Cloneworld - 04 Read Online Free Page A
finally devoid of her skull and brain innards' sort of way? Or..."
Suddenly, the org dropped and loomed close, and blew foul breath over Franco, stinking of hot oil and melted grease. There came a sound like dry bearings grinding steel shavings. "No, you idiot deviant. I admit I hate gangers on general principle, as is only just and right for an org such as I, but Opera... well, she was something different. Something special. She brought hope to the masses!"
"Ah."
"She brought messages of freedom and ultimate peace between org and ganger kind!"
"Ah. Aaah. "
"She was the one hope of uniting the orgs and gangers, of halting the progress towards all-out war, of stopping the rape and mutilation and eventual total destruction of the entire bloody planet of Cloneworld!"
"Shit," said Franco in a little voice.
"And you killed her, you little bastad!"
Lasers tracked again. Franco whimpered. There came a whine, deep down in the old org's belly, like some great and massive power source charging, ready to ignite and fire...
Which it did.
"I was simply walking down the street."
Franco Haggis, Combat K, efficient in demolition, detonation and assassination.
Mission: to find the Soul of the Junks, or the Junkala Soul as it is also known. Sent to Cloneworld by VOLOS - an ancient machine-God and also an entire living planet - theirs was the mission to end the advance of the junks spreading like a toxic virus across Quad-Gal. With the Junkala Soul, Combat K could potentially re-infect the decadent warmongering species of junks, re-infect them with a digital retrovirus and pacify their hatred; turn them back into a good species. Turn them from their path of darkness and abomination. Return them to former nobility and integrity.
Mission: a fast SLAM-drop, with Franco disengaging from the Hornet at two klicks over the surface of Cloneworld and SLAM-diving with his auto-chute. This had been a problem, because a) Franco hated heights, and b) Franco fucking hated heights. He screamed like a prepubescent girl from disengagement to his final hard, rolling, coughing landing in the dust of a toxic zone power plant, in what were comically known as the Abandoned Sectors of Cloneworld. Not the sort of place you wanted to back-pack. Not unless you wanted to grow three heads.
Franco stood in the dust, breathing in the tox and staring around. It was night. A cold sour wind blew. It smelt bad. It smelt like... toxic overload.
"Hot damn and bloody bollocks," said Franco, and cut himself free of his SlickChute, rolling it into a ball and stowing it under some nearby dead, skeletal shrubbery, twigs like bony fingers. "So I'm here. And Pippa dropped me in a toxic shithole." He considered this. "So. Some things'll never change, then."
In the distance, the lights of a city glittered. This was Nechudnazzar, one of the twin capital cities on the ganger continent of Clone Terra; it was also the place where Franco was to begin his search for the mythical Junkala Soul artefact.
Instruction: Do not engage in combat. This is a covert mission. Do not make your presence known. Find information on the Junkala Soul - if it exists - and report back to Pippa on the Fast Attack Hornet Metallika . From thence, further plans will be formulated. Sorted.
Simple. Easy peasy. With a bit of lemon squeezy.
Even Franco couldn't mess it up. Right?
"I'm in. You dropped me in a snot-pit again, Pips."
"Nothing less than you deserve, deviant."
"Well, now I've got a fifty klick hike, thanks to your crap nav skills. Skills, did I say? Your lack thereof!"
"Maybe you'll lose your paunch, gutsy. I'm just looking on the bright side."
"I do not have a paunch. I'm just robust. Like a digger. Or a tank. Or something. Anyway, I absolutely refuse to walk."
"You'll have to. No bringing attention to yourself, right?" She sounded annoyed now; which was ironic, as far as Franco could see. "We can do without compromising the mission before it even begins! You know the rules,
Suddenly, the org dropped and loomed close, and blew foul breath over Franco, stinking of hot oil and melted grease. There came a sound like dry bearings grinding steel shavings. "No, you idiot deviant. I admit I hate gangers on general principle, as is only just and right for an org such as I, but Opera... well, she was something different. Something special. She brought hope to the masses!"
"Ah."
"She brought messages of freedom and ultimate peace between org and ganger kind!"
"Ah. Aaah. "
"She was the one hope of uniting the orgs and gangers, of halting the progress towards all-out war, of stopping the rape and mutilation and eventual total destruction of the entire bloody planet of Cloneworld!"
"Shit," said Franco in a little voice.
"And you killed her, you little bastad!"
Lasers tracked again. Franco whimpered. There came a whine, deep down in the old org's belly, like some great and massive power source charging, ready to ignite and fire...
Which it did.
"I was simply walking down the street."
Franco Haggis, Combat K, efficient in demolition, detonation and assassination.
Mission: to find the Soul of the Junks, or the Junkala Soul as it is also known. Sent to Cloneworld by VOLOS - an ancient machine-God and also an entire living planet - theirs was the mission to end the advance of the junks spreading like a toxic virus across Quad-Gal. With the Junkala Soul, Combat K could potentially re-infect the decadent warmongering species of junks, re-infect them with a digital retrovirus and pacify their hatred; turn them back into a good species. Turn them from their path of darkness and abomination. Return them to former nobility and integrity.
Mission: a fast SLAM-drop, with Franco disengaging from the Hornet at two klicks over the surface of Cloneworld and SLAM-diving with his auto-chute. This had been a problem, because a) Franco hated heights, and b) Franco fucking hated heights. He screamed like a prepubescent girl from disengagement to his final hard, rolling, coughing landing in the dust of a toxic zone power plant, in what were comically known as the Abandoned Sectors of Cloneworld. Not the sort of place you wanted to back-pack. Not unless you wanted to grow three heads.
Franco stood in the dust, breathing in the tox and staring around. It was night. A cold sour wind blew. It smelt bad. It smelt like... toxic overload.
"Hot damn and bloody bollocks," said Franco, and cut himself free of his SlickChute, rolling it into a ball and stowing it under some nearby dead, skeletal shrubbery, twigs like bony fingers. "So I'm here. And Pippa dropped me in a toxic shithole." He considered this. "So. Some things'll never change, then."
In the distance, the lights of a city glittered. This was Nechudnazzar, one of the twin capital cities on the ganger continent of Clone Terra; it was also the place where Franco was to begin his search for the mythical Junkala Soul artefact.
Instruction: Do not engage in combat. This is a covert mission. Do not make your presence known. Find information on the Junkala Soul - if it exists - and report back to Pippa on the Fast Attack Hornet Metallika . From thence, further plans will be formulated. Sorted.
Simple. Easy peasy. With a bit of lemon squeezy.
Even Franco couldn't mess it up. Right?
"I'm in. You dropped me in a snot-pit again, Pips."
"Nothing less than you deserve, deviant."
"Well, now I've got a fifty klick hike, thanks to your crap nav skills. Skills, did I say? Your lack thereof!"
"Maybe you'll lose your paunch, gutsy. I'm just looking on the bright side."
"I do not have a paunch. I'm just robust. Like a digger. Or a tank. Or something. Anyway, I absolutely refuse to walk."
"You'll have to. No bringing attention to yourself, right?" She sounded annoyed now; which was ironic, as far as Franco could see. "We can do without compromising the mission before it even begins! You know the rules,
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