Voss Candroon

Part One

Darkness.  That was the first thing you perceive.  Complete darkness and pain.  Intense pain, as if a thousand blades were slowly slicing through your flesh.  Burning and stabs of jolting lightning.  Slowly sounds emerge, distant, yet loud and overlapping, incomprehensible.  Gradually you begin to hear a nearer noise, but strangely quiet.  Sobbing.  The soft and almost silent sound of crying.

Suddenly you convulse, the sobbing is instantly replaced by deep gasping and you realize you cannot breath.  Grabbing fingers rip at your face, rending the darkness that obscured your vision.  The darkness gave way to an odd, unfamiliar world.  The edges of objects unnaturally highlighted with a pale yellow glow.  A dark wall stretches away on your left and as you tilt your head down toward your feet you see the mounds of garbage that cover you from the waist down.  Your exposed chest is bare and smeared with dark stains.  The chill night air has prickled the hairs on your body, yet you do not feel the cold, only the excruciating pain.  A single lamp provides dim illumination to the dark alley that you discover you are now laying in.  You reach down to move some of the garbage and your mouth drops open.  A hideous accumulation of metal parts has replaced your right arm, a grotesque metal hand where a flesh hand should reside.  You bring both hands up to your face, comparing your organic left with your mechanical right, still alarmed that they both respond to your thoughts.  Slowly the sobbing sound returns and it is only then that you realize that you are crying.

The crying quickly turns to a deep moaning and you reach down and push the garbage aside, clawing against the heaping pile of soggy filth, pulling your lower half free and forcing yourself to stand.  Looking down, you see that you are completely naked, but connected to your nude body at the hips are two more gruesome mechanical appendages replacing your legs.  As you step out of the garbage into the street a bright yellow spot appears at the edge of your vision, a list of text drops down from the side:

Proximity Warning
Possible Threat Detected
Contact 1: Jarell
Bearing: 134
Elevation: 0.0 meters
Range: 28.7 meters

Contact 2: Jarell
Bearing: 135
Elevation: 0.0 meters
Range: 27.9 meters

You take a step back, nowhere to hide except back in the garbage.  Two sounds filter out of the static background, the approaching figures are speaking to each other in broken basic, "Nakrot say sped'r truk wend dis way."

The second Jarell makes a loud guttural noise, "Huuurumph, why Nakrot not look din?"

"Cuz Nakrot have us look fer him, stoooopid."

You hunch down in the pile of garbage as the two Jarells come around the corner, still bickering amongst themselves about their boss, Nakrot.  Suddenly one of them punches the other one in the shoulder, "Look, der, in da trash.  What is dat?"

"Dat's not uposed to be der," the other one said, reaching into his coat.

Suddenly your perspective changes and everything turns a shade of red, the two beings are highlighted in a much brighter hue than their surroundings, the text also changes to a bright red and indicates the change in status.

ALERT ALERT
THREAT DETECTED
Contact 1: Jarell
Weapon: Vibroblade
Bearing: 74
Elevation: 0.0 meters
Range: 15.6 meters

Contact 2: Jarell
Weapon: Blaster Pistol
Bearing: 76
Elevation: 0.0 meters
Range: 16.3 meters

The first Jarell leaps at you and without thinking you respond, your mechanical arm whirls around, the vibroblade sparks against one of the durasteel skeletal rods that make up your forearm.  His fist flies up, slamming into your left cheek and your head jerks slightly to the right.  The horrible pain that seemed to be omnipresent for the brief time that you can remember suddenly turns into rage, an almost pleasurable sensation.  You snatch your opponents wrist with your inhuman hand and squeeze, the sound of his bones snapping like burnt twigs echoes down the alley, followed by painful yelp and the metallic "tink-tink" of the vibroblade falling to the pavement.

