Disclaimer: Whose footprints are these?
Best read in 3/4 or 1/2 format.
In Bad Company
Chapter 1:
Stolen Goods
Behold, Academy City. Home to 2.3 million, this metropolis is a place of learning, development, and strange, almost impossible technology. With its vast and varied research projects carried out throughout the sprawling city's breadth and reach, every day lives can be enriched beyond their natural talents through the development of "powers". Such individuals, should they succeed become, ESPers, commanding latent abilities unlocked by Academy City's Power Curriculum Program. Their powers range from simple telekinesis to the absolute limits of human imagination. Indeed, this place is a land of marvels and almost magical creation.
But that's not the setting for this particular chapter.
Behold, Roanapur. Home to tens of thousands, the city is a place of prostitution, illicit trade, and crime. In addition to the gang wars raging daily over territory and product, the crime lords of Roanapur constantly seek to gain an edge over their competition. Such individuals not only lie, cheat, steal, and murder, they also resort to kidnapping. If the effort is worth it, rarely is price an issue. It is because of these desires for power that their reach sometimes goes beyond them. In this mad, mad city, they are safe; surrounded by their best as well as the ever-wary residents of the city, one could feel almost untouchable.
Almost.
Roanapur, Southeast Thailand
1500 Hours
If one had the money, even in Roanapur you can get fine accommodations that are far separated from the raucous mess of the streets. Unfortunately, this was not where our story begins. Instead, it is in a seedy, unventilated hole-in-the-wall that smelled of mold, old urine, and something rotting in the distance. It was uncomfortably warm in the room, making the stench even worse, but none of this mattered to the group of people waiting within. Okay, maybe the smell did annoy them a bit, and the heat was uncomfortable, but they all suffered in silence.
-Bravo Two-One, Bravo Six-Actual. Report status-
-This is Bravo Two-One. Nothing out of the ordinary. Are you sure this is the right spot?-
-Affirmative. Intelligence marks this building to be our target-
-It's been almost three days now, with nothing more than fishermen and their clients walking in and out. If this trade is going on, it's over a day old.-
-If that is the case, then we were too late to begin with. However, our intelligence is infallible; the objective is in there.-
-For 'infallible' intelligence, it's still a day late-
-Be ready to move. Bravo Six-Actual, out-
The man called Bravo Two-One rolled his eyes as he resettled into his seat. Back at the city, their commanding officer was generally a nice lady and competent handler, but the moment an operation began, she was cold as ice. Not even a shred of assistance or extra intel; she just sent them and expected everything to work out. Were it so easy, but that was why Bravo Company was sent instead of any of the other companies of Section Nine.
"Not very patient, The Temperance," a woman next to him murmured, her vision glued to the most expensive and outrageously fancy pair of binoculars he had ever seen.
"Only when it concerns money," Two-One muttered back. "Any changes, Moon?"
"Other than the usual in and outs, no; however, I do think we have the right place."
"Yeah?"
"More men are going in than leaving, and some leave many hours later. Either the fish is exquisite, or there is a meeting of a different sort going on in there."
"Is that so… Should we wait until night fall, then?"
"Possibly. If nothing else happens, then we should—ah, bonjour~!" The Moon suddenly purred, her view zooming in on a new vehicle approaching the building. Unlike the ramshackle and beaten-up automobiles buzzing through the city, this sleek and ostentatiously shiny one spoke volumes of its occupants. "Prideful men hold few secrets. Roanapur is no different."
"Well, hullo there, mister high-roller…" Two-One was viewing the shared image via uplink, courtesy of the militarized PDA installed into the forearm armor's anterior side.
"Should we take this as our sign, Strength?"
"Aye," Bravo Two-One, codename: The Strength, nodded and looked at his colleagues. "This is it. We wait until he's gone inside. Then, we knock the door down."
Quietly, languidly, they prepared. There was a hurried ease as each of them went through their checks, the room silent save for the clicks and clacks of weapons being readied. Tactical, dynamic, and lethal.
-Ready to rearrange some urban architecture, D-Boy?-
No further than a kilometer away, a large shipping crate dusted with rust sat outside amongst other similar things. Around it were dozens of men from dozens of different organizations, each giving the other dirty looks as strange business progressed around them. Within these crates was an assortment of various illicit goods, be they firearms, explosives, drugs, and whatnot, except for one.
Within this crate slept a biomechanical gorilla, an alloyed beast of servomotors and ceramics that garbed a single pilot in seemingly impenetrable armor and vastly improved strength. Academy City called these powered exoskeletons "Large Weapons," though the variant slumbering here was outfitted with far more equipment than those found in its natural habitat.
And behind its controls awoke a man that had been (un)comfortably waiting for the go signal all this time.
-The Tower...awakens,- pseudonym: D-Boy yawned into his radio, cycling through a series of buttons and switches within the slumbering machine. A familiar routine he had been repeating over and over again for hours on end, memorizing the start-up sequence, so he could do it by touch alone. -Is it finally time?-
-Affirmative. Hell of a wait, huh?-
A quiet hum announced the beast's awakening, the darkened box now taking on a dim tint as diagnostics ran. Small twitches in his hands translated to the machine's fists clenching. Minute movements of the foot awakened the actuators and servos within the leg. Slowly, slowly now; he had to stay quiet until it was time to bust out of this "birthday cake".
-So, who was luckier? He, who had to sit on his butt in the shadows? Or he who had to stay awake and bake in Hell's kitchen?-
-We'll all be luckier if you manage to bring back the Iron Kong in one piece-
-You know I take care of my stuff!-
-Like how you took care of that launcher?-
-A fluke, I say! Just a fluke! How was I supposed to know it was modified?- amongst the familiar banter between men who fought alongside each other perhaps too long, a quiet ping sound signified the completion of all diagnostics -Oo~h yeah, all systems green, baby. Hehehe. Say, how much of Sodom and Gomorrah do I get to ruin, old chap?-
-Just keep them away from us. Hotel Moscow's full of former Soviet troops, so they'll be much harder to kill than the average gangbanger. Hopefully, they'll show up fashionably late to the party, once everyone else had paid them enough to give a damn.-
-Woohoo! All that free fire zone, just for me? Aww, you shouldn't have? Hey, hey, is this some kind of early birthday present deal I'm getting here?-
-Ugh. Try not to burn down the town until we are extracted, got it?-
-The Tower hears from The Strength, and obeys!-
Bravo Two-One nodded as he checked the captured images once more, now supplemented with a few reports scrolling past the screen. Apparently the guy was of the Colombian Cartel, a wanted man for all sorts of crimes, including human trafficking. Ruthless, unfair, and exceedingly greedy; if this wasn't a sign, then they were definitely in the wrong place.
Looking back up, he saw his team prepared. He nodded.
"Go."
…
It was quiet at first, a distant rumble that washed over the city like a small wave crashing onto the shore. Sure enough, as the seconds passed, the streets were quickly awash with frenzied activity. Thugs and gangers alike rushed through the dusty road and towards the source of chaos. In silence, they watched as the initial wave passed the building, leaving a messy wake. None had exited the building, so whatever was left would be theirs to mop up.
The Moon held the door open, "Shall we?"
Six of them moved with precision, a deep contrast to the earlier mob. Clad in dark digital camouflage and equally dark weapons, their boots clopped softly against the unclean streets. Some noticed them, civilian and potential threats both, but none found it necessary to raise a ruckus. Large scale violence was uncommon, but when it did break out, people knew not to annoy those with big guns and scary looks.
