The Factory in the Sky (Scene - Completed!)

[Karl Jak]

They were on their own.

The pair of Bonds pushed up through the clouds to investigate the reports of a corrosive landmass near the ceiling of the containment zone. What they saw when they emerged was a toxic citadel that oozed death and corruption throughout its sprawling foundations.

An enormous factory, the landmass was home to an unmade lunatic and a personal army of his creations. Already, there were many of the monsters being unloaded into transports and dispatched to the unmade fleet, and if the group didn't do something, these foul monstrosities would only continue to be spit out by the factory.

***​

Characters Involved: The Red Baron (@Don Isaac), Bobinator (@John Connor)

Notes: The Factory in the Sky is ... just that. It's a factory. It's also in the sky. The landmass hovers above the cloud line (hence the lack of any real support), and the factory encompasses roughly 80% of the space, with a courtyard present. As a a whole, this is probably the size and scale of a small town. The factory extends high into the sky (with smokestacks belching out toxic chemicals) and deep into the innards of the floating island. The smog will obscure vision, reducing (but not negating) visibility for anyone who doesn't have some type of Sense effect. The smog will also damage anyone who doesn't have 'Adaptation (Toxic Environments)'

Enemy NPC Characters: (Unmade) Karl Heisenberg -- You can have him start as his normal form and then transform, as that'll give him the size advantage (after transforming, he will be a Size 6). Heisenberg is joined by a small army of Soldats, of which the panzer and jet versions will likely be the ones to attack you.

Length of Scene: This Scene will last for 96 hours
Post Count/Size: 2 Posts max / 2500 words max (This is from each of you)
Other Stuff: Others MAY NOT join this scene if they move along this path.

Good luck.

 

[Don Isaac]

From above, the view could almost be mistaken for the airborne isles of home.

Almost.

Clouds of black smog rose from a ramshackle foundry that sprawled over the plateau, the hearts of those foul plumes filled with crackling arcs of green lightning. He could smell the corrosive tang of the atmosphere, the potent poisons cooking within that foul factory leaving the once-regal islet thoroughly corrupted, despoiled by twisted industry beyond any hope of reclamation.

It was almost as if he had chosen to vacation in the Union's smoggy ironworks.

But, thankfully, he was not squandering his fortune in some riverside hotel overlooking the steel-smithies staining the skies crimson, a glass of swill clutched in his hand as he mourned his circumstances. No- he was airborne, contemplating destruction far beneath him.

And he was, fortunately, not alone in this endeavour. Cruising around the billowing, caustic fog, he raised his radio system, the device crackling to life in his leather gloves. "Reese," he said, his voice calm over the rattling growl of the engine before him. "Are you in position?"

“Reese to Commander Issac, Sir, Bobinator is close by and ready to go on orders," came the stoic voice of the Groundling soldier over the radio. The man seemed steady enough, for a peasant. Respectful, capable, and best of all, came with his own weapons.

"Then by all means, Mister Reese," Isaac said as he adjusted his course, descending on the dismal factory beneath. "You may announce our arrival."

Blinding flashes of brilliant white energy pierced the gloom as Isaac dove through the toxic clouds, the hidden form of his erstwhile companion setting to their grim work from their hidden position. How, exactly, they managed to conceal a giant robot was beyond him, but the Red Baron truly didn't intend to pry on the physics of that endeavour. No, instead, he set himself to the task at hand. He could barely glimpse the brutalist dimensions of the factory rising through the black fog, rusted steel hammered over breaches in its ugly concrete walls. Things that might have once been men lumbered through that murky mist on leaden limbs laden with scrap metal, maws of broken pistons turning upwards as they sighted the crimson plane scything through the night-blackness pumped forth from their foul foundry.

Isaac was merciful to these unfortunate, lost souls. They barely had the time to scream their steam-engine cries as bullets ripped through their pale bodies, pulping already-dead flesh and bursting swollen, worm-ridden hearts as oil and rotten blood pooled on the roof. His fist slammed the button that turned his steed from a champion of the skies to an avatar of destruction walking among these piteous creatures, and the machine responded readily, piston-driven legs landing heavily among the shattered bodies and spilled blood as he surveyed the inky blackness that was his surroundings.

