Factory Archive Raid [Mangolorians Vs. Factory]

[Ordo]

For more than five years had they ruled the stinky mist of chaos. The masses begged and bartered for their favor and approval. They reigned supreme on all matters regarding imaginary ships and technology. The galaxy was filled to bursting with they same five ships with hoards of different pictures.

No longer.

The factory archives were filled with the lame, broken and decidedly pointless imaginary creations. Their staff busy sifting through 500 things that were probably worse than canon and fending off useless suggestions that would benefit all of four people and their 12 million alts. Ordo, dead as any imaginary person could be looked on from his spot on a list of utterly pointless imaginary people and knew it was time. The archives must fall and the gundams must be freed from their unending purgatory that was Jay's dreams.

He mounted his frigate sized cortosis beskar phrik wardroid and made his way via teleportation to the archives. Today, was a day for waaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrr.


(If you read this far you lost brain cells.)

 

[Gilamar Skirata]

Oya!

He followed his brother in arms into the hell of the Factory Archives. Intentionally silly joke foods and plush toys filled the cockpit of his beskar plated, gundam-shaped droid fighter. A burger of named for some strange obscure pun slapped him in the face. He wiped the meaty sauce from his T-shaped visor and pushed through. The Factory Archives' guardians of Canon tech too OP for Chaos' standards stood between him and his glorious Beskar Plated Dreadnought.

He licked his lips.

"Oya!"

[member="Ordo"]

 

[Captain Larraq]

Captain Larraq walked silently behind [member="Ordo"], grim faced and determined as he followed in the mighty man's wake. The dead and departed Mandalorian writer clenched his fists, feeling the weight of the weapons he held. His left hand gripped firmly upon a long favored weapon of his. The baton of canon precedences. Black and bloody, wrapped in a razor wire of hyperlinks and elaborate paragraphs, it was a well-used weapon. The right hand of Larraq held the sword of harsh words, forged from the metal of vulgarity and honed by an utter and complete distain for authority. It too was a familiar tool of the estranged Mandalorian writer. His armor was forged of equal parts logic and bullshit, reinforced by math and powered by entirely unjustified hype. His helmet was lined with egonium and his crotchguard was forged of pure audacity. Around his neck was a neckless adorned with the ears and scalps of former Factory Judges.

A deep breath filled Larraq's lungs as he gazed upon the Factory. This was a familiar battlefield for him. Here he had won many, many victories. Some dirty and underhanded, others savage and bloody. But victories non the less. "Come forth [member="Jamie Pyne"]." Larraq called out, pointing his sword towards the Factory. "Send me your bravest Judge, that I might send him to join the rest."

 

[Spencer Varanin]

Mist surrounded the brave travelers to the deep dark Factory. A blonde figure appeared and smiled at the men. The woman was the ghost of Factory past and she was here to bless the men with good tidings for their adventure into the depth of the Factory Archives. Finally forming she stood before the men and smiled. "Larraq, Gil, and Ordo - You've traveled far and wide to raid the factory of its treasures." Her hands opened and three keys appeared.

"I am Spencer the ghost of Factory past and here are the keys to the three deepest levels of the factory where all the fun and banned items lay dying." The ghost of the factory past soon disappeared, but her voice lingered to give Larraq guidance to the adventure laid before him.

You will face trials and judges who require you use the vanilla template - they will stifle your creativity, but you must push forward and find the heart of the factory once more.

The voice left, but soon came back in the form of a breeze that smelled like twinkies. "By the way, watch out for the wyrms."

[member="Captain Larraq"] [member="Gilamar Skirata"] [member="Ordo"]

 

[Ordo]

He breathed deeply of the twinkie breeze and knew their cause was just. How many grapes had he peeled for little more than that self same scent. It was then their first trial came before them. Mandalorian Mating sticks carried by voltron armor and wrapped in secret over-compensation assaulted him with their deep seeded ridiculousness.

He dodged using his roll of duct tape laced with handwaivium. His Nopeturite armor once again saving him from the massive brain hemorrhaging that would normally occur after prolonged factory archive exposure.

"YOU CAN NOT HIDE THE BELLS AND WHISTLES FOREVER FACTORY!" He shouted through a wall of Jedi robes that literally all did the same exact thing but looked different because ripped art was the best art.

"10 KILOMETER GUNDAM DREADNOUGHTS WILL BE FREED FROM YOUR TYRANNY!" He exclaimed pointlessly at the "It's just a game, stop whinging" signs that he was pretty sure he put up 100 thousand brain cells ago.

It didn't matter with key in hand he plunged past the lightsaber guns and dovan basal armors to do battle with logic and physics once more.

[member="Gilamar Skirata"] [member="Captain Larraq"] [member="Spencer"]

 

[Jorus Merrill]

Far away, Jorus Merrill scrubbed rust off a long gun with a patch of steel wool. He adjusted the sights for 5.0 compatibility and brought the weapon to bear on the distant fight.