A blaster bolt whizzes past your head as you pummel your restrained victim with your organic fist.  You change your grip, your synthetic fingers digging in to the alien's side as you lift him off his feet.  He struggles to no avail as you hold him aloft, stepping out of the garbage toward the other opponent.  He fires again, the blaster bolt hitting you in your organic shoulder, a bite of pain that quickly fades into your growing fury.  You lunge forward, heaving the alien you held overhead toward the other opponent.  He tries to duck, but the living projectile slams into him and he topples over, dropping his blaster.  The thrown alien hits the ground and rolls another meter away onto his back.  They both struggle to their feet and as the nearest one turns to run away your mechanical hand reaches out and grabs his bony head, your metallic fingers splayed out around his horned brow and your thumb stretching to the back of his head.  The strength of your grip stops him in his tracks and he reaches up, tearing at your hand to try to remove it.  The servomotors in your augmented hand whine as they increase their output and your fingers sink through the flesh as the bone beneath begins to give way.  Suddenly there is a wet crunching sound and the creature ceases his struggling, his hot fluids flow freely around your metallic hand, sending up a plume of vapor, yet you cannot feel their warmth.  The other alien is almost to the street as you stoop down and grab the gun with your blood-drenched hand.  The instant you grip the weapon, a small red circle appears in your view, aligning itself with your aim.  You focus on your target, surprised again that your view smoothly changes magnification to fine tune your targeting.  It doesn't even seem to you that you have to concern yourself with exactly what your arm is doing, simply shifting the reticule around with your eye movements are enough to keep yourself locked on the target.  The instant you decide your shot is clear the bolt is fired, perhaps a response from your subconscious.  The alien drops to his knees, a curl of smoke wafting from his chest as he falls forward, face down onto the duracrete.

Your rage, your source of elation, slowly subsides and is quickly replaced with agony as the horrible pain returns.  You grab the two Jarells and strip them of the articles of clothing that you can wear, a pair of pants and a long coat, which only goes down to your knees.  Your mechanical hand and part of the forearm is still exposed due to the shortness of the sleeves, but you decide that it will have to do for now.  You stuff the blaster into one of the outside pockets and conceal the vibroblade inside a fold of fabric as you make your way out of the alley and down the street.

The streets were quiet, but nearby factories continued to belch smoke.  Up ahead, on the other side of the street, binary load lifters busied themselves with mundane cargo loading and unloading in some kind of warehouse complex.  You duck into another alley as your threat display, now in yellow, alerts you to an approaching vehicle.

Proximity Warning
Possible Threat Detected
Contact 1: Cargo Skiff
Bearing: 014
Elevation: 1.1 meters
Range: 83.4 meters

The skiff comes down the street and stops at the gate of the warehouse complex and a pair of uniformed guards step out of the gatehouse and walk over to the vehicle.  One talks with the driver while the other slowly walks around the skiff, poking at the boxes.  You magnify and enhance the skiff in your view until you can see the writing on the cab, "Tek's Cholla Ranch - Providing high quality meats for over thirty years."  You begin to salivate at the mere thought of food, although the idea of eating seems distant and unfamiliar.  You can't remember the last time you had a meal, in fact, you can't remember much of anything beyond waking up in the darkness of the alley, yet you have the vague feeling that you weren't always like this, something or someone has made you into this hideous combination of man and machine.  But for what twisted purpose were you created?  And why were you so cruelly abandoned?  These questions plague your thoughts, however their answers are unfathomable at this point.  You detect a large speeder truck coming from the opposite direction and you decide to take advantage of it.  At the exact moment it passes the edge of the building that your back is against, you sprint out and grab the right rear corner with your mechanical hand.  You lift yourself up off the ground and then carefully slide down, climbing face-up underneath the chassis and nestling your body between the dual repulsorlift drives.

The truck stops in front of the gate and you hear the footsteps of the security officers as step up to inspect it.  You glance left and lower your head down, seeing the officer's shiny black boots as he walks around the truck to the rear.

"Hey, guys," you hear a human voice say, "just another routine delivery."

"Repulsorlifts from Ikas-Ando," one of the guards replies.

"Yeah.  Same shit, different day."