"Well, well, well- talk about rolling out the red carpet."

A man ambled along the rooftop, scraggly grey hair emerging from the smog like a grey glacier looming out into the path of a battleship. One with a terrible hat. A hammer was slung over his shoulders, a solid lump of steel that no man should be able to heft- especially with a single hand.

"I take it that you're the man responsible for this- atrocity?" Isaac spat, the corrosive atmosphere sizzling against the mechanisms of his great machine. He tried to ignore the flaking paint, the blossoms of rust blooming along the copper fittings sunken into The Red Baron's frame. He'd bargained honestly with that scrap merchant, and this was what he'd been given? Ea-Nasir, you-

"Atrocity- please, friend, this here is progress," the man said, giving a smile that had far too many canines to offer any kind of comfort as that predatory grin stepped closer, shining through the smog. "A little bit of Darkseid's power, a little bit of ingenuity and elbow grease- won't be long until I'm running this whole damned realm," the man said, stepping in closer as that hammer flew off his shoulder, arcing in an almost lazy trajectory towards the red baron.

His sabre swung upwards, batting away the haft and sending it to the side, the heavy head impacting against the concrete roof and shattering it, an empty expanse yawning open beneath the both of them, foul air rising up like the exhalation of some leprous leviathan.

The factory swallowed them whole.

 

[John Connor]

War…
Skynet…
Unmade…

"These three things echoed through Kyle's mind, a constant chorus that he struggled to escape- the wounds of the past clamoring to claim the present." “Hasta La vista, Baby.” Bobinator in his attempts to pass as a human had learned quotes his son had adored. But they were cheesy ’90s quotes that sounded like something he could have borrowed from a video game. Any other superiors would have frowned upon. His other glorious leader, Don Issac had left him and Bobinator to handle the dirty work.

That was fine with Kyle, who usually cleans up his own son John's messes anyway.

He’s never quite seen a factory this ridiculously big only around Skynet’s” work camps” in the past.
Now the sentient AI’s plans were bad, but Darkseid’s twisted plans inside this factory seemed ten times worse.

Disguised as what looked like an ordinary factory with innocent intentions, corrupted souls lingered from above what could be seen as Commander Isaac and the unmade abomination’s fight. Whatever that creature was in the first place disappeared in the distance. What truly creeped him out about these poor saps is that they could be former live corpses turned into something quite differentt. Some of them had tried to warn the Bobinator for a few seconds, but the coldness of the T-800 could not see these creatures as something more.

The Terminator with his jetpack, boosted and cloaked again using the smog stacks as cover keeping the Panzers and jets at bay, on occasion, hitting them with superheated plasma in their weak spot, the drill trying to keep safe some of the other areas of the madman’s creations safe. Drills in the air were met with sparks of superhot plasma fire while the Bobinator forced a plasma blast past a drill of another Panzer and flew back, cloaking, and moving toward the smog stacks using them as camouflage.

The drill met the Plasma rifle as the metal was loud enough to sound like it was hitting more metal in a clanking noise.

The sky fortress otherwise looked disturbingly beautiful for this kind of day for an air fight.

Using the momentum the T-800 had unexpectedly gotten, The Bobinator had dodged and swerved between the factory smokestacks to cause the small unmade solder to force follow him with his drill, the T-800 used this as his moment to have the Unmade bosses’ own puppets take out the floating fortress on their own.

As one of the Panzers began to follow what they thought was the T-800, They almost got a drill near the T-800 only to get a block by the Endo plasma rifle and a direct shot right in the red spot on their back.

“Damn, that was clos-”

The giant mech Terminator muttered something under his breath as he let two soldat drill into each other moving out of their way.

The factory seemed to keep spitting out these annoying pieces of crap unless the Commander figured out a way to stop ol’ Heinsburg.

But for everyone defeated, another was spat out.

The Bobinator aimed at the factory and kept the creatures busy destroying their fortress.

A solder drilled a missed attack into one of the fortress walls while trying to attack the wayward “Tin man.”

The Terminator could do this all day if it could keep ahead of the various annoyances of the unmade. Shots of plasma fired upon melting drills as the firey drills began to melt some of the factory walls leaving marks.

