Hey this is a sequel to my previous story, Titanfall: New Frontiers, a mature rated story that ends where this story picks up, give it a read if you haven't. I'll try to improve my writing as best I can over the course of this story so feedback would be appreciated, thanks for reading!
In the animal kingdom, the world was split into two categories: predators and prey. And of those two classes there was another sect, reserved for the fiercest, most ruthless and efficient killers. They were the best, able to take down anything that came across them, predator—or prey. They were labeled as apex predators, and much like their animal counterparts, the brand of mercenaries with the same moniker were just as deadly, just as ruthless. The Apex Predators were the best, but being the best came at a price. The Apex Predators were the most expensive freelance mercenary company in the Frontier. If you had the budget and failure was not an option, you called the Apex Predators.
The Apex Predators drew its strength from the pilots under its employ. Kuben Blisk only scouted the most ruthless, talented and tenacious of pilots. This lead to each of his pilots—already worth dozens of normal men—to be worth several pilots. One Apex Predator was capable of taking down whole squads of Pilots.
This was something this pilot had demonstrated, providing the Frontier Militia's forces with a firsthand experience of the lethality of an Apex Predator. He had already carved a brutal, bloody path through their forces. At this point he had gone from completing his objective, preventing the Militia from extracting and was now ruthlessly hunting his prey as they made futile attempts to regroup.
He had earned a title from his cold efficiency. The Militia had named him rather fittingly, "Wraith" because most of his victims only saw him briefly before they never saw anything ever again. He actually had a bounty on his head, a hefty thirty-five thousand credits. Not like anyone would actually be able to claim that sum of money. Many of those he came across died or fled escaping death within an inch of their life. Every time he would see the enemy scramble, their mind struggling to process mixed reactions to run or fight had cause a blank, soulless grin to spread across his face.
This was a reaction that was displayed again as he burst through a wall of dust and sand into a shaded alcove along a cliff face. The militia trying to hide from the IMC and their mercenaries and the weather scrambling about before starting to panic as the pilot activated his Emergency Cloaking System. As the man flickered out of sight he tossed a frag grenade from his belt into a cluster of Militia riflemen towards the rear of the alcove. The spherical object bounced once, skittered a few feet along the ground then detonated in a vibrant cloud of smoke fire and death. The militia forces that were spared the quick death were then engaged in hand to hand combat.
The pilot disengaged his cloak right as he neared a stunned grunt. As the man's face erupted into one of horror, he was struck with several lightning fast blows. Several punches, hard enough to break bones were delivered in a rapid series of four punches, caving the man's chest cavity as a final punch crushed his windpipe. As the grunt gurgled in a dying heap to the ground the pilot was already upon his next target. Transitioning to a boosted slide, he ducked under reactionary fire to rise into a shoulder check to his newest target. His knife was a quick series of strikes, blindingly fast into the soft points around the rifleman's torso, as the man slumped over, Wraith flicked his wrist, flinging his knife, which doubled as a pulse radar, striking another man in the bridge of his nose. Predictably the man went rigid before teetering over backwards. However, before this man had even hit the ground, Wraith had already ripped his sidearm from his chest to fire at the two remaining militia grunts who were shooting back at him. Most of their rounds eating into the corpse of their ally as it shielded the pilot. Three rounds later and the room was silent, save for a final shifting and thud of a corpse being dropped to the ground.
The entire encounter had elapsed within the span of fifteen seconds. Rolling his shoulders with a sigh of minor exhaustion he stooped down to retrieve his pulse blade. The knife was sunken about halfway into the Militia rifleman's face. The bridge of his nose was broken and sunken in. Blood had foamed up around the wound, and as he yanked his knife out, he drew contrails of a viscous mixture of pus, mucus and blood. Silently, he wiped the blade off on the corpse's uniform before stowing it in its sheath.
Looking outside to the dust storm rolling across the land, he let out a silent huff of breath. Nature would always have its way over its domain, and while the storm alone was nothing that worried him he was still put off of the idea of traversing arid landscape within a storm. Regardless he had a job to do. Reaching into a grab sack on his thigh he pulled out a small beacon. Activating the spherical device, he chucked it over his shoulder before running headlong into the storm. His silhouette was quickly lost within the dust as he faded back into obscurity.
