosters and sidestepped the energy blade. Strafing his opponent he fired the last few rounds of his plasma cannon. The rounds hit and the enemy AC burst into flames and stood in a standing position; spent and charred. Feyhander stopped too. They both opened whatever remained of the cockpit doors and crawled out and jumped to the floor.
The battle was over. Robotic drones came and took their AC's away. His enemy walked up to him.
"Good battle. You won fair and square like always." Said Gregoruf.
" How many times are you going to challenge me?" said Feyhander.
"Until I either beat you or someone else beats me and becomes second," laughed Gregoruf.
"Well then I'll see you later." Said Feyhander.
They both walked away in good moods as always. The costs of rounds and repairs were paid for by the people controlled the Arena's. They made their living selling tickets and videos of the battles. The prize money and free costs was the incentive for AC pilots to fight in the televised Arena's.
People could make a living off of fighting in the Arena, Sub-Arena, and Ex- Arena. But none did. They made their livings off of the bounty of the mercenary jobs they did. Although lately things were in a dark age, the companies who sponsored the AC pilots all mysteriously collapsed. So did the Ravens Nest and other organizations that helped keep things in tune. But life went on; human nature for you only cares about immediate life and surroundings.
Feyhander traveled back to his home base, where his AC was waiting for him having repairs being done by the diligent robotic arms. He sighed. Life had gotten extremely dull despite the Arena battles. Few people offered missions these days. Only large organizations had the resources to hire an AC. Most of them were gone thanks to him and his destruction of the Ultimate 9-ball. The supercomputer apparently downloaded its systems into it in attempt to ensure its victory. But life would go on and people would recover. Only thing was that now he no longer had a purpose to fight as an AC pilot. He had sought vengeance. It was brought. He fulfilled his goal and purpose. So then now what? He no longer had a purpose for piloting, no longer a goal to work for, why not just relinquish his title as top ranking Arena champion? He never had a girlfriend, never had time, forever the pendulum of mission after mission, and battle after battle. He did not think he could. He was never the social type. Only time for fighting and training was he. What more could he be now? Admittedly he was only 26, he never met anyone who he was attracted too or any who had anything other than admiration for being top rank.
He wondered why he was so depressed. He still had a whole life ahead of him, there was still always time. All things considered, he had a pretty exciting and good life. He woke from his stupor. The com-link for his mail was blinking. He opened it with a click of a button.
To: Feyhander
From: Gregoruf
Great, thought Feyhander, he probably wants to challenge me to another match. But so soon he wondered.
I've just been defeated.
Those four words together Feyhander thought he would never see Gregoruf say. Next to him, Gregoruf was the best damn AC pilot in the world. He rushed to Gregoruf', doing some suicidal driving. He knocked but the door opened automatically. Inside was gloomy Gregoruf.
"Come, sit down." Choked Gregoruf. Through the window were the charred and battered remains of his AC.
"How? Who? When?" asked Feyhander. To him only an hour passed since his battle with Gregoruf. In truth it was 17 hours.
"Just an hour ago, by this man who calls himself Hustler 2 and his AC 8- ball, and he did so with all these new weapons and gadgets and armor pieces. I've never seen the kind of arsenal that guy had. He had weapons I have never dreamed of. I didn't even manage to hit him once." Sobbed Gregoruf.
Hustler 2? 8-ball? The old top Arena champion and his enemy was Hustler 1 piloting 9-ball. Could this be a new menace? Could the computer have survived? Could it be a new one? He considered everything. He had learned long ago that there was no such thing as coincidence. A year ago he killed 9-ball now a year later 8-ball?
"Don't worry I'll stop him." Said Feyhander. A menacing grin broke his other wise sorrowful face. He was sorry for Gregoruf but he just truly woke him from his stupor. He now had a new purpose, a new goal, and a new thing to devote his time and energies towards. He would stop this 8-ball. No matter how many there were. He would find the Master Supercomputer and crush it once and for all. And assure that no more ever; ever arise out of the depths to wreak havoc on humanity again.