 

[Don Isaac]

The Red Baron crashed to the floor in a deluge of detritus, a rusted gantry that had stood in his way landing in a crumpled wreck nearby. There was no time to rest, no time to gather his senses- a piston-driven arm lashed out, the whirling blades upon his forearm cleaving through a growling assembly of flesh and metal, oil and rotten blood splattering against the flaking paint of his chassis. Disgusting. Even the Rygomen of his home had some measure of grace, an alien beauty wrought by a divine hand. He could scarcely look at the twitching mass of metal and grafted weaponry that lay bisected on the ground, rotten teeth gnashing together as it tried to drag itself closer to his craft.

"Admiring the Workmanship, are you?"

Isaac's head snapped upwards, ignoring the sizzling sounds of the foul ichor reacting with the toxic atmosphere within the factory as it slowly ate its way through the steel of his steed. The master of this den of dread waddled along the broken gantry, an apple held in his free hand as he smirked at the Don. "Took quite some time to perfect- but, well, I'm not short on test subjects, am I?"

He bit into the apple- rather than the crisp crunch that Isaac had been anticipating, it squelched beneath the man's teeth, rotten sludge oozing out from its broken skin.

"You fiend," snarled Isaac, his machine gun barking to life as he sent a salvo screaming towards the monstrous creature in the shape of a man. Bullets broke the rusted rods that held the gantry and carved through his foe's indolent figure- the dilapidated frame collapsed to the factory floor, and the hammer-wielding horror simply walked on, unconcerned by the rents torn in his body that were even now knitting together.

"Now friend, I'm only natural," the monster said, slamming his hammer one-handed into the concrete as he walked on, carving a furrow in the floor as he advanced forward. "I'm a fact of life- the strong crush the weak," he grinned, swinging his hammer towards the Red Baron's knee, only to be deflected by Isaac's sabre as the Baron danced backwards.

"How puerile," Isaac retorted, stepping inwards as he drove his buckler forward, the spinning blades carving through the flesh of the man's arm- like wet clay- splintering the bone beneath. The reward for this grievous wound was a moment's slackness with the hammer, ruined meat regenerating before his eyes as the man grinned, delivering a kick to the shin of the Don's machine.

Astoundingly, this blow caused Isaac to stumble, pushed backwards by the brute strength of this superhuman abomination. The hammer came down again, an overhand blow destined to turn the baron's skull to paste- but what was the point of being a lord of Santagria if not to pit one's will against fate?

The haft of the hammer screeched to a halt against his blade's edge as Isaac rose, his hands clenched into fists within the wires and pulleys that strained to control his 'mech. Pistons hissed in protest, the corrosive atmosphere eating through their housing, steam escaping from rusted cracks spiderwebbing their way across his mechanisms. "How childish," Isaac repeated again, matching the monster's strength pound for pound as he pressed closer. "A toddler pulling wings off flies, believing that makes him worthy," he spat, his machine gun roaring again, chewing into concrete and the creature's shoulder alike, forcing them to spring backwards, giving Isaac's forceful block leave to transition into a chop, unstitching the abomination's guts.

He wished he didn't. He stood still, stunned by the writhing mass resting within the monster's stomach, teeth and tendrils roiling within, squirming outwards from his wound as if hungry for the pure flesh clad within The Red Baron. "What-"

A lazy grin blossomed across his foe's face as he raised a hand, flicking it towards Isaac- and the rusted steel lying about the ruined room responded, careening into the increasingly corroded chassis and sending him sprawling against a mould-splattered wall, toxic spores and concrete dust falling over his form.

"Let's get this little bit of sabotage over with, shall we?" The grinning demon said, twirling his hammer as he slowly strolled forwards, a luxuriant pace that basked in the dread that clouded the smoggy atmosphere. "I've got a box of wine to get back to-"

The only proper retort to this degeneracy was for Isaac to rip his arm free from the control armature, a gleaming pistol bared and barking like all the hounds of a long-overdue hell as a 45-calibre round ripped through the man's head. Then another- and another, the nobleman roaring in fury as he emptied the magazine, each bullet boring holes in the monster's head- there was no skull, no bone. Only clay that parted with each impact, his once-roguish face distorted and warped beyond recognition until the whole mass fell from the stump of his neck, only a tongue and his lower jaw remaining as his damned hat gently floated through the air behind him.

