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Planetary Conquest Profile: The United Federation of Planets Part 1
Author’s note: The style of this profile is a mix of my own and a heavy dose of inspiration from . He’s fucking awesome, check him out and you’ll see why he inspired this somewhat more humorous profile.
After this, will come the hero section and then everything will be uploaded onto my blog. Enjoy
Bio: For more than three hundred years, the United Federation of Planets weathered assaults external as well as internal; fighting back hostile alien empires and undermining political opportunists who would turn it into a totalitarian empire.
For the PC tournament, the Federation brings to battle the resources and assets of more than 155 moons, planets, colonies and allied governments. Many alien species join together, putting aside differences to march lock to fight the darkness without while resisting the temptation of the darkness within.
Recon: The Federation is highly scientifically advanced and wields a variety of long and short range scanners that can easily cover the surface of a planet and deliver advanced details on the topography biosphere and habitation. The Federation is also highly adept at hacking enemy communications and resting being hacked; something they gained practice at during recent conflicts.
Atmospheric shuttles can move quickly and provide real time viewing of enemy armies and fortifications.
As a last effort, highly trained Special Forces teams can teleport behind enemy lines for either recon or harassment.
Name: Military Assault Command Operative
Weapon Type: Phaser Weapon
Armour Type: Hazard suit
Maximum range: mortar range
Preferred range: assault rifle range
Known colloquially as the MACOs, these fine men, women and tertiary gender soldiers operate as the primary infantry force of the UFC. Normally these soldiers operate as ship security or planetary defence.
During the Dominion war the MACOs gained fame for enduring horrifying casualties in both defensive and offensive operations against the numerically superior and fanatical Jem’Hadar. While they are few in number, the MACOs are highly trained and are backed up by an advanced arsenal and a solid logistical machine.
Long range: Compression Phaser Rifle—One of the most powerful hand held weapons available to the Federation, these weapons serve as the primary weapon for onboard or planet side action. Able to fire accurate bolts of phased direct energy with zero recoil, the compression rifle was also very low maintenance and had a long lasting battery pack.
The rifle had a variable charge setting, from a stun setting that could knock out a target for a few seconds to maximum power which could vaporize a human sized armoured target.
When linked with a tricorder and a MACOs Hazard suit, the weapon could achieve sniper rifle ranges up to a kilometer and a half; though this use of the weapon would drain the power pack much faster.
Medium range: Federation Assault Rifle—Functionally it works more like a shotgun than an assault rifle, though it has a much longer range than any real world ballistic shotguns. The weapon fires an energy bolt that expands, making for devastating damage at close range and next to none at longer ranges.
Slung below the main gun of the weapon is a plasma bolt launcher with a four shot magazine; each shot able to blow apart multiple light targets or rip through a single well armoured one.
Like the Compression rifle, there is a variable power setting on the weapon for either stun, kill or everything in between.
Photon Burst Launcher—A heavy weapon designed by the crew of Voyager during their years in the Delta quadrant, this heavy weapon can either kill mass infantry in heavy splash damage or else rip through armour and energy shields of well protected targets and vehicles. The launcher is a single shot weapon and has a targeting and homing function ideal for shooting down enemy aircraft.
Short range: Type 2 Phaser—A handheld version of the Federation’s line of phaser weapons, the type 2 is a short ranged but highly accurate holdout weapon. The weapon’s settings are precise enough to vaporize a parasitic slug without scorching the carpet it’s crawling on or to vaporize a full grown man.
The stun setting on the type 2 is useful against most organic lifeforms of comparable mass to an adult human; only creatures with very specialized or very resilient nervous systems can shrug off the stun settings at their highest.
Photon grenade mortar—A high powered, computer guided mortar tube able to fire a photon grenade up to ten kilometers. These fire a larger and more powerful version of the handheld versions of the photon grenade.
Photon grenade—A type of electromagnetic pulse grenade usually designed to short out computer systems and electronics. At higher settings, the EMP pulse is fatal to organic lifeforms; scrambling their DNA irreparably in the blast radius.
Hazard suit—The original hazard suits were built not for military action but for exploration in the most dangerous environments of the final frontier. Under the auspices of Lt. Commander Tuvok, the Hazard suits were adapted for combat as well as dangerous alien worlds.
The suit’s outer layer protects the wearer from ballistic weapons as well as direct energy attacks; millions of nanites in the suit repair cosmetic and structural damage. An energy absorption matrix allowed the suit to redirect extreme amounts of energy; blasts that could vaporize a human being would instead leave the wearer severely injured. For whatever the absorption matrix couldn’t handle, anabolic protoplasmers and dermal regenerators acted to stabilize life threatening injuries until a field medic could be accessed or else repair more minor wounds. A limited shock absorber shielded helped to greatly reduce risk of injury from falls but great enough heights would still injure the soldier.
