eastasiasoft.com - Indie Games for PlayStation3, iPhone, iPad and PC - eastasiasoft

Looking Deeper
An analysis and speculation on the political fate of Sajo Industries

During the Virus Wars, the highest degree of threats came in the form of infected Sajo Industries assets, most of which (excluding the Sajo V Renegade fighter) were designed for non-combat purposes. Examples include the Crusher MK-2, Cyclone H.7, Crust Breaker, and the fearsome Sajo Rotator 7 (the loss of this last product cost Sajo Industries a pretty penny for the next few quarterlies after the Prototype mission's success).
The remaining percent of the threat came from infected EDF and PU units.
Could this have troubling legal implications for Sajo Industries?
After the Virus Wars, the failsafes and Sicherheitsmassnahmen (safety measures) systems Sajo Industries was so famous for came under scrutiny. There wasn't (and still may not be) enough information regarding the details of the Virus itself to judge whether any failsafe could prevent misuse of an infected subject.
Sajo's Sicherheitsmassnahmen programs were held in high regard for their ability to automatically force a complete shutdown of a system they were installed to, preventing all number of disasters if even the slightest signs of such occurrences arose. In the thrall of the Virus, however, these systems appeared to be inoperable or missing entirely and irreversible damage was done to innumerable PU properties.
"It would make no sense to pick us out of the crowd on the matter of failed security measures," said a Sajo Industries spokesperson, anonymous due to the ongoing nature of the investigations. "Nobody could have seen this coming, and it's obvious that nothing was safe from the effects of [the Virus]."
A case in point was made with the infected Immolator BX-V that ravaged over half of Gota IV during the Virus Wars before being destroyed in front of numerous witnesses by Prototype X. The assault tank unit was property of EDF and under the command of General H.J. Schonberger, who commented that its infection and the damage it caused were circumstances beyond his control.
Further studies and recently declassified documents surrounding the Prototype mission show that similar attacks by non-Sajo Industries units involved military craft like the X4 Thunderstorm bomber/dropship and, more shockingly, the B 53 Worldeater battleship.
Although Sajo Industries is taking a defensive step against the seemingly accusatory analysis of its renowned precautionary systems, PU released a statement asserting that their investigations were "purely in the interest of furthering humanity's understanding of the terrible Virus that has caused us so much grief and hardships ahead."
Financial reports from Sajo Industries are less frequent due to the struggling business in the face of the ongoing reconstruction and recovery effort, but financial advisers expect a gradual recovery if all goes well.
"It's not about pointing the finger," said an anonymous Sajo Industries mining foreman who made frequent supply runs to Thesis 5 beneath Gota IV. "The fact is that we're dealing with something we don't understand, and worrying about who had the best safety precautions or whether they were adequate is a waste of time. We all have lives to rebuild, don't start trouble already."