Isaac's chest heaved, the rotten fumes that corroded his 'mech nothing to a son of Santagria. The man was a monster, but at least he was dead-

Which was when the body moved, taking a single shambling step forwards as a gurgling roar of primordial rage, beyond and beneath humanity, tore its way up from that ravaged throat. Oh, seven heathen hells, Isaac cursed to himself, scrambling to jam his arm back inside the 'mechs's mechanisms, brushing aside the inert iron as he rose back to his feet, watching in horror as the dead man changed.

His coat burst apart as the flesh beneath bloated, all traces of humanity shed as the true monstrosity tore itself out from what was once a man. "Bastard," the demon hissed without a mouth, slug-like tongue flapping wildly as grotesquely proportioned arms reached out, fists clenching as iron flew through the smog, crashing into the corpse, impaling, lacerating- adding to its mass. "I could kill Darkseid with my power, with my genius- and you fucking idiots just can't get out from under my feet," the creature snarled, massive arms clawing at the earth as Isaac's 'mech rose, scrambling to ready a lance to drive into its monstrous body.

He didn't get the chance. The factory walls cracked as rebar and rivets flew towards the creature as it reared up, hyper-regenerating sinew wrapping around the rust as a new maw of malformed metal opened in a roar, a cyclone of corroded steel spinning into being around it, shattering the still-standing walls as it kept growing, as if trying to match its size to its rage.

And the iron frame of the Red Baron, trailing flaking paint and scraps of rusting metal, was caught up in that whirlwind of devastation, flung from the floor and cast into the unearthly winds. Isaac grit his teeth, straining his muscles against his controls as he attempted to bring his 'mech back under control. His machine gun still chattered, an impotent protest against the ravening abomination that was now beneath him. He was like a leaf in the wind, tossed upon the magnetic storm that pulled him in every direction, his 'mech screaming- not in protest, no. This was a Santagrian creation- it roared in defiance, even as he heard a cable twang and snap somewhere deep within it. But he was helpless, unable to move within the storm.

Spears of rusted rebar rattled against his steel steed- passing right past his bascinet, broken edges just barely missing his throat. It was a struggle to control his breathing now as he- not frantically, but with a great deal of urgency- sought for a means out of this magnetic nightmare, trying to ignore the yawning maw of scrap metal opening up beneath him.

Think! There's no-one to do it for you here, he thought, maintaining a death grip on his lance as he stared down into that abyss, inhuman teeth of rust and ruin gnashing together. Magnets, magnets-

A classroom an age and a world ago. His long-bearded tutor, speaking of the holy light of Saint Cherenkov. Electro-magnetic maelstrom. Maybe, just maybe, a new storm birthed in the creature's gullet would bring a moment's peace in which to strike.

His fingers shivered within their steel cladding- not out of fear. He was immune to such things- he was a scion of Santagria. No, his armour was inevitably being dragged closer to the magnetic monster tearing its way through the foundry, clawing closer to wherever it was- who was it, again? Royce? Yes, Royce.

He couldn't fail- he had sworn to see this creature fall, and to have it instead fall upon his servant? He could not bear such a shame. A rivet flew from his gauntlet, tumbling through the air and joining the assemblage of atrocity that was once the foreman of this twisted factory. Straining with effort, he pulled free an orb, two half-spheres not quite closed around a shining lump of stone.

Teeth practically grinding themselves down to nubs, he turned the key of the clockwork mechanism built into the weapon, and let it fall, drawn by all the laws of nature towards the heart of this otherworldly abomination.

Holy Atom, please- let there be Light.

And as serrated fangs of rebar and rust closed around the core, Saint Cherenkov answered with an eye-searing blue radiance.

One focus spent to temporarily negate Heisenberg's magnetism with a Diablo Core, giving Isaac the freedom to strike.

 

[John Connor]

The T-800’s pilot, Kyle Reese had things handled from a distance. The unmade seemed to be falling back at least, reduced to flying back for what seemed like an awkward moment full of tension.

That is until a giant noise occurred, and the factory opened its jaws with a groan, releasing a mutant unmade Heisinburg fighting against the Commander, Don Issac.