The foot pads of the suit are equipped with magnetic strips to operate in zero-g environments and a sealed helmet allows the wearer to survive in a vacuum for hours as well as resist nearly all chemical and radiological attacks. The suit provides a heads up display for the wearer, projecting crosshairs for their weapon. Furthermore, the suit’s targeting computer is able to link up with a soldier’s tricorder in order to read scans of local environments, enemies, vehicles and weapons. Furthermore with help from crewmembers of the Starship Enterprise, the current line of Hazard suits can provide excellent night vision.
One of the hazard suit’s most ingenious features was of a personal transporter buffer; a literal hammer space that could be used to store up to one hundred kilograms of wear in the form of pure energy patterns. Soldiers in the suit would carry all their gear and have it literally weigh nothing.
The final feature of the suit was a universal power adapter, which allowed the wearer to recharge their suit’s internal power supply with nearly any power source; even totally foreign alien power sources were able to be tapped. Direct plug in with a power source not only replenished the suit’s power but could fully heal crewmen near death in the absence of a medic; though this would require a much higher power drain on nearby sources. The power adaptor could also serve to feed energy, recharging downed vehicles (small ones) and also recharging a soldier’s weapons when they began to run low.
Name: Bajoran Militia
Weapon Type: Phaser Weapon
Armour Type: light armour
Maximum range: mortar range
Preferred range: sniper range
Classification: skirmishing sharpshooters
While the Federation has virtually no standing army, a number of their allies and client states do maintain standing militaries and ground forces to handle local security and such matters.
The Bajorans are a recent member in the Federation, having recently suffered almost eighty years of brutal occupation by the now defunct Cardassian Union. Bajor volunteers its militia in service of the federation as a thanks for not only helping to rebuild their planet after the Cardassians essentially raped their world but also for helping to beat back a combined Cardassian-Dominion invasion.
Bajoran Phaser Rifle—The Bajoran militia were once a hard-core terrorist organization dedicated to battling the Cardassians and later the Dominion. As such their main weapon is built with scarcity in mind. While not as powerful as a federation compression rifle, the Bajoran phaser rifle is much easier to manufacture and faster as well.
Besides being ruggedized compared to most energy weapons, the Bajoran phaser includes a scanner on the barrel that acts as an infrared scope as well as a simple but accurate scanner. In past times, these scanners allowed Bajoran sharpshooters to blow away Cardassian patrols in poor visibility as well as cut down on friendly fire in raids and ambushes gone wrong. The Bajorans themselves are excellent snipers with years of experience of marksmanship.
The most recent line of Bajoran phasers are built with sarium krellide power cells in order to be compatible with Federation chargers. Like Federation phasers they possess a number of stun and kill settings.
Quantum Launcher—See Hazard Team
Photon Mortar—See MACO
Bajoran Phaser Pistol—Functionally similar to the Federation’s side arms, this weapon possesses similar power and accuracy to a standard Federation sidearm. Like the Bajoran Phaser rifle, it is easier to manufacture and quicker than its federation counterpart.
Bilitrium grenade—A grenade that functioned similarly to a Star Wars thermal detonator, a radioactive metal in the grenade was triggered in a mini nuclear explosion. A timer on the grenade could allow it to double as a time bomb and it included adhesive strips to attack to enemy vehicles or buildings.
One of the weaknesses of the grenade was the way they leaked anti-protons; giving them away to enemies who knew what to scan for.
IED’s—Given the militia’s origins, Bajoran soldiers have training and skills that go beyond those of an ordinary soldier. Bajoran soldiers in the field have a phenomenal talent for making improvised explosives and booby traps; talents and skills that normally the Federation wouldn’t condone but would probably permit under extreme circumstances.
There is no standard set of improvised explosives and bombs, and as the battle progresses Bajoran soldiers will adapt enemy technology towards lethal ends.
Defence: The Uniform of Bajoran soldiers is equipped with a phase absorption matrix like the hazard suit. This will allow them to survive the worst of even hits that can vaporize an adult human, but it is not as effective against ballistic or melee attacks.
Like the hazard suit, there is a teleporter buffer that allows them to carry their gear in a hammer space. The suit by itself is not vacuum rated though soldiers can carry anti-vacuum or anti-chemical/biological survival gear.
Name: Klingon Warrior
Weapon Type: Disruptor Weapon
Armour Type: Heavy armour
Maximum range: sniper Rifle Range
Preferred range: assault rifle range
Classification: heavy raiders
After the Dominion War the Klingon Empire was in shambles. While the Romulans and the Federation were all but taking over the Alpha Quadrant, the empire had suffered staggering losses in terms of men and ships; their large standing army and fleet a serious economic drain that further impeded their recovery.
Upon hearing of the strange case of the Portal Master’s PC tournament, innumerable Klingon warriors volunteered to fight under the Federation; for in their eyes the Federation had proven its honour and prowess in battle time and time again.
The Klingons are proud, ruthless and have trained their entire lives to fight and to kill. Like Frank Miller protagonists they seek to die in a way to give their enemies the biggest possible middle finger.