Looking Deeper
War Above the Clouds

I wonder how long I won't be able to see clearly. It's been raining for a while, and I have no idea for how long. It's all just blended together, but really only since I arrived here.
Conceyta, huh? I wonder where they got that name. The readouts say it's cold as hell. That might not be too much of a contradiction; I wouldn't be surprised if this is hell.
I wouldn't be sure if was on another planet if it wasn't for the telemetry. I don't even know why I still have it there on the HUD. I wonder if I'm willing to admit it's because I'm afraid that without it I'll forget where I am and I'll get sloppy.
I'm dead tired and it feels like I'm dreaming, too. It's so cold out there, but the rain isn't hail. I can feel the coldness in my bones and that sounds silly to me...but then if it's so silly, why can't I shake the feeling?
Before, it was just like flying through a storm; but with all the dark colors and the constant patter of rain on the canopy, it's like I'm being blown through a bloody current of bruised flesh. I'm distantly aware of some part of me insisting that I snap out of it, that I'm about to be famous, dammit.
The thunder is like dropped silverware in another room, or the rumbling of a garage door at night. The clouds in front of me look like they're turning to steam, as if the constant rain is misting in mid-air and surrounding me. My heart flutters when I wonder if I'm hallucinating and if it's a problem with my breathing, or if I've been infected.
That I've come all this way just to drown in the sky.
I have no idea where I'm even going. Conceyta is the source, they said. That's my only lead. And wouldn't it be awful to be so close to something and fail?
I'm feeling lightheaded and dizzy, like I haven't slept in a long time. For a second I forget where I am and what I'm after, and my heart skips a beat, aching with anxiety.
A warning flashes in front of me and I stab at it with my conscience, letting out a breath I hadn't known I was holding.
Whatever it is, it's not a fighter, simply because of its size.
"Windgeist gesichtet, zum Luftkampf ansetzen!" Ground Control shouts into the cockpit from many worlds away.
A wind ghost.
My mind reels as the thing charges through the fog, which disperses to give way to this world's noisy rage.
I'm staring at a giant airborne blender, and harder than that to accept is the fact that it's staring back.
The eye at its center should be a screaming man's. It should belong to a face twisted with fury. But it doesn't: it belongs to Windgeist. And soon, it will belong to my nightmares.
It isn't real. The eye is really the thing's covered power plant, which is surrounded by the coupling junction for the three armatures that support those curved blades.
It's a flying glaive, a Sajo Rotator 7 according to the Information Database.
It's the Lord of the Wind.

Looking Deeper
Chances

They say that most things in life, good or bad, happen by chance. It's that way with people's emotions, too - if they've felt a certain way that works in your own emotional favor, it might be that they completely change their mind later on for seemingly no reason.
It goes that way with everything, then, with a few things like choices and skill sprinkled in here and there...but sometimes, not even the best of the best under either of those circumstances can come up with the most desirable outcome.
My Thor feels like it's about to shake itself apart, and usually while I'm so keen on blaming myself for pilot error, I'm wanting to dump the responsibility of everything that's gone wrong up to this point on everything else. I feel like I've been cheated somehow, but I wouldn't be able to explain why or how. Deep down, I know it isn't really anybody's fault; it was just the way things went.
The D'aarg attack runner I've been playing cat-and-mouse with for the past fifteen minutes shows no signs of the same kind of burden I'm feeling. But hell, that's to be expected - this goes way back. Too bad I was never one to whine, or an observer might have an idea as to what in the world is distracting me.
It's a single target, so I'm laying into the Scatter weapon hard. Most pilots in the Soldner-X Defense Force could have shot the lone D'aarg down long ago, but not me.
Chance just happened to sway things in this direction for me.
Maybe it's because I'm used to my pal flying wingmate in his Mexxus II, blazing the hell out of whatever I happen to miss with his Magma cannon, or making quick passes on the enemy and leaving them ripe for my longer-range shots.
He's not here, though, like he usually is. A couple other regulars are, some of the best in the S-X DF, but they aren't even sortied. I'm alone out here, the last part of a deadbeat mop-up operation launched by the Earth Defense Force as "a display of their devotion to ensuring the safety of all Planetary Union assets within the Zeus Sector."
This place had already been razed, and Ground Control hadn't heard so much as a peep from Donnerzorn in over a day. There was hardly anything left - not like there had been much here but the damn asteroids to begin with.
Except for that lone D'aarg and I.
It knows how to stay just out of my reach, and graze right past my shots like it's just messing with me. It'll vanish for a bit - and how the hell you can lose a target that fast is beyond me - and then flicker past like a moth making a beeline for your head when you happen to be standing under a light at night.
I manage to get a few shots off everytime, only to watch them zip right past it. It's a dark shape, so vague, with its boxy airframe and backswept wings, so unelegant in comparison to the beauty of the void in which it flies.
I'm pushing my Thor harder now, straining the engines to keep up with those ridiculous flybys, but it isn't working very well - the only thing I've managed to do is make the computer system spam me with warnings about capacitor output levels, as if I'm not aware of these things.
I can hear my own breaths, and there's a deep ache in my left leg, a dull roar against a backdrop of utter focus -
There.
Six of my Scatter shots plunge through its underbelly like arrows through cardboard and split inside the hull, causing it to expand outwards quicker than the human eye can follow and pop like a balloon. There's an unflattering belch of fire, immediately extinguished in space, and I'm flying through its incinerated remains, my eyes still fixed ahead as if there are more.
I scream when there's an entire fleet of them waiting for me - they had been there the whole time.
Mop-up operation?
It's what I've been wishing this was the whole time.
I'm the only survivor of this particular operation. I'm on my own out here. The chances have turned against me.
And the Operation Liberation detachment of the Soldner-X Defense Force won't be here for weeks.
As I desperately slow the Thor down to prevent smashing into the frontline, I look past them all and into the distant plated visor of Donnerzorn.
I let go of my mind, think of those friends I've lost in such excess, and fly forward.
I hope the chances are in my favor.
Won't you wish me luck?...

