The Old Marching Ones

Everyone knows of the Old Marching Ones. They travel all across the world, keeping peace silently, relentlessly, efficiently. They are little more than skeletal robots, programmed by the Old Man during the Dark Years. Everyone knows of the Dark Years, the time in which every world lost contact with every other world, and every ship lost contact with each other. Space itself became solid, dark, black. You couldn't move, you couldn't see. There was nothing around you, until you ran into it. Anything you that wasn't connected to you physically you could no longer see. The stars went out...and chaos came...

It hit without warning, this big...thing...the scryers called it a Leviathan. No one could see it, not with their eyes. The darkness, it's darkness...it was everywhere. The survivors tell the tale of shadow beings. Black...things that flicker and move light nightmares in this big mass. Once they reached you, they just...killed you. No one can explain it, you just died. Playing dead didn't help, if you were alive and they saw you, you were going to die. You could fight back but...you would die when they got close to you. No other way to describe it.

The Old Man, on this world, he saw the Darkness coming. He warned everyone, told them what he saw long before it arrived, and then locked himself away in his home on the mountain. Some young folk would visit him, go up to his gate and ask to come inside, or play pranks with eggs and spray paint, but his machines would always shoo them away. He was a Mechanic, you see. He would build machines, and they would do whatever they were designed for. Clearing the garden, greeting newcomers, building houses, etc. The people on the planet depended on his skills, for their world was a small world, with very little in terms of valuables save for an abundance of farm land, which the people could not farm by themselves.

So the people grew concerned when their farming helpers were damaged and weren't being repaired. They went to the Old Man, to seek his help, but he would not. "Not until we are safe from the darkness, my fellows!" he would cry out. His workshop was alive, with buzzing and cutting and welding. The sounds could be heard from a long distance away. Some folk went to his home to complain about the noise, about how they couldn't sleep. Their complaints fell on deaf ears, as the Old Man kept working.

When the Darkness hit, and the stars went out, the people panicked. They flocked to the Old Man, begging for him to invent something that would bring all the people they know back into contact, but he refused. "He must defend ourselves! Gather the light! We need the light!" As he said this, cried it out to the people. The Darkness approached from the horizon. It's Black Tide spewing forth, killing anything that was close. Trees and plants died, withering, aging into dust. The people saw this and panicked more. They looked to the Old Man, but he was gone, disappearing back into his home. Soon however, the doors opened, and the first of the Old Marching Ones came out. It was skeletal, and sleek. It's 'skin' was bleached white, like bone with bits of pale, sickly green. It's eyes and innards glowed softly to reflect this green hue. In it's hand was a long tube attached to a box, bladed from end to end with a pack of wires going from the back of the box to the back of the creature. The tube contained a glowing energy, a bright bright green, so bright it hurt the eyes of the townsfolk when they looked at it. It's face was a grimace, a cold dead stare straight ahead. On it's chest was a symbol that had never been seen before anywhere in the galaxy. It looked upon the Black Tide as it came towards the town, and it started to march, directly towards the Tide. Another soon followed, then another, and another. Their numbers grew into a fireteam, a squad, a platoon, a battalion. It became an army, marching from the depths of the Old Man's home and workshop towards the Darkness. Some of the Old Marching ones had different designs. Two tubes, and a bigger body, with more blades and lights. Some mounted on floating bodies with two 'arms', one arm and this strange tube in place of the other one. Some flew, hovering higher in the air and looking like large skeletal spiders, their arms ending in tri-pointed claws covered in this energy. The innards of these 'spiders' made smaller beetles, which in turn made this bright silk, the same color and intensity of the energy in the Marching Ones' tubes.

This armada, the Old Marching Ones as they would soon be called, marched in perfect step towards the Black Tide, their weapons drawn and pointed. As they got closer, they fired. Arcs of lightning, the same color as the energy in the tubes, stretched into the Tide, burning it and driving it back. It screamed, the sound clawing into the ears of those who heard it, scarring any and all. The Old Marching one were unaffected, and continued to fire into the tide. The spider creatures, dove into it and started tearing, clawing great masses of the Darkness. The foot soldiers, the Warriors and Fighters, kept marching in, firing and tearing into the mass. The beetles swarmed around it, carrying the wire between them and cutting the Darkness apart.