Kuben Blisk had ordered his mercenaries back after all Militia forces were either destroyed or had fled the area. As each pilot or grunt checked back in with him they received the remainder of their pay. Blisk had always offered a small portion up front. This allowed for his freelancers to see that they were in fact going to be paid. The pay was always good, but sometimes people didn't believe what they were being offered until they saw it. Distributing money this way also allowed Blisk to keep whatever was leftover from those who had died and were unable to collect their pay. Of course there were exceptions, in the event that a mercenary had requested that their pay be forwarded to their family or somewhere else in the event of their death. Realistically though, few took that course, no one went into combat expecting that they wouldn't be coming back.
"Another mission complete, eh?" Blisk smiled, voice thick with his signature south african accent. "You sure you don't want a more permanent setup? There would be a raise in it for you." He offered.
"No, thank you." Wraith grunted, voice coming out over his helmet in a modulated, gruff voice, slightly raspy due to the radio that broadcast his voice through his external speakers. "I'll be around, Blisk…" He nodded, seeing his account update with the remained of his pay.
"Ah, well, offer stands mate." He grinned, patting the man on the back as he walked past. "Need a ride back?" Blisk asked as he turned to look over his shoulder.
"I've got it." Wraith shook his head. "Thanks though." Walking away from the ship and down to what remained of the battlefield he shifted his gear, looking up to the sky. The sky was starting to take on a orange, dusky hue, evening was beginning to start, giving him plenty of time to get his regular routine done.
About an hour had passed, he had already swept through the area, collecting a nice haul of gear. He had stripped any corpses of their equipment, ballistic vests, pilot harnesses, ammunition, weapons, helmets and uniforms. He had made a nice pile, calling down his personal dropship, a heavily modified Goblin, to pick up his findings. He had found it at a salvage yard, since its purchase he had upgraded nearly everything on the ship. It had larger, more powerful engines, thicker armor, a larger cargo hold, spacious enough to hold a Titan and a few soldiers. It featured weapons and upgrades to the life support and warp system. As the ship dusted down, blowing up a storm of dust and dirt as it touched down, one of his Titans, a side project, had stomped its way off of the dropship.
The Titan lacked any kind of advanced Artificial Intelligence or Operating System. It was able to take orders, which was all that mattered at the moment. Motioning to the small mountain of equipment he ordered, "Put that on the ship."
The Titan complied silently, stomping over the pile and taking large handfuls of the pile before retracing its steps back onto the ship, depositing the gear before walking back out and repeating its actions. He watched this for a moment before he went back to his previous task of scouring the dead. Spotting a building in the distance.
As he entered the small building, various pipes and machines lining the walls—their purpose unknown and unimportant—he spotted a destroyed Reaper-class Spectre and the hole it left in the ceiling. Unclasping one of the weapons on his back, a modified Devotion he edged towards the downed machine. As he got closer, within the improvised spotlight cast by the hole in the ceiling, he noticed the severely damaged internals. The middle column of the machine melted away by what looked like thermite. "Firestar…" He muttered as he noticed the hastily painted on insignia of the MCOR. He cursed silently. He would have to wipe the AI or heavily rewrite it. Regardless the machines were valuable. Selling this would turn a pretty decent profit, or he could keep it. Nobody would want to face down a man with a Reaper as his bodyguard. Checking his Titan's progress he looked out the building to see the machine standing still, idling. He ordered the machine over and waited.
The machine lumbered over rather quickly, the Titan's massive stature allowing it to cross large stretches of land quickly. As the machine ground to a halt he ordered the hatch to open and climbed inside. Shifting about in the seat as he settled in he moved the Titan to crouch down and place its massive hands within the doorframe. A short tug later and a large portion of the wall broke away. He repeated the process until he was able to reach the Reaper. Clasping his Titan's hands upon the machine he dragged it off towards the ship. A moment of awkward shuffling and maneuvering he was able to secure both his Titan and newly acquired Reaper. He climbed into the cockpit. Thumbing through various switches he powered up the machine, grinning as the engines whined to life. As he pushed the throttle forward the whine of the engines turned to a roar as the thruster wash kicked up another storm of debris.