The Magician was one of less-than-average height and slim build, so she did not necessarily have that scary look, but that did not stop her from carrying a big gun. Bearing the squad automatic weapon, the responsibility of sending as many bullets as she could into their enemies was her's, and God help anyone that would dare try to stop her otherwise. She was second in line as the team forcibly entered their target building in a burst of smoke and sound, her barrel immediately catching sight of one poor soul readying a pistol. Her machine gun chattered; he caught a quick burst to center mass, dropping him like a sack of potatoes. Men in suits; men in shirts; men half-naked and half-awake; they all stayed behind to guard their property. None expected the fast and brutal entry that marked Bravo's entrance.
The Strength's rifle cracked twice, two flowers of blood blooming in one man's chest. Behind him, The Moon slipped in and vaulted over a secretary's desk, her own weapon rattling away and cutting down two more. The Chariot and one other came in next, their weapons spitting fire and taking down two more. Last to enter was The Hermit.
The dust settled around six corpses; Bravo now split into two groups. The Magician and one other, the designated marksman Hermit, moved elsewhere to secure a separate route. Armed with a specially designed rifle, The Hermit served the squad like The Magician, a force multiplier. However, whereas The Magician dealt with bullet hell, The Hermit provided precise death at range. These two would compliment each other as they tried to keep their escape route clear. The rest of the team would move on.
"I'm taking point," The Chariot was first in line, edging past a corner in time to meet a stranger coming to investigate the noise. The Chariot's hands snapped out instinctively, ramming his rifle's barrel into the man's throat. A curved blade flickered into existence, its wide blade stabbing deeply into the guard's belly and cutting a swath right up to his ribcage. Pushing the body to the side, the mercenary avoided the resulting blood spray.
"You gutted one already? You nutter Gurkha," The Strength, as well as the rest of the crew, stepped up behind him.
"What can I say? They keep running right into me," The Chariot shrugged, tucking his kukri back into its belt sheath.
"Right, I'll take point instead; wouldn't want you taking the time to stab every bastard that gets in the way."
"Oh no. I would never steal such a task from The Moon."
The difference between Bravo Company and the mooks that inhabited this building was alarming—alarming for the locals, at least. Barely a moment they had to react before they fell dead. Perhaps it was safer to stay hidden, an idea several men had as these black-clad strangers stormed through the building's "executive" area. One poor sod rounded the corner just as the lead stepped up – he got a solid clobbering in the face by riflebutt.
Yet, that same corner became a deathtrap, as four muzzle flashes spat fire from a short distance down. The Strength managed to throw himself back into safety, though the other man wasn't so lucky. Peppered by whistling hot rifle calibre bullets, he staggered and fell to his knees attempting to return fire. His armor was holding but likely not for long as an NxRA plate covering his left shoulder exploded outwards from a penetrating hit.
Thankfully, help was in reach. The Strength appeared once more, tossing a smoke grenade down the hall, before yanking the stricken man out of harm's way.
"Oi, what the hell are you thinking, Collins?" Strength growled, breaking with protocol, as he pulled his squadmate back into the relative safety of cover, that is, not in the line of fire. "That Rambo shit you saw in America won't work out here!"
"M-My bad," John Collins stuttered, codename: The Sun. A recent addition to the team, Collins was still having difficulties adjusting, though his performance did not suffer too terribly. "It's just four guys down the hall."
"Four. Great. And some how you failed to recognize they have bloody AKs?" The Strength thumbed a finger towards the persisting suppressive Kalashnikov fire chipping away at their cover.
"I will deal with this."
Unlike her colleagues, The Moon eschewed the assault vest and went with a barebones combat rig and bodysuit, trading protection for supreme mobility. This suited her just fine, as she nimbly darted past the hall and into an adjacent room. Her main weapon was a suppressed submachine gun, but her favored tool was the knife.
From their position, the boys lost sight of the lithe woman, but only moments passed before the automatic chatter stopped.
-Area clear. Move up, team,- The Moon's cool, cultured tones echoed over the radio. They met up with her as she stood over several corpses, a number of knives poking out of them.
"Pathetic. They would huddle and guard their prize like dogs," she muttered, retrieving her blades. "Chiants."
"Not a single professional among them, either. Just some thugs with big guns and tiny brains," The Chariot shook his head, disappointed.
"Be glad we got mooks, instead of pros," The Strength furtively glanced out the window, just in case, "You'd rather mess with Hotel Moscow?"
The Gurkha barked a laugh, "Hah! No way."
-Hey, hey! Ladies and gentlemen, this is your distraction speaking~, reporting that we are experiencing some return fire on our position. Me and The Hermit's fighting back, so please less QQ and more pew pew-ze!- their radios reported abruptly, spurning them all to move on.
"Guys, six tangos in the next room," The Sun was already at the next door, peering at a device in his hands.
"And they haven't started shooting at the door?" The Chariot blinked at the shocked look his juinor shot him. "What? They usually start blasting away at the door the moment they know we're here. They've got to be utter morons if they think nothing is going on out here."
And that's when the door exploded.
"Oh, there they go!" he grinned, already well out of the danger zone. Dazed, The Sun only barely managed to scramble away.
"Christ, warn me about that next time!" he complained, eyeing a close graze on his shoulder.
"What, that the sole entrance to a room would not be booby-trapped in some way?"
The Moon interrupted, "If I may, I would suggest we breach from outside. The building has good ledges."
"Flaming hell, this again?" Strength shook his head, exasperated. It was as if he had done this many times before, but not always to complete success.
"You would breach and clear through that door?" she eyed the chewed up door. Blind fire still peppered the abused wood in sporadic bursts. It was a fatal funnel just waiting to welcome them in. The Strength knew his decision was made for him already.
"Sun, stay at the door, but don't poke your head in. Keep them thinking we're here," Strength slid a window open, peering out of it for a gander. How silly that the next few windows over actually lead to their objective. "I hate window breaches…"
"They are not so bad," Moon had already hopped out, climbing hand over hand as she dangled over the edge.
Her colleague grunted as he followed, "Sure. You're not the one in full kit."
"That is not my fault."
"Shut up and prep the stun."
The woman would give her colleague a bemused smirk as she dangled a tube-like grenade in her finger, its pin already pulled and safety off. A dainty toss sent it into the room, immediately followed by a sharp crack of an explosion and flash of light. Instantly, the two vaulted over the window ledges, diving into the room under a haze of smoke and daze. The gunshots were loud, though it was over quickly.
Collins slipped in though the door, seeing the rest of his team double checking the bodies.
"Well, well. If it isn't the high-roller. You should've just gone home," The Chariot nudged the corpse to its back. Three holes in his chest – the Kevlar didn't even stand a chance. "We can't be too far off, then."
Indeed, they were not. No less than three rooms away was a large space, a shipment unloading area that had numerous boxes and slats strewn about. Tarps covered many things, leaving the whole team to quickly check under all of them. By some fluke, The Strength found a rather pristine looking device under a hastily-thrown-on tarp. Calling his team over, he radioed in his discovery.
-Bravo Six-Actual, I think we found the objective. It's a big cylinder thing, with electronics-
-A storage device. I'm seeing it through your camera, Bravo Two-One. Our objective is not so much the machine as is what is inside it. There is a lot of condensation on the glass, so please clear that off-
The Strength brushed away the fog and water droplets, revealing little underneath. The dim lighting in the room did not do well in showing the contents, the only thing the mercenary could pick up was a faint figure deep within. At The Temperance's instructions, he managed to figure out how to illuminate the inside.
