|Madness is a Gift. This is the box it comes in.|
Hi! I’m Bob! I’m a Swedish/Spaniard bisexual male. I’m a botanist (yes flowers -fuck you if you don't like it), major in biology, and I am not your fucking shield!
No Feminist sub-human animal (Dig on sum of your own terminology ) represents nor speaks for me!
You don’t own me.
Who I am and what I say are valid.
My race is valid.
My gender is valid.
I am valid.
As a bisexual I do not “belong in a gas chamber” as feminists have suggested.
My human rights matter. The opinions of fascists don’t.
I am NOT against gamers (I am one) I think Feminists are bullshit, and I can make up my own damn mind about what does and does not offend me. But you know what does offend me? Racist Feminist assholes! Particularly when they try to “represent me.” They cannot. No Nazi can. I sincerely hope feminists wise the hell up and try reading books instead of burning them.
So here some something I’ve been needing to post for awhile! A reference to my OC race the Catato! A deceptively cute race of genetically engineered interstellar cats run amuck. They are a highly aggressive and destructive colonial organism. An agricultural pest that can and do wipe out entire planets. They attack crops and use interstellar trade to spread like rats on a ship. They also construct vast armies of “micro” ships, mechs, and vehicles in order to match the abilities of other modern armies. Catatoes are highly social and intelligent creatures that have a bow or die policy with other races. Those that will not summit to the influence of their federation - die. However the Catato are known for being highly Machiavellian, betraying their allies if it suits them to do so. Catatoes arm armed with a powerful acid that can melt through mech armor like thermite through butter.
The Catato are felines with the minds of army ants and are the accidental genetic offspring of the Solack. The Solack hold no control over their incidental creations. The Catato are normally the size of a lynx. But they can adjust their brood size to produce offspring as small as a kitten or as large as a house. –Depending on their needs.
Catato colonies are ruled by a single queen. Planets by broods of sister colonies. The most successful colony’s queen or “Brood Mother” commands the planet. The federation is ruled by the master queen known only as “Mother” whom is said to be directly related to the Catato goddess known as the All Mother. The first Catato whom originally gave birth to all Catato. Incidentally like ants – all Catatoes are genderless drones. With the exceptions of males / new queens whom are reproductive alates.
Also it should be noted that there are no Catato kittens. The queen Catato lays "seed potatoes" called "eggs." These potatoes are identical to any other human grown potato - and mature into smaller versions of mature Catatoes called "Instars." Instars are the blind immobile kitten like stage that are cared for in solarium and put into piles until they mature into adult Catatoes. Instars are essentially "kitten balls" small football shaped cats that are helpless until they are done growing.
Catato diet is various. They basically eat everything. But mostly they eat leaves, dirt, sticks, pine-cones, mushrooms, fruit, spider webs, and nuts. However they will eat any animal they can kill. They like wheat and white bread and do not eat normal potatoes.
The Catato Race - Concept, Stories, and Art © Infinity Unbound
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Or any other forms of stealing.
Ok so this drawing was a trip! It took way longer and way more effort than I thought it would. It’s been through 2 redraws and in the end I think it came out fairly ok.
And by now it’s basically a complete reworking of. Since I don’t know wut a warrior cat is and I couldn’t get a feel for this character. I decided to make a Minecraft skin and start a new world in survival mode called “wildclaw.” 6 hours total of brutal survival I had yet to die and this was what I came out with. Basically I spawned in an endless desert biome so a couple crude pistols some leather armor and a fur poncho was pretty much all I had to work with along with some gold and diamond dye.
That’s what became of Wildclaw who is now officially her own thing. She even as I said has a house and her own skin/stuff.
So yeah 's oc is now some kinda western hero gunslinger person. And a fairly good killer too - since she has not died once yet. The score is 90 mobs to 0 deaths.
Hell on Water Libertarians & Seasteading CH 2
~ Libertaria ~
Stupidity on the high seas.
The heart of freedom. Pride and joy of the newly settled Libertarian people. But the excitement didn’t last long…
As the mangled ships landed the greedy libertarians immediately ran out to start claiming all the new land. Since there were no laws in place to parcel them out properly- the libertarians quickly began to lay claim to gargantuan swaths of land. Far more land than they needed or could even settle. But it didn’t matter. No one had the right to tell them no. And so all the land in sight was gone within a matter of days. Hundreds of miles worth of dry land... Gone. Wasted by people who made no use of it. Worse still there was very little useable land on this water planet to begin with! Just a few small islands in a colossal planetary sea. This left the vast majority of libertarians without land. Mostly the poor… So now they needed a home.