Klingon Disruptor rifle—Superficially similar in appearance and power output to a Federation compression rifle, a Klingon disruptor used direct energy to rip apart a target’s molecular makeup. This was a quick but agonizingly painful way to die. The rifle had two settings, kill and disintegrate; the kill setting being for if the Klingon warrior was in the mood to take trophies from the dead.
Tetryon Gatling gun—After the Dominion War, the Klingon Empire began mass producing these multi-barrelled weapons of mass destruction. While it drains its battery very quickly compared to other Federation and Federation allied energy weapons the gun’s fast recharging barrels can put down a tremendous amount of lethal energy at high accuracy, zero recoil and at least rifle range.
A secondary trigger on the gun fires a tetryon grenade from a magazine of five; this deadly anti-personnel grenade releases an energy pulse that bounces off of hard surfaces, ripping through a squad of enemy soldiers a dozen times over before shortly dissipating. The damage is greatest in confined spaces.
Disruptor pistol—Similar in power and accuracy to a Federation phaser pistol, the Disruptor has only kill and stun settings and kills agonizingly.
Bat’Leth—Some people on the internet have pointed out that the design of a bat’leth is as liable to kill the user as the enemy. For the Klingon’s that’s not a bug it’s a feature; because they’re so damn jaded by bloodlust and life that having a useful weapon is considered an unfair advantage.
The crescent shaped, three handled bat’leth is an ancient Klingon ceremonial and practical weapon forged from nearly indestructible composite baakonite and honed down to a monomolecular edge.
Klingon’s use these double ended scimitar blades to great effect, cutting up well armoured Jem’Hadar like they were wearing nothing but the steam of a morning shower. These weapons have even been shown to cut through the heavy armour plating of borg drones.
Mak’leth—About half the length of the bat’leth, the mak’leth is a long dagger used for backstabbing, throat cutting and disemboweling. Like the bat’leth, this dastardly dagger was monomolecular; able to slice through armoured space suits and borg armour.
In prior wars the Klingons believed that both combat medicine and armour would coddle a soldier and make armies weaker in the long run. Devastating casualties at the physically superior and better trained Jem’Hadar have made the Klingon High command rethink their stance.
The standard Klingon Warrior now wears a suit with a heavy phase absorption matrix which could tank more damage overall than that of the Hazard suit. Models of the current suit do not possess any of the healing ability of the Hazard suit though they do possess rudimentary ways to stabilize a critically injured warrior and allow him one last chance to make a kill before croaking.
Like the Hazard suit the armour’s targeting system integrates with the Klingon weapons to give both crosshairs and a sniper function on the disruptor rifle. Finally it too possesses a transporter buffer to act as a personal hammer space.
Natural resilience—Klingon anatomy is very hardy. Their bodies possesses two livers (they drink like the Demoman) an eight chambered heart, three lungs and even a redundant nervous system. They were able to take damage that could kill a human and keep fighting; in addition their stamina and pain tolerance were far beyond human limits.
Name: Andorian Imperial Guard
Weapon Type: Phaser weapon
Armour Type: Medium armour
Maximum range: sniper Rifle Range
Preferred range: assault rifle range
Classification: professional line infantry
Many years ago the Andorian species broke away from the Federation despite being one of its founding members. Yet through all the years, the Andorian Imperium and the Federation have been nothing but close allies; held together by strong economic, political and military bonds. The Andorians ally with the Federation, going forth to fight under their banner
The Andorian Imperial guard are the toughest that Andor has to offer; men and women raised from birth to do nothing but fight with just about anything they can get their hands on. They hail from a warrior society but unlike the Klingons despise pointless grabs at glory and value strategy as much as strength.
Andorian Plasma rifle—Like the Klingons the Andorians don’t believe in their weapons having a stun function. These weapons are very high powered compared to Federation phasers though they go through the battery much faster. Like compression rifles they sync up with the warrior’s suit to provide a sniper function.
Andorian plasma pistol
Ushan-Tor—A large crescent shaped knife, the Ushan-tor was as ubiquitous as IPhones anywhere here on earth. Andorians used them for mining and carving through the kilometers thick ice that covered their home world as well as ritual duels to the death that happen more often than in Andrew Jackson’s neck of the woods.
Given that they kill one another all the time with these weapons, the Andorians are experts with them; the Imperial Guard more so.
Chaka—Functionally alike to an Indian Katar, the chaka was a large dagger like weapon with two folding collapsible side blades good for either attack or defence. The blades are monomolecular and crafted from strong Idisha steel.
Photon grenade—See MACO, though theirs are always set to kill.
Guard Uniform—The Imperial guard uniform is nearly identical in protection to the Hazard suit. It offers most of the same protections and utilities; being also vacuum rated.
Natural resilience—While they may not have the Klingon’s multiple organs; Andorians are extremophiles who can thrive in very severe conditions. On their home world they routinely walked in sub-zero temperatures with very little clothing or need to keep warm and were even able to survive happily for days in environments hot enough to make water boil. The species also possessed very tough skins, providing some protection against knives and melee attacks as well as making hypodermic needles worthless.