"Right, so, green green red blue, on button, flip these switches and… here we go," the machine hummed as something powered up, the inside of the cylinder lighting up nice and bright. "What the hell?"
Floating weightlessly in the tank was a young girl, roughly in her early teens, with short brown hair and a slim body. She was unconscious within the tube, with all manners of wires and tubing taking care of her vitals and monitoring her condition. The mercenaries could only stare in stunned awe.
-Identity confirmed. This is the city property we have been tasked to recover.-
-I do hope you're talking about the machine and not the girl stuck inside the tube.-
-Level-Five Electromaster Misaka Mikoto. She is a top student at Tokiwadai Middle School and a vital asset to our employers. She is to be returned as soon as possible, unharmed. That is the purpose of our mission.-
-Bravo Six-Actual. Is this some kind of joke? This is not just some computer chip or memory drive we're talking about here.-
-Negative, Two-One. This is reality. What you have is a case of kidnapping, illegal human trafficking, and theft. Two days ago, she was drugged and kidnapped out of Academy City proper. Her food was drugged, along with her friends', but only she was taken. The speed and coordination was top-notch; Academy City security did not even take until they were out of the city, and no rapid reaction team was available.-
The Strength sighed tiredly. What a way to make his long day even longer by burdening him with this responsibility; no wonder The Temperance had not told him anything in the mission brief. -So that's why we were reorganized and deployed?-
-Correct. One of our new standing orders is that we are to be a rapid reactionary force for occurrences that cannot afford Anti-Skill intervention within and outside city limits. New security measures are being implemented as well. In the meantime, this girl is your objective. Move her to the extraction point. Our time is running out.-
The transmission ended. The Strength balked. Time was running out?
"Bah. Thanks a lot for nothing, you bloody flaming slave driver," the soldier muttered as he glared at the strange machine. That thing had to weigh at least two hundred kilos! How the hell were they supposed to carry that thing? At least the extraction point is right outside on the docks, providing that the others could hold their position long enough—
-It's getting hella bad out here-ze! The Hermit and I are bugging out! Exfil to the secondary extraction point!- The Magician's cries seemed distant over the sound of her rattling machine gun.
Out-bloody-standing.
Grimly, he toggled the damnable radio once more.
-Bravo Six-Actual, it's too rowdy here. We're rerouting to the secondary extraction point.-
-Acknowledged. Your exit strategy will be there-
Yes, he had said it, and yes, Six-Actual had approved the change in plans, but how the hell were they going to move this outrageously heavy piece of cryogenic machinery the two and a half kilometers to the secondary point? Just pick it up and carry it? While the mercenaries of Bravo Company were indeed fit, they were not of the super-strength variety. Maybe they should have brought the Iron Kong here instead…
Speaking of the Iron Kong, here's what happened to it around the time the mission started.
At the moment the "go" command was issued, the machine's giant fist smashed through the corroded steel barrier that served as its longsuffering coffin. A man guarding the set yelped and jumped back in surprise as the hand retreated back in, only to return with a small cylinder.
"Heh. Whoops. Still haven't gotten all the kinks out of this one," a strange voice said in English, the hand tossing the cylinder over. "Hey there, brother, have a willy pete!"
"Wha—?" was all the guard to make out before the thing spewed white smoke. Alas, being so close to its initial burst, the guard's face and chest were slathered with still-burning white phosphorous particles, leaving him screaming and clawing his face as it was burned away.
The rising pall of smoke offered by the grenade did wonders to conceal the Iron Kong's debut, precious time needed to free the rest of its heaving mighty bulk. Synthesized simian howls reverberated through the air at bone rattling decibels, keeping the curious at bay and driving the men present to a near heightened frenzy. By the time the smoke finally cleared away, those nearby with weapons and nervously read gawked at the sight.
Never before had they seen such a thing, a hulking thing at least two and a half meters tall, strange tubes and contraptions attached to its back and front. Colored green with criss-crossing black tiger stripes, and possessing a head that seemed to be made of obsidian, the monstrosity brought two large weapons to bear. On its left shoulder was a hive-like pod, while the right shoulder had an oversized magazine-fed grenade launcher. More disheartening still, cradled in its arms, was a large machine gun of sorts.
"GOOD~ morn~ing, everyone," the "gorilla" suddenly cooed with childish delight, like an impish demon straight from a feverish nightmare. "I am here to kill you all!"
Staring in bewilderment quickly became lethal, as the howl of automatic fire tore through the formerly tense but peaceful air. Dull, deep thumps accompanied the staccato chatter, along with the roar of rockets screeching through the blue sky. In a matter of seconds, the once tensely civil trading center was set ablaze and screaming.
Shame he could barely hear the screaming, the explosions, or even the rapport of his own weapon from within the suit, but that was okay. There was a slight, muted pinging sound as enemy forces finally got about to returning fire, though their bullets barely scratched the armor plating. All the while, Creedence Clearwater Revival's Fortunate Son blared within the suit.
"Baby, baby! This Iron Kong is sweet~!" the voice came again, as if speaking to itself. Inside, the pilot had a giant face-splitting grin, a gleeful chuckle escaping as his heads-up-display locked onto a fleeing man. "Where you going, huh? Don't think I can't outrun you!"
The machine turned its entire body to face a fleeing man, the Kong bending its legs somewhat. Folding down from its calves came a pair of roller blade-like wheels that sat flush with the foot. They spun up, squealing loudly and tossing up a cloud of dust as it propelled the entire machine forward like a set of rocket skates.
"Woooo~ Hahaha~!"
For a hulking, heavy-looking machine, it moved surprisingly well, especially whilst roller-dashing over relatively smooth pavement. Armed men scattered like surprised deer, some unfortunates became roadkill like deer, and others just got shot up like deer. All the while, in the machine's wake, a cluster of strange munitions bounced out of its back like spiky baseballs rolling out of a bin. Barely a second passed before they too exploded, leaving a trail of fiery death by shrapnel and spiky bits. One unlucky man had one stick right to his shirt before tearing him to pieces.
"Ooh ho ho! They're gonna have to bury what's left of you in a soup can!"
A monster. This thing was truly a monster. It streaked across the roads, down alleys and even plowing straight through buildings. A man turned landing pad became paste as the warmachine landed right on top of him. With another screech of the rollers, the Iron Kong was off again.
-Oy, D-sempai! You're slacking hard, man! Me and The Hermit are getting a lot of aggro that you're supposed to be pulling-ze!-
-Whoops! My bad, my darling! I'll see if I can pull some more hate towards me!-
Ahh, how he empathized with The Magician. A connoisseur of heavy weapons and explosions much like himself, she would have given up her hazard pay and even sign away her life if it meant getting to pilot the Iron Kong a bit. Thus, for a fellow lover of powered armor, he would have to double-up his efforts to make up for her share.
Oh, and helping out the rest of the team was a side bonus too.
The machine jerked a bit as a thrown grenade went off right next to him, though the digital measurement of his armor's integrity dropped by a scant 0.01%. Really, if they were going to do some real damage, they would need some bigger guns! Like his!
His 'eavy machine gun rattled as it peppered an open window, quickly followed by a shoulder-launched grenade. The room right next to it got a bonus burst of rocket fire, tearing the entire upper floor into a wrecked, flaming mess.
"Run cowards! Run with your tails between your legs, 'cuz I am coming for you~!" D-Boy taunted as he swapped out an empty ammunition box. At the same time, a fresh set of grenades were loaded into the launcher. "I have a present for you all: more pain!"
