User:Nevpad/Sandbox
Parody: Over-Over-Over-Over-Conspirator Terror Biorobots[edit]
Short Summary Of Hierarchy[edit]
- Alien Conspirators, or "Genestealers", are constantly scheming obviously alien-mutated humans. They think what Rockfellers and Rothschilds would listen to them - but they mind their earthian buisness as usual.
- Over-Conspirators are usual aliens who steal cows and abduct people to insert glass shards into them.
- Over-Over-Conspirators are even stronger aliens. It's unknown who they are.
- Over-Over-Over-Conspirators have no dossier for them at all.
- Over-Over-Over-Over-Conspirators are secret biolab researchers. They don't care what lesser aliens do, and are busy reverse-engineering tech of more advanced civilization.
Over^4-Conspirator Small Experiments[edit]
Low-ranking Terror Biorobots, commonly technicians or machinery operators.
Uglie Experiment[edit]
Lowest-ranking Terror Biorobots of Over^4-Conspirators. They are hideously malformed little goblin-like terrors, about meter tall. They have vaguely humanoid posture, but 4 to 8 legs instead of 2; and they have dozens of limbs, some ending in 5-fingered claws, others in warped appendages (like pinchers and tentacles), many limbs being replaced with crude-looking yet unbelievably tough mechanical prothesises. They have borderline zombie-like look, with cancerous purple flesh and purple blood. They have long ears reaching to their neck, robust orkish jaws with multiple dozens of rows of sharp teeth, short nose what looks kinda like gas mask filter, dark oily eyes.
They are absurdly strong, able to lift tenths of thousands of their own weight - easily capable of throwing a dozen-high building for multiple hundreds of meters. They are shock-proof, bullet-proof, immune to pain, can see through walls, and generally can do so many things - what, if full list of their capabilities was printed on paper, even they themselves couldn't lift that. And yet, they're the weakest unit of Over^4-Conspirators. They talk in nasal, high-pitched voice; speech patterns include rather horrible threats, cackling, snorting, barking.
Then there should be lengthy descriptions of enormous space marines with absurd, horrendous statblocks - Marines transcending Uglies like space marine transcends a cat, Terminators transcending Marines like APC transcends a footsoldier, tank-sided things with utterly ludicrous power... But it all collapsed into Hyperspace due to sheer horrendousness of such descriptions. "Duuude, if we have proper psykers capable of winning James Randi's prize and lifting train cars with mere thought - then we could have the «3000 times his own way» alien experiments i guess..."
While the stupidest Terror Biorobots, they are many times smarter than humans. They out-compute a supercomputer, although so techically does human's brain. Nevertheless, they are extremely capable in all strategies, tactics, and fields of study; they have near-light-speed reaction and thought speed, if not faster. Bigger Terror Biorobots are even smarter - often to the point, what they're incomprehensible to humans.
Duster Experiment[edit]
What seems to be low-ranking officers or commissars of Terror Biorobots, often commanding squads of Uglies. Dusters are about as tall as Uglies, but are a lot more muscular and squat - being about 1.5 to 3 times longer and wider than they are tall, with squat build and arching musculature. They have unbelievably thick, muscular arms and legs - and they have multiple dozens of limbs, each thicker than man's leg, often ending in strange mutated appendages or robust bio-mechanical parts. They have absurdly long ears, wrapped around entirety of torso (from neck to groin and everything in-between), fully fused together with torso - forming what looks almost like thick, asymmetrical buff trenchcoat. They have fortified-looking face, somewhat close between SWAT gas mask and combat helmet. They have even bigger, stronger, teeth-ier jaws.
They are even stronger than Uglies - capable of shredding entire squad by themselves. They have more per-pound strength, more strange abilities. When they or any bigger biorobots are around, Uglies become more aggressive and purposeful, caring for their mission more than about themselves, for they fear their commissars more than the enemy. They talk in nasal, mid-to-low pitched voice; speech patterns are threatening yet polite, yet no less full of threats and bloody statements.
