Jun Tosima

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Jiang Winters

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Jun Tosima

The Prologue

The room was dark, warm, and unbearably humid. The air carried with it the stench of death and decay. The walls were concrete and spaced exactly thirty feet apart, with the ceiling no more than eight feet from the cracked, collapsing floor. An inch-deep layer of putrid water coated the floor and trickled from the gaps and holes in the walls. In the center of the room a pillar stood, made of steel and furnished with wrist shackles. The entire assembly was lightly rusted, but still functional.

An armored figure was trapped by the shackles. He was perhaps six feet and four inches tall in his armor and completely limp in his bonds. Covered from head to toe in gray-black composite plating, the individual’s identity was completely masked. Four lenses dotted the helmet, two on either side of the ‘face’. The lenses - sensors in actuality - flickered off and on several times before glowing to life, turning a soft blue. He lifted his head to look around just as the door to the room is forced open.

A pair of mercenaries stepped in, each one wearing olive drab fatigues. One was tall and slim, the other was short and thickly built, with arms thick as tree branches. A thin, wiry man followed them, wearing a tan uniform with captain’s bars decorating the collar. “Who is he?” the Captain demanded

“His name is Jun Tosima,” one of the mercs replied.

“My name is Jun? I don’t remember that name… Maybe it’s… No, I don’t know. Is that my name? Really? Wow, I’m kinda embarrassed if that’s the best my folks could come up with in the nine months they had before I went ’pop’ and started screaming and crapping.”

“At least we think it is. It’s what’s stenciled on the collar of his armor.” To prove that he was telling the truth, the soldier-of-fortune stepped up to the armored figure and roughly seized the breath tube on the underside of his faceplate and jerked his head back. “There, see?” the merc asked, pointing out the name ‘Tosima, Jun’ stenciled in small white characters on the armor’s collar.

The officer folded his arms across his chest. “Who does he work for?”

The heavyset mercenary replied, “Not a clue. We tried to get it out of him, but he hasn‘t said a word. He’s just playin’ games with us - we’d have beaten the information out of him, but we can’t get his damned armor off, and I ain’t gonna break my knuckles by punching a composite armor suit.”

“That’s good to hear. I don‘t really want to play punching bag for you, Mr. SweatyMcAssbutt, and I definitely don‘t want to play punching bag for you when you have yet to figure out that all those nods and grunts I‘ve been making have been me trying to tell your primitive brain that my helmet‘s external speakers are slagged,” Jun thought dryly.

“It’s not like a hardened suit,” the Captain growled. “You can get it off. You just aren’t trying!” In a vain attempt to prove his point, the officer stepped forward and seized the lower abdominal panel of Jun’s armor and tried to yank it off. His fingers just slid off the plate and he stumbled backwards, forcing his men to catch him.

The thinner merc laughed. “Don’t even bother, bossman. That armor is fused to him. I’m beginning to think he’s a droid - the armor is literally bolted and spot-welded to some kind of undersuit he’s wearing. It’s wacky.”

“Wait, it’s WHAT!? My armor is stuck on? Oh, this is so not good. This shit itches and you guys are telling me I’m stuck in it? What if I have to go to the can? God, and I thought waking up and seeing your ugly faces was punishment enough. Y’know what, I wish I had just stayed asleep, because today is starting to suck to an unbelievable degree. Oh, I know! Maybe it‘s just a bad dream! I bet if I close my eyes and wish really really REALLY hard, you‘ll all just go away.”

The Captain squirmed out of his men’s arms and sauntered forward to give the armored man a firm rap on the front of his helmet, then he wrapped his fingers under the ‘chin’ section of the helm and forced his prisoner to look down at him. “Who are you? What company are you with?” He slammed the armored man’s helmet back into the pole. “Answer me, dammit! I know you can speak!”