- Enter the Isle of Freedom -
Because there was no more land on the land, to settle on. The bulk of the libertarian population would build a large floating city on water. The city was to be called the Isle of Freedom. It was built quickly thanks to the plentiful resources of the virgin planet and the lack of any regulations or building codes. Since there were no laws to slow anyone down, structures and factories began to pop up everywhere. The city grew and grew to enormous proportions. As did their out of control birth rates! Because with no education available to anyone but the rich… Sex education and birth control was all but unheard of to the masses. With incidentally mean sexually transmitted diseases were very common.
But at least the city was interesting. Tall skyscrapers and large sea walls offered a protected harbor to the city. They even built a master city of the elites onto an impressive ring high above the middle of the thriving metropolis. Indeed things were going so well that the elite who began calling themselves “The Children of Rand” built themselves a monument to Randist libertarianism called Dollar Tower. In short it was a humongous spire with a large golden dollar sign over shining white wings atop a glittering blue crystal globe that represented their new world. A world built to the glory of Greed. Greed being the only thing other than Ayn Rand herself that Libertarians openly worship. –Though many of the poor held tight to a warped form of Christianity out of desperation for deliverance from their self-created hell. Not that salvation ever comes to the greedy… But problems aside -from a distance the city was a breathtaking sight. As long as you didn’t look too closely… Then you would have seen that most of the buildings were held up with matchsticks and a prayer. But the shoddy workmanship and potentially dangerous structures were the least of their problems.
Since libertarians don’t believe in minimal safety standards, horrific accents were a daily occurrence. It was not uncommon for some to lose a hand or have one of their legs crushed into paste by a machine or falling chunk of a poorly constructed building. Normally you would want to go to a hospital for something like that. But not with libertarians! Randists don’t believe in any form of charity. Therefore when you get injured you only get what medical treatment you can afford. And with 90% of jobs paying less than a dollar an hour- that’s usually no treatment at all. Since there are no minimum wage laws- the business owners are free to rig their wages in unison to pay workers nothing. And with little to no money- most medical care consists of sawing off limbs with no painkillers. Making libertarian hospitals more like a house of horrors that few are willing to even attempt to go to. And with no minimal sanitation requirements the hospitals are also major spreaders of disease. Plus with no medical practice standards you’d be lucky if your Libertarian doctor was even literate let alone competent or sober…
But as long as you overlooked the horrors of all the crushing poverty- Libertaria was a tropical paradise. A vast blue ocean teaming with edible and economically useful life. Dotted with many small islands rich in metal deposits, wood, and ore bearing rock. But most of all there was one plentiful resource that made the Isle of Freedom what it was. Hydrocarbons! Coal! Natural gas and oil from the sea! Millions of tons of it everywhere! Heaven for the greedy Randists whom sucked it all up like there was no tomorrow. –And in a way there wouldn’t be… The problems all started when the sea began to run green. For a long time corporations and the city alike had been dumping whatever they wanted wherever they wanted – which usually meant into the sea. The problem with this being that all the raw sewage and toxic waste was quickly killing off all the fish.
The poor on Libertaria had barely survived until now because they could catch fish to eat along with desalinated water from the sea to drink. With full bellies – the tiny scraps of money they made gave them just enough to live. What was nicer is that they could build anything they wanted wherever they wanted as long as they got permission from their land lords. And were able to pay the bribe money… But with the loss of their freely available food and water they soon found that the only thing they could afford were often tarpaper shacks housing anywhere from 3-4 families in a single room. As time went on the seas ran brown with spilled oil, human waste, and finally black with pollution. Very soon there was no fish at all and all the water had to come from fresh water streams that could only be found on the many tiny islands. Unfortunately the lucky few people who settled on the streams now charged insane amounts of money for clean water. Many tried desperately to fish for food. But the slimy dead sea that reeked of human feces gave nothing aside from bubbles that let a farting sound along with a putrid smell as they burst. This thick tar like ocean spread for thousands of miles around the city. Many of the poor that still had operational water filtering machines tried frantically to produce water. But the pollution was too much for the filters. And then one day the sea changed…
It was called the blood tide. A vast stretch of lethal microorganisms that turned the sea red. They had existed in shallow brine pools before- but since the seas became dead their populations exploded into one massive swarm. The never-ending red tide posed an ominous warning to the people of Libertaria. The once clear skies now choked in toxic clouds of smoke. But as bad as things were, in the Libertarian way of life - no one had the right to tell others what to do! Especially not by force or edict. Even if it caused the death of others. The thought of forming a regulatory body or anything resembling a government scared them more than the fact that they were floating over a sea of their own waste.
