Photo Op

Chapter 1- Photo Op

 

Federation Sergeant Ratchet crept silently through the alien halls of the Tyrannoid base, two Galactic Rangers following closely at his side, the bulkhead doors parted for them at the end of the corridor. A large vacant room lay beyond; a shimmering green force field cut through the middle of the room effectively separating Ratchet and his squad from their final objective. Somewhere here laid the leader of the remnants of the Tyrannoid resistance.

Ratchet raised his closed hand, the rangers fanned out around to cover him. Ratchet approached the control panel, tapping the controls the holographic display activated, flashing ACESS DENIED. Ratchet knew he would have to utilize some drastic measures in order to gain access to the secure computer. Ratchet drew his wrench from his belt, jamming the weapon into the computer console the circuitry crackled and fried, the force field shimmered and died. With the field dissipated a flurry of plasma suddenly flew towards him, Ratchet leapt into cover behind some supply crates.

“Rangers, take up positions and return fire on the enemy” No response came. “Rangers” Ratchet glanced over his shoulder, only to discover the Galactic Rangers standing at the door.

“Sorry Sarge” the Ranger called over the hum of plasma rounds strafing past them. “We have got to report for a mandatory group yoga session, but we’re sure you can handle yourself. See ya!” with the final words of encouragement the proud soldiers of the Galactic Federation charged down the hallway, the door closing behind them to leave Ratchet to fight his enemy single handedly.

Ratchet peeked over his crate, blaster raised. Ratchet saw his target standing atop a monolith of piled crates, their cloak fluttering behind them. The figure hefted a Heavy Plasma Rifle, staring down at their target through the scope. The weapons targeting computer beeping gleefully, confirming it the weapon had a secure lock on its target. “Ah, so who has the Federation sent to silence me, a commando? I’m flattered”

“What can I say, everyone else was busy” Ratchet leapt from his position, firing his weapon blindly towards his elusive target. The bolts of super heated plasma struck the weapons targeting computer, the soft metal melting away in the bandits arms. In blind rage they discarded the crippled weapon to the floor, the metal clanking against the hard surface.

The cloaked figure unsheathed their vibrosword from the sheath at their belt, taking an offensive stance. Ratchet removed his own blade, mirroring the stance of his enemy. The figure launched from the pillar of crates, Ratchet raised his weapon, the sound of stressed metal screeching through the room as the weapons made contact. The figure dropped down behind Ratchet, Ratchet turned on his heel, their blades once again meeting in a clash of steel upon steel. His opponent broke the engagement and made a bold slash in an attempt to catch him flat footed. Ratchet sidestepped his attacker, he brought his short blade up to face his attacker, and the tip of his edge digging into the rubber of the back of his enemies covered neck. His opponent froze at the tip of his blade, a sense of pride cascaded through him; at the tip of his blade was the final leader of the Tyrannoid resistance. “Under the authority of the Galactic Federation I am to take you into the custody of-”

The cloaked figure turned sharply, the sharp edge of their blade slicing cleanly through Ratchets neck, his helmet clunking loudly to the floor his life-less body lay skewered at his enemy’s feet, his open neck weeping fresh blood onto the polished metal floor. The thief sheathed their blood stained weapon, smiling down at the lifeless body of their defeated opponent.

“You know Ratchet; you should never drop your guard. Even when the enemy waits at the end of your weapon” they mocked the broken body of the fallen soldier.

 

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“Simulation Terminated” a simulated voice resonated through the room, the dark brown walls of the Tyrannoid Base shattered to reveal the crackling black walls of the Starship Phoenix’s VR room.

Ratchet rose from his simulated death, rubbing his neck with the palm of his hand, ensuring it was still intact. “You know, you didn’t have to cut my head off” Ratchet said into the surrounding void.

Ratchets opponent lifted their Virtual Reality helmet from their head, their dark purple hair fluttering free from its confines. “Yeah, but I did it anyway” Sasha smirked at her humiliated sparring partner. Ratchet simply scrambled to his feet, striding straight past her towards the locker room.



