An alternate flag of the People's Republic of China based off of several original proposals from the Maoist period. This can also be used as a flag for Leftist/Maoist Chinese opposed to the current Conservative-leaning government.
Red represents Socialism/Maoism, the Stars represent the non-wealth based Social classes united under one government, the hammer and sickle represent union between proletariat and peasant, the 3 stripes represent the Yellow, Yangtze, and Mekong(?) rivers.
Despite fulfilling the same role on the battlefield, the M19 Warrior "Bigfoot" was not a direct descendant of the M6 Curtis. Though some common technologies and components were adopted, the battleframe's design was largely reengineered from what researchers could salvage from the remains of downed heavy assaulters.
Major advances were made, such as the reverse development of the third-gen quickboosters found on heavy assaulters, giving these battleframes a more level playing field against the Revelation. Nevertheless, heavy assaulters still retained a significant advantage, having far faster and precise reflexes, whereas the Bigfoot was only as strong as its pilot. Furthermore, quickboosting at high speeds could induce blackouts in human pilots, whereas the Revelation were not physiologically susceptible to such issues.
However, the Bigfoot was a far more expensive and labor intensive unit to produce, compared to the Curtis, so production of the Curtis was not completely halted. Existing Curtis frames were retrofitted with quickboosters and improved engines/propuslion systems.
A collection of, fairly rough, thumbnail sketches of combat gear for both Polemon and Indus ground soldiers. Clearly most of these are a classic optics wed with gas mask vibe. The fella in the bottom middle is a hazmat suit type. That accounts for it looking less agile and having no real head movement, it's similar to bomb disposal gear. All this stuff is just quick and dirty doodles so it goes here in scraps.
Setting quietly Raija closed her eyes and took in all of the scents and sounds of the forest around her. Picking out a single scent was difficult in this unfamiliar region of the forest were the unique local fauna masked the scents of countless potential predators. But even so she was sure that she had picked up the scent of one of her clansmen. Another would be suitor hunting for the prize.
He was the third this week to have tracked her to this remote region; a clumsy pup that had failed to properly conceal his presence. A simple breeze had betrayed all that she needed to know of her pursuer. He was a male lycanthrope in full wolf form, about sixteen years of age, of a family line she was very familiar with. Her heart grew heavy knowing that she would have to kill the only son of such close relatives.
This was the forty third clansmen she would forced into combat with this year alone; their attacks were growing rapidly in both frequency and aggressiveness. The clan’s impatience had reached its limit in waiting for her to choose the next alpha male, but she couldn’t, under any circumstances, choose a man from within the clan. She could see clearly that they had all been led astray by the by the dogma of the Vampire Lords.
Every day more and more of her people were giving up their inhibitions to become feral beast, their minds ruled by instinct and desire alone. The clan would all be degraded to a pack of wild dogs in less than a year if any of her pursuers laid claim the title of Alpha Male. There was no longer any reasoning with them, none of them would take no for an answer. Death was the last option she could turn toward to prevent her clan from being wiped out. Out of love she was forced to kill every one of her suitors.
Her plan was simple, appear unaware of her surroundings to draw the young pup out of hiding then lure him into range and strike him down. She could tell that his mind had already gone feral which would make controlling him via his lust a simple enough task. There was no other method she could take to save him, or at least that’s what she kept telling herself.
Raija’s eyes bulged open suddenly in utter terror as a crushing force clamped itself onto her throat, lifting her two feet off the ground.
“Impossible! No werewolf alive can get that close without me sensing it!”
Her mind reeled, as a pain unlike any she had ever experienced shot through her entire body like lightning. Desperately kicking at the air, she pulled futilely against the scaly arm of her captor with all her might.
“Scales?” She though briefly.
A loud grinding could be heard from her teeth as her jaw began to crack in several locations; her neck giving off loud series of popping sounds.
A huge clawed hand gripped her entire head as though it were a toy ball. Slowly he started to push her head forward to the breaking point. She was completely at the mercy of this monstrosity, a simple twist and her head would pop clean off. It was only through swiftly tightening the muscles in her neck, allowing them to shift all too slowly to wolf form, that her spine not been immediately severed.
A guttural growl escaped from the beasts, the intense scent of blood suddenly overpowering her senses. Sickeningly she realized that this abomination had killed the suitor that had been tracking her. But how had it hidden its presence so perfectly? Its heavy wicked jaws began to motion as though speaking, but it was the distorted voice of a woman that emanated from the monsters maw!
“You should have taken our offer princessss. We told you it would come to this. If you will not lend us your power then we will dissect you and consume all of the secrets your blood has to offer. You will be devoured, mind body and soul.”
The voice was too distorted coming from the Torlions muzzle for her to pinpoint the real speaker’s identity. She knew absolutely, though, that the vampires were behind this attack. The creature, or rather it’s controller through he, seemed to be taking a great deal of pleasure in the pain she was experiencing. Her whole body began to tighten as her muscles started to bulge under her skin. She needed out of this vice grip and her available tool were minimal at best compared to its machine like strength.
Thousands of miles away a female Necromancer adorned in an ornate white gown, purer than snow, gave off a cold smile. Her Torlion slave and her Werewolf captive were both locked within her absolute level of control. Sitting across from her a man cloaked in shadows cackles in delight at the situation. His heavily shredded visage loosed a torn grin that reveals a pair long wicked fangs.