You hear a chuckle, "I know what you mean."  He pauses for a second as the other guard steps back up, "You're good.  Take that to 7A-12, level 2"

You lift your head back up as the truck moves forward, feeling it jostle and sway as it makes its way between the warehouses until it finally stopped at its destination.  A pair of worker droids and a binary load lifter quickly begin to unload the cargo, at which point you lower yourself slowly onto the ground and crawl out from under the truck, unnoticed by the driver.  You slip behind a stack of boxes and wait for the truck to leave and the droids to return to their waiting positions before you move out into the open and cross the warehouse floor toward a computer terminal next to one of the large cargo doors.  Stepping up to the console you notice that the input port is highlighted in your vision and you discover that you are able to communicated directly with the computer via an interface connector built into your hand.  In only a few seconds you are able to determine the location of a warehouse that stores Cholla meat.

It was fairly easy to avoid security as you made your way from one warehouse to the other and without incident you enter the frozen foodstuff's warehouse.  You rip the top off of one of the crates and dig in.  The meat is raw and frozen, but with great effort you are able to chew and swallow it.  You had just about had your fill when one of the doors rolls back, allowing entrance of another cargo skiff.  You quickly duck behind a stack of crates as the skiff comes to a stop.  Two humans step out and start to unload a crate by hand, you notice that one of them was one of the gate guards.

"Burrr, it's freezing, why do we have to do this in here," the driver complains, rubbing his hands together.

"Because this is the only unit without video surveillance," the guard replies.  "Now grab the other side, will ya?"

The two men grab the crate and lift it off the skiff, setting it very carefully on the floor behind another stack of crates.  They turn to get back into the skiff when the security guard stops, "Wait a sec, what's that?"

The driver turns back around, "What's what?"

"A case of Cholla is open," he says, drawing his blaster.  The driver looks puzzled, but he also draws his blaster and the two men circle the crate in opposite directions.  You ease your blaster out of your coat and hold it up, tracking one contact as he walks around the stack of crates.  He pauses at the edge of the stack and then jumps out, bringing his blaster around to fire.  A bolt from your weapon strikes him in the head and he falls straight down with a thump.  The security guard moves backward steadily, keeping his blaster facing the edge of the crate, ready to blast you when you emerge.  You don't give him the satisfaction.  You grab the lower edge of the crate in front of you and lift it up, tilting the stack of crates forward until they tumble and fall.  One of them falls right in front of the guard and he jumps backward to dodge it.  In that instant of distraction you grab your blaster and kill him.  The blaster shots probably alerted someone that there was a problem and you were just about to bolt for the door when curiosity overcame logic and you decide to look in the crate.  It was locked by a security seal but that didn't stop you from tearing the top off.  Your human eye widened, the crate was filled with weapons.  For not being able to remember anything, these weapons seemed very familiar.  You reach down and grab a Prax Arms "Blast and Smash" blaster rifle/grenade launcher and slipped your arm through the sling, hanging it on your back while you pick up several other weapons and stow them in your coat.  Last you grab a Plex portable missile launcher with your right hand and a Golan Arms Flechette Launcher in your left and turn toward the door.  About the same time it begins to cycle open, multiple targets appear highlighted in your now red vision.  Three of them were struck down by two blasts from the flechette launcher, its micro-darts leaving behind a bloody mess.  You press the firing stud on the Plex and the missile blasts out of the tube, leaving behind a white smoke trail as it streaks toward a security speeder.  The speeder flips over from the force of the explosion, and three security guards flee while the others vainly attempt to return fire.  However, another few rounds from your fletchette launcher make short work of them.  You grab the case of weapons and heave it into the passenger seat of the cargo skiff and then climb inside.  Immediately your view changes to show you information relevant to driving the speeder: its speed, turning radius, ground clearance, and current engine output among other things.  You find that the vehicle responds to your thoughts without physically controlling it, so you grab a weapon in each hand and take off across the warehouse lot.

Part Two

A Chariot LAV slows to a stop just inside the smashed perimeter fence of the smoking warehouse facility.  Its door opens and two Imperial Army troopers jump out and sweep the area with their blasters raised.  A few seconds later another figure emerges and stands in silence.  He was fairly tall with a grizzled growth of stubble on his face and his dark hair, cut in a flat-top military style, was slightly grayed on the sides.  He wore an Imperial uniform and his insignia displayed the rank of colonel.  He nodded silently to himself as he stuffed his hand into his pocket and brought out a cigaro and chomped down on it.  As another Imperial officer, a lieutenant, approached from across the lot, he cupped his hand over the end of the stubby cigaro, shielding it from the light breeze as he lit it.  A bluish cloud had formed before the lieutenant finally stepped up in front of his superior.  He saluted, but all he got in reply was a puff of smoke from teeth still clenched around the butt of the cigaro.