Ratchet clicked open the locks of his suit, lifting the torso section of his armour up over his shoulders, wiping the stray bead of sweat clear from his brow. Ratchet placed the components of his armor down on the bench, typing the code into the locker before him. Ratchet glanced over his shoulder, noticing as Sasha placed her weapon down on the bench and began to undo her belt. The belt released, Sasha stretching her cramped muscles above her head. Sasha suddenly stopped in mid-motion, glancing back over her shoulder she caught the moment as Ratchet suddenly snapped back to face the blank door of his locker in an effort to conceal his true intentions. “Don’t get too excited, hotshot” she spoke with a sinister smile. “I’m wearing clothes underneath this formfitting armour”

Sasha released the clasp holding her outer armour plating in place, peeling the thick material away she revealed the form fitting, jet black jumpsuit beneath it. Sasha reached into her locker, retrieving her hairbrush she began to comb back her deep purple hair displaced by her helmet, combing each rebellious strand back into place she felt a serene wave of calm cascading over her as she enjoyed her personal pleasure of a daily grooming.

Sasha suddenly ended her ritual. Turning on her heel she stepped towards Ratchets side of the locker room, slipping her hand into Ratchets locker she braced it open as he tried to close it. Sasha reached a hand into the dark confines of Ratchets locker she pulled out a small piece of paper held between her fingertips. “And where may I ask did you get this?” Sasha growled past her lips, waving the photo before his nose.

“Well” Ratchets mind quickly scrambled for an explanation of precisely why his commanding officer, the Galactic Presidents daughter, was holding a photo depicting her clothed in little more than her deep blue lingere to maintain her modesty. “Last week I was making modifications to the Spiderbot for it to be equipped with a camera for reconnaissance operations. I decided to field test it by dispatching it through the Phoenix’s ventilation system and stumbled, in my defense completely by accident, across your room”

“So you decided to take pictures of me while I was undressing?” Sasha’s voice was laced thick with poisonous accusation and fire in her eyes.

Ratchet choked back a response. Sasha passed the photo over in her hand, pondering her next course of action. Sashas lips curled into a sinister smile, gently replacing the picture back into Ratchets locker. “Next time you want some pictures of me” her lips softened. “You only have to ask, I’m sure I can think a few poses”

 

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“Fire!” the muzzles of the assault cannons flared as the shells launched, trailing dark grey smoke in their wake towards the Tyrannoid tanks looming upon the ridge of the dry sand dune to the south. The missiles dropped to strike their targets, enveloping them in a plume of flame and scattering the remainder of the formation.

Ratchet motioned forward, the platoons of Galactic Rangers stormed down the bank towards the remainder of the Tyrannoid troops before them. Ratchet stood on the hull of the lead Galactic tank, a gentle breeze ruffling his golden fur as he crossed his arms across his armored chest. He watched with growing pride as his soldiers broke into individual teams and began to hunt down the scattered remnants of the Tyrannoid resistance. The last remainder of the alien force fell at robotic feet, their victory was won.

A loud screech rang through the battlefield; the dust sandstorm sweeping across the terrain began to disintegrate into packets of data. The Rangers glanced around in surprise, still not entirely accustomed to the effects of Virtual Reality training. Ratchet removed his helmet from his head. “Great job Rangers. Report to Al for maintenance, repair anything that needs fixing and report back for the next phase of Advanced Training”

The Rangers saluted their Sergeant before walking out of the VR chamber towards the Phoenix’s Repair bay, Ratchet left towards the locker room. Ratchet dropped his equipment pack down onto the bench before his locker; he opened his locker and suddenly froze in surprise. His picture of Sasha had disappeared, in its place was left a note. Ratchet read:

“Ratchet, I have your picture. If you do not wish to have the identity of the photographer to circulate to the crew, the Galactic President and the several million Galactic Rangers at his disposal, return here at twelve midnight. S.”



Ratchet crumpled the note in his gauntleted hand, he knew the culprit. If he confronted them directly it would only do more damage to the situation than good, for now he had to comply with their demands.