They drove it back, but it also started to surround them, envelope them, covering their bright light with it's hideous mass. The townfolk, while tense, grew even more worried as this fight dragged on. The Old Man kept yelling at them, "Get the lights! We need more lights! Go! Get more lights and bring them inside!" The townsfolk eventually listened, and followed his instructions. They brought every lamp, every flashlight, every single source of light they had into his home. The Darkness had almost entirely covered the Old Marching Ones at this point, and was moving ever closer to the Old Man's home. When everyone was inside, he locked his gate, and tinkered with the lights, taking every flashlight and lamp and putting them together. He plugged them into this machine that made them glow brighter, with this same green energy as what was in the Old Marching Ones tubes. He climbed up to the top of his home and shined it down on the home, bathing it in this green light. The Darkness came, and surrounded the home, but could not enter the light. It climbed up, trying to find a way around it, but could not. It stayed there, trying to find a way inside, but every time it tried, it was hurt. It screamed in pain, further clawing at the ears and minds of those who listened. Some went made and rushed out into the mass to end the pain, while some went deaf, or simply killed themselves.

However, as the townsfolk endured, the Old Marching Ones continued onward, cutting and blasting at the Dark Tide. The Darkness didn't know what to do with them, as they were not alive, but were still killing it. It was scared, and did everything it could to stop the Marching Ones. However, everything it did, was undone by a blast from a foot solider, or torn apart by a spider. Eventually, it gave up, withdrawing from the planet and our galaxy. Light came back to worlds who had started to forget what the stars looked like. Communication was restored, and people could talk to far-off loved ones and everyone dismissed it as a random occurrence, a fluke of the universe. But the townsfolk of the planet of the Old Marching Ones knew better than to rejoice. They alone knew what had happened, and they knew how to fight back. But tragedy struck the world, something that had gone unnoticed until the Darkness fled. The Old Man had vanished, silently and unseen. A note from one of his machines was found, with the reading...

Quote :

It will be back...

The townsfolk of this planet grew scared once more, fearing that it would return and they would be unready. But there was some hope, the Marching Ones, were still there, still ready to fight. Not a scratch or blemish was on them. To an outsider, no one would know what had happened, that these machines were simply patrol bots of unusual design, but the townsfolk knew. They praised the Old Marching Ones, hailing them as saviors that would never stop to protect their world. A religion was formed among them, that the Old Man was a deity sent to protect them with his Machines. For other Mechanics were called to the world, but none knew how to replicate the Old Marching Ones, or explain how they worked. Some saying that it was impossible for them to work, they the technology was unfounded and anything like it should not exist, and yet it did.

So to this day, the descendants of the townsfolk of that planet search for the Old Man, while the Old Marching Ones continue their march into the horizon, determined to fight back at the Darkness that consumed so many lives once it returns.

When humanity spread, it claimed many worlds. It took many species under it's protection, and created many wonders on many worlds. But there was another race, the Sjin, who also grew and expanded from their world. When the two races met, conflict naturally occurred. The details are lost, but we know that the Sjin were more powerful, more cunning, and more prepared for war. Their ships were designed to be lethal to the point that some say looking at them caused death. They fought in the skies, on the ground, and even inside the surface of planets. The Sjin beat them back, almost flawlessly. They were killed, yes, but they had numbers, and a birth rate that could support large scale war. They also never held back. All of their soldiers were sent into this war, as per their customs.

As the war raged, humanity grew scared. They looked for way to prevent their end, their defeat or enslavement. They looked to the Mechanic. The first one who inspired the many who followed. They asked the Mechanic to build armor and weapons that would save them. The Mechanic agreed to help humanity, but at a price. "For every armor set that I make, I shall require one person to be my servant forever. They shall do all that I say, or anyone that I tell them may command them. They will no longer belong to your government, but my will." Humanity, afraid of the alternative, agreed. "We'll give you what you want, Mechanic, but please don't let us die."