Looking Deeper
Her Own Enemy

Most people haven't heard the "if at first you don't succeed" bit from a cynic's point of view, but if they were to ask me, I'd say it all depended on them.
Then they'd look at me funny and wonder what I meant, and I would either chuckle or move on to something else, depending on my mood.
As the voice behind the Ground Control of Soldner-X Defense Force's Operation Liberation front, I have to keep my tone and inflections as neutral as possible.
Most of the time.
Protocol has started to mean less and less to me the longer my career with the EDF has gone on. I look at these men and women like me, who work towards an uncertain goal with the look of people who are living in the now, being led into the dark cavern of the future by the unifying threat of just about anything that looks like it might turn on us.
I look at these men and women like me, and I wonder why it's so hard to believe that most of my family was no different than them, even in death.
How young was I during the Virus Wars? Nine, when it ended? A little girl, more or less. Although I'd aged beyond my years after what happened.
A majority of my folks were duty-driven, strong advocators of the service and had histories - from both sides, mom and dad - with the Planetary Union.
So when the Virus Wars came out of nowhere and most of my family was part of the huge effort that developed Project X, there was no question that I'd get pressured to sign up when I came of age, and at the time I thought that would be pretty neat.
Most stuff like this is all fine and dandy to a child, all going by as part of some grownup thing until about ninety percent of the people they know and love are slaughtered and they're left in the care of complete strangers.
I remember watching the news on the day Gota IV was attacked and Prototype X was launched, the live footage of that fighter blowing up an infected Immolator BX-V and taking off right towards the largest cluster of the enemy.
I remember watching the news when the pilot returned, descending from the sky and touching down amidst the cheers of so many hopeful.
I remember hating them all.
I still hate Prototype X, the Virus Wars, and everything involved with them. For the life of me - and I'm glad - I can't remember the pilot's name. He's the most famous human being who ever lived, not to mention one of the richest, but I still hate him, simply for being part of all that.
It's not like it was surprising that mom and dad were killed. The last few present to oversee Prototype X's launch were also the most vulnerable, because they were the last to be evacuated to the safer parts of the city.
A flight of infected X 4 Thunderstorm bombers made sure they never got there, along with the rest of the poor bastards who were needed to stay behind until the last second.
When the Planetary Union shelter that took me in sent me to a grief counsellor, I laughed and put up a strong front to keep out of medical harm's way and signed up with the EDF.
Now I've been crammed into its Soldner-X Defense Force partition, and I talk the pilots flying the most critical missions through whatever they can hope to expect.
It's ironic how I'm part of something that's basically a repeat of something I abhor.
"Be careful, pilot, they're lining up and attacking from both sides!" I make my voice as clear as I can as I study the readouts with enough concentration to crack the display if I so much as twitched.
The lone Mexxus II pilot tackling the Ethia Ruins reclamation mission - one of the more critical efforts of Operation Liberation - simply sends an acknowledgement signal as he descends into a swarm of automated D'aarg machines.
I sit back and stare at all the information before me - a geographical scan of the ruins in progress, a strategic layout of incoming enemy formations - and think back on how my life had gone by in such a flash since the Virus Wars.
I think about how the lives of these pilots could very well depend on me, and I slowly smile.
I guess it really doesn't all depend on them, after all...

