The year is 2702, and all is not well for humanity. The Humans, led by the United Nations, established an empire that spanned countless worlds, enveloping the entire Milky Way Galaxy. A new Golden Age of Technology came into being, as discovery after discovery brought civilization towards perfection.
It was not meant to be. Lusting money and power, a large faction arose to oppose the United Nations, and in under a hundred years destroyed all that Humanity had fought so hard to create. The UN fought a losing war, countless planets sacked and razed as refugees fled to the only Bastion of defence left: Earth. But even the Capital fortress-world fell, as the Rebels laid siege with their entire military force. They came groundside to finish off their foes, but desperate to survive the UN released a weapon forged in secret, and only used in certain doom.
A virus was unleashed upon humanity, changing the people, turning them into savages. They thirsted only for war, and destroyed everything. In twenty years Earth was brought to its knees, though no faction was left to claim it. From the ashes of Humanity rose a new breed: mutants born only shortly before the invasion, immune to the virus and gifted with extraordinary abilities, these factions now wage war to control what is left of Earth.
Crafty mercenaries and spies, capable of gaining any strength of any foe, the Shifters wil fight for anyone for the right price. However, their motives come first.
Masters of the elements and the occult, the Order of Godsblood uses their blessing to wage a holy war against their foes, and will burn them all in the cleansing fire.
The remaining remnant of the UN, the United Mechanized Corporation uses the unbending might of technology and innovation to defeat their foes. Their machines are guarded by legions of Bloodless, the last of Human-kind, given immunity to the Last Plague by their masters' benevolence.
Though they fight with all their strength, none shall survive. Unless the war can be ended, all shall die under the boot of war. In the fates of few lie the fates of all.
The calm of the ocean was disturbed as the massive aeroplane cut across the ocean, the water rippling from its powerful engines battering everything behind them. The UMC Lander carried precious cargo: New recruits for the war effort. The ship was destined for Camp Jordan. Based in New Zealand, it was the only piece of land left untouched on Earth.
Recruit Louis Tarkin Jacobs sat near the rear of the Lander, staring over the edge as the water rushed by. In a seamless transition, the blue changed to green as the Lander reached the island. Though bombing near the beginning of the war was said to have battered away the hills and mountains of the island, Louis thought it was for the best. It had made room for vast, rolling plains, stretching for miles untouched by the taint of man. Though he had been raised from childhood to believe that technology was the only true way to live, he had some trouble believing it. Seeing the change broke him of his trance, and he took several glances around him, to see his fellow recruits in more detail. The average collection of ragtag-looking men, barely men at that. Most looked like they'd be a farmer's son if there was any land left for farming. However, two figures nearest to the front of the Lander broke the mold.
A black-skinned man towered over the rest, his face expressionless. Across from him sat a wiry, lank Hispanic, barely out of school if he ever graduated. These two were weird, strange, inapproachable, outcasts, and Louis' best friends. Marcus "Paulie" Jackson, top of his class and over 7'5", he was a mountain of muscle. He was no fighter, however, and preferred to think out a situation. He had hoped to get a position as tactician. No such luck. The Hispanic was Jose Marez, a young boy Louis and Paulie had met living on the streets in 5th grade. He was orphaned and alone, so the two took him under their wings, and he stuck beside them ever since, determined to pay them back for the things they'd done help him.
While his two friends were the center of attention, Louis had no similar attention. He was average, if not a complete generic. An unnoticable 5'10, average build, exact middle of his class throughout his life, Louis had worked up the courage to join the Bloodless Corps after his home town of New York City was captured by a Shifter raid. He hoped he would be able to live an exciting life in the army, able to make a name for himself among millions of faceless men. He had lost himself in thought, but the spell was broken by the Sergeant standing in-between the two rows of seats.
"Ten hut, recruits! Camp Jordan's two clicks away an' counting! On your feet, and get ready to disembark the second we hit the ground! Good luck to you, recruits! By God, you'll need it!"