S1, 06 Bruises (January 28, 2018)

January 19th, 2098: (Abandoned) Leper Laboratories, 40 Miles Outside Phoenix Arizona:

Alexander Stalin strolls down the hallway, without a care in the world. Even though he walks in a deserted, militarized laboratory, somewhere in the deserts of Arizona. And even though he entered by blowing up half of the complex. And even though this lab was known for genetic mutating experiments gone horribly wrong.

Stalin always has had a knack for trouble-making. Maybe that’s why he’s wanted in both System 54 and 55 by at least two crime lords and three politicians per planet. But, even minor setbacks such as being caught by some grumpy Governor won’t stop Stalin from achieving his end game. Currently, it’s somewhere between blowing up the Imperium and demolishing every Aurelian base with giant wrecking balls.

Light dances off Stalin’s blue-black armor, coming from peculiar bugs, who’s chitin beams an eerie green. Stalin twirls an energy sword, the sharp blade of the sword covered in microscopic wires, that would jump to life with electricity at a moment’s notice. Stalin’s armor consists of a variety of metals and reinforced plastics. Stalin painted his armor himself. Originally, the armor was going to be all black, like the charred left side of his face. But later on, he decided to paint half of the armor blue, and wear face paint of the same color. Alexander pats the Tokarev pistol at his hip. He always comes prepared, and this is but one of the weapons he carries with him

“D-drop y-yoooour w-pons!” Tarnished gears shriek as two robotic guards lumber into the hallway, barking orders in slow fractured dialogue. Hmm, maybe this complex isn’t so deserted after all.

After Stalin fails to comply, both of the decommissioned guards raise their guns, pointing directly at Stalin’s head. The first one command in its rusted dialect. “Sooor-nd-r! R-sist-tance is f-futil-.”

“Vell, so’s yo mama.” Stalin retorts in his thick Russian accent.

Stalin’s sword vibrates to life, glowing a bright sea blue. He dashes forward, bullets whizzing by Stalin’s ears. Within a second, he slices off the head of the ancient machine, and throws an imploder onto the other. As the robot collapses in on itself, Stalin turns off his sword.

Stalin snickers to himself. “Fighting zose guys made me depressed; It made me zink of when I'll be 85.”

Looking to a door, Stalin sees a small plaque, reading: “Room 79”

“Ah, looks like I got my room.” Stalin murmurs, turning into the room.”

August 22, 2088: Leper Laboratories, 40 Mile Outside Phoenix Arizona:

“Hello, Orion. My name’s Rose” A sweet, soft voice says. Light floods Orion’s eyes like a current of blazing fire.

“Wha-where am I?” Orion tries to stand up, only to find he’s strapped to some kind of cot, which seems to be bolted to the floor.

“Why am I bound to this bed?” Orion inquires.

Orion looks up to see a tall woman wearing a lab coat. Her jet-black hair is an elegant garden of knots and curls. It obviously took her all morning to fabricate it.

“So many questions,” She charms. “Well, we here at Leper Laboratories have been working on the perfect solider. Here, I’ll grab a mirror, so you can see the new you!”

Orion is not amused. As the scientist fumbles around with supplies on her desk, she continues. “We had put you in a comma while we were tinkering with your DNA, we had to tie you up inca-“

“Wait, you messed around with my DNA?” Orion questions.

Rose turns around, holding a hand-held mirror at her hip. She angles it, so Orion can’t see it, oddly enough.

“Yes, honey, we did. Why do you sound so surprised? It was what you were brought in for!”

“What do you mean, ‘Brought in f-“

This time Rose cuts Orion off. “And now you get to see the fabulous new you!” Orion gasps.

Blood red skin, eyes larger that baseballs. Jagged teeth sprouting from what few would call a mouth.

“What have you done to me?” Is all Orion can muster out. All he can utter.

“We’ve improved you,” the scientist nervously answers. “Hey, we’ve even made you extremely stronger!”

Before Orion has a chance to make another accusation, the soft ring of a bell saves Rose. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out the phone.

Orion can’t comprehend what the person on the other end is saying, but with the look on Rose’s face there were no pleasantries, and whoever is calling, is terribly enraged.

“No sir, I did not put him down before he awoke.” Orion’s eyes grow even larger with shock.

