[Whew! It's been a while since I posted anything on this blog. Sorry about that. My attention shifted from this to Intro to Geek and now Screen Invasion. But thanks to Shaun and my beloved D&D mates, I've been given an inspiration to write a new short story for this site. Just last week, we started playing this table top RPG called Mekton Z. It's an anime/mecha game in where you become a pilot of a giant mech. Think Gundam or Macross. During the game, I took detailed notes of what was going on in the game. Below is a prologue of the actual gameplay, which sort of glances over some of the information our DM gave us before starting the game. The prologue is, for the most part, my own BS; my way giving a sense of what to expect without bombarding you with a whole bunch of information like the wall of text we see at the beginning of each Star Wars movie -- aka the method I originally used before realizing this technique was crap.
I'll post the actual story being used in the game very soon. I'll try to keep the narration as omniscient 3rd person as possible, but chances are that I'll limit most of the storytelling to just my character, Michiru LaFleur. You can get a sense of what Mekton Z is all about as well as where my character is coming from in this post here.
Anyway, enjoy! I hope you all like it.]
MEKTON Z: BATTLE FOR THE PACIFIC
Based on weekly game sessions directed by Shaun Rosado
Adapted by Christina Janke
Inspired the Mekton Z table top RPG, and by Guillermo del Toro’s Pacific Rim.
Admiral Stacker Pentecost of the Pan Pacific Defense Corps, the most decorated man on Earth, lifted his head from his hands. His face stretched as he began to rub his finely groomed beard, mussing it into a disarray. His eyes welled up with exhaustion and dread as he looked up to the ceiling.
“Admiral Pentecost?” said a lieutenant who had been standing uncomfortably in front of his desk waiting for a response.
Pentecost’s eyes immediately focused back onto the opened folder resting under his elbows. The folder contained data of a huge seismic event that occurred just hours earlier in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Almost immediately after that, another event arose near Portugal, then Brazil, Indonesia, China, Japan, South Africa… “All of them,” grumbled Pentecost.
“Sir?” asked the Lieutenant, not sure of what he said.
“Every coast that the PPDC was based on, except for Alaska, wiped off the map.” Pentecost slammed his hand down in frustration, causing the Lieutenant to jump. He then calmly sat back in his chair and pressed his fingers against his lips. “Are we sure every base is indeed gone? What about our men?”
“We have yet to establish any sort of contact, sir.”
Pentecost noticed a slight trembling in the Lieutenant’s voice. “You think it’s them, don’t you?”
The Lieutenant’s eyes, which have been staring straight at the wall behind Pentecost, now looked at her superior with frightened certainty.
Pentecost sighed, containing the rage he felt in his heart. “Seventeen years,” he said to himself, “Find Dr. Newton Geiszler and bring him to me.”
“Aye, sir,” the lieutenant salutes and begins to turn, but stops midway. “Permission to speak, sir,” she said.
Pentecost nodded and waved his right hand, motioning his approval.
“These attacks… I don’t think they were random, sir.”
“No,” drifted the Admiral. Pentecost stared at the lieutenant and then at the file. This idea had sent a chill up his spine. He then nodded and said, “Good work, Lieutenant. Dismissed.” He glanced at the pages within the folder again. How? he thought to himself. The Kaiju were walking weapons of mass destruction made of acidic blood and poisonous gases, but they were never organized.
They had barely won the war last time. So much destruction. Even after the Kaiju had gone, the world itself nearly collapsed on itself when trying to re-establish government in each country left standing. Another great war was starting. Anyone who could afford it started making their own mechs. Tensions rose, negotiations were failing; the fall of humanity seemed almost imminent once again, but this time by their own hands. The PPDC, an international governmental military group run by the United Nations, were forced to step in and threaten martial law. This was incredibly gutsy, extremely intrusive, and a total bluff. They may have defeated the Kaiju, but at the cost of losing nearly all of their mechs and soldiers. But no one knew that.
Almost immediately the smaller, less powerful countries backed down, followed by everyone else. There was peace once again. Just as a precaution, the PPDC built new bases in each along the coasts of each continent and island. The official statement was to give them the host countries a seat with the PPDC council, if they didn’t have one already. Everyone else was closely watched by official UN liaisons — unofficially, they were PPDC agents.
