Mankind has reached its limit, the world of Europa slowly dies under the crushing boot of the global manufacturing regime, and the planet's natural resources run thinner than, even as far to which humanity thought could even be possible. The year is...
"But even then, you're probably still lost in the universe, the vast expanse of something we can only begin to imagine, not comprehend; imagine... and we're at the pinnacle of it all. Science, science has truly made our meaningless and insignificant small little lives, into something that can truly be utilized, in a fashion which actually relates to our origins, our existence, how we came to be, what may be out there. I-I don't know anymore. Truly, I am in awe, we're closing in ever so close to the answer to all of life's questions, God Bless you all."
Director Johannes Draegor 14:02:33, 207X
09:32:11 AM Deutsche Empirische Weltraumarmee (Destroyer Slyhardt)
Tanya Degurechaff scoffed at the notion, her eyes trailing off towards the window of the GES Endeavour's passenger cabin window. The page made her laugh a little, the 'Wonders of Humanity' as the author coined his so-called masterpiece. She didn't particularly think it was a terrible piece of writing but to her, the belittlement of the value of the human race is left to the one who wielded the sword, not the pen. The thought perishes alongside Tanya's inaction, as she brings down her weight onto the anti-gravity chamber lever, miraculously enough, the sudden return of said gravity didn't send Tanya crashing onto the cold steel floor of her bunk. Instead, it brought her down to her bed, where her overcoat laid in a mishandled untidy fashion. It mattered not to her (as per usual), as she yawns briefly at the moment, fluttering about as her legs remember the reality of what a floor was meant to be used for.
A single button press later, the teleprompter declares an incoming conference request, much to Tanya's displeasure.
"Wer ist am Netz..." Uttered a begrudgingly unamused voice,
The teleprompter beeps in the affirmative, as the text outlines the credential of one Forschungsdirektor Jonathan Forbes. An icy-cold glare pierces the monitor's field of view, the call is patched through regardless.
"Regisseur ... wem verdanke ich das Vergnügen?" Tanya begins, as she collects her mildly scaldingly temperate cup of coffee,
The line fills itself with the voice of the Director, much to which is responded to in the form of a simple nod behind a glass of porcelain and black caffeinated substances.
"Mhm... Ich kann den Bericht bis Montag erhalten, warte, was meinst du? Innerhalb von zwölf Stunden?! Regisseur... Bitte lassen Sie mich nicht Himmler dafür beißen ... Jawohl, verstanden. Danke für Ihre Zeit, Regisseur."
The call is severed, as Tanya is left to her thoughts, she growls to herself in her usual passive-aggressive manner, downing the rest of her coffee within seconds, she sets about continuing her game of chess, Rook to C3. After having satisfied her desire to progress, she rushes towards her bed, quickly smoothes out the creases in her uniform then she sets her sights upon the weapon case, taking the key out from under her pillow before unlocking the cabinet, taking out the golden hilt ceremonial sabre, tried and true to her profession, she was Major Tanya von Degurechaff, one of the finest amongst the Deutsche Empirische Weltraumarmee, or the German Empirical Space Army as most on Europa would deem it.
The door to her cabin slides over to the right, as she steps out, fitting her cap as well as she could without a mirror, narrowly avoiding a junior officer holding a myriad of foreign papers, she looks about the hallway; just with as much marble flooring, gold-lined railings, illuminated pathways and holo-signs, and of course, what would the main hanger be without the actual landing docks itself? With its array of space-faring orbital fighters being scattered across the zones, being refitted, refuelled, rearmed, you name it.
Just to the left of the hallway a couple minutes in, Tanya produces her identification card, as she presses it against the wall panel, the database flickers to life, scanning the biometric data embedded within the piece of glass and metal, the announcer comes in through Tanya's nanomachine manipulation communications system;
"Benutzeridentifikation: Willkommen, Armeemajor Tanya von Degurechaff."
To her, the chime was always a charming thing to hear, especially when one could never distinguish whether or not it was daylight or quite the contrary, not in space anyway.
The major steps on into the armoury, as squadron members Jeremiah Gotthelf, Lucas Yaltafor, Hans Regan and Viktoria Suberuakov, who at the time were giving one last thorough inspection of their armaments, immediately take to giving their sharpest of salutes, with the proud declaration;
"Offizier anwesend!"
Tanya salutes back, her facial expression taking a turn for the familiar, as (on the contrary) while none of the squadron members was actively looking towards each other, the immense aura found deep within their eyes knew what exactly was going to happen, it was their purpose after all.
The major's grin widens with each passing second, her crazed affection for her lust for blood and violence kicking in, just like the primal instincts of her predecessors and all who fell before such.
"...Nun, schau mal, wer gerade auf der Shitlist gelandet ist, meine Herren!"
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