And besides… There was no time to worry about hippy problems like the environment while so many people were starving! They needed food! And they needed it now! But since all the local wildlife had either perished or was quickly hunted to extinction, new sources of food had to be found. At first Libertarians tried what they do best. Scams! Some clever libertarians began to sell rat meat as beef. Others began to grind up roaches, rats, faeces, and other waste to spoiled fish meat. They then bleached the meat, added sand, and refined it into an odorless slurry known as pink slime. The slime was then sold to the poor as “Liberty Nuggets!” Since there were no food safely laws or minimal standards of any kind- the corporations that adopted pink slime did well for awhile. Until the slime began to kill too many people. But it didn’t matter. The poor couldn’t say or do anything about it! In theory the poor could sue. But in reality the poor couldn’t afford any legal protection! Even those that did manage to get an attorney couldn’t fight the legal dream teams of the rich. And it didn’t matter. At worse a corporation found liable for damages just filed bankruptcy, changed their names- and were no longer liable for a thing! Simple as that!
Furthermore the rich could just put out advertisements that proclaimed how honest, loving, caring, and or sorry the company was. And the stupid uneducated masses would swallow it up without a second thought. This dance of destruction and deception went on for some time. However- as time marched on even the rotting fish waste was becoming hard to find. This led hunting parties deeper and deeper into the unexplored jungles of distant islands. Ones that were only moderately affected by the Libertarian’s strip mining and pollution. And so they ventured into the wild untamed land. In particular to a large gloomy island of crimson red orange and black. Thick with tropical jungles of a kind that they had not seen before. The island itself seemed dark and foreboding. But what choice did they have? The scouting party quickly unloaded their gear and went into the jungle depths. But they didn’t get far before stumbling on the ruins of an abandoned bunker.
On the sides of the bunkers was the mark of the Winged Dollar. These people had been Libertarians! Libertarians lived here! In secret for some reason… Yet there was no one around. And no bodies either. But there were lots of empty buildings and vehicles lying around. Useable mining equipment too! Even power stations! Whoever built that place seemed to have been doing very well then suddenly stopped. But why? This spooky red jungle seemed much better than the filthy rat’s nest they came from. After a long while searching, the team stopped to gather water from the nearby stream. It certainly looked good! It certainly tasted good too! Everyone on the hunting party began to talk about keeping this place a secret for themselves. Or even better… Sell the clean water for millions! Then they could watch as all the poor and the dying bowed down to them and handed them all their money! A true Ayn Randist fantasy if ever there was one… But it was not to be… Even these Libertarians would get what they so rightfully deserved.
It started with a buzz… Soft at first but then it got louder. Everyone looked around but saw nothing. As the buzzing seemed to be getting closer many started to get scared. Then as the buzzing turned into a roar someone turned and yelled, “WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!? IT’S GETTING LOUDER! !”