In the meantime, it took some yelling, some prodding, and judicious use of threats, but the boys and girl of Bravo Company managed to requisition a delivery truck and empty it out. Whilst the Moon climbed into the truck cab, the others struggled to lift the contraption into the bed. It took three men to haul the damn thing on, and that was just the beginning.
"It's loaded."
"Let's get out of here, then," the Frenchwoman brought the shift to drive.
"We had better not open that door and get the entire army on our ass," Chariot muttered, swapping a fresh magazine into his rifle. He had taken shotgun seat, right next to Moon.
"If that imbécileis doing his job, there should not be too strong of an opposition," the silver-haired connoisseur of knives nodded at The Sun, who then slapped the switch. As the gate slowly rose, the American dashed for the back, taking position next to Strength.
The good news was that there were only a few persons standing nearby when the door opened. Even better, they were unarmed civilians, though they gazed upon the truck with curiosity. The truck rolled on without harassment, leaving behind a building of bodies, bullets, and blood.
"Nice and easy, girl. Smooth criminals, we are," Chariot leaned into his seat, looking as inconspicuous as possible.
"Indeed."
It was strange how peaceful it was, compared to the events going on not even a kilometer away. Even farther, the sounds of some great battle could be heard dimly. The truck ambled on, gliding rather smoothly over the mostly empty roads. One false move, however, and the attention of every gun-toting psycho would unload on this thoroughly civilian and barebones vehicle. It was lucky to even have a cover in the back! In the rear, The Sun stared out the rear flap with his rifle gripped tightly, while The Strength looked impassively on. The quiet was tense, and the occasional face that flashed by only served to spike the pressure.
-Hey hey, if you guys are that big ol' truck I see down the road, mind picking us up? This on-the-run thing isn't working too well-ze,- The Magician's voice cracked over the radio with the echo of gunfire in the background.
The Moon and The Chariot glanced at each other.
-And draw attention to the truck? This thing isn't bulletproof, and I doubt our package is either- the Gurkha's reply was shared amongst them.
-Hey!-
-I'm joking, but you're still going to have to leg it. We can't stop to pick you guys up, so get ready for a drive by. Everyone else, get ready to rock and roll again!-
Crouching down behind a relatively solid dumpster, The Magician grinned maniacally.
"Hear that, Hermit? We're gonna have to catch a bus on the fly."
"Do not drop me this time," The Hermit narrowed his eyes at her.
"Popping smoke!"
Four cylinders clinked against the cracked pavement, each spewing a thick and noxious cloud of white smoke to throw off their pissed off pursuers. In only a few seconds, both mercenaries were obscured in the haze. They would take this brief respite to bolt down a nearby alleyway. Wild gunfire pelted the stone walls around them; indistinct chatter was both near and far.
Fortunately, though the city was overall ruined and a complete mess, its roads were somewhat even and uniformly designed. By following these roads, they could meet up with the truck several blocks down.
Trash and debris littered the streets, with the occasional sleeping bum huddled tightly into a corner or against a wall. It was strangely peaceful here, even as two armed troopers stomped down the alleyway. Even if they were safe, they still had to catch up. Four blocks down, they dashed out of the alley, perpendicular to the road and merely a dozen meters from their goal.
"Hey, hold up! C'mon, what does a girl have to do to get a life around here?" The Magician chased after the truck, just as a gloved hand peeked out from the covers.
Pushing aside the canvas, "Welcome aboard," Strength pulled the girl into the truck, followed immediately by The Hermit. Just as the two boarded, the telltale whizzing noise of bullets zipping uncomfortably close by caused them to duck for cover. Responding as was her nature, the Magician had her weapon set up and braced against the truck's rear hatch.
"Dammit, they saw us get in!" she growled, squeezing off a short burst at the offending gangers.
"I thought you lost them!" Bravo Two-One knelt beside her, pushing aside the canvas for a better view. A short distance away, a small band of armed men seemed to be gathering. Though the truck had a lead, who knew how long that would last.
"In the smoke, sure!"
The Strength frowned, toggling his radio once again, -Might want to pick up the pace, Moon-
-Please be quiet and let me drive-
Despite the irritated response, the truck did lurch slightly as the engine growled with more power. In the distance, several vehicles pulled into the road behind them. A handful at most, they were painted pick-up trucks with the long barrel of a machine gun peeking out from the back.
"Technicals. Great," The Strength muttered. The trucks were improvised at best, but they provided heavy mobile fire support; more than enough to rip their truck apart. "Take those out! Aim for the driver or gunner!"
His weapon joined two others and one automatic rifle in repelling the incoming technicals, of which soon returned fire in earnest. A dull plunk sound, like a hole being punch through. The Chariot glanced back to see a bullet-sized hole in the machine's side. Sparks flew from the hole, along with the hiss of some escaping gas. Whatever it was, he doubted it meant anything good.
"Uh."
"Dammit. This is what we get for having one man be responsible for explosives, and he's busy faffing around in powered armor," Strength muttered. If hate alone could kill, the entire city would have collapsed right there and then. "Focus fire on the left truck!"
Against their combined fire, the truck did not last very long. What metal plates they grafted on served only to delay their end, a wave of curtain fire tearing apart steel and aluminum. One by one, the technicals were eliminated, but still the enemy pressed on.
"How far from the meeting point are we? This thing will not last forever!" The Hermit uncharacteristically yelled over the chaos, eyeing a missing piece of the truck.
"We're close enough! Just hold off a bit longe—" Strength's reply was cut short when something pinged his chest, tearing a hole dead center of his vest and causing him to duck back. "Dammit! I'm hit?"
"Goddamn foot mobiles coming from the alleys! Flock off, chumps!" The Magician's machine gun rattled incessantly, spitting fire and death with extreme prejudice. The sheer volume of fire coming from the truck's rear was enough to keep even the most stubborn of men ducking for cover. "Heck yeah! Keep your damn heads down!"
"Watch your fire, Marisa! What about civilians?" John Collins yelled from next to her. He got a livid glare in retort.
"This is Roanapur, yankee! There isn't a single damn civilian out there! Even the kids have guns, and I'm not letting some young blood get a lucky shot on me like they did to our fearless Noland over there! Now shoot back, damn you!" Without waiting for a reply, The Magician- Marisa returned to battle. Collins stared at her for a moment, but he did get back to shooting.
Ignoring the breach in protocol, Bravo Two-One grimaced as he dug through his assault vest. It felt like getting punched right in his sternum and damn near knocked the air from him. Such a stupid little thing, a bullet, but it didn't look like it pierced through.
"Can't take too many of those," The Strength- Noland, muttered, double checking both his vest and his body's integrity. No blood.
-Good news. We are arriving at the rendezvous point.- Moon reported from over the radio.
-That's great; I didn't die from getting shot, either. But there's bad news, isn't there?-
-There is no chopper here,- she added in monotone.
-That's great; we're going to die,- Noland chuckled dryly
-Wonderful optimism. I will park the truck near some cover, close to the docks. Maybe they'll send us a boat, oui?-
Just as the truck lurched roughly towards a high wall, Hermit and Noland hopped out of the vehicle and ducked behind a partially broken-down brick wall. The Magician following closely, she slipped behind the same wall as the previous two. Collins, on the other hand, opted for a more exposed position.
"Collins! Get your ass over here!" Noland shouted for what seemed like the umpteenth time, leaning heavily against the wall. He could feel the brick shudder with every bullet striking the surface.