They often have parts with machinery and flesh fused into single system - though, most is fully-mechanical without electronics (e.g. inner and outer skeletons made of inorganic materials). Some have bio-mechanical or inorganic outer skeletons, turning them into even more unbelievably tough "Omar"-type cyborgs. It's not just "mere suit stitched to body", either: entire musculo-skeletal system is reworked, with muscles attached to outer inorganic skeleton/carapace to use it as skeleton, what enhances strength due to better leverage and makes them tougher due to, well, having entire body being covered in armor-grade material. Voices of these are even more low-pitched, as if wearing gas mask or sitting in closed barrel.
Over^4-Conspirator Trooper Experiments[edit]
Infantrymen and space marines of Terror Biorobots, higher in rank than Dusters. Vary in size. Extremely-vaguely-humanoid (if creature with 6-8 can be called "humanoid"), have many thick robust limbs (both arms and legs). Longer and wider than they are tall. Covered in sealed exoskeleton of thick living bone (or other similar robust material; no molting, as it grows for entire life), heavy as power armor. Their eyes, ears, and other sensory organs are buried inside their borderline-impenetrable skull (they can see through walls - including walls of their own skull). They are built to last. Flawlessly mix flesh and mechanical inorganic elements; some have actual bionics/electronics with heavy EMP-shielding (as aliens have so strong electronic warfare systems, that any Human-pattern electronics shut down, and all but the most heavily-shielded alien-grade systems malfunction - and such shielding costs a lot of money; cue lots of strictly-mechanical systems being used among alien militants). Due to bigger and better optimized brain, they are even smarter than Small Experiments - transcending them, like human transcends an insect; the bigger they are, the smarter they are. Commonly wear tough metal-colored armor - heavily armored carapace spacesuits, or sealed power armor.
Light Trooper[edit]
About 1.7 to 1.9 meters tall, longer and wider than they are tall. Commonly used for recon, scouting, and vehicle piloting; also good at drone operation. Even at this size, doorways made of Humans or Over-Conspirators (e.g. Reptiloids) end up getting shredded - as Troopers are wider and longer than they are tall, while Humans and their doorways are the other way around.
Medium Trooper[edit]
About 2 to 2.5 meters tall, longer and wider than they are tall. Commonly seen storming buildings or breaching spaceships. Used in field battles as infantrymen; albeit, for Human classification, they would be closer to light/medium tank.
Heavy Trooper[edit]
About 3 to 4.5 meters tall, longer and wider than they are tall. Literal space marines; rather commonly operate underwater. Also used to storm buildings, completely obliterating said building in process. Used to level enemy fortifications. Walking armored assault units, closer to heavy/superheavy tanks by Human classification.
Over^2-Conspirator Units[edit]
Looted Tech[edit]
"Comrade Cancerous Mess"[edit]
First result of Over^2-Conspirators trying to reverse-engineering super-soldier tech stolen from Over^4-Conspirators. Genetically-engineered super-soldiers fielded by Over^4-Conspirators are already crude, garbled versions of tech stolen from more advanced civilization - so naturally, Over^2-Conspirators have garbled it even more, due to bungling and misunderstanding of how ultra-advanced technologies work. Due to being among the lest experienced knockoff super-soldiers of Over^2-Conspirators and messing something up, "Comrade Cancerous Mess" was punished by getting relocated to Over^1-Conspirators HQ - with job of coordinating those bumbling morons, and saving the domination plans ruined by increasingly unpredictable and tense situation on Earth. Comrade Cancerous Mess doesn't care (and his superiors also don't care), and is busy building something in his private quarters of HQ.
The Comrade Cancerous Mess is to typical absurdly-soft sci-fi "evil absurdly strong tiny cuties" (think X-? Dark End, X-627 or X-629 Leroy), what General Nausea is to humans. "As is", Comrade Cancerous Mess - indeed - looks like shapeless tangled mass of dark-purple cancerous cells, changing it's form as it wants, moving around almost like cephalopod; yet he usually wears reinforced-the-hell-of heavy sealed mechanized exoskeleton ("power armor", "battlesuit", "battledress" - however you call it), basically being "Omar"-type cyborg.
