50 lines
2.3 KiB
Plaintext
50 lines
2.3 KiB
Plaintext
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[[!meta title="Orion-1"]]
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Year unknown. The Earth is at constant war. There is no longer peace, and
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technology has forced the masses to submit.
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An unknown force launches a gigantic spacecraft that engulfs the world in
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flame. Very few survived this attack, and only ten thousand humans remain on
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the planet.
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20 years pass. Society has yet to fully rebuild. For years, they observe Mars,
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now mysteriously shrouded in metal.
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Year unknown. The biological mutants of the last era are found roaming the
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Earth. *Hunter Team* are formed by a powerful family to exterminate the last of
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them.
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After a night observing the metal planet, the head of Hunter Team, Graś,
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recalls a legend; the legend of ORION-1 — a cybernetic beast created to rend
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the world of sin not once – but twice. Yet while a hundred years ago this may
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have seemed just a folk tale, now he knows it to be real. Recalling odd
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details put out online such as the estimated weight of such a creature, it
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seems simply too accurate to the situation to not be true.
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Year unknown. Hunter Team is mobilized to stop the legendary beast after
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gargantuan ion storms rain down from Mars, obliterating cities and killing
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hundreds – forcing humanity to once again retreat to the underground.
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The first flame killed over 8 billion, enough to nearly wipe the earth clean.
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Now Orion is trying to finish the job.
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"I had an 80-round around here somewhere. Last I recall it was just sitting
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in this chair, but father must have hidden it just before the first
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attack." The young man sifts through various containers, looking for his
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gun.
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Meanwhile, his fellow hunter cracks open the floorboard, and she gleams –
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"Ooh, looks like there's a bunch of stuff down here."
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The boy springs to action and begins sifting through the dozens of various
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broken lever-action rifles and beach towels for some reason contained within
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the floor, and finds an 80-round drum magazine in the rubbish. "Here's the
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spare mag I had when I went hunting. Now where's..." He wonders, while the
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girl holds something infront of his face. "This it?" She questions,
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holding a strange – and, in the pile of rifles – out of place sub-machine
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gun.
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"Yes! That's it. Thank you," he says, grabbing the gun rather hastily
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from her hands. With an ugly drum round and simple, un-ergonomic front grip,
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the gun is not the prettiest.
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