"I got a better angle here on the rooftops!"
"So does every gunman out there on you! Are you trying to give them a free shot?"
As if to emphasize his point, a single bullet pinged off of Collins' helmet, knocking him flat on his rear and jarring the helmet off kilter. Gasping, the soldier scrambled to press himself against his dwindling cover. Indeed, while he may have a better range of sight, his position was far more exposed than the rest of his teammates'. His rapidly dwindling cover was proof of this, as was the jagged scar in his Kevlar helmet. Peeling the helmet off, he sprinted to rejoin his colleagues. The distance wasn't too far; three meters, two, one.
Then The Sun collapsed, no more than half a meter in, his eyes wide and lifeless. Blood pooled from a hole in his temple.
"Ahh, bloody hell," Noland muttered, grabbing onto the fresh corpse's webbing and pulling the body back into cover.
-Bravo Six-Actual, The Sun is K-I-A. I repeat, The Sun is K-I-A.-
-Bravo Two-One, I copy. That is unfortunate, But we will procure a replacement.-
-Take your time in finding a new one this time; preferably someone with uncommon common sense, please.-
The Moon's lithe form slid into position next to him, taking a moment to brush off a speck of broken brick off her shoulder. Submachine gun in hand, she sniffed in frustration.
"How bothersome," her piercing blue eyes frowned at the corpse, while she double checked her weapon's magazine in disdain. Plenty to work with, but they were far from comfortable range. Glancing about Moon raised a delicate brow at Noland. "The Sun?"
He handed the woman Collins' rifle, "Headshot. Scrounge some mags and whatever else is good off him."
"A pity," The Moon clucked her tongue and accepted the weapon. Compared to her SMG, this would be more effective..
"We'll all end up like him if our ride doesn't get here soon. Where the hell is it?"
"I recall our rendezvous is in ten minutes."
"Damnit, that will feel like ten hours," Noland plucked a couple magazines for himself. "Though, with hope, D-Boy will get here by then."
"Had a change of heart, monsieur?"
"If that moron dies, I'm next in line. Nitori needs a test-monkey and I'm not keen on being it."
"Why not refuse?"
"Because that means I deploy with a water gun and a neon pink t-shirt."
"Ghastly."
"Too right."
A howl of laughter followed a terrifying swarm of rockets. What normally would have been attached to a helicopter was instead spewing hate and death from the shoulder of one (heavily modified) Large Armor powered exoskeleton, nicknamed the Iron Kong. What flimsy cover the enemy force had was utterly shattered by the barrage, completely decimating an upper floors walls and setting the inside ablaze. Hapless men inside screamed as their flesh burned, leaping out of the building in desperation. What fools survived the fall were promptly cut down by the power armor's machine gun.
Still, the battle was getting a little more difficult as time passed. When it all started, D-Boy had the fortune to face low-level mooks and poorly armed guards. Then, the opposing force scaled up, the armor suddenly awash with full automatic fire and grenades. Their tactics improved (though compared to before, anything would be an improvement),
"Empty…?" he stared at the munitions screen. Nothing left in the rocket pod, and the grenade launcher had only a few shots left – no extra magazines remained. Even his machine gun was running low. "Gonna have to talk to Nitori and figure out the ammo problems. Speaking of which, what the hell are those guys doing, anyways?"
Just as he toggled on the radio, internal alarms beeped urgently as early warning sensors detected several objects incoming and at very high speed. D-Boy snapped his head over, just in time to see three anti-armor warheads heading towards him like angry, determined bees.
Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap, oh crap! Think fast, man! thought the manic mercenary. "Jettison rocket pod!"
Free of the dead weight, the armor's roller wheels screeched hard by the sudden acceleration, painting a line of burnt rubber into the cracked asphalt. Inside, D-Boy stared as three rocket-propelled grenades came closer and closer. He felt a gut punching lurch as he zoomed forward, the Iron Kong's body hunched over to compensate for the change in center of gravity, but the gambit proved to be worth it for he avoided become molten flambe by scant seconds.
From behind the concussion wave from the rockets rippled through the exoskeleton like a kick straight to his buttocks. Eager to return the frightening favor, however, he screeched to a stop, whirling about to loose a pinch of high-explosive back at his would-be killers. Instead, The Tower felt his hot blood ran cold as ice at the arrival of a new player to the party.
It was a squat thing, a tracked vehicle with a hump of a turret. Oh, and its barrel was aimed right at him too.
BTR? No, BMP! he corrected himself.
Though similar in origin and purpose, the greatest difference (in this situation) between the two was about sixteen millimeters – the size of its main gun. Of which, it immediately flared to life. The entire armor's body rocked heavily from each bone-jarring impact, thirty millimeter rounds punching the composite plating with far greater force than anything D-Boy had faced yet. To his dismay, what was once a slow trickle suddenly became an alarmingly fast drop in armor integrity.
"Goddamn noisy—thing—!" D-Boy growled, pushing the armor move out of its range of fire. He'd have to break that thing, if he didn't want it to harass him constantly, but that was an easy job. All he had to do was line up a shot with the Gee-El and then—
More alarms; rockets coming in from the rooftops. Jumping for cover, a quick sweep of the skyline picked up an unusual number of targets, many armed with some form of anti-armor weapon. If it wasn't an RPG-7 or something similar, they were spraying him with automatic fire. D-Boy let out a grunt of frustration, his stomach churning from the rapid Gs pressing against him with each leap.
His machine gun proved to be ineffective, as any attempt to aim up only caused the new arrivals to duck down. The grenade launcher was no good either, as the time it took to get the right arc meant an enemy rocket to his flank or backside. Another leap backwards left a cluster of munitions exploding harmlessly into the road, but it also placed him at a crossroads. At behest of the suit's sensor suite, D-Boy snapped his gaze to the left.
"Clever bastards." They had herded him back into the BMP's path.
The thirty millimeter autocannon thundered, battering the Iron Kong around as it stumbled back, scrambling for cover. D-Boy felt his stomach flipflop again as he leapt out of the way. No doubt, the hail of RPGs would begin anew, just as that damn vehicle crept down the road. He would have to eliminate the damn thing if he wanted any chance to continue on. Fortunately, he had the tools to do so. Unfortunately, getting close enough to use it seemed daunting enough as is. The alarms were beeping again – they were pushing him back out into the street.
All right. That was fine too.
Roller wheels squealed as they revved up once more, propelling him right back into the street. He turned and headed down the same street as the infantry fighting vehicle, swerving wildly left and right to throw off the turret's aim. Despite that, the autocannon roared to life again, flooding the street with a hail of death. The Iron Kong's right arm came up, but rather than aim at the turret, it pointed at a second floor wall.
A sharp crack preceded a poof of smoke, a thin wire snaking out from the arm. It pierced the brick and mortar of the wall, drilling deeply and anchoring in. A yank, a pull, and suddenly, the Iron Kong was skidding along the wall like a furious bear on roller blades. The men inside the BTR could only balk at the sight, staring and firing fruitlessly as the exoskeleton released the cable.
"Eat it, bitch! The fist of an angry god!" The Iron Kong came crashing down with its left arm forward. "UUOOOAAAHH! CRUSH! PUNCH!"
Armored fist met armor plating in a spectacular crunch, one followed by a catastrophic explosion.
"Did you see that? My one-shot, certain-kill technique! IT'S THE BEST, ha ha ha ha!"