"Alright Rasix, how many?" came the colonel's loud raspy voice.

"Fourteen, sir," Rasix replied, "but that's just here in the warehouse.  That doesn't include the two Jarells that we are pretty sure are his.  We still have to count for the ones down the street, they are still trying to put out the fires down there."

The colonel nodded, "Our casualties?"

"None, sir.  At least nothing serious anyway.  We know that at least three of them are on the suspected rebel operative list.  We believe they are connected to cells on Charis and here on Kolatill, but they had managed to elude us."

"Until now," the colonel grinned, "they're easier to catch when their already dead."

The lieutenant nodded in grim response, "I suppose so, sir.  Sir, if I may, what do you intend to do when we catch him?"

"You mean IF we catch him," the colonel said, blowing out a large smoke ring.  "Maybe I'll give him a fuckin' medal."

Suddenly an explosion rumbled in the distance, the lieutenant jerked his hand to his comlink but the colonel didn't blink his steely blue eyes.  There was a burst of almost incomprehensible static.  "Say again, Onith Team, say again," Lt. Rasix called out into the comlink.

The static continues for a second before it clearing up, "on foot, repeat...  subject's vehicle destroyed, subject is continuing on foot.  We've lost almost two squads and a CAV PX-10.  Unconfirmed civilian casualties.  We've also encountered resistance from some of the civilians, its almost a riot down here.  Request permission to respond in kind."

Rasix glances up at the colonel who was already shaking his head slowly from left to right.  He held is smoldering cigaro in his right hand and his comlink in his left, "Civilian casualties acceptable, Onith, but I want... ahh... the subject alive.  Nextor out."  The stub of the cigaro falls to the ground and the colonel crushes it with the heel of his boot as he climbs back into the command speeder.

Rasix looked disturbed but follows Nextor into the speeder, "Begging your pardon, sir, but how are they supposed to capture him?"  The hatch slid shut behind them, cutting off the colonel's reply.

Part Three

The charcoal black surface of a heavy blast door slid slowly open and Colonel Nextor entered, followed closely by Lieutenant Rasix.  In the center of the otherwise featureless room was a wide flat table, tilted so that it stood up on about a fourty-five degree angle and bluish light pulsed around its perimeter.  Attached to the table by means of an intense gravity field was the monstrosity that had evaded capture from the Imperial Army for the last three days.  Partly machine, yet still human, he languished now in intense pain.  Nextor held out his right arm slightly, stopping Rasix from approaching any closer; a silent reminder of the invisible force field that was being generated around the table.  The cyborg looked up with his organic eye, his muscles bulged and his servos wined as he attempted to pull himself away from the table.  Nextor frowned, "you shouldn't struggle, it really just makes it worse."

"Improbable," came the low sonorous voice of the cyborg.  It sounded human, but with a deliberate resonance that made it seem cold and detached from humanity.

"I know you are in a lot of pain," Nextor nodded solemnly, "and I'm sorry.  I can help you."

The cyborg's eye narrowed and the lens that replaced his right eye remained a deep red, "Explain?"

"We know what is wrong.  Several gifted surgeons on my staff can correct the error.  Ease the pain," Nextor replied.

"Why?" the cyborg asked.  It was a cryptic question, one Nextor had hoped would not be asked.  He had been thinking of an appropriate answer for the last four days and had yet to come up with one that he thought would be concise and yet comprehensive enough to not require further clarification.  He had thought of telling the truth but had decided that the truth was probably more than the cyborg needed to know, especially if he could not remember the details of his former life.  Still, he didn't have it in him to lie outright to his former friend and comrade.

Nextor opened his mouth to begin and then cocked his head, "Do you remember anything?  Anything at all?"

