A Yarn From The Reef: Awakening Wrath Aly—pronounced Ally, thank you very much—was mad. Her life was horrible, her job was horrible, you could count the number of friends she had on three fingers, and her boss hated her. “ALY!!! THAT’S THE THIRD DEMERIT THIS WEEK, NOT INCLUDING THE WEEKS BEFORE THAT!”, her boss screamed from his podium overlooking the work floor, slamming his hand. “Yes, Mr. Alsoul. I will report to you tonight.” Aly stifled her raging urge to walk over to the man, and snap his neck. “That’s right. Get back to work scum!” The short little man acted like he had complete control over the world from that pedestal, which actually meant he had complete control over about 500 square feet, AKA Aly’s section of the assembly lines. Her line was making warship components, a necessary product to fuel the near-insatiable desire for new territory the Kirn Empire has these days. They weren’t anything massive like the interstellar superstate known around the multiverse as Offtopic, but they weren’t to be ignored either. The Empire was a little patch of warmongers in the Unknown Regions of the galaxy, right next to the horrid mess that had been the Chiss Ascendancy, the remnants of the Yuuzhan Vong, and the Sakaarans. Aly was a barely loyal citizen of the Empire; her slim form, sharp mind, and no conscience regarding doing orders, was once a prized commodity in the Empire’s forces. The Kirn Empire was feared all around their section of the Unknown Regions for their lethality of warcraft, selectively devastating strikes, soldiers that could take down hundreds before they finally fell, one by one in a lightning fast staccato of attacks, and warships that glassed thousands of cities. Until one battle changed all that. Aly was once a soldier, in the 33’rd Strike Battalion--famous unit revered for silent, deadly assaults, and a perfect service rate. The latest conquest was the Alatarians-a fringe sect, mostly keeping to themselves, and practicing their unholy worship of their dread god-an undead sorcerer king. The Empire wanted their territory, which was rather large since the Alatarians had a tendency to trick their way into societies, proceed to kill the leaders, and install puppet rulers in their place. The Empire decided to launch an attack on the homeworld of the Alatarians, Alatar. They sent the 33’rd, certain in their assumption that they would not fail. Oh, if they knew how wrong they would be... Upon landing on the planet, the 33’rd, a group of several battalions of stealth technology-equipped troops, infiltrated the capital city, with no issue. Their objective was to slaughter the Alatarian Senate, a group of sorcerers with the Dread God as it’s head. There was a mandatory meeting of the entire Senate, all 766 representatives from every province at the capital city that day. The 33’rd surrounded the Senate dome, ready to cut down anyone who tried to escape, and rushed in, blades and concealable weapons drawn. A wall of living fire met them, the full unbridled fury of the 766 sorcerers, the anger at them for thinking that they could sneak into THEIR city, THEIR world. Nearly every single Strike Force member was incinerated, not having any power armor--or any armor for that matter. Except Aly. She was 23 when she was accepted into the Strike Force. She was instantly mesmerized by the unit, their gleaming white armor, their flawless service record, the prestige that came with a posting. She graduated top of her class at the Academy, receiving several awards for lethality and perfection in her specific style of killing, excelling in the Empire’s classes for killcraft. On the day that she was accepted, she stared long at her new helmet, losing herself in the gleam. Then came the first mission call. Routine group assassination, code Black, no survivors. Head in, kill all targets, head out. They got to the planet with no issue. Aly was tasked with the most dangerous task--killing the Dread God himself. She snuck up behind him, and listened and watched as her comrades were vaporized, screaming and clawing at the ground as the howling vortex of hungry flame consumed them. As she watched them get incinerated, Aly was discovered, and captured, and forcibly used as a guinea pig to pry out secrets. She went through 2 years of torture, constant beatings, and downright slavery. The Empire eventually freed her from the planet, but not before they dissolved all strike forces and replaced the lethal operatives that didn’t need armor with brutish, hulking soldiers in power armor that only knew how to commit genocide. The failed strike on Alatar was living proof to the Empire: her kind was not what was needed anymore. Her home of 1 day was gone. She was offered a teaching position at her beloved academy, but her training was replaced with tests of brute strength, not how easily you could snap someone’s neck with three fingers. Since she denied the barely above the status quo teaching position, she was demoted to a common civilian, an expendable failure. Aly was mad. Mad that she was once congratulated in the streets for her position, what SHE worked for, but now she was mocked and ridiculed as the last member of a failed strike force. She stuffed her rage down and kept believing she could work her way up again. She found work at a factory, but she had to share a room with a roommate, someone named Keira. Keira seemed nice, but barely held up her side of the rent. Red skin apparently doesn’t help you in finding work on a mostly human planet. *Position Shifts to Aly’s Apartment* “Keira, did you tell the landlord that we’ll be late on the rent this month?” “Oh man. Sorry Aly. I’ll go tell him now.” The inept roommate gets up, walks toward the door, and heads down the hall. Aly groans, this wouldn’t have been tolerated in the 33’rd. If there was a 33’rd anymore. Aly began thinking. What if this could all go away? What if she could take revenge on her tormentors and—Keira walked back in. Gotta stop thinking about killing people she hates. “What did he say?” “Said we pay by the end of the week, or we’re evicted.” “Oh fun. Guess we’re getting evicted then. I have to go back to work.” Aly stands up, ready to head to her bosses place. “Aly?” “Yeah Keira?” “If you could change all of this,” Keira spreads her arms out, indicating their current life and Aly’s troubles, “Would you?” [i]This insolent little-[/i] Of course she would. She’d fantasized about this a thousand times. “Yes. I’d do it in an instant.” Aly walks out into the street, and paces down it angrily, trying to contain her rage at her situation. All that was in her head was revenge. Possible paths, and outcomes. In her fuming, she unknowingly slammed into a passing soldier, one of a group. Judging by his grey uniform, he was an infantryman. One of their women, with a scarlet choker, linked to his arm promptly slapped her, sending her sprawling to the ground. “Stay down scum! You street cons don’t know how to treat our soldier boys.” Aly bit her cheek as the passerby laughed, and chuckled at her misfortune. The soldiers and their escorts all walked away, probably back to their barracks. As she was walking down the street hurriedly, trying to get away from the soldier area, she spotted a body in a nearby alleyway, probably yet another drug overdose. Something shone on the body-“A-a Gun?”, she said, as she picked up the metallic form. She looked to see if it was loaded. It was. [i][/i] [i] She had an opportunity here, to take her wrath out on one of the tormentors she’d dealt with for the last 2 years. [/i] Freedom from her oppressors, or the rest of her life tortured? Given thought, it was no contest. After she safely hid the pistol in her waist pocket, she headed over to Alsoul’s house, ready to splatter his cranium in pieces all over his house. Arriving there, Aly walked in; she was expected. Alsoul was dressed in a greasy suit, and had set a dinner for two, his sadistic personality in full light. “Mr. Alsoul. I’ve arrived.”