For situations described as "Potential Close Quarters Combat," one of the Iron Kong's refits was a pile bunker-like device installed into the left arm. Utilizing an oversized cartridge, in conjunction with a specially designed (and very much a prototype) hydraulic system, the Crush Punch device could potentially strike with force as great a speeding train, and this was just the punch itself.
The end result of the Iron Kong's strike was a completely crushed BMP turret, the entire thing having imploded at the impact point. On the other hand, the entire left arm had exploded, leaving D-Boy and his armor with a wrecked stump. It seemed the device needed more testing...
"In hindsight, maybe we shouldn't have dubbed it the Crush Punch."
Well. The Crush Punch was a one-shot trick.
"But hey!" The Tower laughed, renewing his spirits already. "At least it worked, and this is just the prototype for the ARM PUNCH!"
Now missing his left arm, he had only his right to aim and fire. No more shots left for grapple launcher, either, but also no BMP. Fair trade? Maybe. Worth it? Oh yeah. Nodding to himself at a job well done, D-Boy glanced over his suit's readings. TacCom still had a lot of contacts hanging out around him, but he still had a good number of bullets left in the MG. Power was fine too, despite the arm damage. As for armor—
Armor integrity: 9%
… Maybe it's malfunctioning. Maybe it's missing an extra zero there behind the nine. Maybe its—
The entire suit's frame rocked as a direct hit struck his rapidly-diminishing armor plating. The heads-up-display reported an integrity loss of seven percent. Two percent remained before catastrophic armor failure, to which the Iron Kong would most likely scrapped at the next hit.
Eh he he he. Maybe it was time to find a way out of this mess?
-Uh, Bravo-Six-Actual? We about done with this?-
-Almost, Bravo Two-Four. I noticed you are not fairing too well-
-Yeah, well, how close is almost? Like, 'cuz I am pretty darn close to not-gonna-make-it otherwise.-
-It is close enough. Terminate the armor and rendezvous with the rest of your team. I hope, for your sake, you brought a weapon.-
-I have a pistol. Does that help?-
-…Godspeed, Bravo Two-Four-
-What the-? Hey. HEY! Was that hesitation? Hello? Alice?- He did not get an answer. "Oh Foxtrot-Mike-LIMA!"
The grinding of gears was almost painful, but he managed to coax a final burst of speed from the damaged roller wheels as well as deploying the last bits of the spike mines. It was more of an awkward dive to the ground than a graceful leap to safety, but it threw him into a relatively safe hole that he himself made with his mass and speed.
An empty house; good enough. D-Boy triggered the emergency ejection system, leaping out as the exoskeleton's helmet and front plates blew off. He wore little more than overalls, a light tactical vest, and a vintage Russian tanker's helm; in his right hand, his sidearm; in his left, a detonator of sorts.
After getting to a somewhat safe distance, he paused, offering the armor one final look. They hadn't spent too much time together, but what little they had was definitely something special.
"Buh-bye, Iron Kong! It was real fun to be with ya, lil' buddy," he would have saluted if it didn't get him shot. With an air of finality he brought his thumb down upon the button.
…
Odd. Where's the big boom and cleansing flame? There's supposed to be a KA-Boom! and a firestorm to incinerate the important bits to prevent capture and theft. Pulling a small PDA-like device out of his vest, he soon discovered the source of his disappointment flashing on the touchscreen.
"Technology Exclusion Directive subsystem… failed. So I need to blow you up myself. No problem. CAN DO! D-Boy can handle it, baby. I'll put you out of your misery, Iron Kong!"
He worked quickly, tearing apart the ruined armor to get to the black box-like technologies inside. A bit of hotwiring here, some jury-rigging there—those extra grenades in the magazine would be great for this—and a bit of love (as well as a demolition charge D-Boy packed for just such an occasion), and the Iron Kong was ready to become a fireball. He even had another detonator, just in case.
Once again, after find a safe standoff distance, he flourished his trusty detonator.
"Peace out, Iron Kong," he bid farewell and pressed the button.
…
…Nothing. Wait, there was—no. Nothing.
"Misfire? Misfire? Unpossible! Who the hell packed that charge?" D-Boy yelled to no one in particular, throwing down the detonator. Precious seconds passed amidst a rage of hateful glaring and shooting livid knife hands at the damnably insubordinate satchel charge, before an epiphany occurred to him. "FUUUUUUUU-! ...Oh, right. I did. ...FUUU-!"
Fine, then he would adapt and overcome the inevitable! If remote detonation didn't work, then switch to timer!
Around this time, though, searching eyes discovered D-Boy to be within this darkened room, and not being one's ask questions first and shoot later, they acted as was natural in Roanapur. A hail of rifle fire clawed its way into the building, and in the distance a garble of shouts followed, like a pack of shrieking monkeys run amok, promising an increased tempo in lead very shortly.
"Piss off, chimps!" D-Boy yelled back, making angry, vulgar gestures with his free hand. "Can't you see I'm working here?"
Right. Back to the bombs. Okay. Switch the wires, activate timer, don't pinch the red one and… there! A slow beep announced the start of the count down. As the seconds ticked by, the beeps came faster. Now then. Begin: The Ape Escape!
Such a task seemed daunting, considering his utter lack of personal defense weapons. Taking the Iron Kong's machine gun was dicey, as its weight would counteract its lethality. What good would the gun be if it slowed him down? He'd have to rely on distractions and good ol' footwork to get out of this one.
And while everyone is busy trying to get to the big hole in the wall, he would make his escape out the front door. A quick peek showed not too many people around there, or at least, those worth paying attention to. Unfortunately, he would only get about twenty feet before someone yelled something in Thai and brought a storm of gunfire on his position. D-Boy ducked behind a segment of wall for a moment, shouting back a string of condemning profanity back in Swahili, before preparing to sprint at the next possible opportunity.
Of course, Murphy would rear his ugly head and call down even more bullets.
"Great freakin' titty! Why will you not go away!" D-Boy was busy curling up into a small ball behind a segment of brick wall about two feet squared, which the big bad wolves were quickly breaking apart. "And why won't it go boom already!"
He did set it to thirty seconds, right? Or was it thirty minutes? Oh crap, please say he didn't do that again—
D-Boy's entire world, then, was shattered by a bone-shaking explosion, knocking the confuzzled little piggie head over heels. A parked car stopped him well enough. Seeing stars, he recovered with a brisk shake of the head, inhaling deeply and immediately coughing up a storm for his troubles. The sheer amount of smoke and dust in the air was absolutely choking, but this was good. Very good. This was his distraction, the one he needed to cover his escape.
Now, he would run.
Some distance away, Bravo's last stand was going fairly well, for the most part.
Superior equipment and training gave them the edge against a numerical superiority, the men of Roanapur paying in blood for every inch they crept up. Like their compatriot elsewhere, however, they quickly experienced a drastic shift in both quality and quantity: fewer mooks and better shots. Shooters from both sides traded desperate fire even as a great explosion thundered in the distance. It would only cause pause for the briefest of moments before the battle began anew.
The Hermit, pseudonym: Josef, felt a sense of detachment from the raging conflict as he peered through the scope of his marksman's rifle. Each squeeze of the trigger brought death to whatever poor soul was caught in his crosshairs. It was almost a Zen-like feeling, actually. Shame, his meditations were not meant to last. He saw strange ripple of movement coming from a road perpendicular to their cover, a slow trickle of infantry following an unusual billow of dust. From the clouds of dirt and smoke came a shape he was familiar with but still dreaded to see.