So the Mechanic was given 30,000 Men, male and female, young and old. They were given to his massive workshop, and weren't seen or heard from again. It's doors closed, and everyone who wasn't tasked to deliver raw materials never went inside. No noise was given, no announcements or alerts. The Workshop went silent. Meanwhile, the Sjin continued their attack, never giving any mercy, nor expecting any in return. The months grew longer, the years lasting forever and becoming drenched in fear as more and more worlds were becoming lost to the Sjin hordes. Humanity kept going to the Mechanic, trying to find out when he would be ready.

One day, when the Sjin were close to humanity's homeworld of Earth, the Mechanic came with 7 ships and 30,000 soldiers. He came to humanity and put his ship's in orbit around Earth, and put his soldiers in the bases around Earth's cities. They were clad in massive armor, twice as tall as the tallest soldier humanity had. Their helmets abstract frowns and snarls. Their eyepieces designed to look angry and wrathful. Their shoulders were bigger than their helmets, covered in sigils and writing indecipherable to anyone reading them. Their weapons were big and bulky with rounded edges and knives were affixed to various hard points on their weapons. Some carried larger, longer barrel weapons, and has stabilizer fins on the back of their legs, with a larger tripod mounted to their back. They moved as one, clanking, thudding, humming slightly from their power packs. The ships were large, as big as some cities, and carried immense firepower, enough so that the shots could be seen from the surface. Each of the 7 ships were positioned around the planet, equidistant and symmetrical. Their guns glowed bright, ready to fire and destroy, to defend the homeworld of humanity.

As the Sjin reached the Martian colonies, and began to annihilate and destroy, the Mechanic turned to humanity and told them, "The Elite Guard are my best creations. They will not rest, eat or drink, only fight at what I tell them they should fight. The ships will maintain each other and the armor of the Guard. They will need to be refilled with raw materials, much like my own workshop. I appoint the leader of the Humanity the power to control my Guardsmen, on one condition: they cannot leave this planet." With that, he left, disappearing into his workshop, and even taking his workshop with him to wherever he went. Humanity was ready, it was scared and frightened, but also willing to fight, as now they believed they could win.

The Sjin fleet appeared in the Earth sky, and formed a giant sphere around the planet, a giant metallic sphere with trophies and banners and symbols painted on it. They were held back by the seven ships, the ones given to humanity by the Mechanic. They were something new, unexpected, strange. The Sjin were merciless, but not reckless. They tested these new ships. They sent groups, small at first then larger at them, to see what they could do. A faint light it was said, would reach out to the ships, and then brighten and rip them into pieces. Next they sent orbital dropships and pods, and those would just die, a singly pinprick of light flashing on the ship for each of the pods and drop ships that were sent to their deaths.

Eventually, they sent their entire fleet, the gigantic sphere around the planet, into the fray. From the ground, the survivors tell the tale of new stars being born every second, bright lights high up in the sky as ships burned and exploded into marvelous colors and shapes around the Mechanics ships. However, the immense number and distance between the Mechanic's ships allowed a multitude of drop ships and pods to land on the surface, disgorging their passengers to wreak havoc on the planet. They swarmed all over the countrysides and cities, killing everyone they found and burning all the buildings they could. From space, it looked like the planet had an infection; large swathes turning black and burnt.

The Sjin burnt cities, killed all who they met, and destroyed anything that wasn't theirs. After the conflict, it would take many years, and many generations and life cycles to fully reclaim the planet from the destruction that ravaged it's surface. There were few to no survivors, and those that did have long since passed since then. But back to the story. The Sjin swarmed, and as they approached the key cities defended by the Mechanic's Elite Guard, the Guard stepped forward, past the barricades by about 10 feet, aimed their rifles, and fired. The only descriptions available to us are that they killed entire lines of Sjin, leaving nothing but body parts and blood in their wake, with a sound like a demon's cry. High pitched and shrill, just barely on the edge of human hearing. The ground seemed to shake under the Guard's feet from their firing. The ones with larger weapons embedded themselves in the ground, and seemed to split the skies with their weapons, taking down aircraft and dropships with each shot, while others would fire into the armored vehicles coming in with more troops and other cannons. For the first time in recorded contact with the Sjin, they ran. They didn't leave the planet, they were much to proud for that, but they retreated from the city walls, and all without firing a shot. For the first time, there was an engagement with the Sjin that had resulted in more casualties for the Sjin than humanity.