“Ow! Jeeze, you people are a bunch of cockmongling jarheads, you know that? And for your information, no I can’t speak, which is why I’m just staring blankly at you like you’re a total idiot, which you are!”

“Bah!” The officer released the armored man’s helmet and stepped away. “He’s not worth the trouble. Just shoot him and get it over with.”

The thin merc grinned wickedly, revealing a collection of rotten teeth jutting from his gums. “Okie dokie, bossman.” He sauntered up to the armored figure and drew his blaster pistol.

“Oh shit oh shit oh SHIIIIT! What do I do? What in the HELL do I do!? Think faster, Jun! Oh damn that’s a big gun, wonder if he’s compensating for something… Uh, hey… My legs aren’t shackled. Well, it’s a long shot, buuut…”

“Any last words, tin man?” the merc cackled, his eyes narrowed to slits as his face contorted into a triumphant sneer. Much to his surprise, Jun hauled himself up using his shackled wrists, tucked his legs up, and then kicked out with both boots to try to catch his captor in the chest. Unfortunately for him, the support bolts holding his shackles’ chains to the ceiling gave way and he went plummeting to the floor with a mighty thud, a spray of water radiating out from his point of landing.

The merc roared with laughter. “Looks like you just have no luck!”

“Nnngh… N-no time to catch my breath, gotta go now!” Jun shoved himself up into a half-seated position, then froze as the blaster was shoved menacingly into his face.

“Na-ah-ah! Not so fast.” The mercenary dragged the blaster down Jun’s faceplate and jammed it under his chin, unintentionally depressing the ’mute’ button built into the helmet’s external speakers. A chime sounded in his head and a HUD flickered into view in his field of vision, displaying a message in blue text that read ‘speakers reactivated’. Jun ignored the message for now - he needed to deal with that gun. Luckily, the Merc was an idiot; he glanced over his shoulder at his captain. “Hehe, this guy has some fight to ‘im!”

Tosima took full advantage of the opportunity given to him. He roughly seized the pistol and shoved it away, then yanked down on the man’s arm. The merc stumbled and fell forward as Jun rose to his feet and launched into a fierce uppercut. His armor-plated knuckles connected with the wiry human’s chin with such force that the man flew up into the air several feet. In a single smooth motion, Tosima’s fist uncurled and he latched onto the merc’s throat, forced him back, and slammed him down into the ground with a sickening smash.

The Captain and the thick merc were drawing their weapons. Jun flipped the blaster around in his hand and leveled it at the Captain. He shot twice, two bolts of crimson energy lancing out and colliding with the officer’s chest. A pair of miniature explosions tore through the old man’s uniform and left smoldering craters in his chest. He toppled over backwards, dead. Jun turned the gun on the other merc and fired. The bolt caught him in the side of the face, scorching off most of his cheek. The mercenary screamed and Jun shot again. This time the bolt caught him in the mouth. The resulting splatter was the stuff of legends; the merc, needless to slay, slumped to the ground.

“Well, I just redecorated that wall with a thick coating of brain matter gray. Guess I’m never gonna be able to eat strawberries and cream again without tagging the walls with chuke,” Jun grumbled. “At least my helmet speakers are working again. Small blessings, huh guys?” he asked as he looked down at the man he had smashed to the ground. “…Oh, right. You’re dead. Um… Sorry, my bad, homie. Didn't mean to talk to a dead guy.”

Tosima tip-toed around the bodies and exited the room while humming happily to himself. “Now that I’m up, might as well get off this rock. Places to go, people to see, armor to shed and all that jazz. Deep doo dee, off to the technician’s lair! Or to the lair of whoever jammed me in this armor… Hey wait a second, who put me in this crazy suit? And where am I? Aw, crap, don‘t tell me I have amnesia…”

Jun’s shoulders slumped and he slapped his palm to his faceplate. “Yeeeeaah, great! Amnesia for the gorramed lose! Man, and I thought this day couldn’t get any worse…”