"Incoming from the northeast! BTR!"
Eight wheels carried crew and seven soldiers in an armored shell that could traverse water and land alike; on top in the turret, a heavy machine gun that could hit twice as hard as the American "Ma Deuce." As it rolled on closer to the gathered troops of Bravo, confident gunmen nimbly slipped out from the side doors, their assault rifles joining the firefight. The APC itself stopped a short distance away, its heavy machine gun turning to aim at Bravo Company's cover. With a roar akin to the loudest thunder, it tore into their defenses with indiscriminate fire.
The Chariot, pseudonym: Rai, found himself dropping prone onto the dirty street, anything to avoid the whistling bullets that seemed to punch right through his cover, "Where the hell did that BTR come from! It's tearing apart the damn wall!"
"I love the fact that our anti-armor is too busy mucking around elsewhere instead of meeting us here," Noland growled, in a similar position.
"As if he could do anything," The Moon scoffed, swapping out a fresh magazine, one of her last. "The Temperance reported the Iron Kong destroyed, and The Tower is on foot."
"Oh balls."
"Last mag-ze!" The Magician complained unhappily, racking the charging handle a final time. "I'm not gonna hold this place with a pistol!"
Movement in her peripheral vision brought her attention to the docks, seeing a long white shape slowly coast up to the pier closest to them. It sounded a long, loud horn, then a thin woman in a black a-shirt and jean hotpants attire hopped out bearing a weapon of sorts. Seeing it as long tube of sorts, the blonde immediately knew what it was.
"Heads up! Boat behind us, and the girl's got an RPG!"
All the while, a second individual peeked his hand out of the boat, waving the peace sign at the beleaguered troopers.
"I think that's our ride. ...Crap, Josef! Help me get this damn thing on there!" Rai yelled as he made a dash for the truck, hopping into the back with a single leap.
Josef followed quickly, almost tackling the machine just to get it off loaded.
In the meantime, the stranger gave her one and only offering to the chaos: her weapon of choice belched out fire and fury in the shaped of an anti-armor rocket. It streaked towards the BTR, quickly piercing its armor and transforming the vehicle into flaming scrap with an air-shaking explosion. Her task done, she dashed back into the yacht's relative safety.
"Don't waste this! Everyone up and onto the boat!" Noland shouted as he grabbed the body of Collins.
He dragged it along as the rest of his team followed, bounding in and out of cover whilst returning fire. Bullets pelted the ground around them, breaking off chunks of plaster and brick.
The Magician swallowed a grunt as she felt a bullet drill into her chest, her ballistic vest just barely stopping it. She would try to pay it back in spades with her automatic rifle, making her last to board the ship, but her job was not yet done. Be it adrenaline, desperation, willpower, or all three, two men managed to brute-force the tubular machine onto the boat, miraculously without any damage.
Now, they had to hold the line once again.
Noland made for the bridge in the meantime, greeting the captain in Thai as he stepped over the threshold, "Better late than never, is it, man?"
"Sorry, my other ride was in the shop, so we had to make do on short notice. Also, RPG anti-armor warheads don't come cheap. Tell your boss it's gonna cost her extra," surprisingly the captain answered in perfect English, bizarrely nonchalant despite the bullets bouncing off his ship's hull. Dark skinned, muscular, his accent implied he was American.
"I'll pass the word along," Noland adjusted himself.
"Good to go, Scotty. Say, is everyone aboard yet? I want to get the hell out of here, before my egghead wets himself and soils the deck. Getting human stink out of polished wood, ain't easy you know?"
"I hear you, but there is still one more. We wait for him."
"This here pleasure yacht might stop bullets, but it won't be long until they start bringing out the rocket launchers."
Noland glared at the thick-set man, receiving one of equal menace in return from behind the captain's black shades, "Your contract involves picking up all of us. You will wait until our last man gets here."
"Well, Lordy Lord, Hallelujah, and peanut butter with jelly, do I spy a merc with a sense of propriety? Hah! I'll let this one cook a bit, but if your man doesn't get here soon, I'm leaving without him. Job's no good if we all get wasted doing this, you feel me?"
Noland didn't reply, already dashing back up to above deck. He still had a fight to finish, but every shot had to count, especially since his team had only a few magazines left between them. Next to him, The Moon switched back to her SMG, the borrowed rifle already strapped back to its deceased owner.
Sighting in, he centered over a balaclava-wearing man making a run towards them. A gentle squeeze of the trigger, a second squeeze; the weapon jumped twice in his hands. Noland kept his aim forward just long enough to see his target fall.
-Bravo Six-Actual, where the hell is The Tower? Don't tell me he's dead and we're wasting time here.-
-Negative, Bravo Two-One. Bravo Two-Four is still alive and en route. GPS has him...very close to you.-
Why do I not like the sound of that, Noland mentally growled. "Look alive, people! D-Boy should be showing up soon!"
"I think…" Josef peered through his rifle's scope. "Tak, I see him. ...And he has the entire city on his ass."
"Agh, that bloody muppet."
True to Josef's words, D-Boy came sprinting down one of the roads, his dark uniform in stark contrast to the off-white and sun-baked city. He would look over his shoulder occasionally, balk at the sheer number of hostiles, and redouble his efforts to keep running as fast as possible. Despite the angry natives chasing him, none of the forces engaging Bravo Company itself seemed to notice him, or at least, not until he ran by at full tilt. Once that happened, he got even more people trying to kill him.
"Hell with it. Let's give them one last show to remember us by: Suppressive Fire!"
All guns blazing, the five Bravos unleashed the last bits of fury they had left. Precision fire, rock-and-roll, whatever worked to put bullets down range. They poured everything they had just to give their last man a little more breathing room, especially useful when an entire militia and lots of angry people were breathing down your neck.
"Empty!" The Moon was first to call out, immediately swapping for her sidearm.
The Magician was next to report, her pistol joining the other woman's. And just in time, too, as D-Boy made his final dash for safety. In typical D-Boy fashion, he finally boarded by leaping on. As luck would have it, however, he would only land halfway on, his lower extremities still hanging over the edge.
"You guys love me! You guys really really love me!" the sooty blood-stained man wailed, scrambling to pull himself onto the ship much like a dog. He smiled brightly as The Magician grabbed his arms and yanked him aboard, "The D, y'know, was so~ scared—gaAAAGGAH MY ASS!"
Hearing the ruckus, The Moon was first to sprint for the helm and pass the word along, "He is on! Go!"
"Hold on to your butts!"
The white yacht lurched as its engines roared to maximum power, propelling the seemingly benign pleasure boat out and away from harm's way. Through pristine waters and screaming bullets, the ship tore through the waves like a bat out of hell, the sounds of gunfire and ricochets eventually fading to the rumble of the engines. Soon, that hell became a distant nightmare.
Josef crouched low above decks, peering through his scope for any potential pursuers. Roanapur was just a glimpse in the distance now, barely visible against the blue sky. And soon, it would just be blue sky, blue seas, for them.
"No tails. I think we are clear," the marksman reported, before clambering back down to the company of his eccentric fellows. "How is everything else?"
The Magician, looking up from her very relaxed slouch, jerked a finger over to where the others were gathered. "Ol' D-Boy there's bitchin' up a storm."
True to her word, D-Boy was bent over a chair of sorts, his trousers and underwear pulled down to his ankles, and his bum to the breeze. There was an ugly, if relatively minor bloody hole in his left buttock.