Name: Hazard Team
Weapon Type: Phaser weapon
Armour Type: Advanced Hazard suit
Maximum range: sniper Rifle Range
Preferred range: any
Classification: Deep space paramilitary organization
Lost in deep space for Seven Years, the Hazard team would prove critical to the survival of the Starship Voyager several times. Though initially disbanded upon return to the Federation, hardened and adaptable enemies called for a flexible and highly trained force who could handle such threats; thus the Hazard team became a Federation wide task force.
Recruited from every species with the physical and mental abilities to get the job done, only the best are accepted for the Hazard team. With them comes the Federation’s cutting edge weapons and utility technology; soon the enemies of the Federation will learn to fear the sound of a transporter.
Compound Grenade Launcher—A high accuracy, high powered explosive weapon that fired energy grenades at targets; able to take out multiple grouped enemies in the splash. The weapon like nearly all federation weapons could either be set to stun or kill.
The gun had a secondary setting where a sticky version of the grenades could be launched that would only trigger when a hostile steps on or near the grenade.
Quantum Burst—An upgrade over the photon launcher, the Quantum burst fires miniature Quantum torpedoes to blast apart groups of enemies or tear through hardened targets. These easy to manufacture warheads use a zero point energy reaction to rip through both shields and hardened armour.
Designed originally as an anti-borg weapon they are superior to photon torpedoes and will gradually replace photon bursts through the Federation ground forces.
Enhanced Compression Rifle—Similar to the regular compression rifle but possesses a higher rate of fire by a factor of two as well as a nose mounted grenade launcher which can be equipped with nearly any type of grenade.
I-MOD (Infinity Modulator)—A weapon developed very specifically as an anti-borg weapon; this gun built by the talented seven of nine has also proven useful against rapidly evolving and mutating biological foes. The weapon essentially fires its energy on infinite, random frequencies; preventing Borg and other adaptive foes from hard countering the weapon with personal shields or other adaptive measures.
Unlike other Federation weapons the I-MOD is strictly lethal and unfortunately uses up the battery pack much faster than most phaser weapons; so use is sparring.
Etherian Stasis weapon—A gift from a peaceful but well-armed race that Voyager encountered in the Delta quadrant; the Stasis weapon is a biomechanical weapon which disables a target by neutrally charging its matter to encase it in a stasis field. A few shots from the weapon will stun a target while more than five shots will disintegrate the target by ripping apart the weak and strong atomic forces holding it together.
The weapon has a secondary fire button which launches a fire burst shotgun blast which will instantly kill at the cost of increased battery drain.
Quantum Grenade Mortar—Similar to Photon Mortar. More powerful and useful against heavily armoured targets.
Federation Assault Rifle—See MACO
Phaser pistol—See MACO
Hazard Suit MK2—This version of the Hazard suit boasts superior medial technology which can heal near fatal injuries without a combat medic and at considerably less energy drain to the suit. More sophisticated tricorder interface allows Hazard team members to possess a radar field with an Identify Friend Foe system; much like a Spartan II’s radar display.
The transporter buffer can also hold fifty kilograms more capacity as well as hold objects for longer.
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Author's note: The characters Maztil and Baxterchen belong to I'm just borrowing them.
For those not in the know this story contains shota, non-con and violence and cursing. This is some highly controversial subject matter so don't enter unless you're into that kind of stuff.
All constructive criticism is welcome and enjoyed. Thank you.
So unless you clicked the back button, on with the show.
The clock struck thirteen in the vampire’s lair. The twenty four hour clock chimed a little electronic jingle that was more guaranteed to annoy than it was to strike terror into visitors in this blood sucker’s den.
Over on the wall, a ratty old Santana poster fell down off its perch of many years. The poster landed among a stack of shitty Harlequin bodice ripper novels. Opposite where the poster used to be was another poster of wrestling legend Hulk Hogan with his twenty-four inch python hanging out of his pants.
In the center of the room was a large oak desk much too tacky to be either gothic or intimidating. Perhaps this was for the best, as the over the top skull engraved desk fitted the polyester clad man who sat behind it.
The man in a blue synthetic fabric suit and oily hair lay unmoving in his fine leather chair. A human might have assumed that he was dead, but for a vampire this was the equivalent of an afternoon nap. Given that it was only one o’clock in the afternoon, little naps like these were what allowed the vampire to function for his primarily diurnal work shifts.
Big hairy hands, much too large for the vampire’s relatively small frame hid his face. As he sat perfectly still, statue like unmoving, another vampire approached him.
The diminutive figure physically took the form of an eight year old, dark skinned and crimson eyed; striking white hair bobbing with each step. The smaller vampire strutted like an experienced street walker, hinting at things no eight year old should go through and a kind of forbidden sexuality that’s only permitted in the highest levels of the Catholic Church.