Exoskeleton serves as both armor and scaffolding for Comrade Cancerous Mess - as his body is akin to "pile of musculus in need of skeleton to attach to", directly attached to exoskeleton. It also protects CCM from attacks, and protects others from CCM's semi-uncontrolled assimilation (as he himself is the worst disease Nibiru has ever seen). Due to legs being highly impractical, cybernetic exoskeleton moves around via antigravity-assisted rocket engines facing in all directions. Exoskeleton also can rapidly change it's form and configuration, though nowhere near as rapidly as naked CCM can do. He has truely enormous amount of devices, gadgets and weapons built into his suit. He can assimilate/control/connect to any machinery on contact by growing into it. Any living thing in contact with CCM's flesh or bioweapon is assimilated - turned into yet another member of CCM's species, with knowledge and skills being assimilated to CCM and newly-created CCM's copy. Mass of new CCM's copy is same as original creature's, but size is drastically smaller; that's because CCM has enormous density (on size of adult human, he weights a few tons) - so most non-super-dense organisms, upon infection, turn into dense-yet-gaunt creatures capable of fully hiding behind a fishing rod. CCM is resistant to nanorobots, as he is comparable to them in abilities and powers.
Comrade Cancerous Mess is at least comparable to similarly-sized high-end First Singularity combat machines of Orion's Arm - stronger in some aspects, weaker in others. His per-weight strength is comparable to that of heavy-duty machinery like Ultra Muscles, toughness is comparable to that of rigid armor like diamondoid variants. He is immune to most chemicals, nearly all diseases (even to some of those, what melt tanks), low temperatures, electric shock, EMP, highly resistant to kinetic weaponry and explosives, has no complex anatomy (it's homogenous mix of interchangeable cells), regenerate/self-repairs in split seconds as long as it has materials and energy, can regenerate from single cell chunk (even if cell is ripped into pieces, it can form back in), and some other abilities, some ill-documented or secret. He can grow indefinitely, as long as he has needed materials and energy; despite very efficient metabolism, consumables (repair kits, fuel, food, etc - it's hard to classify) are measured in railroad wagons; the bigger he gets, the smarter he gets - and he usually grows as much as feasible, with "feasible" often correlating with amount of supply and space available.
Most importantly, Comrade Cancerous Mess operates as in Soft Science-Fiction (albeit, properly explained one with consistent rules - aka mix of Soft Sci-Fi and Hard Sci-Fi), while Earth civilizations operate on Hard Science-Fiction. That's due to special pocket universe technology; CCM creates tiny pocket universe with desired laws of physics - and then opens portal to said pocket universe, "injecting" altered laws of physics into our Universe, therefore creating Space-Time zone with altered physics laws; doing this is hard, as CCM is also subjected to altered laws of physics, and altering them without accidentally killing yourself is very difficult precise task.
Comrade Cancerous Mess is complete uninterested in what his supposed subordinates of Over^1-Conspirators do. He sits in his private quarters 24/7, building and inventing secret projects, mostly related to galactic domination. CCM things what he has less abilities "than [i] meant to have", constantly altering his genes and cyber-exoskeleton. He is not interested in what Over^1-Conspirators are doing on Earth with their plans failing. Ship intruders would be kicked out of quarters, but he otherwise doesn't care about them walking on Over^1-Conspirators base, as he excuses as "citizen of other country, not affiliated with these aliens, renting a room on this base".
After Humanity reaches FTL age (e.g. Alcubierre Drive, Tachyon Engine accelerating ship to speed of tachyons, Wormhole drive, etc) under guide of Post-Singularity Merged Overmind (super-advanced AI's + all organic brains, connected into single computation network), they end up having a scuffle with Comrade Cancerous Mess, comparable to scuffle between Billy Bones and Black Dog/Blind Pew. Having already looted all alien installations in vicinity to loot reality-warping tech, terran Merged Overmind goes to Comrade Cancerous Mess's room to acquire tech of Physics-Laws-Editor - while CCM himself doesn't want to give any tech to Merged Overmind. That results in CCM jumping away from Solar System entirely, but not before Merged Overmind loots some of his tech.
