Double A
PostPosted: Mon Mar 15, 2004 11:16 am
In the rubble strewn Northern Dead Districts of Centinel City, a lone anti-tank crew try to survive against a merciless alien race. These aliens use mechs of fearful power, and the crew must defeat these fears or die on the cracked streets of the city. This is their story. Do you have the courage to face their enemy with them?
[size=84]Mission 1: Proudest Day
[size=84]The overcastting clouds hid what little stars the ruins would wish to see. The rubble of those buildings dotted the sides of the cracked and scorched pavement in which the assembly of machinery now stood. The buildings with their shell holes and burn marks stood silent as specters or even as spectators to the carnage that lay ahead. Holes the size of granite slabs gaped from the buildings, showing the individual floors with the wooden dividers that once could hold a human form. Rain began to fall around the rubble and clinked on the steel armor of the vast array of modern weapons of war. The rain formed in streams that swept downward from the open roofs into the streets and around the treads of each individual vehicle. Turrets pointed toward the direction of the rising sun and the various soldiers scrambled in the rain with their dull black ponchos slippery with water flapping about them with their movements. With a grunt, the soldiers in front of the still armor column settled the steel tubes that would produce a missile into the air more comfortably. Anxiety swept threw the column as the men stared between the long silver lances of rain into the solemn gray night. Through either their own naked eyes or through green hued screens, the men waited patiently for their enemy with sweat running from their brows and collecting in the collars of their uniforms. One particular soldier could feel the anxiety as if it was the rain that fell on him, his emblazoned helmet dripping rain around the binoculars he held to his eyes. The officer murmured as he swore and cursed the absent enemy. A messenger plotted through the rain puddles toward him and handed him a message while holding an umbrella over the officer. The higher-ranking soldier turned on a small flashlight, put in into his mouth, and using the small, orange circle mumbled the words that the message contained. A sharp curse sprung around the flashlight, and the officer spat it out to crack and flick off forever on the hard street. Little more curses and harsh commands later sent the messenger back to his post and the officer took out his short-band walkie-talkie.
“Patient now… the enemy is heading this way.â€
[size=84]Mission 1: Proudest Day
[size=84]The overcastting clouds hid what little stars the ruins would wish to see. The rubble of those buildings dotted the sides of the cracked and scorched pavement in which the assembly of machinery now stood. The buildings with their shell holes and burn marks stood silent as specters or even as spectators to the carnage that lay ahead. Holes the size of granite slabs gaped from the buildings, showing the individual floors with the wooden dividers that once could hold a human form. Rain began to fall around the rubble and clinked on the steel armor of the vast array of modern weapons of war. The rain formed in streams that swept downward from the open roofs into the streets and around the treads of each individual vehicle. Turrets pointed toward the direction of the rising sun and the various soldiers scrambled in the rain with their dull black ponchos slippery with water flapping about them with their movements. With a grunt, the soldiers in front of the still armor column settled the steel tubes that would produce a missile into the air more comfortably. Anxiety swept threw the column as the men stared between the long silver lances of rain into the solemn gray night. Through either their own naked eyes or through green hued screens, the men waited patiently for their enemy with sweat running from their brows and collecting in the collars of their uniforms. One particular soldier could feel the anxiety as if it was the rain that fell on him, his emblazoned helmet dripping rain around the binoculars he held to his eyes. The officer murmured as he swore and cursed the absent enemy. A messenger plotted through the rain puddles toward him and handed him a message while holding an umbrella over the officer. The higher-ranking soldier turned on a small flashlight, put in into his mouth, and using the small, orange circle mumbled the words that the message contained. A sharp curse sprung around the flashlight, and the officer spat it out to crack and flick off forever on the hard street. Little more curses and harsh commands later sent the messenger back to his post and the officer took out his short-band walkie-talkie.
“Patient now… the enemy is heading this way.â€