Chin barely reaching the top of the tacky oak desk, the shota vampire shifted in his translucent leggings and furry boots. Supple yet firm flesh moved and tensed with each twist of his posture; the face was calm but there was turmoil under the surface.
Gently, the boy shaped vampire reached out and poked. A tiny tan finger with a well-manicured nail poked the large hairy hands of the dormant vampire. No reaction whatsoever ensued.
Frowning, the boy poked harder at the hands over the man vampire’s face. Once more there was no sign of life.
Grinding his teeth in frustration, the boy narrowed his crimson eyes. He began to reach out towards the vampire’s blood and mustard stained Ren and Stimpy tie. Yanking as hard as he could, the man vampire in front of him shot forward and slammed his face violently into the desk.
The vampire shot up like there was a spring in his spine. Unshaven, tired features contorted into an almost comical monkey’s grin of anger. “Why you mother fucker! I’ll rip your tits off!” One hand waved wildly in the air and from under his desk he drew an ornate, stupidly long broadsword.
The older vampire’s features softened a bit with recognition. “Oh, it’s you,” he put down the sword and began to adjust his much loved and poorly washed necktie. Grumbling to himself he glanced at his twenty four hour clock. “You’re twenty minutes late, kid. Bill Von Carstein doesn’t run a school.”
“Oi, did you just refer to yourself in the third person?” the child vampire asked in a high voice that made better men than Bill grit their teeth with either lust or anger. “I fink you might be all sixes and seven.”
Bill narrowed his eyes at the boy, “What the fuck does that mean?” he suddenly thrust the palm of his hand into the boy’s face. “Never mind, I don’t give a shit. Pay up or else.”
Grousing, the boy rummaged through his pockets while mumbling about a crimbo party and a cobbler’s awls. Finally, the scowling brat threw a handful of crumpled plastic notes on the oak desk.
The older, greasier vampire looked at the mess on his prized second hand desk and laughed after a few seconds. “Very funny, motherfucker; now where’s the money?”
“First of all,” the boy shouted as he pointed a finger at Bill, “you fucking iron hoof, my name is Maztil and you will call me proper by it or I’ll gouge your eyes out.” He stood up to the entirely of his four odd feet and slapped the crumpled plastic notes. “And fucking second, this is the money.”
Several emotions flashed across Bill’s face like the stages of acceptance. First there was denial that this was the money he was promised. Then there was anger that the little shit was fucking with him. Bargaining came in the form of thoughts of torture that he could use to get his cash. Then came depression when he thought that the boy must be broke and he couldn’t be able to buy a new pack of condoms today. Finally there was acceptance that this whole fucking day had been wasted.
Bill took a deep breath and pointed out behind Maztil, “Well, thanks for the play money. There’s the door; now get the fuck out.”
“Don’t get two and eight, ya sceptic tank!” Maztil scolded, “This is real money! Australian money; they’ll be running the world in a few short years.”
The facepalm that Bill made was epic, “Fucking crocodile Dundee money; piece of piss.”
“Hey! This plastic money the Aussie’s built will last longa than the old yank paper money! So shut yer gob.”
Bill groaned, if worst came to worst he could use this stuff to buy American greenbacks at the currency exchange downtown. “Fine,” he signed, “Fine, fine fine; you’ve got exactly ten minutes of my time. Speak your fucking piece before I get off my ass to learn if the down under money is on parity with American currency.”
As Bill leaned back in his chair, Maztil’s sharp features softened imperceptibly; as if there was a heart wrapped up in that gluttonous, horny little shota package.
Maztil flashes through his own five stages of emotion, though unlike Bill his inner workings were a bit harder to parse out. “It’s my . . .” the words caught in his throat and for a moment the cockney accent slipped, “My father . . . I mean my da’ was doing bird lime when the Martians took London and bubble wrapped the city in a Rome.”
Bill nodded his head and pretended he understood or cared. “Sure.”
Maztil kept his tone even, “so right now, my pot and pan is stuck in an energy dome and I need you to call a friend to call a friend to bring down a fucking storm of hellfire down and free my father.”
Adjusting his Ren and Stimpy tie, Bill took Maztil’s request under heavy consideration. “Well, it’s been fun. Now there’s the door.”
“SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU CUNT!” Maztil screamed as he slammed a fist on the desk. “Baxterchen is the only person in this fucking world that I love, he’s all I’ve got and I’ll kill you ten times over if you don’t give me what I want!!”
Sighing, Bill leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. Based on the young man’s outburst; he really was a child in every sense; he can’t have been one of the undead more than a decade. He gazed upon the lad with appraising eyes. “Child, I’m sure it feels like love to you. It sure felt like love to me when someone fooled me into thinking that I was special and worthy of affection; it’s called grooming. I was groomed, you were groomed, it’s universal.”
He gave out a loud and surprisingly womanish laugh, “But I’m not here to tell you how to live your life or validate you in any way. You deliver, I deliver; you do a few favours for me and then I turn into your genie, your willing slave.”