The cyborg did not reply for a long moment, as if both trying to recall his earliest memory and at the same time decide whether or not to tell Nextor.  Finally he spoke, "Darkness.  Pain... Garbage."

Nextor nodded, "Ahh, so that's what they did with you."  He could see the unspoken question in the cyborg's remaining human features.  He quickly continued, "Your name is Voss.  Voss Candroon."  The cyborg remained motionless, the sound of his name had no effect.  "I am Derek Nextor, a colonel in the Imperial Army."  Still no response.  "We were good friends, you and I.  You were also in the Imperial Army, an expert in heavy weapons."  The muscles in Candroon's chest and arm seemed to relax a bit at the mention of weapons.  "But last month there was a terrible tragedy.  A cowardly terrorist attack against this facility... you were grievously wounded.  You nearly died.  You lost both legs above the knee and your right arm.  Your right eye was also blinded and you had sustained numerous internal injuries.  I couldn't let you die, Voss.  So we began replacing and enhancing your damaged parts, but during the operation there was another attack.  We were overrun and when we finally pushed the rebels back, you had been taken.  We immediately began to search for you, but we had no idea where you were being held and we weren't even certain you were alive until three days ago.  They must have thought you were dead also and dumped your body in the trash instead of giving you the warriors burial you would have deserved."  Nextor looked down at the floor, "I'm sorry for what happened, but I will try to make it right."

Voss looked the colonel over with both eyes, "Your explanation is acceptable.  You will eliminate the pain."

"We will try Voss, I'm sure you will experience discomfort for some time, but I'm sure the pain will be greatly decreased," Nextor said, smiling slightly.  "We believe you already eliminated several of the rebels in this system during the last few days.  When you recover, we can work on getting rid of them totally.  Now that you've calmed down and I've explained everything to you, I will release the gravity field that is holding you to the table, but you should still lie back and rest for a moment.  I will have the doctors called in immediately."

"Affirmative," Voss replied as the restraint field slowly faded.  He moved his arms a little and raised his head and turned it from side to side as if he were stretching his neck from an uncomfortable position.  Then he laid back and closed his organic eye.

As soon as the blast door had sealed behind them, Lieutenant Rasix sighed heavily, "Sir, I honestly didn't think you would be able to pull that off."

"Neither did I, Rasix," Colonel Nextor replied, lighting another cigaro, "Do you think he bought it?"

"Sir," Rasix smiled, "If I hadn't of dumped him in the garbage pile myself, I would have bought it."

"Make sure you add a report about the 'rebel attack' into the computer and make it convincing.  I really hope those doctors do a better job with his neural interfaces this time."

Part Four

A glint of sunlight flashed off the wing of a Lambda-class shuttle as it slowly banks, then it fades into the dark wedge-shaped shadow of an Imperial Star Destroyer.  Its wings furl upward and it ascends into the inverted abyss of its docking bay and then slipped forward through the magnetic field of its primary hanger.  There was no grandeur, no formal display, simply the normal bustle of an active hanger and a single lieutenant as a welcoming party.  The shuttle touched down and almost a dozen Imperial officers came down the ramp.  They looked disheveled and disgruntled.  The lieutenant approached, his hands behind his back until he snapped a salute, "Gentlemen, welcome aboard the ISD 'Colossus'."  He takes a second to glance over the uniforms, looking for the senior officer, "Colonel Nextor, I presume."

"Yeah, lieutenant," said the colonel, chomping on an unlit cigaro.  He was in his field uniform, complete with torso armor; he preferred that to the stiff standard uniform that the lieutenant wore.

"Colonel, High Admiral Mallagant wishes to see you at once.  If you will follow me, sir."  The lieutenant looks over at the other officers, "A meal has been prepared for you in the officer's mess, I'm sure you'll find it preferable to the field rations you've been eating the last few days."  With that he strides quickly across the hanger deck, followed closely by the colonel.