Just then what looked like a large mustard yellow wasp with 3 heads came flying out of the thick undergrowth. It was as big as a dog! It charged at one of the hunters and even though they put several volleys of shot into it- It bolted at them all the same! Before anyone could react it slammed into the closest hunter knocking him flat on his back. As it did it gouged out a large chunk of flesh from the man’s arm and ate it. It then flew off, disappearing as suddenly as it came. Shell shocked by the horrifying event that had just happened, the men immediately fled home to the city. –Leaving their equipment behind… This would not sit well with their employers back home…
By the time they got home the man who had been bitten was long dead. He had turned pale and coughed for awhile. He screamed and moaned in pain until his stomach started to pop open a little with tiny stringy red maggots falling out. He then passed away after vomiting blood. Since there were no laws regarding treatment of the dead… His “friends” left his body to rot on the beach. It was a sad sight. But there was no time to worry about him. The others were in big trouble! Since the equipment they were using was their responsibility, the corporation billed them immediately for the loss. Since they could not pay for the extremely expensive gear- they were fired. Plus they still had to pay the bill! –With 380% interest! Since there were no laws limiting interest charges, companies charged whatever interest they wanted. But even that wasn’t going to be an issue for long…
They called it the Communist Plague. Because the masses of dying people kept demanding disgusting immoral communist things like “help,” “charity,” and “mercy.” Whatever it was it was spreading out of control. No one knew what caused it. Only that people turned pale, acquired a nasty whooping cough, and then began to wildly vomit blood before dying. And that wasn’t all! The dead bodies would quickly rot into a carpet of twitching red spores that grew like mold over everything. The horrible disgusting spores would wiggle and twist like angry maggots whenever they were disturbed. They would launch tiny hairs at whatever was bothering them- infecting whatever the hairs touched. This was BAD!
Randists had always lived with plagues. Since public healthcare was considered communist, only the rich could afford to see competent doctors. This caused many horrible diseases to shoot quickly throughout the old world of Rand –causing mass casualties. –Ending entire cities and populations. But it never happened this fast! And all this wasn’t the only problem! So many people dying in their tarpaper houses left many unoccupied residences that were locked from the inside, but still had their appliances going. Since the appliances didn’t have any safety standards- they often caught fire. And since so many people had gone into poverty, tarpaper villages packed every corner of the city.
And then it happened…
Concept, Stories, and Art © Infinity Unbound
No: Sampling, Sharing, Rendering, Tracing, Editing, Distributing, Reproducing, Re-uploading, Copying,
Or any other forms of stealing
Hell on Water Libertarians & Seasteading CH 1
Selfishness in space!
Shortly after the Sacking of Rand, the Randist refuges found themselves adrift in space.
They had no choice but to flee planet Rand or be enslaved or slaughtered by the American “liberators” that had been sent by the government to loot the world and subjugate it’s people. Normally- there would have been a contingency plan for such an event. A readymade fleet of transports and escort ships to shuttle refuges off world. But The Randists were Republican leaning Libertarians to the core. They believed it was everyone else’s problem to prepare for such an event! So they never cooperated and thus never came up with an evacuation fleet. And so the survivors of Rand were few. Jammed onto whatever rusty converted cargo ships were planetside at the time. Only the rich 1% of the population had actual transport ships. And that was a trivial few. In total the refugee fleet had about 27 medium starships for the entire planet. For reference most meager backwater worlds have about 30 large active cargo vessels at a time in fleet. –At minimum. It’s well know that Libertarians do have decent technology on par with just about anyone else. But their backwards system of beliefs ensures that such technology is extremely rare, and available to only a privileged few. Since the poor have no money in Libertarian society- there is no economy that would warrant mass production of high-tech products. This permanently cripples the availability of new tech. And so something as grand as even a simple starship was a treasure few and far between.
But it wasn’t just lack of ships… There was the problem of the Libertarians themselves. By far a Libertarian’s worst enemy is themselves. During the escape many Libertarians ran price gouging and rescue scams until the last second. Libertarians believe that price gouging is a perfectly moral act that is part of their so called “free market.” And by that they mean free of any laws protecting people from scams or over pricing rackets. Even during major emergencies. Libertarians don’t care. Selfishness is their religion. “Let the buyer beware!” – Their unholy creed. So it was little surprise that many overbooked seats and outright scammed many people out of their money by selling fake tickets at outrageous prices. Many of the scammers used this money to buy there own tickets out of there. Many died so a few criminals could live. But that’s Ayn Rand Capitalism. What Libertarians call “pure morality.” In the end it was messy- but some of the Randists did manage to flee into space. Now- the concept of spinning aimlessly through the endless cosmos means different things to different people…
For the newly freed Solack it was bliss. They were perfectly contented to remain in space until long after they had repaired and rearmed their forces. Being a cooperative race by design – The Solack were built for colony life. The average Solack is driven by a need to create. A need to better not only himself- but the lives of everyone in his or her colony. They even have a limited hive mind that allows them to plan on the same page – but also to feel empathy for other Solack. This compassion for others along with their need to create and improve the colony is much of the reason why the Solack are the dominant race in the Core Galaxy. Thus they simply took to life on the go as a teenager took to a road trip. The Solack were so carefree they often played a waltz over the intercom systems and spent days adrift. –Relaxing as they watched the stars and galaxies in the heavens dance across the vastness of space.