--==--==--==--

The Journal

Entry 1:
I got off that rock. Turned out I was on Nar Shadda in some run-down industrial park. At least I think Nar Shadda was the planet’s name. I still can’t figure out who I am or even what I am. Hell, I can’t even get my armor’s crotch plate open to check my own plumbing to see if I’m a guy or a girl! I mean, I sound like a guy, but what if I’m really a girl with some huge hormone issues? Anyways…

So now I’m off to try to figure out who I am. Best I can tell, somebody stuck me in this suit. I talked a local techy into scanning my armor and I got a readout on it, but I don’t understand half the stuff on there and it looks like there’s something about the armor’s insides that makes the sensors unhappy. I dunno. It’s kinda confusing and kinda disturbing. Why would somebody just stick me in a multi-million credit suit of armor, weld it shut, then punt me out the door and say ’have fun, don’t get run over’? It doesn’t make any sense. Maybe something went wrong, or maybe I went nuts and murdered everyone and escaped! No, no way, that’s not my style… I think it’s not my style, anyways.

God, amnesia sucks.

I’ll come back and write more once I have a handle on what’s going on. Right now I think this pen knows more than I do, which makes Jun the Tin Man sad.

--==--==--==--

Height: 6’4”, with armor
Weight: 535 Lbs, with armor [Armor is powered, weighs roughly 300 pounds]
Age: Unknown
Gender: Presumed Male
Species: Unknown
Hair Color: Unknown
Eye Color: Unknown
Force Sensitive: Unknown, remarkable reflexes and 'sixth sense' suggest that he is indeed Force Sensitive.

Unknown Combat Hardsuit

A powered combat hardsuit of unknown origin, this suit of armor is unique in that it seems permanently affixed to its wearer. Scans indicate that it is composed of nearly a hundred layers of densely stacked composite paneling placed over thick layers of synthetic muscle, which mimic human musculature in terms of their arrangement and function. The muscle is in turn affixed to a skeleton-like chassis made of segmented durasteel plates. Beneath the chassis is some kind of armored bodysuit, though due to the suit’s sensor-fouling properties, it is impossible to determine exactly who or what is encased within the suit.

The armor itself is a remarkable feat of engineering. Impressively strong, nimble, and capable of incredibly fluid and acrobatic movement, it seems very likely that it is controlled through a direct neural interface and thus moves in perfect unison with the wearer’s natural body. Its composite armor is laced with hundreds if not thousands of microscopic veins through which a thin slurry of nanites and raw materials suspended in oil is circulated. When the armor suffers damage, the wearer simply has to take cover and allow the armor time to replenish itself. Minor scratches can be repaired in minutes - gaping holes from a blaster may take days to fully repair. This ‘healing system’ must occasionally be stocked with raw materials - a compartment worn on the back, over the left shoulder blade, houses compressed cubes of high-strength polymers and metals that the nanite slurry disassembles and reassembles where needed. As these are common materials, it is relatively inexpensive to keep the system fully stocked.

As for its construction, the thick layering of armor over synthetic muscle and durasteel is remarkably resilient. The outermost layer is, as is typical of most modern infantry armors, made of ablative-coated ceramic mesh. Underneath that is a fairly normal honeycombed composite material created with a mix of dense metals and lightweight polymers, coated on either side with microscopic ceramic plates, forming a shatter-proof scale-like surface on either side of each armored layer - more importantly, the relatively simple construction makes it feasible to repair the armor through the use of the onboard nanite repair systems. The synthetic muscle and carbon nanotube-reinforced durasteel chassis provide two final layers of armor, ensuring excellent protection. The suit is proof against shell splinters, pistol shots, and battle rifle grade rounds, both from slug throwers and blasters. It is also remarkably resistant to specialty armor-defeating ammunition. It is, however, lacking in resistance to high-powered specialty sniping rifles. The bracers and gloves are lined with cortosis weave, which lays over a thin layer of fire and heatproof material - this is likely to give the wearer some defense against lightsabers and other high-energy weapons, along with the ability to manipulate exceptionally hot objects.