He pulled up his map, finding his beacon he placed earlier and piloting the ship to the pulsing locator. As the ship touched down he repeated his well practiced routine. He picked through the dead, leaving them in their underwear, collecting their bloodstained gear and weapons. He checked and cleared the weapons one last time as he did his final pre-flight check. Finding every firearm safe he clambered back into the cockpit, squeezing past the Titan and Reaper as he did so. The ship lurched as he took off. He had a feeling he was overstaying his welcome, the IMC had successfully defended one of their research facilities from a Militia raid. They had tried to make off with several racks of Reapers and Stalkers, trying to most likely reverse engineer the stolen machines for their own production. Now their site security was performing their own sweeps of the battlefield. While he had never been approached while picking through the war zones he would fight or sometimes arrive at belatedly, he didn't want to test his luck in that situation.
As his ship rocketed through the sky, he punched the warp drive into action. The world seemed to stretch and distort before a sudden lurch of momentum and flung him into orbit, a few hundred miles from his ship. Keying the autopilot he chose to lean back in his chair and wait out the ride.
Weeks later he was once again fighting for Kuben Blisk. The pay was good and he needed to scavenge more parts or a mostly intact Spectre to finish his Reaper project. They had been carted out to the ass end of inhabited space. The IMC was beginning to establish a presence on an uninhabited planet. The word from the grapevine was that they had found some ruins that bore striking resemblance to the alien ruins on Typhon. General Marder had tried to keep the thing secret, as such nothing much was set up on the planet. A small research facility and a dry dock were the only things planetside, both functional but still under construction. A space elevator had connected a modest space station to the facilities.
Of course, like most things of importance, the Militia somehow caught wind of the situation. They sent three frigates, and warped into the system. One of the ships, under control of the SRS Militia had warped inside of the space station. Needless to say both the ship and the station were destroyed, leaving massive, burning chunks of debris to rain upon the planet. Most of the facilities below were spared, however those that were struck took severe damage.
The Militia now with two ships were engaged with an IMC destroyer, even as they sent their ground forces to secure the facilities. From what Blisk had informed them, the entire SRS detachment hadn't been killed off, some of them were on board one of the ships that had belonged to the "6-4". A freelance faction that might as well have been Militia. The other ship belonged to Robert "Barker" Taube of the Angel City Elite. Blisk was nearly salivating at point. The bounty on Barker was large, he had ordered his men to save Barker for Blisk, everyone else was free game, and if they had run across "Gates" or Sarah Briggs they were to shoot them in the face.
Given the ambiguity of the IMC's orders to "defend the facilities from Militia incursion" that left their contracts very open. Blisk had told them to simply kill off the Militia then they would be able to head home. An easy paycheck.
At least, Wraith thought it was as he dropped with other Apex Predators in a drop pod screaming towards the planet's surface. Everyone was silent, there wasn't much to talk about moments before entering a battlefield. He appreciated the silence, well relative silence, the noise in the air around them was deafening, but his point still stood.
The crackling of air-break retro thrusters and a shift in inertia was the only warning he got before the pod slammed into the ground. The Pilots vacated the pod and were met with chaos. The IMC did not mention that giant packs of Prowlers were in the area. Soldiers and Titans alike fought each other and Prowlers left and right. He had to cloak himself as a Prowler knocked him over, giving off its rattled hiss like roar as its spines flared out and vibrated in anger. The loss of its prey was obviously confusing to the creature as he flickered out of sight. He took this moment to rise, move off a distance and empty his entire R-201 assault rifle into the beast. It staggered as flecks of blood and flesh tore from its body. Letting out a whimpering howl of pain the beast stumbled before collapsing to its side.