But in the end things went too far- and they became complacent out in space. Much to the chagrin of their Furry traveling companions. In fact the Furries often popped in for visits on the Solack, whom were becoming fatter and fatter every month as they did nothing but eat, harvest space debris, and build. The Furries treated the Solack like lazy mooching teenagers bumming around the house. The Furries would often protest the Solack’s lack of ambition and complacency. -Much like a parent asking as to when their teenager was going to get a job and get out of the house. It was true the Solack were so happy just being free, they didn’t care much for settling down. But- the Furries eventually managed to convince the Solack to set down roots and get off their lazy butts. An act that the Furries would soon come to deeply regret.
For once the Solack got back into their predatory element – they immediately became hostile and paranoid. In their greed and distrust of other races- they turned on the Furries. Inciting an event that would become known as “The Great Betrayal.” Still- while it lasted – life in space was good for the Solack.
But as for the Randists….
At first many of the Randists survivors believed that opportunity lay ahead in the stars. That the Randists could find a new home in aboard beautifully ornate space platforms. However… It soon became abundantly clear that was not going to happen. The notorious greed and selfishness of the Randists immediately began to bleed through. There are many forgiving environments that allow for a good degree of independence, mistakes, and yes- selfishness. -Space- is not one of those environments… At all… The Solack had an easy time in space because they were so cooperative and caring about one another. They gladly worked together to build and maintain things that they knew would benefit them all. Systems and hardware that were free for everyone to use and have the benefit of. Ensuring an ever growing minimal standard of living for all. This inspired the Solack to build more! To have more! And the more they had- the less work they had to do a day. Every time they expanded or got a system automated they got increasingly powerful. This freed them invent new ways to gain even more for less labor. They were working smart- not hard.
But that isn’t the human way… And it certainly is not the Libertarian way!
The Randists, in classic Libertarian style – cared only about what they could profit off of. And their dog eat dog style of uncontrollable selfishness led to a floating hell hole. All the Randist refugees cared about was ripping each other off. So even traveling in well built ships- death and destruction were inevitable. It has been said many times that the problem with the Libertarian ideology of “Fuck everyone else but me!” –is that to the man standing next to you- You ARE the “everyone else” that is to be fucked over. And that was the root of the Randist’s problems.
The colony, escape, and defense ships that made up the Randist refuge convoy were singular units with standard modular systems. Ordinarily these systems would be ran in unison by a cohesive crew. But many of the wealthy Randists owned and controlled the individual systems. They were entrusted with keeping and maintaining the basic functions of the individual colony ships. Being of the Ayn Rand mentality- they soundly believed that capitalism was best way to run their systems. Therefore they left it up to their most successful business men to work out the details. Ayn Rand and her followers believed that all poor people are stupid and cannot function without the rich to guide them. The rich are therefore “in theory” smarter and more qualified to manage things than anyone else. In the minds of Libertarians- The richer you are, the smarter you must be. But most of the component owners were real-estate tycoons and snake oil salesmen – not engineers or technicians. Acting out of greed they quickly began to come up with ways to profit off their burdens of maintaining systems. No one had ever stopped to wonder if the most wealthy among them may have been so because they were also the most corrupt and immoral. The thought never would have occurred to them. Such rational thought was against the religion of Libertarianism.
And even if someone did figure it out… They wouldn’t have said anything. The last thing anyone wanted to do was receive the death sentence of being labeled “communist” for speaking independently of fascist Libertarian dogma. For a quasi-religion that claims to value “freedom” Libertarians don’t take well at all to dissent or even to speaking freely. You can get in a lot of trouble for expressing yourself or thinking independently. The usual punishment for free thinking among Libertarians is total banishment called “disfellowshipping” where no one is allowed to talk or do any business with you ever again. Basically, after you say anything they don’t like- the Librarians will all gather around you and shout, “You’re Blocked! You’re Blocked! You’re Blocked!” three times. And that’s it! You’re doomed! Cut off with no help from the community. Left for dead…
With thinking like that- It wasn’t long before a wealthy CEO by the name of Barry Mage founder of the digital payment racket “PayBuddy” came up with the idea of selling O2 which had until then been provided by his machines for free. He then proceeded to shut down the entire air supply of the ship. Many other colony ships did likewise. People now had to buy oxygen or die. And many did die. – As a result the colony ships no longer had air. Soon after they didn’t have water either. Then one CEO by the name of Marvin Brigg (founder of Poweron) got the idea to shut off power unless paid by the hour. Soon after the propulsion drive managers shut down the engines and many captains began to demand payment for access to navigation!