Maztil leaned forward, eagerness and bloodlust filling his eyes. “Name your price, Billy boy. You can Adam and Eve that I’ll give yer my last Able and Willing.”
William “Bill” Von Carstein stood up from his overstuffed, second hand chair and put a hand to his fly. Maztil was no stranger to cocks fat and thin, big and small; but he was in for a shock when Bill yanked out what looked like the largest python in the world.
His penis was the size of a Subway club wrap and it slammed down on Bill’s desk as though it were made of pure tungsten. The twenty inch, uncut snake suddenly stood up like it smelt food. The foreskin pulled back slightly to show the purple head and the greasy vampire awkwardly pulled out his hairy bag of magic to complete the act.
There was no foreplay or neither warning, nor power fantasies nor insults. He was straight to the point. “SUCK BILL CARSTEIN’S COCK!” He shouted while his eyes bulged.
The tiny shota vamp was caught off guard as Bill grabbed him by the neck and yanked him onto the dong of kings. Drool leaked from Maztil’s lips; stretched thin as could be. He struggled to let out a retching noise, not because he was really gagging but because it helped him get into the mood. And goddamn if he wasn’t horny as fuck. It’d had been nearly a day since he’d last gotten any action.
Thrusting his hips, Bill purred like a jaguar and bared fangs; breathe reeking of alcohol and cannabis. “With your help I will lower the standards of the earth!”
The older man began to aggressively rape the face of the vamp child before him. Little did he notice that Maztil’s cute little cut cock was hard as fucking diamond and leaking precum like a busted faucet. Sucking like his life depended on it; Maztil’s only wish was that his father could be here to throat fuck him. After all, Baxterchen was the only vampire with a dick bigger than the ugly Carstein before him.
Bill’s tong lolled out and he laughed at his own shititude. “I will fill the televisions with two hundred channels of American gladiators!” he tossed his head around and purred once more. “I will enslave all teenage girls and make them tongue buff my asshole.” Saliva flowed down from Bill’s gaping maw and stained his necktie. “And they will love me for it!”
Maztils’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as the larger man used him as a cock-sleeve. The sheer debauchery of it arousing him to no end; he began to furiously and enthusiastically masturbate and finger his ass at the same time. Feeling of euphoria and pleasure rippled through his lithe form and Maztil had no desire for it to stop.
Meanwhile, Bill was coming close to his end and his pumping and moving was becoming more and more erratic. “People will think that I am deep, edgy and charismatic!” He let out a purr that turned into a bestial roar as he fired his goo into Maztil’s mouth.
He fell backwards as the young shota vampire was thrown forwards by the volume and velocity of the pale injection. Truthfully, Maztil didn’t know what kind of pills Bill Carstein was taking but he wanted them.
Chuckling weakly, Bill stuffed his cock back into his TARDIS pants and zipped up his fly. “That was great, kid. Tell you what, I’ll be nice. I’ll throw in a freebie just for that great performance of yours.”
Like a flash of lightning, a cum stained Maztil pounced on Bill and pinned his arms to the sides of his chair. A truly predatorial look came across the boy vamp’s face as he laughed a nasty little laugh. “Well now that you’ve said that . . .”
He trailed off as he threw bill to the ground and tore pants off him with a swipe of taloned fingers. “I’m going to fuck you. Don’t take it personally,” he held out his small erection like a dagger “I need that warm fuzzy feeling; I could just as easily do this with a watermelon.”
He laughed a shrill, high pitched cackle as he forced himself into Bill Carstein’s anus. The older male shrieked in pain and clawed at the floor.
Maztil hummed deeply in his throat and threw back his head, “Take it, bitch! Take it deep!” He drove it into his victim like the stinger of a parasitic wasp. It was pure domination and physical need; his insides were tight, pulling him in and it definitely gave Maztil the tingling he so craved.
The one brief moment, Bill’s hole clenched too hard and there was too much pull and a deep, warm feeling came through Maztil’s gut. The shota vamp gasped as he “threw his batarang.”
The lad gasped and straightened, looking for all the world disappointed in himself and slightly confused. “Uh . . . do me a cheesy, eh; next time don’t show off yer’ cavalier! The sight of her ‘uncircumcised got me distracted.”
Bill looked up and his eyes met Maztil’s.
A kind of sad, vacant smile had come over Carstein’s face; like some alien’s poor impression of a human smile who’d never met a human being or vampire in person. Eyes were devoid of any kind of warmth or pleasure and they locked unblinkingly on Maztil.
“Nobody’s ever done that for me,” said Bill in a trembling yet affectionate voice. “Nobody’s ever topped me, even when I asked. Have no fear, Maztil; I’m a man of my word. Your father will be safe and sound.”
With that, Bill let out a truly woman-ish giggle and dissolved into pink mist where his mist form flew into the overhead vent.
Maztil’s jaw dropped, still dripping in Carstein’s cum. “The fuck did I get meself into?” he asked.