He gave a quick survey of his surroundings as he reloaded his weapon. A loud clash of metal was his only warning as he scrambled for cover. A olive drab Vanguard-Class Titan stumbling backwards , foot catching on nothing as it stumbled backwards off a short cliff, sprawling onto its back. As the machine tried to rise a sword bearing Stryder, now classified as a Ronin had ripped its massive broadsword from its magnetic clamps on its back. The Ronin stomped onto the Vanguard's right shoulder a moment before driving its electrically charged blade through the Vanguard. It gave a sharp twist, a shriek of metal following, before it withdrew its sword, the tip now covered in blood.
Wraith nodded to the Titan who now looked to him before running off. His close call with a Titan and hostile wildlife had kept him on edge. He frequently had to fight either murderous giant carnivores or fight off Militia forces. This had dragged on for several hours, however due to the stressful constant edginess of the situation it had felt like an eternity. Eventually Blisk had contacted his men mercenaries over the radio that they were needed at the two facilities.
Wraith was happy to comply with such an order and moved to what he hoped was relatively safer.
As he made his way to the large concrete and steel construct the distance he thankfully didn't run into any real resistance. The occasional group of Militia grunt or wounded Pilots. All of them easy prey. Sometimes he jogged past Prowlers feasting on those unfortunate enough to be mauled to death by the large creatures. Through tropical shrubs and undergrowth he ran until he made it to the fenced off outskirts of the facility. The fence was easily twenty feet tall, and electrified. Despite the fortifications that wasn't much of a deterrent if there was a gaping hole within the fence where it looked like a Titan barreled through the comparatively insignificant barrier. Regardless, he still avoided the mangled fence, wary of catching any errant arcs of electricity.
Because the IMC and by extension—the Apex Predators—had fallen back to the facility, the Frontier Militia forces had wedged themselves between him and his destination. Not that he paid that any mind. As a sick grin tugged at the corners of his mouth he began cutting a bloody swath through their forces. The appearance of an enemy pilot behind their entire assault force had left the Militia stunned and confused to say the least. The soldiers he came across hesitated as he engaged them. He relished the panicked confusion, soldiers torn between advancing their attack and defending their flanks. It was a mortal mistake on their part, one he exploited viciously.
Grunt's and a few unlucky pilots were chopped down in his rampage through their forces. He snapped one man's neck as he pulled up his sidearm to kill another. His hand was a blur of movement as he tossed a pulse blade into one of the rooms on his right. A moment later a orange ping of information flooded his HUD, briefly painting several Militia forces in vibrant orange through the walls. A grenade quickly followed the pulse blade and the orange lights winked out. Staying mobile, he slid on his knees, pulling up his R-201 to drop two more riflemen. As they collapsed, torsos riddled with holes, he fired his jump kit, breaking his slide and propelling him through a broken window.
He landed in the midst of a crossfire. Cloaking, he made a mad dash from off the main causeway into a partially constructed room. Its purpose was not evident, construction equipment filling most of the room. Right before he reached the threshold of the doorway he was greeted with an enemy pilot jumping down before him. Not breaking stride or losing momentum he transitioned to a jump kick, his cloaking field failing has he made contact with the other pilot. There was a thud followed a grunt of pain as the pilot's head jerked back and they fell over from the sudden influx of force. As the Militia pilot shook off the pain and grogginess Wraith was upon them. Quickly dropping to a knee, he unsheathed his knife and plunged it into the struggling pilot. When the man struggled beneath him he repeated the action, multiple times. A quick glance over his shoulder to make sure he was clear of hostiles was the only moment he spared before cleaning his knife and taking the pilot's helmet and dog tags. SRS helmets were valuable for some reason, not that he cared, profit was profit.
Helmet secured, he dusted himself off, found his hands covered in blood and decided to wipe those off on his helmet. Stooping to pick up his dropped rifle, he forged ahead. He ambled on, down a partially constructed corridor until he heard the sound of voices.
"Hey! We're falling back! We need to get out of here!" A voice with a prevalent old American accent yelled to someone.
"On whose orders?" Another voice responded.
"Barker's. Gates' ship is going down. We need to evacuate or we're stuck here." The first voice answered.
"That's bullshit! Since when did Barker give the SRS orders?" The second voice groused.
"Just shut up and let's go."