In short the Randists were tearing themselves apart like the selfish animals they were! Many ships were now floating around without power. Some ships got lost, drifted into space, and were never seen again. As panic ensued many drew up plans to trade critical services just so they could operate the colony ships. But it was too late… The reactors on several of the colony ships had been running without water for days. Several more were shut down then put into cold start without time to heat up. This caused shorts and massive explosions that destroyed several ships. Shrapnel from the explosions hit many of the others causing severe malfunctions and fatal hull breaches. The few remaining libertarians of Rand now watched as many of their already dwindling population now floated away… Dead in space, floating along vast streaks of wreckage. A path of blood and metal trailing the Randist fools wherever they went. Yet even in these worst of times – the Randists themselves refused to let up on their libertarian ideals. Even the more perverse ones…
A hairy middle-aged fat man in his underwear with his pants around his ankles was struggling to chase down a 6 year old girl as he ran down the corridors yelling, “I gave you that piece of candy! Now give me sex! We had a contract! You signed it! You agreed!” But the little red haired girl was having none of it. She darted off down a hallway and into a dark room where she slammed the door behind her. The door slammed shut on the greasy libertarian child molester’s hand and he let out scream. The heavy armored door took the tips of his fat fingers clean off. He hobbled away cursing and yelling furiously, “When I tell Stuffin Muckamux what you did you’re gonna get disfellowshipped for sure! Just you wait you little brat! A contract is a contract! A is A!”
“A is A…” A term Libertarians often use but are mostly too stupid to understand what it actually implies. But Ayn Rand said it. So they mindlessly repeat it every time they think they are getting ripped off. Ironically the Libertarian belief system is built on the denial of reality. In particular the denial of man’s dishonest and hostile nature. In short- Libertarians in fact DO NOT believe that A equals A. On the contrary- they emphatically deny it. Unfortunately that ability to deny reality is what allows Libertarians to so easily twist and pervert morality itself, in order to suit their own selfish immoral desires. Including the belief that the government has no right to tell a person not to have sex with children. Additionally Libertarians believe that even a child is fully capable of entering into contracts. Even if the child can’t read. They believe that any children old enough to talk can agree to work any job that an adult can. Including prostitution… So if a molester can bribe or trick a child into signing a contract to do something. No one will object to what happens after. Not publicly anyway.
Sadly… If the little girl had parents she might at least have had someone to protect her from predators trying to trick her into signing things she didn’t understand. But her’s died when the air was cut off on her ship about a month ago. Her mother gave the little girl the only small air tank they had. Simmerra. The little girls name was Simmerra. And that incident would not be the last time a Libertarian would curse her name in anger. In the mean time she was indeed in trouble! If the man told anyone she had broken a contract Simmerra would be disfellowshipped and left to die. Thankfully a shoddily made stair well gave way under the fat man’s weight as he wobbled down an old archway. He fell 70 feet to his death onto a pile of rusty ragged metal scraps. He didn’t get the chance to tell anyone… Simmerra was safe for now.
Long had the Randist feared the forces of the American government finding and slaughtering what was left of their people. But the truth was they should have been more concerned about their own kind. But like any libertarian the truth was too toxic to bear. It was far easier to blame the American Government and leave it at that. Yet still… they knew… They knew the REAL reason they were in such pain. And it had to be dealt with. Before their own greed killed them off once and for all. It was unanimous… They HAD to find a new world to settle on! And they needed one with all haste! They were going to kill themselves if they stayed adrift for much longer! They were like cornered cannibalistic animals eating each other alive! And in that most desperate time of need. As if summoned forth by will alone- the cosmic dust settled and their eyes beheld a shining blue gem aside a glittering star. And that beautiful water world they did name…
Concept, Stories, and Art © Infinity Unbound
No: Sampling, Sharing, Rendering, Tracing, Editing, Distributing, Reproducing, Re-uploading, Copying,
Or any other forms of stealing
Redux vr. 1.5
Amari “Quaver” Azurine...