The door to the High Admiral's chamber opened to reveal a dimly lit room, the walls were adorned with wooden panels and book cases.  A large heavy wooden desk dominated the room and a high backed chair was facing toward the viewport, the melancholy surging rhythm of Gacerite Dirge Opera filled the air.  The lieutenant took a step back, leaving the colonel in front of the desk, then turning on his heel he walks out of the room.  As the door closes, the chair turned around and High Admiral Mallagant motioned to one of the chairs, "Have a seat, Colonel."

The colonel nods and sits down, placing his still unlit cigaro back into his pocket.  The admiral looked him over slowly and then begins to speak, "Colonel Nextor, it pleases me that you and your men have decided to join me.  It is unfortunate that Moff Sarne isn't as cooperative; I take no pleasure in killing other Imperials.  However it seems that sometimes we are forced to do just that."

"Yes sir, it does.  We were glad to see the arrival of your ship in this system; apparently Sarne had gotten wind of our defection so he destroyed all the shuttles and transport craft from orbit before he abandoned the system last week.  We were trying to repair an old Sentinel before you arrived."

Viktor crossed his arms across his chest and then lifted his left hand to his chin, thoughtfully stroking his black goatee, "My men reported seeing a large cyborg working on that shuttle, is he one of yours."

The colonel tilted his head slightly and his eyes twitched to the side, "Yes sir."

A slight smile appeared on Mallagant's lips, his curiosity had been piqued.  He could tell that the colonel did not want to explain, so he pressed the issue, "How exactly did that happen to him?"

Part Five

From: Lord Admiral Mallagant
To: CO - Special Operations Division
Subject: Cpl. Voss Candroon
Confirmed: SEND; TRAN3/3; RECV
Context: 7E36; AMAN; PERS; ROPT
Phasecycle: PSEG59845254711598; ICON; 06.02.04BMUT; 0.08RMUT

The newest weapon at your disposal is Cpl. Voss Candroon, a colossal man in his own right who was further enhanced with numerous cybernetic systems.  He has served in the Imperial Army for the last few years as a heavy weapons specialist and before that he was part of Moff Sarne's forces under the command of Major General (then a colonel) Derek Nextor.  Nextor originally declined to disclose his past experiences but after a few months of prodding, he decided to come around and explain to me what had happened.  I will tell you the details that are relevant in order to allow Cpl. Candroon to integrate into your unit and avoid any unfortunate "accidents".  Candroon apparently at some point before being cyborged saved Major General Nextor's life, and as such earned his respect and lifetime friendship.  During his time in Kathol Sector, Nextor began studying the idea of equipping some of his men with cybernetic implants to enhance their abilities.  Although Nextor himself is a far better warrior than a scientist, he was fortunate enough to find several doctors and engineers that were ambitious enough to participate in the project.  When the project was almost completed, Cpl. Candroon was nearly killed in a rebel attack.  Colonel Nextor saw this as an opportunity to both save his friend's life and finish the cyborg project.  The procedure went very well except that the neurologist had difficulty properly connecting his nerve pathways.  The side effect of this error, a constant intense pain, was not realized until after the operation was completed.  As a result of the previous trauma Cpl. Candroon lost most of his memories, however it seemed he still retained his fluence for combat.  In order to test his survival abilities they dumped his body immediately after the surgery.  Cpl. Candroon exceeded their expectations and was responsible for a significant amount of destruction.  His rampage lasted for approximately three days until he was finally captured and restrained.  Major General Nextor admitted to me that he had not told the entire story to Cpl. Candroon, convinced that he would become angry if he knew the truth.  Instead, he told him that the operation was interrupted by a rebel incursion and that it was they that dumped his body in the garbage.  Cpl. Candroon accepted this as the truth and allowed Nextor's doctors to correct the neural connections.  Even now, Cpl. Candroon cannot remember virtually anything from his former life and he still suffers some pain from time to time, however he has proven himself to be a extremely capable soldier and a valuable asset to the Imperial Army.  His only shortcoming is that others are somewhat intimidated by him and this often prevents him for functioning well within a unit until they have had the time to adjust to him and understand exactly the benefits of having him around.  Since this unit is newly formed and many of the men will be working with each other for the first time, I have decided to have Cpl. Candroon transferred to your command.  I trust you will make this transition as smooth as possible.