[tg] Isaac Clarke: Ace Zoid Pilot (2/1/14)

“Come on, come on!”

 

Today was NOT Isaac's day.

 

Shortly after he’d sent Ellie away to safety in the small shuttle, Isaac had quickly gotten separated from Carver. Not that was a problem, as both men could handle themselves, but the loss of a set of alert eyes and a steady hand left Isaac feeling jittery.

 

No. the real problem was the massive shreds of necrotic flesh that were still falling from the sky like a macabre sort of confetti.

 

Of course, nothing was simple.

 

In a flustered haste that spoke volumes of Isaac’s engineering ability, a broken and battered unitologist escape pod was turned into Isaac’s means of escape. A jury-rigged Shock Drive had even been fabricated from junk within the pod. Said junk was the pod’s paltry safety equipment.

 

One crazed, Shock driven launch latter, and Isaac was sent into deep space towards Tau.

 

Or, at least he thought he was. Getting to Tau shouldn’t take hours.

 

“Son of a bitch!” The engineer yelled as the sup-par terminal in the small pod still read the same “NO SIGNAL” error.

 

Isaac stopped and took a deep breath, letting his advanced RIG helmet disassemble as he resisted the urge to put his fist through the inert device. “Why am I getting so worked up over this?”

 

His hands came up to massage his temples, before the engineer let the screen fade back to the default screen. A glaring red [UNKNOWN PROPULSION DAMAGED] In the middle angrily flashed, telling Isaac that his improv drive’s first jump had also been it’s last.

 

“Give me a bit of good news…” Isaac stated glumly as he hit’s a number of keys on the terminal. As the computer hummed and worked, the man sits back in the cramped pod and thinks to himself.

 

The last few years have been pure hell. That’s all there is to it.

 

What was meant-thought-to be a simple false alarm for the prestigious USG Ishimura, was really a nightmare right from the most sick and twisted intergalactic storybook of horrors there was. The name of this tale of terror, one might ask?

 

Necromorphs

 

Just thinking about the word sends a shiver of unease and hatred down Isaac’s spine.

 

The entire ship was rampant with them. The poor crew turned grotesque monsters whose only purpose was to gather and infect others. None were spared in the frenzy of the Necromorphs, as even the orphanage aboard was targeted. The children inside stood no chance against their own caregivers, who died and rose again to turn on their charges.

 

A beep from the pod terminal pulled Isaac away from his nauseating thoughts and quickly put a smile on his face when “SIGNAL ACQUIRED!” lights up and blinks almost merrily. “So this bit of junk actually got me somewhere without depressurizing halfway? Well I’ll be damned.”

 

        A quick glance out of the pod’s small port window revealed what looks like an ideal little garden world out in the distance. Blue oceans, green and brown land, and masses of white puffy clouds, the occasional satellite and most importantly, not a single worldwide disaster beacon warning space travelers to keep their distance. It’s was refreshing sight for sore eyes.

 

        A few more clicks and clacks on the pod’s terminal told Isaac that he was indeed vectored toward the idyllic looking world, which put a tired, but oh so relieved smile on the survivors face.

 

        One thing did seem slightly off, however.

 

        “Why do none of the signals I’m getting from that planet seem familiar..?”

 

 

        “So, who are we going to go lose to tomorrow?” asked Leena Toros despondently as she walked into the living room, drying her still shower wet hair with a towel.

 

        Brad Hunter, situated on the circular couch, let out a snort, steadfastly ignoring Leena’s pessimism. “Some low lives that go by the name ‘Team Saber’. They’re low ranked, so I can’t imagine that they could beat us.”

 

        “Brad, we’re pretty low ranked too,” Leon Toros supplied from his place across from Brad, “but that doesn’t mean that we are for sure going to lose,” he said optimistically. “We’ve just had a nasty string of bad luck, that’s all. We just need to get back into the swing of things, that’s all! A few good matches will do us all some good.”

       

        “Yeah, they would, but I don’t think it’s going to happen anytime soon,” groaned Leena.

 

        Leon shot his sister a disapproving look.

 

        “Don’t look at me like that!” she all but yelled, “You know it’s going to happen!”

 

        Brad sighed and stood up, already seeing a fight about to start. “Look, you two can bark up each other’s tree all you want, but that’s not going to fix a thing. We need to get our act together, and soon.  We’re going broke, and once the money stops flowing, I’m going to hightail it out of here. Then you all won’t win for sure.”

 

        Leena turned away from Leon and gave Brad a scathing glare, the kind that only an upset teenage girl could use. Leon just shook his head sadly, genuinely upset to see such a rift in his team.

 

        “Glare at me all you want,” Brad coolly stated as he closed his eyes and slipped hands into his pockets, “but it’s not going to fix a thing. You both know that this team wouldn’t even be able to meet the overhead costs without me pulling in consolation money from every botched match we have.”

 

        He then turned his attention to a red-faced and scowling Leena. “You know what would help? Tell your old man to quit spending everything we earn. So far he’s just dragged us even further down because he insists on buying junk. That zoid he bought a month back has done nothing but sit and gather dust, and I’ve never met someone who wanted to keep a zoid when there’s an obvious ghost in the system.”

 

        “So now you’re not content to badmouth me, but now you need to drag my father into this?!” Leena roared in outrage, getting right in Brad’s annoyed face. “Guess what bucko, he owns your room, your zoid, this entire Hover Cargo, and he writes those precious paychecks of yours! If I were you, then I would keep my mouth shut!”