There are approximately 10 million men and women fighting between the loyal tyrants of the Terran Republic, corporate insurgents of the New Conglomerate, and brainwashed zealots of the Vanu Sovereignty on the planet of Auraxis. These are their stori...
I let my dangling legs swing on the rumble seat of our transport Valkyrie as the hot Indar breeze keeps me nice and toasty. I can see everything from up here.
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Being part of the NC is awesome enough, but if you really want to make your mark in the fight to preserve freedom, NC's Stealth Recon Company is where it's at. We're a company of all Infiltrators. Only the best snipers, marksmen, and stalkers get to join, and the training program is a bitch, but once you're in, you're looking at double pay for military service and more frequent bonus checks. Our employers vary.
SR works closely with the mercenary groups in supplying information about the enemy to the leaders, and fucking shit up before the mercs get there. We leave the enemy wondering where we are, and when we're gonna strike cause when your guys start dropping like flies, you already know who's creeping, and we make sure of it.
"Khris, when the fuck are we gonna get there. I'm actually literally extremely really really really fucking hungry," Kendra wails on the radio channel.
"Ken, you're not supposed to use radio, dipshit. Enemy can pick up your frequency considering that we just passed Crimson Bluff Tower," Lance warns.
"Relax, I've got the jammer set up. No one's listening to shit," our pilot, Khris assures.
"That's your own fault Kend. Pablo told you we were going out to get pizza," Regal says with no pity.
"Pablo literally walked in my room, said pizza, then fucking left. How the fuck is that telling?" Kendra refutes. We laugh.