"They shot me in the ass! Why did they have to shoot me in the ass? Damn you all, aim for the head or heart, not my ass!" D-Boy groaned as The Moon worked her magic with a thin stiletto knife and a pair of tweezers. "Now I'm going to scar!"
"Hush, unless you wish I do this with less delicacy?" the silver-haired woman hissed, digging the tweezers a littler harder than necessary. D-Boy's tortured facial expression was difficult to describe, but wholly amusing and satisfying to see.
"But I'll never be able to marry!"
"Be glad you didn't end up like Collins," Noland muttered, too busy leaning against the bulkhead to make a greater effort.
"The Sun? What happened to—" D-Boy followed a pointed finger to a certain corpse in the corner. "—Oh. Damn."
"Twenty minutes to drop off point," a lazy drawl boomed through the ship's intercom from the captain. "Hey, you guys gonna clean the blood off the floor? Don't make me have to charge you all a cleaning fee."
"Just get us there, will you?"
The boat ride and later plane ride was peaceful, especially compared to moments earlier. Within the large hold of a transport plane, the troopers of Bravo Company crowded around the strange tube and accompanying machinery. With their gear off and stored away, they were all clad in nondescript overalls.
"Not to question a client's business, but is this thing really worth the costs?" Marisa, her normally untamed blonde hair even more amiss than usual, tapped the glass of the tube.
"My ass hurts." D-Boy, dark haired and long-suffering, sniffled. He remained prone on a makeshift bed, his backside thoroughly wrapped in a multitude of bandages.
"You're looking at the third most powerful ESPer in Academy City," Noland, his stern expression ever on the verge of a frown, explained to his colleague. "As you can imagine, she's of very significant worth to the City, so they would much prefer her safe return."
"So why not send Hound Dogs in? It's what they get paid to do, right?"
"Better us than them, unless we want the whole world to stare," Rai, tan and short, scoffed, peering into the wound the machine proudly sported. Despite lacking any sort of fix, the hole didn't seem to expose any sort of immediate damage, even after all the bumps and jumps from transport.
Curious, he tapped the side.
Warning. Preservation systems error. Emergency thaw initialized.The machine suddenly vocalized, followed by a slow beep and a grinding whirr sound as it did… something.
"Emergency thaw? Is that thing shutting down?"
The Magician immediately glared at the likely suspect, "What the hell did you do, Rai?"
"Not a damn thing!" Rai took a step away from the machine, his hands up.
"Bullshit, you touched it last!"
"I poked it!"
"So it is your fault!"
"My ass hurts."
"You blathering idiots, point fingers later! How do we fix this?"
The assembled crew stepped back as steam and vapors billowed out of the machine, following the increasingly rapid beeping. A swooshing sound, like water draining, coincided with the liquid bleeding out of the tube compartment. A thump, a hiss, and the glass view plate slowly opened like a coffin's hinge. The girl inside was finally free of her prison.
"This could be trouble."
"Shit. She's going to wake up."
"What should we do, talk to her?"
"Make Noland do it," The Magician hastily pushed the man into the line of fire. "He's the casanova-ze!"
The Gurkha matched her impish expression with a grin of his own, "Oh yeah, everyone loves the British accent."
"I'm Scottish, you muppets," Noland gave the two a mild glare.
"My ass hurts."
"Shut it, D-Boy!" Rai barked before turning back to his colleague, "Just go talk to her."
"Christ…" Noland grumbled as he stepped up to the machine, just as the glass lifted away to reveal the nude girl within… and nothing else. "...Oi, can someone get this girl a blanket?"
Misaka Mikoto teeter-tottered in place, no longer held up in a zero-buoyancy solution. Had it not been for the dripping fluids, one could have mistaken her for a sleepwalker. She would have fallen forward had it not been for the Scotsman stopping her with a hand to the shoulder.
"Miss? Miss, are you awake?" the mercenary spoke in the most polite Japanese he could muster, shaking the shoulder gently. All he got was a grumble and groan. "She's still asleep. Where's that bloody blanket?"
Just as a cotton towel was tossed over, Noland felt the girl's shoulder twitch. Turning his attention back to her, he noticed her eyes blink open. "Oh, good. You're awake."
Bleary and unfocused, brown eyes blinked as they tried to understand their surroundings.
"Where…? Who…?" she murmured at first, glancing about.
"You're with Anti-Skill. You're safe now."
Comprehension seemed to click in with the girl, or at least, the understanding that she was completely nude and standing in front of several strange people in a strange place. "Ehh? Where's my clothes? Why am I naked?"
"Wait. Stay calm. You're safe."
"Who are you people? Where the hell am I? What happened to me?"
She could feel their eyes on her, all staring as she bared it all for them. Damp, dirty, and completely naked, Misaka Mikoto could feel the humiliation well up in her throat and tears threaten to spill. Lightning arced from her body.
"Did you hear me? We're Anti-Skill, and you're on a jet inbound to Academy City. Please calm down. We will get you back home very soon—" a sudden burst of electricity caused Noland to let the girl go, his arm numb and tingly up to the shoulder. "Bloody fu—stop! Look, take this damn towel—don't do this on a plane! Oh bollocks, she's charging up."
"Duck and cover, kids!" The Magician's warning was unnecessary, as everyone was already scrambling for cover. D-Boy just covered his head with a dog-like whine.
As red as a tomato from head to toe, Misaka Mikoto let out a great scream as she dropped into a crouch and tried to curl into the smallest ball possible, all the while letting go all her stress, embarrassment, and fear in the form of a tremendous, sky-splitting (and plane-shattering) lightning bolt.
Noland, being the closest, had little chance.
"Crap."
KRAKA-KRAKA-THOOOOOOOM!
Anti-Skill Special Activities Division – Section Nine
Special Response Team and Development Group – Bravo Company
Officer in Charge: The Temperance
Status: Active
Standing orders: swift and rapid response to city crises outside reach of normal reactionary forces
Current objective: Locate and retrieve stolen property of Academy City
Mission status: Successful.
Special Notes:
Operator "The Tower" WIA
Operator "The Sun" KIA
Club Eden Hall, District 17, Academy City
2300 Hours
"Oh hell. That was a bad one."
"Only one lost, and we got paid; I think we did well."
"Tell that to D-Boy."
"He took a bullet in his arse. He'll be fine in a week and some rehab."
"Yeah well, no beer for him. It's hospital food for a while, and some pretty nurses, maybe."
"Tak, maybe. ...But wasn't he a liquor kind of man?"
"Then, more beer for us."
"Oh sure, let's all pay no mind to the bloke who got zapped."
"We all got zapped."
"You weren't right next to her. I'm still twitching from the damn shock."
"Are we forgetting that the entire plane stalled and almost crashed into the damn sea-ze?"
"We all nearly died, okay?"
"Good evening, boys and girl. I apologize for the interruption."
"Hey hey, it's Sakuya-san! You're a rare sight – want a drink-ze?"
"Merci, but I must refuse. We have new equipment testing tomorrow at five in the morning."
"Seriously? Zero-Five-Hundred hours-ze? ...What a downer."
"Oui. And don't think I am somehow oblivious that you are already plotting to be U-A with a convenient excuse."
"Tsk. As expected of our Sakuya-san, what a sharp woman-ze."
"Oi, I don't suppose it's from a third-party developer?"
"Why I am glad you asked. Our favorite: Nitori-Tech."
"Sasakura. Bacardi One-Fifty-One for everyone. Now."
"I hope there's beautiful nurses."
"Tak."
End Notes:
Not much to say. Please review?