This is the first in the PostWar future series. The premise is the same as that of  DireWolf505's PostWar Earth setting. Nuclear war has wiped out all but a few, that must now survive.
However.
In this setting, is is the year 23,0560. The Human race has spread all over the galaxy, conquering, capturing and controlling all in its path.
Twenty years ago, a massive cataclysm struck the galaxy, and the human race finds itself scattered, spintered and doing it's utmost to survive.

There will be blood, and war, as brothers turn on eachother in a fight for survival, that spans the very expanse of space itself.

It is now 23,0590. And we follow a group that has chosen to band together.
For them, there is strength in numbers.

I present: Torn Universe - Outrider!

(All characters, scenes and all other writing within are the property of myself or  DireWolf505 for any more in depth questions, please PM me directly.)



Beginnt!:

Barry thumbed the control on the palm of his left hand, spinning him around, the metallic lifeline that linked him to his allies snaking off into the shadow of the hulk. It was a small ship, but it dwarfed him easily, and on the dark side, away from the nearest sun, it was frigid, even for space.
The suit was an aged reconaissance model, and its outer fibrous layer was frayed and worn, letting the inner layers conduct instead of insulate, and Barry could feel the head leaking from him. He only had a limited time, and so, he pressed his thumb down again, and slipped gently in the direction of the tether, sweeping slowly and silenty through twisted metal spires of tangled comm antennae and jagged blades of ruptured hull.

Soon, four pinpricks of light swung into view, outlining the silhouette of a squat, oblong vessel, four massive claws protruding from the front like giant mandibles, each one tipped with massive grasping claws, all black, making it look like a idant tarantula, witing for it's prey.

"Light up, Rigger." Barry muttered, and there was a response, a single abrupt. "Roger."
The Accent was female and russian, from an outer edge colony, and at her reply, the black spider was bathed in light, as it's own loodlights and windows lit up with warm yellow searchlights.

The rigger was almost fifteen meters wide, by thrity long, and fifteen high, with salvage claws at each corner of its quared 'face'. Nestled in between the massive industrial mounts was a wide, panoramic cockpit, with heavy steel girders, and inside sat two figures. One was immense. This female badger stood feet above the smaller female in the cockpit, and watched a console, a heavy paw set on a joystick, while the other, was nearly indistinguishable at this distance, black furred, black featured, but most certainly a vixen.

Both of the Vixen's paws were resting on the dual flight-yokes of the Rigger, and she gave a curt nod to the wolf that was gliding towards them.
"It's her, no mistakin' that. They dragger her with a capture claw fer certain. Looks stripped, n' from the looks, only the life support was offline."
"Core?" Came the same thick russian accent.

"No readin's, They took it with. Means it ain't movin out-system, but perhaps we can drag 'er out further, hide the hull behind a moon or somesuch."
Sasha the vixen nodded, and flipped a pair of switches on a panel above her, the Rigger coming away from the side of the wreckage with a violent jolt, knocking a Stack of operations datadisks to the floor.

Artificial gravity was a standard by now, and nessesary on most ships, Salvage craft, in particular, as shrapnel flying around the coridoors was usually a bad thing.
"Thistle, Get on the guns, I'll run the claws from here." Said barry, sitting in a skintight bodysuit, much like a diver's wetsuit, that formed the majority of the insulation around him when he was spacewalking.

Thistle nodded, and padded over to a ladder that hung down from a hole in the rear of the cramped bridged, reached up, and lifted herself in with hardly any effort, easting herself in a large, worn seat, in front of a pair of handles. From here, Thistle could cover 360 degrees above the ship, the turret armed with four Zeller M-Type 40mm Autocannons.

The Ammunition for projectile weapons cost a lot, however the actual weapons were cheap, so when you ran the chance of losing your ship often, it worked out cheaper in the long run to get yourself a lead-thrower, and bring enough shells to last you the operation.

"A'ight Sasha, take us in towards the rear docking ring. That'll be the entry point." Another nod, and Sasha began to work the controls, smooth but small fluid movements that span the ship around to face upwards, and with a rattle, the main engines of the rigger coughed to life, Twin Plasma thrusters.
Barry reached up and grabbed a radio handset, depressed the toggle on it, and spoke clearly, and directly.

"This is command to the lower deck!.. Git yer asses up! Nadia, get Sarah's squad suited! Phil, need yer' skills in the sensor suite!" There was a mass of yells, yesses and grumbles coming back the other way, and Barry gave a crooked grin. "Well, 'least they're still raring to go, Even if the Outrider aint' going nowhere."
Shortly after, a hatch towards the side of the bridge slipped open, and a white furred mouse stepped out, with a pair of goggles atop his forehead, in a dark grey jumpsuit. "Reporting!"

Barry jabbed a thumb to the empty console directly behind him, and the mouse stepped up onto what looked like an impromptu shelf, welded onto the base of the sensoir station, in order for Phil to be able to get to the controls.
"What do you think we've got, Barry?" He said, looking back. "Dunno, Could have the Locals, could even have Galspan. We're too close to a major shippin' lane." Barry pressed the radio button again.

"Alright. It's simple folks. We're latchin' on above the rear deck airlock! Sarah and tha' Zar's 'll be enterin' there, clearing the ship, deck by deck. If it's clear, we'll be draggin' the Hulk behind the fourth moon of the system. its the closest an' the biggest. We'll hide there 'till we get emergency power back. Any questions. Now's the time, people!"
A few mumbles came up, giving a general air of agreement, but a female's voice came up through the rabble. "Are you SURE about the ZAR suits this time, You remember last time, right?
The neck seals broke, nearly lost all pressure!?" Barry sighed and leant his elbow on the console in front of him. "Sarah, Ethan replaced all the seals, and did his Engineerin' Voodoo on the damn' things. Ask him. I trust him plenty, though." There was a pause.
"Alright. We're about ready." Barry nodded to himself. "Alright. Get into position. Gonna leave comms open' so we can all hear what's goin' on."

There was a series of clicks and locking sounds, as the three people getting into the Zero-G Armour (ZAR) suits placed their helmets on, took their weaponry from the rack, and checked themselves over, before a filtered voice came up from sarah's suit. Sounding monotone and distorted by the heavy voice filter and vocoder built into the helmet.

"Ready!"

Barry looked into a security panel nearby, eyeing the camera that was attached to the cieling in the forward bay, three people in blue-grey bulky armour suits, feet set apart, hands grasping rough looking shotguns, designed to be used with the heavy suits.

One by one, each of them reached down, and yanked on the heavy toggles, built into each boot plate, a blinker flashing to indicate that their boots have been magnetized.
"Depolarizing forward hold gravity generator!" Came a male accent from elsewhere in the ship. Barry watched as the weapons instantly became lighter in the groups arms, and smirked as each fo them shook off the effects of rapid gravity change.
The semi-autralian accent that spoke a moment before chimed in again.

"Releasing airlock in Five."
"Four.. Three... Two.."

Sarah and the Zars pulled their weapons in close and braced themselves.

"One!"