Wraith shrugged indifferently, he cared not whether the Militia extracted or not. He was having fun killing those who challenged him in combat. Part of him hoped that they wouldn't be able to extract, that meant more kills and more loot. There was a part of him that abhorred his current train of thought. Not that he paid any particular attention to the internal protests, he was having too much fun to consider anything else.
Just because he could, he followed the source of the voices to a large room filled with covered and partially assembled computer terminals and screens. Down a short flight of steps he saw a squad of Militia soldiers packing their gear and getting ready to move out. One of the grunt's glanced up to him before doing a double take as the pilot switched to his Devotion LMG. He leveled the weapon to his hip level before squeezing the trigger. The weapon began to jump and kick, becoming more frequent and erratic the longer the trigger was squeezed. Rounds flew everywhere, a few of the grunts attempting to hit him with blind fire as the others took cover.
The majority of Wraith's rounds found their target. Grunt's were cut down in rapid succession, their screams of anguish creating a symphony of pained cries. As his weapon ceased its shooting he was in an empty room. Nothing but corpses occupied the room now, save for Wraith who was busy reloading his Devotion. He took in the sights and gave out a chuckle. "Outclassed…"
With that he pulled up a map of the area, provided by the IMC. The digital representation of the area highlighted the Apex Predators and IMC forces in blue and Militia in orange. He wasn't too far from the IMC's defensive line. He looked out one of the doorways, it looked as if the Militia was receiving conflicting orders. The attacking forces held their line, but were no longer pushing forward. Some soldiers, near the rear of their forces, broke off to fall back to an undisclosed location. That action soon caused a chain reaction as their forces began to fall back. Titans escorted back groups of pilots and grunts. The Spectres the Militia brought along split into two groups. Some of the bipedal drones attempting to stall the IMC forces and their hired muscle from pursuing, the other group also providing escort detail.
The pursuing forces were held up for less than a few minutes, Titans and infantry making short work of the laughable defense the Militia threw up. Wraith, shrugging indifferently, also gave chase. He exited through the nearest doorway and was soon outside. He looked at the forces rushing past him and a small group of Titans moving behind them. He jumped towards the leading machine, catching on the front of the machine as he steadied his grip. He quickly clambered over the top of the machine and secured himself to the back of the towering, force multiplying machine.
"Who the hell are you?" An indignant female voice asked over the radio channel reserved for Blisk's pilots.
There was a chuckle, almost a full on laugh. "Best be careful before how you talk to people, not everyone will put up with your shit, Morria."
"I don't give a fuck! Who the hell is on my Titan?!" She screamed, apparently short tempered. Her Titan reached its arm up to grasp the freeloader upon her machine. "I am not a fucking taxi!"
Dodging the blindly swinging appendage, Wraith scowled disdainfully, and moved to remove the spare powercore from her machine. If she wanted to be nasty, so could he. With a twist and a heaved pull of effort he extracted the cylindrical battery, green lights dotting the length of the item. Predictably her Titan shuddered, stumbling before dropping to a knee, hand shooting out to catch its frame.
Either "Morria" was a mediocre pilot and had suffered damage to her electrical systems or she was bad at energy management and was pushing her machine too hard. Titans shouldn't react that adversely to having the spare battery removed unless they were relying on the power from the miniaturized energy core to function.
"What the hell!" She fumed, hatch opening as she hopped out.
The other pilot laughed wholeheartedly. "I tried to warn you!" He managed to choke out between laughs. The woman wheeled around to face the barrel of a Hammond P2011, a slightly outdated but reliable sidearm. "Wraith has been known to have a bad temper…!" The pilot said, winding down.
Morria responded with a growl of rage, yanking her own sidearm from her thigh holster only to have it shot out of her hand. She looked incredulously to the pilot, staring into the blazing orange visor of Wraith's helmet. An immaculate howl of rage, a challenge, escaped her lips as she rushed the pilot. Wraith responded with a swift boot to her abdomen, winding the angered pilot and dropping her like a rock. She growled out a hoarse, "...F-fuck you…" as her body tried to replace the wind that she had suddenly lost.