Parody: Storming the Abductor UFO[edit]
It was 2100's, and Technological Singularity has happened a long ago. Our protagonist was Assault Marine of Greater Technate; hulking man jokingly known as "Albionomarine", clad head-to-toe in heavy exoskeleton of living bone, bigger and stockier than Adeptus Astartes, with arms and legs wider than trash cans, bastard-sword-sized utility claws, and strength greater than that of 2000's MBT. His biology was written from ground up, being non-carbon-based lifeform, to the point what he could be confused with some sort of golem.
He had heavy multi-use survival tool (descendant of УВСР Тайга-1; in 2100's, it's multi-functional machete-like tool made of diamondoid or other extremely tough material, capable of accomodating Assault Marine's inhuman strength) and marine service pistol (old-model gun, designed for use against other Marines, it launches hyperdense dart-like projectilss at wildly hypersonic speeds).
It was another quit day in marine barracks. And then, strange lights appeared and flied into the room, and tried to paralyze our protagonist. Assault Marine was immune to personalization, but decided to play dead to get on their ship.
So he arrived on examination room. With no contact to his Merged Hive Overmind due to good insulation, Assault Marine was acting on his own. Room was littered fith flint and broken glass, reptiloids were busy fiddling with heavy-duty cutting and mining equipment - including strange device with rotary disk almost like angle grinder, some sort of plasma cutter, and electric arc device. They talked about probing, reproduction, and drilling a hole due to Marine's body having no holes at all. Naturally, our Marine raised from table, ripping restraints in the process - and then ripped the table off the ground, wielding it like large ballistic shield.
Such table was made to restraint Marine's inhuman strength - and while it failed it's original purpose (floor was normal, and bolts connecting table to floor have broken), it was nevertheless extremely tough, enough to deflect direct hits of 2020's ATGM's, and survive blows of inhumanly strong post-Singularity combatants capable of lifting tenths of thousands of times more weight than normal man would. It's still not advisable to deflect post-Singularity rifle shells with it, though. Definitely stolen from more advanced civilization by Reptiloids - as their industry can't produce this kind of materials.
Reptiloids instantly scuttled out in door, with equipment in hands - but were stopped by precisely thrown table, their bodies flying around like bowling skittles. They started it first! But before Marine could pick up his trusty table, rumble and awful noice came from another examination rooms. And then, he "heard" communications via Mind-Link from other room - inaccessible to aliens, yet readable by him; it was abducted New Union's specialists, the worst rivals of Greater Technate! He could sense them with his boosted senses even through walls, as he had hearing sufficient to hear insect from dozen miles away and all other senses to match - and Soviets could sense him.
- Шеф, бежим в рубку пока этот Технатовец все не спер. Я поведу корабль; на нем я никогда не летал, но привезти домой обязан. - said one of them.
- Коллега, тут аналитика. Рептилоиды эти опасности не представляют - даже голую обшивку техника не пробивают. Десантник со столом пока самый опасный оппонент. - replied another.
- Корабль ис моя! Технат есть побеждать технология! - crudely replied Marine. He poorly knew Russian.
- Но корабль вы все равно водить не умеете! - replied the "colleague" pilot guy.
- Моя приказывай р████ в████ а████ лети Вашингтон или моя бей ваш тупой башка стол! - yelled Marine.
- И устроишь международный скандал. Технат и так всех задолбал с вторжениями, тут ещё вы нападаете с оружием на солдат Нового Союза. Седьмую Мировую устроить захотел? - the "chief" analytic guy countered.
Marine's eyes filled with rage. His mind started thinking furiously, and russophobic protocols activated, as situation went to what his overlords would identify as "Red Alert".
- Вещь моя! Всё моя! Моя всё грабастай и тащи! - shouted Marine in deranged roar, not recognizing what he started yelling in actual vocals. It was so loud, what tools fell from tables and glass shattered. Meanwhile, he picked up enormous hospital gown (for his size), folded it in bundle, and started collecting all tools into it.
- I ask you to refrain from destroying equipment. We need your genes for our research. You will be subdued. Personally, if needed so. - said strange alien from cracked monitor. He was amalgamation of dark electronic parts, fusion of flesh and dark machinery - like mix of those flying robo-squids from Matrix with Warhammer's Belisarius Cawl, exaggerated to 11'th degree.