BroodTube birthed on the Solack world of Hydora as part of a clutch containing 34 individuals. 2 - Too many… As number 34- she was an extra. Hatched from her BroodTube almost a month and a half late, she was almost aborted as a defect. Normally- such unfit specimens are dumped- but she was made from very rare and extremely expensive genetic material. - So she was allowed to join her sibok as an unheard-of 34th. But she was always the runt of the litter.
Her addition to the already oversized broodset of 33 was most unwelcome. The taunting and teasing especially from the opposite sex was what prompted her distaste for sexuality in general. As she was made out to be a mistake and an outcast. Even her instructors (whom did not approve of taking on yet another extra) saw her presence as an embarrassment to their careers. They saw being forced to take on such a large broodset as an unwarranted punishment. A slap in the face to their collective egos.
This non-stop bullying and ridicule lasted until her early teen years when she finally graduated basic on Hydora. After that she transferred to the Jaw Buster Academy on Hydora to become a full rank warrior. And after that – EVERYONE would have to respect her. Because if she did pass- she would have proven once and for all that she was just as valid and as valuable as any of her Brood. Too bad it didn’t work out that way…
Admittedly Quaver was never the academic type. She was strong and highly durable as a soldier – even surpassing many of the males. But she lacked the scholastic wherewithal to pass the rigorous exams. In the end- she failed and was forced to drop out. Heartbroken- she set off to pursue a life once unthinkable to her. A life as a washout. She would get full veterans benefits as well as citizenship for her valiant efforts. Because she completed basic and achieved such high combat ratings, no one could look down on her despite her failure. But it wasn’t enough. Quaver did not want to be an object of pity. So she decided to follow another passion of hers…
Music! From the time she was young Quaver had a natural talent for music. She was always good at playing instruments and could also sing. It all came naturally to her in a very curious way. She had been told in the past that her genetic recipe included some material from famous musicians. Who exactly- they never said. But it was true. And it showed! Quaver had great talent as a diva. Even when she was a child you could hear her voice randomly singing a tune through the halls. And indeed Quaver took her new role like a duck to water. But it was a hard living nonetheless. There’s a ton of talent in any field of art. And there is ALWAYS someone MUCH better than you to contend with. In the end- stiff competition, demotivation to the point of depression, and poverty took it’s toll on the still very young Quaver. She became a transient. A “Drifter Bum” living out of public housing for the poor. Moving aimlessly from place to place. It’s only fortunate she was born a Solack. Because in the Solack Empire there are no true “homeless.” Everyone who earns their citizenship from their service is entitled to free minimal housing. Cramped- but clean and free. Unfortunately the modular homes are usually a part of a ship or rotary. So when her house left- she had to leave with it.
Addled by the constant moving- Quaver sank deeper into the life of a lowly panhandler. Again- thank the Empire, the Solack government provided the bare minimum for life. Food, power, water, healthcare, etc. It gave her a chance to gather her marbles. A chance most humans never get. And then the day came…
Some random Solack male strolled by the spot where Quaver had been resting under a box. Already at wits end- Quaver tossed herself at him and began begging for gas money. She had no intention of buying fuel. But she did need the money to buy a ticket to leave the Solack Empire once and for all. She had been passively panhandling all day for the necessary funds. But had failed at that too! She had “HAD IT” with failure! She was going to plead and beg at this guy’s knees if she had to! Anything at all would at least grant her some sense of victory for once in her life!
And to he surprise- the short red haired Solack answered, “Sure!”
Quivers face lit up with happiness as she asked, “Really!?”
The man replied, “Yup! That’s a good idea!”
Quaver gave a puzzled look…
“Change!” – Spoke the man… “I think we can all use some!”
Quaver grimaced resentfully. She was not amused at all…
But just then the man looked down at Quaver with a warm expression and lifted her to her feet. Quaver looked away still pouting. But the young Solack took her by the hand and asked- “What has the world done to you?”
Quaver looked back in shock. She didn’t know what to say. The man looked her over and pointed out a sniper’s insignia on here torn jacket.
“You’re a sniper?” – The man asked.