Wraith frowned, and kicked her in the jaw as she attempted to raise back up. Before he could act any further Blisk interrupted, apparently watching the scene unfold. "Oi, Oi, Wraith that's enough."
He looked to the stunned, pained but enraged visage of the woman then to the Titan that was marked as Blisk's. "You're letting rabid dogs in now, Blisk?"
The second pilot, the one who had found most of the situation hilarious spoke out, "W-wait! He can talk!?" He laughed. "I always thought the guy was a fuckin mute!"
"I'll handle it, just play nice, eh?" Blisk replied, his tone of voice indicating his stance on the situation.
Deciding that he would play nice, he unclasped his stolen power core and walked over to Morria who was busy nursing her mouth and the blood that poured liberally from the orifice. "You're lucky…" With that, he deposited the power core at her feet and walked off, not looking back at either Blisk or Morria and her humored friend.
Captain Franklin Wallis had seen his fair share of combat. He was a veteran ship captain, he had been in every major battle the Militia had ever been in with the IMC. As such, he knew when a ship was done. He had seen Gates' ship fall from low orbit, broken and dead, towards the surface of the planet.
He foresaw it long before the ship broke apart. It had taken an entire salvo from the IMS Armageddon, a dreadnaught class destroyer. The Spearhead barely stood a chance. As the salvo made contact the shields failed almost instantaneously. Soon superheat ionic plasma had bored through the vessel, leaving the Spearhead listing as it vented atmosphere and debris.
Captain Wallis could do nothing as he was engaged with Blisk's ship. A carrier, but with much more firepower than it had any right to be in possession of. He watched as lifeboats and escape pods jettisoned from the Spearhead as its hull began to break apart and it fell, burning into the planet below.
At that point he had already contacted Barker. He was planetside. He never understood why he, or any of the others risked themselves by going into the battlefield with their forces. He may have been a drunk, but he was a good man. Perhaps there was something noble about heading into battle with your men. He would never understand, but he knew nobility was a moot point if you were stranded upon that battlefield. He had requested, urged that the Militia withdraw immediately or nobody was going home.
Barker asked for a moment, one Wallis hoped they would be able to spare. Two minutes later Barker had told the Captain to be ready to extract as soon as they concluded their evacuations. As soon as that transmission had ended he knew they probably would die here. Evacuating all of their ground forces would take time. Time they did not have. This was punctuated by a scream of alarms and what could only be described as an earthquake.
Numerous alarms and warnings were blaring throughout the ship and across the bridge. "What the hell was that!?" Wallis barked gruffly.
"Titan bay two is gone! Structural integrity is at forty percent!" One of his bridge crewmen wailed. It was a young woman with black hair and umber skin. Fatima was her name, she was a valuable member of his bridge crew. "Sir if we don't—" she began fearfully before being cut off.
Wallis, staring out the bridge viewports barked out three orders. The last he would give. "Wunyoung, target the Apex Predators ship. Hit it with everything you've got. Melissa, initiate an evacuation order, then set the reactor to blow when the ship makes contact with the IMC ship." He let out a heavy sigh then added, "Clarke, ram us into that dreadnaught. If we're going down, we're taking these bastards with us…" he muttered.
They were stunned for but a moment then the bridge was a flurry of activity. Every functional weapon aboard his ship tore into Blisk's ship as his own ship was rapidly closing on the IMS Armageddon. Both ships firing upon the weakened Militia cruiser as Wallis, his bridge crew, and the remainder of the personnel on board evacuated.
Within the red hued confines of the lifeboat they were within, Melissa, Wallis' AI assistant chirped, "Ship collision detected. Initiating reactor meltdown. Estimated time until detonation: twelve seconds.".
Those gathered inside the boat looked out the tiny viewports to see the IMS Armageddon listing sideways, a massive gash in the ship as the final Militia cruiser in the area embedded itself within it. The lights and thrusters of both ships flickered before a bright white glow was seen for a fraction of a second. Quickly both ships expanded and burst in spots, like bubbles forming from boiling water before the two ships were flash vaporized. A ring of energy could be briefly seen from the shockwave, and while they were distant enough to not feel the wave, they could imagine the immense force from such a shock wave. The immense light however was a problem as those aboard hard to tear their gaze away lest they go blind. Similarly, the inside of the ship was bathed a bright white, stark black shadows from the windows being softened by the red emergency lights still active within the escape craft.