He was holding his own against the mutated beastly creature.

Kyle yelled into the comms “SIR!”

Don frowned “I’m .. busy.!”

The Bobinator turned around as fast as he could swearing after almost being drilled by another soder jet, and led the creature down toward what he presumed was a magnet. Kyle pulled back and let the creature suck itself into a trap of both magnets and whatever his Commander had cooked up.

The Bobinator sped back as fast as he could possibly and let the other creatures literally take the bait:

The Tin man literally watched as the unmade started to fall over the giant Heisenberg.

“Ugh… Such useless creatures… Thought Darkseid would make my creatures that much damn stronger, instead, I get this MESS!”

“My GENIUS Wasted by Darkseid, and ugh…”

Heisenburg seemed just distracted enough for Issac to get a shot in. A good one.

Don yelled, “STAY BACK, KYLE, I have a EMP!”

Kyle growled ‘WHAT! NO!” “A emp will…”

The soldier wanted to help but gritted his teeth, pulling back a long distance hoping to be away from the Diablo EMP.

Kyle Reese uses a Focus to keep his distance from Don Isaac's EMP and takes a perfectly timed shot from a distance to help his Commander out.

 

[Karl Jak]

Updates:

First off --- so good, lol. You are victorious, meaning you may decide the fate of the Factory's Forman. A resolution post (length is up to you) is required to resolve this scene and permit you two to continue on your adventure.

The factory is unstable (and unsalvageable), so you can expect the landmass to start to fall apart regardless of how you opt to end your time with Karl H.

Don Isaac receives +4 points and the equivalent of a Story Injury from Heisenberg (you come up with it)
Kyle Reese receives +2 points and the equivalent of a Minor Injury (let's say a nasty drill stab but you can come up with something else)

 

[Don Isaac]

Blessed be the Atom and all its ruinous works. The monstrosity gave a scream of anguish and undiluted fury as the magnetic maelstrom that swaddled it died, freeing Isaac and the no-longer-red Baron from its grasp as he fell, lance in hand. Shouting in defiance, Isaac descended towards that twisted maw of meat and metal, grasping the haft of his spear as he angled it into that yawning hellmouth.

The jaws of this unspeakable abomination closed upon him, an ear-piercing shriek of twisted metal scraping against his chassis as the monster tried to devour him whole. And deep within its gullet, the warhead slowly came to rest against the back of the demon's throat.

A backblast of flame swept over Isaac as he lay swaddled within the cockpit, cleansing fire burning the filth and blood from his 'mech even as the amalgamation of flesh and rust detonated. Torrents of rotten meat, foul blood, and shrapnel splattered throughout the factory, leaving its ruined walls caked in gore, and Isaac, standing alone above a skeleton bound to an amalgam of scrap.

His lance was nothing more than a handful of splinters, and wearily, he collapsed among the ankle-deep morass of blood and oil that flooded the factory floor, the tip of his bascinet threatening to dip into the foulness. He gagged, nearly choking on his vomit as piston-driven arms slowly pushed him upwards, striving to escape the morass- he was so pathetically grateful for the steel hand that grasped his 'mech's shoulder that he nearly uttered thanks as Royce hauled him upwards.

"Are you alright, Commander?"

The robotic voice grated on his nerves- some fluctuation in the radio, certainly, but he loathed the utter dearth of humanity that infested this realm. There was only steel, and rot- whether it infected the flesh or the ferric. He was caged, the dilapidated walls caked with gore, and there was a grinning machine skull staring him down-

"I'm fine," Isaac barked, his 'mech shivering as he turned, running towards a breach in the walls and the dim shimmer of sunlight struggling to make its way through the fog. "Move on- good hunting, Ross," he said as he crashed through the concrete, scrambling through the ruins as he hurled himself off the isle's edge, unheeding of the unliving creatures ambling through his path, crushed beneath his weight.

He shed blood and paint as his 'mech shifted- bare metal, shorn of pretension. Blade-like wings scythed through the smog as he escaped this dread isle, his engine roaring to life as he fled this place of doom and degeneracy.

Isaac has suffered a story injury- the corrosive atmosphere has stripped the paint from his 'mech. The indignity of it!