Under an energy bubble over the ruined city of Rome, a lich spoke to an androgynous cyborg of some kind. But it wasn’t just any lich. It was a giant, rat anthro lich with a loin cloth that did as little to conceal his junk as the steam from a morning shower.
The androgyne cyborg looked at the furry vampire with confusion and nervousness.
Baxterchen meanwhile was burning with barely contained enthusiasm and belief in his own superiority. “Alrights, ins exactly two hundred and fifteen seconds the Martians will beam down a third legions of biomechanoids. When they's do that, I’ll head out to the rubble that used to be the Vaticans and I’ll begin reading from the Necronomicons. You will follow me and see's that I’m not tailed. And this guy that I’ve knowns for six months will follow you.”
The adnrogynoid questioned the plan, “Uh, Baxterchen . . . are you planning to summon the old ones?”
Baxterchen enthusiastically and energetically shook his pointy head, “Yes! You practically reads my mind, Charlie!”
“And how does this help us survive the aliens dumping an unknowable amount of fire and heat into this bubble?”
At this Baxterchen suddenly grew furious and his eyes glowed red, “Look, fuck the zombies apocalypse; I’ve been preparing for an alien invasions since the sixteenth century. I’ve been ready for this moments for three hundred years; so don’t fuck this up or I will definitely unscrew your head.”
Charlie held up his/her hands and pleaded for peace, “Alright, alright; I’m with you. I’m on board.”
The anthro-vamp grinned, “Alright, Chuck; let’s make history.”
or, enter your birth date.
Femme Fortress 2: Meet the Soldier
Author’s note: I do not own any of the intellectual properties portrayed in this. This is a pure non profit venture. Now enjoy J
We are back now at 2Fort, where a Camera crew is interviewing the Demo and the Heavy. Demo picks at some sliced avocados in a Tupperware container and talks about her comrade. “Truthfully, everything about the Soldier offends me; everything.”
“But,” Heavy interjects, “She’s the only one here who has a driver’s license. For better or for worse she’s the only way we have to reach the nearest liquor store.
The scene cuts to a woman in her mid-fifties wearing a British army uniform; her iron grey hair tied in a tight knot under her beret. The Soldier is very tall and needs to duck down to avoid hitting her head on the top of the door frame; her face blocked by a crate she’s carrying.
Suddenly, Soldier puts down the crate and sees the camera. “Hello!” she shouts at the camera louder than necessary. Soldier is trying to be friendly but the effort is undone by her huge, bulging eyes and psychotic smile. She’s a bony, hatchet faced woman with crooked but white teeth. A decade ago she might have been pretty if she didn’t always look like she was getting a murder-boner.
As she talks, Soldier rapidly moves her head from side to side and waves her hands as if telling a very interesting story. “Here I am, working for the Red Team.”
We cut to the battlefield where Soldier is standing by a dispenser while firing a hail of bullets down at the Blue team from her Sten machinegun. It looks like she’s orgasming with every bullet she fires from her gun.
Back to soldier. “Back in her Majesty’s army I loved murdering people with shotguns” she somehow manages to grin even wider.
In combat, the Heavy backing her up gets blown away by a sticky bomb, so a maniacally smiling Soldier draws the rocket launcher from her back and performs a rocket jump.
Sailing through the air, she lands in the middle of an enemy squad. Among the fire and the blood splatter, she sprays everywhere with her Sten gun and yanks a large bowie knife from her belt holster and slices the throat of an enemy demo woman.
When her Sten clicks dry, she grabs her rocket launcher again and rocket jumps, killing and maiming her foes with splash damage.
Soldier holds up a finger as she talks about her history. “When Mann co hired me, I celebrated by chopping my dad’s bollocks off.”
In combat, Soldier jumps into a makeshift catapult built by the Engineer. The ramshackle contraption is held together by duct tape and the will of god. Soldier gives engineer the thumbs up, squealing with excitement like a little girl.
With a smile back engineer flips the switch and soldier goes sailing through the air and flies face first through a window in the blue base.
Soldier smiles and adjust her beret. “I love my dad. I love screwing my dead dad.”
We then cut to soldier bouncing up and down, pants-less over a man who’s been dead for about a decade; he’s still looking pretty juicy. There’s a swarm of flies around the two and their pelvic regions are blacked out.
“I love the dead!” soldier gleefully pronounces.
Now soldier is screwing an Irish bog mummy; same as before their pelvic regions are blacked out. The thousand plus years dead Irishman doesn’t look too happy despite this being the only poon he’s gotten since the iron age.
Up in the control room, Mr. Pauling and the male Administrator watch the scene unfold. Mr. Pauling shakes his head with horror at the sight of this desecration while the Administrator’s finely tailored pants can barely hide his erection.
“Yes,” the administrator purrs, “Mr. Pauling, find a few more victims for our dear soldier to enjoy; and be quick about it, else you’ll be the next corpse she enjoys.
Pauling yelps in fear and runs off, knowing that the Administrator does not make idle threats.