“Yes sir, right away.”

Without a word, Rose slips her cellphone back in her pocket and heads directly to her chaotic desk. She picks a large, metallic object with a pointed end and turns to Orion.

“I’m sorry sweetie, but I have to do this.”

She steps forward, and Orion says nothing. As she raises the lethal weapon high above her head, Orion mutters one word. “No.”

"That is not how it works out. Did you really expect this to work out? You, you maniac.”

“Please, please don’t hurt me.” She pleads in a voice reminiscent to a five-year-old girl.

After Orion thrusts his hand out from the metal restraints, he crushes the cot into a ball. Breaking off parts of the clump of metal, he ominously mutters. “Oh, I won’t hurt you. Rather, I’ll crush you, pounding you into ash and dust, until you are less than a footnote in history!”

He then advances forward, free of all restrains. Rose shrieks as he picks her up by the arm, throwing her up against the ceiling, then catching her by the leg. Blood drips from her entire body, and he tosses her across the room like a foam ball a child would play with. He bellows a victorious cry, then scans the room for exits, as the loud speaker blares something about evacuation, yet saying to leave all droids in the complex. They shall pay for what they did to me.

(January 19th, 2098. Leper Labs.)

The first thing Stalin sees when he enters the room is a dead biologist. Year-old blood encrusts her lab coat and the floor around her desolate skeleton. Her cloths have sunken into the empty body, hung on the arches and juts of her bone like a tent. Stalin bends down, studying the body.

He takes off a glove and places a hand on her forehead. “Room temperature,” Alexander says rhetorically.

Scattered around the room is broken lab equipment and other debris. Stalin counties to study the body, until he hears footsteps.

Stalin glances up, at the slightly reflective walls. “Ah, hello there, Orion Skar. I’m Alexander Stalin. Most people vould call me a criminal, but I prefer the term, ‘opportunist.’”

Stalin stands up and turns around. The second he does so, a quick and furious fist divebombs into Alexander’s left cheek.

After Stalin spits out thick blood, he comments. “Now zat is uncalled for.”

Orion throws another forceful fist, but this time Stalin swerves out of the way and pulls his pistol. “Don’t make me shoot.”

“You know you’re an idiot.” Orion retorts. He jumps forward, and knocks the gun out of Stalin’s hand, before he even has a chance to pull the trigger. From the raw strength of Orion, the barrel of the gun is twisted lopsidedly.

“Again, I prefer the term ‘opportunist.’”

Stalin’s energy sword sounds like the humming of a thousand bees, as he moves into a defensive position. Orion backs up a bit, drawing upon his strength. Orion lunges towards Stalin’s knees, fierce with unbridled power. Snap! Something in Stalin’s body is split in two, but that doesn’t stop Stalin from lifting his sword and bringing it down upon Orion’s back. Orion reaches back and flicks his wrist, sending the sword across the room. With the sizzle of burnt flesh, Orion carries on, masking his pain behind his fury.

“I underestimated you.” Stalin mutters.

Orion balls his fist and hammers Stalin’s stomach with a barge of punches. But Stalin fights back. He reaches into his armor and pulls out a small pistol and jams it into Orion’s shoulder, and pulls the trigger. Too bad Stalin wanted Orion alive, or that would’ve been his head.

Orion reels backs, unable to feel or move his arm.

“Bastard.” Orion barks as Stalin tries to get up on his feet.

“You come closer I shoot.”

“Oh, I won’t have to come closer.”

Orion picks up some debris, then he chucks it at Stalin like it was a basketball. Though Stalin darts out of the way, this give Orion time to sprint forward, and grab Stalin by the legs.

Orion pushes Stalin into the rock-solid wall, and shakes him back and worth, like a ragdoll.

Once Orion lets go, Stalin tumbles to the ground. Blood sputters from his mouth, soaking into Orion’s red skin.

January 10th, 2098: Siltstone Base, (Aurelia) 10 Miles Outside Khudi, Nepal.

The wind whips and howls like a ghastly horror. Snow swallows up rocks in thick sheets. Troops clamber around like ants, probably because they couldn’t see their hand if it was two-inches in front of their face. Though gold and red are the colors of Aurelia, in this secret of an operation, the freedom-loving rebels wear white.