Pentecost laced his fingers together and rested his forehead against them, his thumbs massaging the bridge of his nose. “I’m getting to old for this,” he sighed. The long silence was interrupted when his office door slid open. It was young ensign he had seen working in MTAC. He immediately noted the urgency on his face. “What is it, Ensign?”
“Ensign Thompson, sir,” saluted Thompson. His voice broke as he tried to grasp enough air into his lungs. He had been running. “Sir, we just got a message from an agent stationed in Bhutan.” He pulled out from his left jacket pocket a small disc about the size of his palm and hurriedly place it on the center of Pentecost’s desk. He pressed the blinking blue button on the side of the disk which activated the center to light up and project a close-up image of a woman’s face. The desperation in her eyes alone gave reason enough for concern.
“Admiral Pentecost,” said the young woman. She was nearly breathless and seemed to be hiding in a small place. Her eyes darted past the recording device as if to check to see if no one else was around to discover her. “This is Agent Pema, code 3-5-5-Charlie-Romeo. Over the past year and a half, I’ve been hearing about Cenobitic missionaries traveling to small, third world countries and spreading the church’s word. Normally no one would even bother with this information, but lately there are reports of governments embracing their beliefs, their doctrines, and making them law, thus making Cenobiumism each countries’ main religion. Agent Ibrahimi in Tajikistan reported seven months ago that the president adopted Cenobiumism after only one meeting with a monk. Since then the monk has been a close advisor, dictating every new law that was to be implemented immediately. I haven’t been able to reestablish contact with him since then…
“A monk came here today and met with Prime Minister Namgyal. This Monk Chokyl did not want me in the meeting. It almost seemed as if he new who I was, the way he looked at me with those piercing golden eyes…” Pema paused and looked past the device again, craning her neck farther as if to look around a corner. “I was able to eavesdrop using a hidden camera and microphone I planted in the Prime Minister’s office since I started here. I’m attaching the footage with this message now. They seem to worship something they refer to as ‘the blind god.’ He then showed the Prime Minister something in the flame of a candle. I don’t know what he saw, but Namgyal no longer seemed himself.” Pema paused again, only this time she began to choke on her own words. “Sir…”
Pentecost was drawn in by the desperation in the young woman’s eyes. He hadn’t noticed that his whole body was now leaning closer to the holographic image of Pema’s face, which was now losing all of the little composure that was left and giving into despair.
“Sir,” said Pema again, “They said that they are bringing back the Kaiju, that…” She stops. Her eyes locked onto something in front of her. Her lips moved, but nothing but a single whimper was able to come out. Her eyes filled with horror and confusion. She struggled to speak again, this time, breaking eye contact with whatever was in front of her. “Send,” was all she could mutter before a high-pitched screech pierced through the recording’s audio.
Pema’s holographic face disappeared, the display’s light retreating back into the device. Pentecost cringed as he remembered the screeching noise at the end of the recording. After a short moment of silence, Pentecost looked at Ensign Thompson still standing at attention in front of him. “Do you have the attachment she sent with the message?”
Thompson looked at his superior, “Yes, sir. Shall I play it for you now?”
“Not right now, son,” Pentecost said waving his hand. Find me all the information you can about these…Cenobites and their so-called ‘Blind God.’ I want to know who we’re dealing with and if they have any connection to these disasters.” The ensign saluted and began to walk away when Pentecost added another order, “And scope the news feeds for any strange sightings. Get as many people on it as you can. I want to know what the hell happened today.” Thompson saluted again and exited the office as quickly as possible without breaking into a run.
Pentecost sat back in his chair, already exhausted by this morning’s events. He opened the left bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out a crystal decanter filled with with 20-year-old cognac as well as a matching glass. He filled the glass almost to the brim and drank the alcoholic liquid in nearly one gulp. His surroundings immediately began to shift as if his body was wading over rippling waves after a boat had just past by him. He let a moment pass to regain his senses. He let in one deep breath, followed by and even deeper exhale, then pressed a button on the holographic device to watch the attached message.