Femme Fortress 2
Heavy bursts through the door to shout at Soldier, “hey! The Liquor store has new summer hours; they close in ten minutes!”
Soldier jumps off her dead Irish lover and slaps a hand to her forehead. “OH NO!”
Cut to outside 2Fort where Soldier speeds through the dusty streets of the fort in a beat up old Caterham 21; heavy and Spy in the back.
Soldier puts pedal to the metal, fire coming out of the exhaust pipes as she nearly runs over Scout and smashes through the wooden barrier that Gray Mann’s tanks come through in Mann vs Machine.
or, enter your birth date.
Femme Fortress 2: Meet the Demowoman
Scout leads the documentary crew through the halls of the Red base. “Yeah, her office is over here,” she tells the crew. “Demo likes to sit in her office when we’re not out fighting. She’s from Japan; she’s all about keeping her Zen more than Zen.” The Detroit girl’s arms gesture wildly as she describes her companion, “She does tai-chi, and karate and all kinds of shit. And she’s blind too, so don’t make fun of her for that or ask her to read any books.”
Finally they reach an unmarked steel door which once had a sign posted on it but has since been ripped down.
Scout smiles as they reach the door. “And here we go.” Without further warning, the petite Detroit girl kicks the door open and runs like hell. Inside, the Demowoman is trying to take a shit while reading a braille newspaper. Instantly, the blind woman’s jaw drops in shock. Without a word, she reaches down into her pants and pulls out a silenced handgun.
The Demowoman puts five bullets into the cameraman and the rest of the documentary crew run like hell. Basically a slow Monday for the demo.
After things have died down and Mann Co has compensated the family of the murdered camera man, the documentary crew are seated in Demowoman’s real office.
Everything is austere and Spartan. Demo has her explosives, chemicals and tools are categorized with OCD neatness and there isn’t a single non-functional thing around. Even the desk and chair are the cheapest things picked out of an Ikea catalogue with no mind for comfort or aesthetics.
Behind her desk, Demo adjusts the blindfold that’s covering her eyes. Briefly, a nasty looking stripe of scar tissue is revealed; whatever is under that blindfold is best unseen. Her scarred and oft burnt and broken fingers adjust the fisherman’s cap on her head and shift some of her unwashed, greasy hair where she likes it.
“I’m sorry about killing your comrade” she begins, with only the faintest hint of an accent; just the smallest difficulty with her “l”’s. “I meant to hit Scout in the head but my aim was off.”
With her apology out of the way, Demo starts to explain her job. “I am a good Demo woman because I am alive. A good demolitions expert is anal, hates fun and has no hobbies. I don’t drink alcohol, smoke or eat meat. I am the best in my particular field and I don’t need eye sight to get my work done.”
We not cut to the familiar sight of battle between the two merc teams. Heavy lays down supressing fire and bullets fly in every which direction but this time she gets mowed down by a sniper.
The Blue sniper surveys her work from a tower, only for the tower’s foundations to blow and the sniper’s perch to tip over.
Demo and Scout step through the dust, a submachinegun in each hand.
Back in the interview, Demo holds up the wires she uses in demolitions. “Each one of my wires is an identical color but has a different texture. As a result, the Blue team never knows which wire to cut when defusing my bombs.”
At the battle, Scout lays down shotgun fire while Demo sprays everywhere with her submachine guns; mowing down an enemy engineer and driving back a soldier. Spinning around, she hears footsteps over the gunfire and blows away an approaching spy about to do a backstab.
In her office, Demo points to the brass bells on her tactical gear. “When I move, the bells make sound and that allows me to run at speed in unfamiliar environments. It’s not dissimilar to echolocation. Any human can do it, but it takes practice to use it like I do.”
Demo is now running down the central corridor of the Blue base, brass bells chiming over the guns and explosions. She throws down sticky bombs to cover her tracks and slow down her pursuers.
At the center of the Blue base, she begins to set up a device with a radioactive symbol on it.
The Demowoman scratches under her blindfold. “Yes, I’ve always been blind. I was born blind; so thankfully when my younger brother gouged out my eyes it wasn’t a big deal.”
Demo walks away from the Blue base and casually hits a detonator. The entire blue base blows up, turning into a mushroom cloud that rises up at least a mile into the atmosphere.
“Holy shit!” shouts a Scout blinded by the explosion’s flash. “Did you use a nuke!!??”
Demo smiles. “Yes.”
Back in the office, Demo gives a big grin. “I took much worse from my brother than a pair of eyes.” She then breaks her stoic character and starts to laugh.
Femme Fortress 2
Current Residence: British Columbia|
Print preference: The Pen
Favourite genre of music: Heavy Metal
Favourite photographer: N/A
Favourite style of art: fan art and HR Geiger
Operating System: dunno
Favourite cartoon character: Tintin
Personal Quote: Andrew Breitbart likes to fuck children to death with cacti while fantasising about fisting his mother in the ass. Just throwing that out there.