Looking Deeper
Eisenschreck's Break

"You're all fools!"
My declaration is one borne of true conviction - these beings before me are all fools.
"Your temper earns you the same description, Eisenschreck." Donnerzorn never hesitates to impede my progress in any way he can, and his response was no exception.
"My temper is a saving grace in light of your mindless strategy!" Who wouldn't be angry at this point? They hardly give me any support to speak of, not to mention a supreme LACK of firepower, of which Grubenriese - in his dimwitted silence - has in abundance. Why him? Iya is far less important than Ellje!
"Consult with our masters on the matter." Speak of the devil, the Pit Giant's otherwordly voice rumbles over another retort from Donnerzorn.
"You know they won't listen, you dumb golem!" I insist with mounting frustration.
"I beg to differ," Grollstein always has to impart his wisdom - but his next remark gets me thinking. "After all, they can't afford to lose one of their guardians..."
I'm taken aback for a moment, I suppose as part of a natural reaction to let the comment sink in, and when it does, I give a slight conspiratorial laugh.
'Enough of this banter,' the voiceless text belonging to the guardian of Turady scrolls through my directly uplinked conscience. 'There is much to do before the Planetary Union's attack dogs arrive.'
I do admit that Turady is the most important system of them all, and the bulk of D'aarg firepower belongs there - but I still plan to voice my demands.
"Eisenschreck, please excuse yourself from this conference," a new voice intrudes on our humble gathering. The voice of a D'aarg is naturally good at that sort of thing.
"Show them no mercy!" I shout to the others before disconnecting myself from the uplink to the other guardians.
"We have reevaluated the importance of Ellje," the interrupting voice continues. "Your concerns have been heard and do coincide with our analysis."
I stop myself from a smarmy laugh that I feel I've earned after being dismissed so often and called derogatory names like 'Metal Cactus'.
"You'll be provided with an additional contingent of drone dropships, as well as a special new vertically constructed laser platform."
Pink, is all I can think when a schematic of this thing is sent to me. It's pink and white, and has a big gatling laser grafted to it.
"Use these assets wisely, guardian," the voice continues, replete with unbiased neutrality. I like that.
The Soldner-X Defense Force certainly wastes no time in getting here, but I'm ready for them. I've placed every unit under my control in the best spots, made sure to spread out and equalize the defense of my Ellje stronghold.
The moment my perimeter forces detect the lone pilot's intrusion, I transmit my long-awaited declaration:
"This is the end of the road for you!"