The armor is equipped with a built in computing system and heads-up display. There is no provision for wireless communication; this is a feature to prevent hacking attempts, though it does force the wearer to carry a stand-alone radio that he can hook into his helmet’s speaker system. The optical sensors mounted on either side of the faceplate are capable of up to 6x zoom and are capable of infrared imaging, making the suit capable of operating at night. For enhanced tactical usefulness, the armor’s chest plates are capable of magnetizing themselves, allowing the wearer to stick extra magazines and grenades to his chest and remove them at will. He can also clip magazine pouches to his chest plates if he prefers a more robust storage solution. The shoulders and thighs also boast these magnetic panels and hard points, allowing the wearer to carry extra weapons without the need for slings or holsters.

Furthermore, it appears to function as a sort of mobile life support system. The armor is furnished with a complete waste management system for handling waste materials. An artificial stomach is fitted to the armor, into which small blocks of compressed nutrients are placed, digested, and then most likely pumped directly into the wearer’s natural stomach - this would seem to indicate that the wearer is in poor physical health, or that the need to eat was considered unnecessary by the suit’s designers. A drink tube is likely furnished inside the helmet for the sole purpose of keeping the user from feeling thirsty, as liquids could otherwise be inserted into the stomach through the same feeding tubes used by the artificial stomach. A derogative of the armor’s nanite-based repair system is believed to exist in the lowest layers of the armor and serves to repair any damage to the wearer. However, it is also believed that whatever nutrient or chemical materials these healing nanites used would be expensive and hard to come by, which would make the wearer inclined to flee a fight rather than get into one.

Lastly, the suit is powered by an array of 6 high-density power cells. These barlike cells are located under armor panels in the back and can be replaced or plugged directly into a power supply and recharged. They provide enough power for roughly 48 hours of continuous operation, while an emergency power cell provides enough juice for another 4 hours of minimal operation - just enough for the wearer to limp to a power supply.

-M25/CF Heavy Blaster Pistol
“The M25 ‘Compact Frame’ heavy blaster pistol is just like your favorite car. It’s big, it’s noisy, it’s inefficient, has terrible range, and it packs one hell of a punch. This thing packs all the firepower of a blaster carbine into a pistol-sized package, so you can whip it out of your handbag and send little packets of crimson love to everyone around you. Its power cell is mounted below the barrel in front of the trigger guard; just drop the little housing down and the spent cell pops out and you slide a new one in. Cells hold enough juice for ten shots, or you can get two shots off in ‘overcharge’ mode, which has five times the bunch and slightly better range. Inside of twenty five meters, this baby is perfect. Outside of that and you’re not hittin’ anything. Ever.”

-C12 Carbine Blaster
“This little baby is my best friend. It’s compact, it’s handy, it packs decent punch, has good range and decent accuracy; pretty much perfect for close-in work. It does damage that’s somewhere between a pistol and a rifle and is fully automatic. Rate of fire’s about… Oh, 800 rounds per minute. Each power pack -it’s the big block strapped to the back- holds enough power for about 80 shots, but they‘re so big and unwieldy that it‘s a pain to carry more than one or two extras. Stock folds to either side and will lay flat against the gun, making this a handy little carbine. Weight’s not bad either - I can hold it single-handed. That might be ’cuz I have power armor, though.”

-Combat Knife
Just a standard durasteel combat knife. Eight inches long, tanto blade, coated with some weird black stuff... I could shave with this thing, that's how sharp and awesome it is. Too bad I have a helmet in the way. Actually, knowing my luck, it's probably good for my health that I have a helmet between my face and this knife.
 
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Why does this have no comments? Anyways, I like it (as usual), Hakim. Although it didn't make me go, as you put it, "OMFG I want to marry you".
 
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