- This ship's loot is mine, as military trophies, and i go back to base. - replied Marine.
- Then prepare for some fighting. Whether you're dead or alive, but i will get your genes. - at which point, monitor finally succumbed to damage and crashed with blue screen of death. No big deal matter - there are more monitors around.
It was time to loot the other rooms; not so many of them, as spaceship is rather small. Examination room didn't had much else, other than mining and engineering equipment piled up from other rooms, and table what our Marine wields. There was technical room with machine - "autholate", "robofac", how has was it called - assembling small parts and tools out of common materials, like metal, glass, wood, cloth, and carbon. And then, technical storage with crates and spare parts. Bridge and another 2 examination rooms were already swept clean by 2 Soviets.
Technical rooms, on the other hand, were a problem...
To be written...
Parody: Short Raid for Alien Scrap[edit]
Parody of what world could look like, if New Age practices and psionics worked as advertised.
Our protagonist, a strong magician and psionic, had the relatively great day. He won every prize. You know, those where you get a million dollars for bending spoons with your mind. He won pre-test in every one of them, to get his money before other Psis do. And he was bored. So bored, in fact, that he went cruising for a bruising - searching misadventures on his head.
Mere fact of him winning every prize was sensational, all media standing on it's head. But there was another quest: find proof of existence of intelligent aliens. He saw them multiple times, but didn't bring back artifacts.
As such, our protagonist teleported to one derelict planetary station he knew. Occupied by mutant man-eating junkies of sorts. Into what was supposed to be the least protected room, deep in the defence perimeter.
In center of it was occupied by pile of hyperdense wreckages, being worked on by tiny, ugly, cybernetic monsters - with yet another piles containing sorted pieces of rabble of different materials. Mix between dog, monkey, coala and bloated corpse - standing a meter tall, with many arms, and hideously deformed; most have rugged-looking mechanical prosthesises, and a few have extremely ruggedized EMP-proof bionics. Each carrying strange yet vicious tools - variants of utility knifes, survival machetes, multi-use tactical axes, advanced Halligan-bar-like breaching tools and mechanical instruments - most of shapes not found anywhere on Earth. Each having absurd strength of superheroic level - yet still individually weaker than our psionicist.
Our psyker just started loading scrap into backpack - military model over 100 liters big, fortified by psionic energy. Since there are no scrap on Earth, that would be orders of magnitude more dense than steel. The junkies instantly attacked, defending their loot. Uncountable numbers of bladed objects went his way, yet our hero stood unshaked - for his energy field (bio-field? something about mind? he forget himself) deflected all that. More and more things got crammed in backpack, without regard for what the junkies did. Apparently, they did want to grill and eat our psyker, despite him not being enough for single dinner.
Then pile was emptied. Swing at those rabble? Our psionic lifted a hyperdense armature and hit the monsters, cracking something and soaking the armature in purple blood - after which, said armature god ripped out of his arms by mob, flinged across the room, and catched back by our psionicist. If it's not going to work this way, then it's our time to get home.
Cue teleporting home... Trying to do so. Instead, our psionic found himself standing in room with massive armored figure in power armor. Either teleportation was intercepted, or he was grabbed and teleported from Earth to room in less than split millisecond.
- Good job for helping me with collecting tribute from Lârgûrakh's gang. Now put 80% of scrap on the floor and go away. - said that armored man in unnaturally deep, guttural voice with harsh barking accent.
- I got a sensation to make. It's my scrap. - replied our spellcasting human.
- This is My scrap, as Lârgûrakh's gang is obligated to ship it to me. You delivered it faster than normally, so you keep some. Now go home! - said massive person, in even more low-pitched voice than normally.
Well, that left over 20 liters worth of hyperdense scrap, orders of magnitude more dense than steel - including the bloodsoaked armature with blood sample. With all that, our hero arrived home. Sensation was titanical, with people applauding everywhere. Media and news exploded. Scientists enjoyed making their new doomsday experiments from alien samples. With such glorious yet easy victory, our hero went to sleep - since he was tired from winning pre-tests and carrying heavy weights. Next day should be more glorious than that one.