Second Skin

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The armor was barely cleared for use. Layers of phrik, duraplast, and various other materials would guard Delam from the elements, and more importantly, from those who would seek to do him harm. The suit was still under construction, but once done, would enhance the wearer's strength and allow for unparalleled protection.

The basic components were set out upon a table in the engineering bay of a Imperial Lucrehulk. It was here that he and Satsujin would put their equipment to the grinder and see if they could be applicable in battle. The task had proven to be a daunting one, and Delam was growing frustrated as he attempted to get the servos to work.

They just kept sticking.

Grumbling a curse under his breath, the soldier leaned back and ran a hand through his short hair. He was clad in worker's coveralls with the straps pulled down to hang from his hips. A white tank top covered his midriff.

He had gifted Satsujin with a neural implant that would allow him to communicate with Delam via his own implant. In this way, they could actually work without relying on hand gestures for communication.

"How's yours coming along?"

 

[Darth Eversor]

This whole scheme was to encase these men in suits of armor capable of being rammed with a warship. Not literally, but with the materials being pulled for resources, it might as well be able to. Satsujin chuckled to himself at Delam's struggle and curiosity. "Well, the circuit-board in the helmet started smoking. I'm not sure if that means progress or failure. For the servos, try to get some of the adhesive off. Usually when they're manufactured, they over do it. Bloody annoying if you ask me."

The circuitry of the helmet's components beeped in a positive chime. "Hah!"

Small steps, but progress nonetheless.

 

[Placeholder 01]

The High Lord bit back a curse as his finger was sliced open by a particularly sharp point on the suit's edge. The cut wasn't particularly deep, but it was long enough for a thin dribble of blood to spill from the gash. He held his wounded hand in a fist and made his way toward the back of the bay for the first aid kit. A few moments later, and he'd tired a thin strip of gauze around the thumb.

Damn painful.

"Try not to set yourself on fire Kiro," Delam spoke the man's name, "I've already gone and hurt myself. It wouldn't do for us to set the whole engineering bay on fire." He returned to the station that housed the inert suit of armor and fell down to his knees. He followed the Atrisian's advice, pouring a cup of hot water and running the liquid over the servos in the right leg whilst poking at the adhesive with a screw driver.

It worked, sort of.

"You know," he cast a look over his shoulder, "You never explained where you came from, not that you could given...well," He motioned toward his own neural implant.

"Just curious."

[member="Kiro Masahide"]

 

[Darth Eversor]

Kiro looked down and furrowed his brow lightly. "I never wanted to talk regardless. I used to be an Imperial, my father was a Moff, I served a Dark Lord, what do you want to know? I'm full of stories. What about you, eh? You like to abuse animals usually?" The Atrisian chuckled and turned away, inserting a part of the internal comlink into the helmet. The pieces clicked together and were fastened down tight. Looking to the heavier bulk of the gear, the once mute warrior started poking at a few buttons here and there.

A long droning beep responded, and then a faint hiss. The chassis opened, energy cores and other various hardware were exposed to be inspected.

"And if there's anything that's going to get set on fire, it's myself. I'm terrible with candles. Says a lot about my love life, right?"

 

[Placeholder 01]

"You're awfully witty for a mute." Delam shot back. He cracked a thin little smile and rose up to his full height, hands on his hips as he inspected his work. The leg certainly looked better, but then he wouldn't know how well it worked until he put the armor out to strut in the field. That was when things decided to go wrong. Everything would go find in the training areas, but one people started shooting at you? That was a different story.

Then he saw it. An imperfection where the phrik breastplate met the collar. Part of the metal had been fastened on incorrectly, and the bolts that held it together were a bit limp, to say the least.

"Shab. The frakking pieces are falling apart already," Delam grumbled as he went for the industrial nail-gun and the adhesive container. "The gods only know how well it'll hold up in battle."

Wasting no time, the warrior bolted the breastplate down. He applied the adhesive via a special brush a moment later. If all went well, the adhesive would stick well and the breastplate would be whole.

"Nothing so wicked. I was born on Zenith Prime and raised there. We're all soldiers - everyone born on that world is taught the ways of war." He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow and inspected his handiwork. "I climbed through the ranks, fought a few important battles, a lot of the men in my way on the ladder perished in combat, and I have a birth-right."

He half-turned and shrugged at the Atrisian. "Luck gave me my position," he smiled, "Old school Empire? A Moff? Why'd you run down here?" He turned back toward the armor, "Figure the Sith would fit a Moff's son."

 

[Darth Eversor]

"That's something better answered at a later time. Just know that my business with the Empire is null and void at this point. As for the Sith, they can burn for all I care. Mongrels biting each other's throats to ascertain something they think will make them more relevant. A bit droll and pitiful if you ask me. "

Kiro opened a metal container and relinquished a lower robe from it. Its designs were exactly what he had specified, albeit somewhat torn around the edges. It added character at least. Next came the greaves which were also of fine craftsmanship. Elaborate and designed with an artist's eye. A fine assortment of parts these were.

"So I'm to become your royal guard? Seems like I'd be taking care of a real jerk if you ask me. Beating on large primitive creatures. A shame, sir."

Placing his arm inside one of the gauntlets, the Atrisian moved his fingers around. The metallic clicking of claws rhythmically tapped on the cold durasteel table. More so to irritate Delam.

"The Empire isn't what it used to be. It's now made up of incompetence and too much involvement with Sith affairs. The military isn't much to brag about, neither is the senate. Made me wonder what changed... the intelligence requirements or if it just became easier to clean up after morons."

Kiro shrugged and sighed, continuing to tinker with the gauntlet and its functions.

[member="Delam Mairev"]

 

[Placeholder 01]

"If you wish," Delam replied plainly as he settle a hand on the armor's pauldron. He wasn't going to go around begging some of the men to sign on for the high guardsmen positions. The positions were for those that Delam saw talent in - for those that would accompany him as he strode into battle. He was a capable fighter on his own, but one man could only face so many opponents on his own.

Thus the high guardsmen were created.

"I didn't expect an Empire ruled by sorcerers to thrive, personally," he continued as he tampered with some of the suit's internal systems. There was a bit of a problem with the climate control, and that simply wouldn't do. The suit needed to thrive in hard vacuum, otherwise a simple hull breach would be the death of whoever inhabited it at the time.

"Don't rag on fighting primitive beasts. They're a challenge all their own," he grinned, "I'm having a little bit of trouble. How's yours coming along?"

[member="Kiro Masahide"]

 

[Darth Eversor]

"Sorcerers. glow-stick junkies, whichever rolls off the tongue better I'd imagine."

Gauntlets configured, next up was setting up the greaves. Pointed tips on each foot and heel, Kiro didn't ask for this, but he could at least understand the practical use for such accessories. Perhaps one day someone will deserve a good kick in a certain place. The rotation of the heel and ankle was configured and aligned, all seemed well.

"Everything seems to be in order, aside from a hiccup I found in the helmet's data matrix. If I hadn't found it, I'd be losing battle statistics and the rank and file of the Legion's forces. It would be quite the shame."

The Atrisian looked over the helmet, yet more fine craftsmanship and elegant design. The man was falling in love with each and every piece of this suit that would physically manifest the honor of the Black Imperium and the stalwart defenders of its sake.

"That blade I was using...I think it's alive."

A rather odd, open question.

[member="Delam Mairev"]