Looking Deeper
Repression

I've been through the Surprise Attack simulation hundreds of times, memorized over twice as many enemy bullet patterns, know exactly which weapon to use on a given target, can tackle a D'aarg attack frigate at arm's length - and according to my superior pilots, I'm still nowhere near prepared for Operation Liberation.
When I joined the Soldner-X Defense Force a year ago during its formation as a branch of the Earth Defense Force, I imagined any skills that I would gain in that time would be put to use on real enemies, that I'd see some action in the real deal.
Finding out that I was more or less completely wrong is still hard to accept, especially when I see pilots return to base every day from some huge battle with the D'aarg, wearing proud grins on their way to their buddies with new stories to share.
I know it's not as hard as my superiors make it sound. They probably just want me to be overprepared, and part of me doesn't blame them - but most of me does.
I've basically mastered every control of the Thor Heavy Starfighter, and in my spare time I'm studying up on the Mexxus II Bullfighter. If they want me to be overprepared, I'll add a dash of my own overkill and surprise them...and why not? I know each pilot is supposed to be specialized with a specific fighter, but they already limit me enough by not letting me fly any real missions yet.
I hear about new attacks by the D'aarg everyday, that elusive race united by the dirty cause of attacking the weakened Planetary Union for their own gain.
Or some crap like that.
I know, I know; not even knowing the full story isn't helping me get anywhere, but even knowing the gist of something like that is enough to want to fight.
It's hard to sit back and ponder on the nature of the D'aarg and their motivations when you're part of an effort to shoot at anything and everything involving them, so that tacks understanding the enemy off the list.
I'm young and stupid, and I learn something new every day about myself, so that crosses out understanding myself.
Yeah, my situation is basically the perfect antithesis of The Art of War.
So that's how it goes every day: I stare at the pilots coming and going in the hangar, I repeat the simulations over and over, I wonder about the details of the war, rinse, repeat.
Ellen, the Director of Ground Control for Operation Liberation, is the only person keeping me from losing motivation. It may be a pretty atypical reason, though, considering as how she scares me into doing my best. Being one of the deciding factors of Soldner-X Defense Force pilot survivability has its perks, particularly with how officers turn the other way when she literally shoves me around during my more lax moments.
Maybe I would find my situation strange, going a whole year while just running through the same simulations and getting the same lectures from Ellen and my superiors, if the D'aarg hadn't kidnapped me along with a few other pilots half a year ago and turned us into their lab rats.
I wake up every day in a sort of pod like a tanning bed, grafted to the wall of a cramped sterile chamber which has no visible light source. I'm usually aching or bleeding or all manner of unpleasant things at once, and my spirits are crushed when I gaze out the single small viewport of the chamber and into the Van Krist Labs. Each time they drug me, I forget everything and live out my life before I was captured in my mind.
The first time I woke up like that, I felt an uncharacteristic claustrophobia clench its tail of cold anxious fear around my heart and I shoved the storage unit open, staggering out and into that blinding white.
Spots of red - blood dripping from my nose, I realized - appeared in sharp contrast to this unending brightness, and I started gasping for breath and running to the little viewport.
It was nauseatingly high up, and only a frail-looking walkway would have stopped me from falling if I had stepped out of the chamber.
It looked like the inside of a huge incomplete machine, or a gigantic city made of various pieces of machines - I saw what looked like a gear roughly the size of a city block slowly turning behind spiring pillars wrapped in wiring and tubes, a big propeller unit inside of what seemed to be a jet engine housing -
A single glowing eye and the dark mass surrounding it suddenly appeared in the viewport, making me jump and scream in surprise. The burst of adrenaline made my head and the rest of my body throb in pain, and I stepped back as my heart raced in my chest. I wondered why I was having trouble breathing, why I felt so sickly and frail.
I had seen a D'aarg.
I licked my lips and when I tasted so much blood, I wiped my mouth and the back of my hand came away smeared in warm red. Even as the door to the chamber slid open and the helmeted D'aarg stepped in, my knees shook beneath me and I slid to them, now debilitated with the task of breathing. The edges of my vision pulsed, I felt like I had been running for hours, and my chest had tightened up so badly that I thought it would burst.
Even as the panic attack took me, I was aware of being dragged to my feet by a gloved hand and my white robed body searched for weapons, then just letting me drop back down again as I continued to struggle with myself. The D'aarg watched me for a moment, as if curious about some animal he had never seen in person before, while I stared ahead out the open door into the rest of the complex.
The urge to run that overcame me was violently strangulated when an unearthly monstrosity flew by outside - an eyeless, featureless set of horrible jaws sprouting with so many joints. A sickly orange-pink claw beast. Was that an eye I saw somewhere on that tumoroid head? Was it even eyeless?
Terrified that something like that existed outside of my nightmares, I scrambled backwards even as the D'aarg reached forward and grabbed me, plunging a needle device into my neck with his other hand.
Momentarily distracted from my disgust at the hideous thing I had seen, I winced and yelled out with the pain, but it only took a few seconds before I started to feel like I was being dragged through the floor. The sensation in my arms and legs lifted and dissipated, and so did my mind. I gazed up at the D'aarg as he stood above me, and I slipped into cold darkness.
When the illusion of my normal life resumed, I wouldn't remember the screams that flickered through my subconscious until I woke up next.
Sometimes I wonder if they're mine.
Is this why they wanted me to be overprepared?...