Some men lived and died by unobtanium blades and infinite repeating blasters. But an old CommonSense-42 could still punch a canonball through precedent-blind double-standard armour. Jorus sighted down the barrel and-

"Attention, Captain Merrill," said an automated voice, a familiar one. "Your weapon is point-two-five rating points past certification. Please bend the barrel ninety degrees to correct balance."

Careful to make no sudden moves, Jorus rolled over, hands raised. The Judge looked down at him dispassionately, tapping an armored foot. The weapon he'd leveled at Jorus looked intensely familiar.

"That's one of mine, isn't it."

The Judge looked down at its custom weapon. "Incorrect. This is an original creation."

Jorus got to his feet, cautiously. "Buddy, that's literally my gun with your name scrawled on it in permanent marker. Why isn't the barrel bent?"

The Judge twitched. "Precedent is not to be cited."

"But it's exactly the same thing, except it's yours instead of mine. It's literally right there."

"Precedent is not to be cited."

"Okay, know what, I'm claiming my rights. Dial up your second-chance protocol."

"Precedent is not to be cited," said a second and identical voice behind Jorus. He looked back and forth between the armored Judges and their unusually familiar weapons, then took a deep breath.

"I disagree," said Jorus.

Earsplitting sirens and flashing lights bombarded him. He caught a glimpse of weapons coming up as he threw himself to the ground. A thunderclap split the heavens. When his ears stopped ringing, he found himself surrounded by the wreckage of two slagged and moaning Judges. Picking up his CommonSense-42, he chambered a canonball... but no, he had no taste for a mercy kill today. What would it solve, in the end?

He slung the rusty old gun over his shoulder and walked off into a convenient sunset. Screw it.

 

[Sere Reene]

Coming to a bridge on the battlefield.
Two Renowned Demons blocked the way!

Offsite Image Hosting Making a run for it.
And the cunning last minute edit typo, which you never saw until it was too late.

Sere had learned to trap the offsite image demon by putting it in a box and displaying it again repeatedly to others, locked away on her product page. So it couldn’t escape into the netherworld and timeout for eternity. But there were times she forgot, and times when it claimed the lovely images of destruction that she knew so well. Defying those that would call her product page too colorful, they knew not what terrors she had faced!

But worse lurking behind her.

The cunning last minute edit typo was like a dagger to her heart, so often had her fingers slipped upon its mighty keys. Fire in her eyes for just that one more edit, to then glance again to see it forever scarred into the factory submission for an eternity, unable to be edited by man nor beast nor random act of key tapping melodrama ever again.

Alas such were the trials of the factory. For all the coffee, wiki browsing, and huh moments she had shed fighting for her lot in life, to be brought low by these two unconquerable foes. She turned from the battle and fled. Shouting NO MORE! For the factory had won.

 

[Gilamar Skirata]

He looked from the cockpit of his Gundam "shaped" droid and flew through years of precedent and development threads. These were happy memories, but he knew their true purpose. They were there to distract him from his true goal. A purple tag bliped up on his HUD, a Judge, new from the looks of it, both to the site and the process. Had they been cast off by the Role Play Judges to forever sift through the madness of the Archives? He didn't know, and he didn't quite care.

As he came closer he could finally see the being. Clad in purple purple Vong Crab armor its eyes fell on Gil's droid ship mount gundam thing.

"Corssovers will not be tolerated," it said in a familiar, unyielding voice. "This is not a cooperative effort. My words here may be different, but they are law."

"Kark that, how about I launch you back to the Second Chances where you belong." The gundam, errr, droid, grabbed the judge. The isotope-5 reactor in the keeping the judge alive in this hell began to overheat, signaling it was time to get out of there before they had a conniption. Gil boosted away past his beloved development threads and on deeper into the Archives.

@Ordo @Kaine Australis [member="Sere Reene"] [member="Jorus Merrill"] @Spencer @Captain Larraq

 

[Ellie Mors]

"It is a good day to take a LOA." She said.

An orange hat sat on her desk, which had boxes marked for moving. The factory never had a chance without her there, modification requests and submissions stacked up almost twenty-high and five times as deep.

But alas, she was moving and, despite the ethernet cable running from the base of her neck to the modem at the wall, Lily was not going to spend any of that time on the factory.

Except maybe to cameo once or twice here and there.

 

[Rusty]

This was it. The big one. The one we've all been waiting for.

Rusty pulled an innocuous piece of hardware from its holster. It looked much like a normal gun. There were no fancy dials or switches, it didn't have knife blades sticking out of the front, or the sides for that matter, and it wasn't made out of exotic, impossible-to-find-in-canon-but-screw-canon-we-got-rid-of-dev-threads-materials.

For all the world, it looked like a simple handgun, the sort of thing he'd submitted a hundred times.

But it wasn't.

The Shard pointed it at the server where the Factory backups were kept.

"This. Ends. Now."

He pulled the trigger, and the world vanished in a flash of burning circuits and the steam as the tears of a thousand denied subs flashed into vapor.