Ia tha a 'cumail Sruighlea

[Kaze]

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Manchester | Fort Winchester
17/11/825 AS, 09:28 AM

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The black clad Marlin silently traveled towards Fort Winchester, after being cleared by the Harlow CIC to enter the secure area. Not only several weapon platforms were trailing the Marlin, but a veritable array of scanners kept taking readings of all shape and form so that the decision makers aboard the Fort would either choose to disintegrate or allow it in their berths. As the blast doors of bay number three opened, the weapon turrets resumed their pre-assigned alert position and the Marlin quickly landed. The red klaxons inside kept spinning until the bay doors closed and its posterior pressurization had finished. The Marlin, an already known piece of technology by the Bretonian Armed Forces, started its engine shutdown procedure, its HN-C11 engine stressing to downgrade its power, leaving a red plume as three men, fully armed and in tactical gear quickly ran towards it, followed by a four meter high combat exo that kept its heavy repeating blasters trailed at the ship. The exit side door, commonly known as the 'rat hole' by the pilots that had flown the Marlin, opened up and a lithe woman slid, not bothering with the support stairs that come out from the hull plates and landing graciously onto the bay floor. The men quickly saluted as they saw the pilots face and rank and issued the all-ok onto their comms. Three technicians appeared from a near elevator, and ran towards the Marlin to service, already issuing commands by remote to several robotic arms, that had come off from the bay's walls and ceiling.

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Kaze Nelson Reidman Dagon stood in attention inside the Fleet Admiral's office, her pilot uniform, black, simple but already showing some wear with only her Commodore insignia on the collar. McIntire was silently reviewing a report and signaled her in, moments before. Obviously, he was not enjoying whatever he was reading since the frown was very heavy, indeed. He caressed his mustache, deep in thought and finally laid the data-pad onto his red oak desk, styled in the old Sol eighteenth century, heavy, robust and with very intricate details, reminiscing waves from a sea. Very fitting for the First Sea Lord of Bretonia, she thought. Her bionic hand opened up and closed into a fist, behind her back.

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[08:11 PM] Dusty Lens said: Well in that case. NUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUKE & #SAVAGE & #STORIES