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The Sinister Gaurdian: The Catastrophe It all started deep underground my friend. Farther than any human had been before. Where the crust, as you humans call it, meets the mantle. this is where I was spawned, and this is from where I hail. It was a truly hellish place, war all of the time, endless conquest, rap and murder. It wasn't any help our species is so monstrous, I mean look at me *removes hood* My friggen outer body is covered in metal this is what we evolved to survive the heat and cave-ins. A friggen metal exo-skeleton my grin is permanently stamped on this way I can't show expression! These claws my fangs all of this I can't help and your kind hates me for it! *sigh* God really hit the jackpot when he made us eh? Anyways back to the story there was not an ounce of good in that place. Everyone wanted everything and they would kill to get it. This included huge nation-like tribes flattening villages for something as trivial as huntin
The Sinister Gaurdian: The Prolouge Oh so you think your life is crappy eh? You think that ending it will solve all your problems? Gonna make it go away? Well let me tell ya kid, it won't. I've been to hell, fuck i'm from there and it aint pretty. You're a good kiid stick with the living. Oh who am I you ask? Well thats a long story i'll tell ya if you promise to wait till after I'm finished to attempt to make yourself a sidewalk pancake (which I won't let happen). I'ts long so hang on to your seat, you're about to hear real suffering.
A Turning Point in the Clockwork WarA war of attrition
depends on supply and drawdown,
how much you have and how much you use up.
With personnel, the balance concerns
the influx of recruitment versus
the outflow of casualties, deserters, invalids.
There is only so much loss
that a fighting force can sustain
and still fight.
Pilot Claude Archer was the first
to challenge his invalid discharge.
"I don't need legs to fly," he said,
patting the healed stumps of his thighs.
"My Osprey runs on elbow grease."
The members of the discharge board
paused and looked at each other.
What he said was true.
The Osprey-class fighter jets
relied on hand controls,
and a sharp eye and iron nerve.
Fingers flicked through the stack
of discharge papers -- so many, many pages.
So many soldiers lost, never to fight again.
They could not afford to let slip even one
who might be retained, somehow,
to face the front line once more.
Far less could the war effort spare
one of its best pilots.
So they put Pilot Archer back on the roster,
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