The Guard returned to their posts as the Sjin left. They didn't chase, they didn't taunt or cheer, they simply returned to their post and stood still. Silent, watching, waiting.

*Click, current date plays out, rustling of clothing*
This squad, these eight soldiers, have gained so much myth and wonder, people question if they exist, or are just some conspiracy that was created by the Governing Councils. I can tell you what I know, but be aware this isn't much.

Anyway, let's set some things straight. They aren't gods. They aren't Gods, either. Nor are they robots, Augmented, Mutated, or anything else like that. They are true blue human beings. Just eight of them. I've seen them bleed, I've seen them falter and miss and fail. It just doesn't happen often. Now, let's go to the beginning.

The First Intel Recovery and Excavating Squad was made about 50 years ago, for the purpose of retrieving any artifacts and relics found on other worlds. How they managed to convince the higher ups how eight people could do this is beyond me, much less eight people equipped with nothing but weapons, but what do I know then. The official story is just that though, made to dig up and take home valuable artifacts. Anyway, anyway, the eight of them, just eight people mind you, managed to do that job. Time and time again, they would be sent to a planet, often hostile, and get whatever it is they were sent to get, and not leave a single person behind. Sure, they'd get shot, or wounded, sometimes even blown to pieces, but they would always gather everything, and leave nothing behind.

*unintelligible voice*

Here's what I mean. Say one of them takes a rocket to their chest, bloody giblets go everywhere. Two of the remaining seven would, say, go pick up those pieces and armor, while the other five would find a way to keep the enemies of the moment from killing them all while they recovered everything. Sometimes it would be down to one man, all the other being killed or wounded enough that they couldn't move on their own and they STILL MANAGED TO PULL IT OFF. Fucked if I know how. Perhaps their most notable escape was on...Juni Tan 7, that jungle planet. They managed to steal two cargo ships with artifacts on them, as well as kill an entire outpost.

*creaking of table due to extra weight. Faint tapping sound*

Now, maybe you're wondering "Well how can the Squad still exist if they've died sometimes?" Well, here's how, someone takes their place. I know, shocking. You see, they wear masks; irremovable, opaque, respirator things that prevent anyone from seeing who they are, even from each other! No soldier in the Squad has ever knowingly met their Squadmates. Some have met in bars, or on the streets of random planets, but they never go "Hey, wasup, remember that time on Eilsondun where we killed those three bases? Those were some fun times. Wanna go get a beer to celebrate our Squad victories?" It just doesn't happen, these men and women are putting their trust into absolute stranger, for who knows what reason. Oh, and the best part? They always, always meet right before their mission, usually less than 24 hours in advance. Crazy, right?

*rusting of clothing again*

Oh, don't raise your hand, I know what you are about to ask. "How do you know all this?" "Why are you telling me all this?" Well, frankly, you're about to die, and I'm about to die. See, I gotta shoot you because you are holding onto a very valuable piece of of an Aluran star pendant, and won't let go, stubborn Manipular as you are, and, because I'm going to shoot you, your friends are going to burst in here, and shoot me. Now, I may get...some of them, maybe two of three if they breach in rushing, but I am going to die. But not before I grab that little artifact from your slowly dying fingers, toss it at the door so it flies through right as the door opens and past your buddies and into the hands of my friends who are waiting for me to shoot you and get this over with.

*muffled voice*

Upuppup, don't speak. Don't move, just keep this nice and easy.

*Sounds of laser fire, door opening, razor blade fire, and more rustling of clothing. Several heavy thuds are also heard*