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RP Purgatory: A Fighting Chance

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Jabonicus

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OOC Thread: https://stararmy.com/roleplay-forum/index.php?threads/open-rp-purgatory-humanitarian-relief.61631/
Anyone is free to join if they have read the above information, but please message me about your character if you're worried about fitting in. I may close this to people joining if many people hop in.

@IQ
@Ace

Oskurn
Rinvald Junction

The horizon was a spectrum of amber, shifting into lights and darks across the atmosphere. However the tangerine hues were muted by the presence of shifting rainclouds that sparsely but mercilessly beat the ground with frequent and unpredictable showers, hitting the civilian center and its population. Many of the natives were used to it, Oskurn proved to be a planet of unpredictable rain, but in part to this it was an agricultural powerhouse, and its denizens took great advantage of this to build their reputation prior to the forced integration to NETA. NETA itself was a corporate machine, having been born in a planet that never quite cracked down on businesses, and before long as they reached a space stage, Government and Corporation had become the same word.

NETA’s presence on the planet was no surprise, they had owned it for more than a few generations, but it’s military presence was a new event. After an influx of attacks by another warring faction, NETA saw fit to defend its resources, particularly its agricultural base. NETA’s actions proved further fruitful, as the raids of the nomadic Teliac landed on Oskurn, particularly in Rinvald Junction, the largest collection of civilians on the planet. Things had not gone well, though NETA held their property with grueling iron will, either too possessive of their profits or too afraid of punishment from their higher-ups to go lax after the assaults had ended.

The lines of apartments and jammed streets were full of smoke and distant emergency alarms, cars either totaled or stuck in a jam with no way out, most if not all abandoned as their inhabitants fled to the sidewalks to find aid or a place to rest. Things were chaotic, and scheduled groups of NETA’s footsoldiers drove by in trucks, orange suits of thick battle armor covering them, most if not all of them wearing oddly designed helmets covered in electronic devices, holding sturdy and large guns as they watched the world around them.

Purgatory saw things coming as soon as NETA did, and sent a small task force dubbed Venus for a simple mission, gather a select few NETA deserters and Oskurn natives who were sympathetic to the cause. The NETA operatives had been in connection with them for a good set of time, and while their allegiance was not certain, Purgatory had a number of contingency plans. The Oskurn natives were far more trustworthy, and thus able to be picked up in able numbers. The trouble of course occurred in getting both groups to the evac point.

Their evac point was settled as a zone with minimal NETA eyes on it, an abandoned housing complex that never finished construction. Their ship, a bulky cargo ship, had been tucked into the open courtyard, the unfurnished walls of the complex hiding it from general view. The team itself had set up a small base of operations within the same complex, lead by miss Kestrel, a doctor who was in charge of both the operation itself, and the handling of any injured parties. Many people involved themselves on the team. She was orderly yet kind, despite the reddened, thick scar tissue that covered her closed right eye, the exact cause of it unclear.

“Gather up everyone, we don’t have a very large window, and it would be best to keep things going while the social stability is still present. We don’t know if the Teliac will continue their raids, but if they do it’s in everyone's best interest if we’re off planet by the time it happens. Grab your gear, and once we’re all ready, I’ll give another walkthrough of what we’re doing today.”
 
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A loud, pained and strained coughing came from Wrench as he heard the doctor calling around all of team Venus. A masked man, in a long trenchcoat. Bandages wrapped around his bald head, covering what the gasmask, tubed to a small canister on his back, couldn't cover. From what was visible from his eyes, was seen as marred and horridly scarred flesh. It was more than just obvious. People knew better than not to question and just guessed to an incident with fire or acid. It was the latter. And just a pot of acid thrown in his face. Pointless, brutal scarring.

This marred flesh also was shown on part of his neck. In several droplets down. But that's where it halted. Wrench pulled on his courier pack and pulled out the small music player, adding a set of earbuds to it. Clipping it to the strap and pressing one in his ear. The microphone was recording and amplifying the sound for him, after all. His pack contained a myriad of tools to be used on the fly, a knife strapped next to the music player. And a small pistol holstered on his hip in case things went haywire. But he only had the full magazine inside.

As he reached Miss Kestrel, with heavy trudging of his withered, steel plated working boots, the soft coughing repeated, before the strained breath came in again. He picked a cloth from between the strap and his body, starting to wipe his hands. Fingerless gloves, drenched in oil and grease, creeping under his fingernails. When he was done with the cloth, he tucked it back. "The ship's in workin' condition," Wrench coughed out, shaking his head. "Did my best to get the scrapheap working again," the scraping of his throat. "Final tests are done, should be ready to take off." He informed the doctor kindly, before taking several deep, raspy breaths.
 
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