Now all they could do was hope and pray as the lifeboat began to burn its way through the atmosphere.
Wraith looked up at the sky to gaze at the miniature second sun that populated the sky for a brief moment before fading out. His pace slowed, just as many of those around him had done, all looking up at the bright light. Murmurs of confusion quickly followed. Footsoldiers getting on the radio, contacting their commanding officers and pilots checking in with their own detachment commanders.
Soon the IMC officer in charge of this operation, an insufferable woman, Colonel Santhall was on all radio channels, barking in her shrill voice. "Attention all IMC assets," Wraith hated that term, as did most of his fellow pilots, it made them sound like property. "Due to negligence by the Apex Predators," she spat, "We have lost the IMS Armageddon. That light in the sky was the last Militia ship self-destructing, destroying the Armageddon in the process." She paused, silence broadcasting over the channel. "You are to eliminate any remaining Militia forces. Do not fail me."
Blisk was next to speak to his men. "Alright, the Militia don't have any cruisers left. Our air support will eliminate the remaining terrorist aircraft, then we're getting out of here. We've done our job. Don't get left behind."
Next was another transmission this one a private missive from Blisk. "Oi, Wraith. I've forwarded your paycheck, don't want any problems between you and my pilots. Nothin' personal mate. Oh and if you stick around on this hellhole and find Barker, how about we split that bounty, eh?" The South African man laughed.
"No promises." Wraith rasped.
"Good hunting mate." Was Blisk's response.
Wraith let out a heavy sigh and moved with the IMC forces. He may as well get a headstart with his routine. And with his head on a swivel he marched back into the tropical thicket. Silent, he ambled on, pausing from his trek to assist the occasional IMC fire team or to shoot a pack of Prowlers. The mercenary followed a trail of tracks in the dirt, a column of boot prints and Titan tracks. It wasn't hard to keep on their trail, and as time wore on he was able to hear the voices of Militia and the sound of Titans. The occasional scream of jet engine mixed the growling sonic boom punctuating the brief arrival of air support gave short reprieves to the staccato symphony of gun shots. IMC Phantoms would chase down their Militia counterparts or occasionally drop bombs or perform high-speed strafing runs.
They were shooting, it was a whole lot of shooting. The Militia had wounded with them, the scent of blood attracting dozens of the feral beasts. Each was much larger than a person, easily a threat to a Titan if they got close enough. While the Militia had the advantage of firearms, the Prowlers had numbers. Eventually the Militia would expend their ammunition and be overrun. And as the evening wore on the Militia had no air support left to assist them and we're subject to unimpeded strikes by IMC Phantoms. The IMC assault ships striking the Militia for close to two hours before running out of ordanence
The IMC was stupid enough to build a research facility in the middle of Prowler breeding grounds and the Militia was dumb enough to attack the IMC without a backup plan. While he chuckled at the thought he frowned at the situation. The Prowlers would render a lot of the gear unusable, due to on the rip and tear nature of their feeding and killing. He digressed, he could still potentially make some profit off of this. He just had to be patient. And patient he could be.
As he reached a fork in the paths, one marked by the Militia's passage down into a shallow valley and one to a sheer cliff where a waterfall split the basalt face. He chose to camp out at the waterfall, utilizing his jumpkit to find a place far enough up where wandering Prowlers would not be able to bother him and large enough for him to doze off on. As he overlooked the horizon he watched the sun set and the jungle come alive in bioluminescence. Normally he would take awe at such a rare and unique sight. However, the sound of gunfire and the occasional scream or howl on the wind detracted from the scenery.
Over the course of the night the frequency of gunfire and screams decreased but never ceased. Wraith shrugged, he hoped the Militia would run out of ammunition—or get killed. Either was a good outcome. He digressed, he would find out in the morning. And with a final glance about his perch he closed his eyes and nodded off. He had a feeling that tomorrow was going to be a very long day.