Siltstone Base was established in 2095, with the help of Aurelia sympathizers. Enough troops were eventually slipped through public transportation, that a base could be built. Villagers from Khudi eventually joined the cause, and pretty soon the base was becoming worthwhile. High Command eventually shipped more troops through the self-dubbed, “Underground Railway.”

After a couple of minutes of wandering through the cold, hovercraft eventually pick up the scouts that were sent to check on the GI-Nepal border.

“They’re patrolling. I think the Imperium is preparing for an invasion.” Sergeant Maxwell “Punch” Tron announces to Captain Freebird. “Punch” is an hopeful man, but he can even see the Imperium is up to something.

“That’s a good soldier right there,” Freebird comments. “You give the report before even wiping the snow off yer boots. I’ve taught ya well.

“Punch” doesn’t respond to the flattery, rather looks to the new recruit—Patrick Kyles. He wears a gaudy red jacket, always waving it around like it’s worth a million bucks. He also hosts a cap of the same color, which contrasts nicely to his black-and gold helmet. But above these, Kyles’s most treasured position is his two pistols. About every other night he cleans them, polishing them until they gleam brighter than the sun. Though he does have two holsters for each of the pistols, he almost always has them in his hands.

“Do you think they know about the base?” Kyles throws out.

“Well, what do you think, Maxewell?”

“Based on what the data says, no, the Imperium doesn’t know about us. Rather, they finally are ready to taking Nepal.”

Freebird counters. “But why wouldn’t they have taken this country before? It’s a small nation and has a smaller military.”

“Got busy,” “Punch” sighs. “They had their hands tied with other Aurelian threats. Then the Collective came along. They finally can send some troops over.”

“True, true.” Kyles compliments.

“But, that’s beyond the point. We have a battle in front of us.” “Punch” concludes.

January 20th, 2098: One Lightyear Away from Earth.

“Took you a while to vake up,” Stalin looks over the limp body of Orion. “After you got me to the ground, you tried to strangle me, but I was able to knock you unconscious by jabbing a nano-bot into your side.”

Stalin pulls something from his pocket and holds it in front of Orion. “This is the bot, right here. I don’t know exactly how it works, but I know it likes to square dance with nerves.”

Orion rasps, finding that his body aches with pain. “Ugh. I hurt so much.” Orion admits.

“Ah. You know, Orion, even the greatest of us have to hit zeir knees eventually.”

Orion snaps, taking Stalin’s comment as an insult. “Hey, I’m not weak!”

Stalin can’t help himself. “You sure seem to be, at least right-“

“Shut yer mouth.”

“Why should I?”

“Because I’m the one here who could fling you across the room.”

“You know what, never mind. Here, let me just get to my point: I’m as-“

“No, you let me make my point: I was the one fighting fairly, and then you up and-“

“Please, let me talk. It may help you.”

“No, it won’t! And I have some wise words of my own: Don’t mess with a bigger cat.”

“Alright, alright. I’m not even insulting you anymore, Orion.”

“But you were, and-“

“LET ME TALK YOU IGNORANT LIFEFORM!” Stalin bellows.

“Oh, well \*\*\*\* you, too.” Orion says, right before quitting.

“I’m assembling a team, Orion. A team of misfits and ragtag warriors. Ve’ll be no Justice League, rather a band of criminals, ready to tackle any opportunity or thrill ve face.”

“What do you mean?” Orion inquires.

“I mean,” Stalin starts to pace. “I mean zat ve’ll be a group of bounty hunters and lawbreakers, zat vill be up for any job ve’re given.”

Orion nods his head. “I see. And how many of us will be on this ‘team?’”

“Five, Orion, five.” Stalin smirks.

“Eh, I guess I’m up for it,” Orion starts to stand up. “As long as I get paid.”

“Oh, you’ll get paid, Orion.” Stalin starts to walk towards some sort of console.

“Oh, and out of wonder, Stalin. Where the \*\*\*\* are we?”

Stalin chuckles. “Somewhere outside Earth. Oh, and on my ship, the Gold October. ”

Sorry for the sudden lack of pictures. My camera died, and I lost the charger, so I had to order a new one. But, I also had to clean my room, and take apart the sets I was using.

Yeah! I hope y'all enjoyed, and God, Who Saves, bless!