Quaver sheepish answered back- “N- no. I didn’t pass. But I did rank top 5. So I got to keep the patch.”
The man than looked at Quaver awhile. He then introduced himself as Tromili. A mercenary from the human world of Meiai. That was a long ways away! And a world full of humans! How tasteless… What was this guy doing there??? Tromili explained that he had come from a unit that fought on Meiai during the Torvo War. And things since then were not going so well. In short- he needed a new team. And he wanted Quaver to be in it!
Quaver was stunned! What an odd job… She had never thought of becoming a private soldier. It was a very rare gig. Not very many Solack ever attempted to become mercenaries. Mostly because mercenaries tend to be under human command- and thus have a tendency to be slaughtered at some point. And this had apparently been the case with Tromili’s former human commander. Who had left her only surviving officer in charge of the company after her demise. Tromili now ran the show. All the other ranking officers had either quit or were KIA. (Killed In Action) The life of a mercenary was exciting and potentially VERY profitable, but also brutal and often short. But it was a risk Quaver was willing to take. She took Tromili up on his offer and to her shock – he picked her up and carried her to his transport.
Quaver did not like this one bit! She’d normally respond violently to being touched by a male let alone carried like a child. But smothered by her shock and gratitude – all she could muster was a – “This is extremely unnecessary… I really don’t like being… ”
But Tromili just smiled and asked. “So you’re a drop out huh?”
Quaver sneered and shook in anger as she got ready to slash Tromili’s face and yell – “DON’T YOU LOOK DOWN ON ME! I AM AS VALID A PERSON AS…”
But before she could even finish her thought Tromili chucked – “me too kid. Me too..”
Quaver, feeling very sheepish went limp. Who the hell was this guy??? He sure as hell didn’t act like any Solack male she had ever met. Even for a fellow washout – he wasn’t prattling on about outranking her or how much “superior” his career was. There was no inclination of pity or scorn at all. He was carrying in his arms a washout- but he looked at her with a sad smile- his eyes didn’t judge her. No one had ever treated her like this… Overwhelmed and already at the point of exhaustion. She passed out.
When she awoke it was morning. Quaver woke up in a soft bed made of empty ammo crates and padding with sheets and pillows. All her things were in a bag at the edge of the small rusty metal room. Alarmed- She quickly jumped up and looked around. She wasn’t in her home! Worse- This was a human ship! Oh- that’s right… The deal... Quaver quickly checked herself. All her clothes were on and she was surprisingly unmolested. In fact she was wearing more clothing than she has started with… A brand new jump jacket. With full rank and insignia. She was a mercenary now. And a sniper at that… A brand new Tylox “Sharpie” rifle was sitting at the door. The name tag on it read- “Quaver.” Quaver began to sob quietly as the situation sank in. For the first time in what seemed like forever- she had a home.
Over the next few years Quaver became a master sniper with just over 500 confirmed kills under her belt. Quaver now far surpasses most soldiers in the Empire in fighting ability. At range or in close quarters, few troopers would be fool enough to go toe to toe with Quaver. In those few years she has grown so strong that no one from her early years would even recognize her now. And in that time- Tromili and Quaver became very close. Eventually Quaver became Tromili’s mate. To this day he’s the only male she lets touch her. Together they share something – special. And that is a love story onto itself!
Today- Quaver can usually be found in the mech bay or in the hanger working on one project or another. Lately she’s become quite the fighter pilot. She even boasts her own custom blue Alara Fighter she calls her “lollipop.” It’s quite the fantastic fighting machine.
Currently- Quaver still uses her original Sharpie rifle. With it she wears armored molecular Kevlar clothing. -A favorite among the Solack. Light weight, comfortable, fashionable, and completely bulletproof! Quaver supplements this with the infamous Shen-Roh Armor. A thin skintight transparent armor that resembles plastic wrap. It’s only a little less thick than a scuba suit- but it’s kinetic stopping power is simply unrivaled. It’s a favorite among female warriors looking for more “showy” armor. In Quaver’s case it’s a very “look but don’t touch” sort of deal. And it suits her well.
Overall- Quaver’s story is long and robust. And the story has really just begun.
Amari “Quaver” technically belongs to the real Amari to whom she is based on. But….
-Concept, Stories, and Art © Infinity Unbound
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Or any other forms of stealing