Nyeh-hey, not a bad turnaround this time for a full chapter. Two and a bit weeks? I can live with that.
Brad Meadows, or rather, Hookwolf, looked out over the crowd gathered before him, the men cheering and calling for blood around the ring below him; Kaiser could posture and pretend all he wanted at those Empire rallies, but right here, right now, he was king.
He savored the cheers of the crowd as the dogs below bit and tore into each other, bleeding and dying for the entertainment of the masses, money changing hands as new challengers entered to face reigning champions, and men bet on their lives. It was times like this he almost wished that bitch that kept attacking his 'businesses' would show up. He'd take pleasure in ripping her apart personally, if she were ever stupid enough to face him. For now, though, he would just enjoy the sounds and sights of dogs ripping each other apart.
"Hey."
Brad twitched, turning to look at the dumbass that had decided to interrupt him. If it was Reggie coming to him with some stupid fucking problem he could have just taken care of himself, Brad was going to rip out his guts and strangle him with them.
"What-?" Brad snapped, freezing as he turned to face the armored figure behind him.
"Heard I could earn money here," The man said matter-of-factly, "Figured I could win a few fights or something."
Brad stared silently for a moment. That costume looked familiar… He just couldn't place it.
"This is a dog fighting ring." He growled.
"Alright. I'll fight dogs. Doesn't really matter to me."
"No, you fucking dumbass; dogs fighting other dogs. What are you, retarded? Get out!"
"Look man," The cape held up his hands placatingly, "I'm just looking to make some money. Can I do that here or not?"
"The fuck do I care about your money? Get out before I decide to rip you apart!"
His metal churned beneath his skin, poking and stabbing out in places. Maybe it was time he taught the dumbasses among the crowd what happened to people that fucked with him.
The stranger didn't react for a moment, finally shrugging and heading back the way he came. Brad suppressed a small shiver. Something about that guy was... off.
The way he held himself, it wasn't like the stupid lackey he played as: That was a stone cold killer he had just snapped at, as surely as he, or Stormtiger, or Cricket was.
He watched as the man wove through the crowd, making his way to the ring. He looked sort of like Krieg, but less of a dumbass.
Was he a cape?
Brad decided he should keep an eye on him, just in case.
Best case scenario? Maybe he had just found another recruit for the Empire. Whoever this guy was, he couldn't possibly be worse than Crusader, now that the man was near-catatonic.
That new cape that took him down, whoever he was, must have done a number on Justin. Brad would have approved, had it happened to someone outside the Empire. As it was, however, Kaiser was calling for this rookie cape's head, and Brad wasn't about to stick his neck out just for one good fighter. Or at least a decent one; this was Justin, after all. The pussy could've stood to get his nose bloodied a bit.
That said, he'd be sure to give the cape a fighter's death, if he got the chance. He deserved that much.
Maybe he'd show up tonight? They didn't know much about the guy, other than that he used Tinkertech, and wore a costume that made him look sort of…
Like…
Krieg….
What did they say the guy's name was? Courier?
Hookwolf grinned like his namesake animal beneath his mask.
How convenient.
He watched as the latest fight drew to a close, the winner being led away and the loser dragged off in the other direction, and then cleared his throat.
"Alright! Listen up!"
In the open warehouse, his voice echoed over the crowd, quickly silencing any side conversations.
"Turns out we've got a real fighter in the house tonight!" Brad pointed at the cape that had approached him not minutes ago. "You've all heard about that new cape, Courier, that took down Crusader? The one who's been going around, killing your brothers?" Brad grinned as murmurs rippled through his audience. "Well, there he is!"
The crowd quickly dispersed around the cape, creating a hole of open space. He made a 'who, me?' gesture, looking around at the crowd, which had begun to grow agitated, confusion turning to anger as they finally noticed the killer among them.
"Well, you sure know how to make a man feel special," The cape finally said, "I mean, you went through all this trouble to put on a good fight for little ol' me?"
The cape's tone sent a smattering of chuckles through the less confident in the crowd, though they died quickly as Brad growled.
"Think you're smart, do you?" He jumped down from his perch above the ring, pushing his blades out through his skin as he fell. The crowd scattered as he did, leaving a proper fighting ring between the two capes to duke it out in. "Let's see how mouthy you are when you're trying to hold in your own guts!"
"Ooh, scary." The cape grunted in a not-at-all-scared tone, rummaging in his coat for something.
With a high-pitched digital whine, the eyes of the cape's helmet lit up as he pulled out some sort of wrist mounted buzzsaw… thing. Brad could swear there was something different about the cape before him as he raised his fists in preparation: It was something small, the sort of thing only a veteran fighter like himself would spot, but it was there. A tiny shift in stance, a slight bend in the knees; this was a veteran pit fighter.
"Least you'll be a good fight." Brad grinned. "If Kaiser wasn't calling for your head, I'd probably be tryin' to recruit you right now."
"Caesar?" The cape's hands dropped a fraction of an inch, his entire stance tightening up. "You're shitting me. You're with Caesar's 'Empire', or whatever you guys are calling yourselves now?"
Brad stood silently, his head tilted. Did this fucking retard seriously not know who he was?
The cape let out a long, almost disappointed sigh.
"And here I was hoping I'd be able to have a nice, wholesome night of bloodsport. Now it turns out I gotta kill a whole fuckin' building full of assholes."
Brad growled as Courier's saw-glove revved up, both of them charging each other.
"I'll show you fucking bloodsport!" He howled, lunging toward the cape as his blades shifted and morphed, colliding with the circular saw. With a screech of steel on steel, sparks flew in all directions, Hookwolf throwing himself at the man again and again.
To his credit, the cape's form was great. He didn't flinch, even when Brad threw himself bodily at him, just dodging when he could, or blocking with his glove's blade when he couldn't. He wasn't leaving a single opening for Brad to exploit.
Eventually though, he'd have to break. Even if it was just a matter of tanking hits from that saw until the blade broke. The fact of the matter was, in a battle of attrition like this, Brad had the advantage over whatever tinkertech this guy had stuffed in his coat; he could keep regenerating what damage he took near indefinitely.
The cape let out an annoyed grunt as the bent and warped saw blade caught on its housing.
Speak of the devil.
Tossing it to the side, he dug back into his coat as Brad pushed his advantage, the crowd cheering around them. His men wanted blood, and that's what he'd give them. When Courier brought his hand back out, it had yet another glove wrapped around it; black this time, instead of bright yellow. With a shout, Brad ran forward, blades churning around him and his 'mouth' wide open, ready to finish the fight. He'd rip this guy's arm off, then let him bleed out the rest of the way. Maybe let the thugs have a few shots at the guy before he did. Fuck giving him an 'honorable death'; it was time to end this.
Lunging forward with a howl, Brad's body collided with the cape's, sending them both flying. There were shouts as the crowd scattered, rushing to avoid the brawlers as they rolled across the floor. Brad slashed and clawed, trying to get a grip on the cape's armor as Courier drove his fist into Brad's side over and over, blasting him with lead pellets with each strike.
Finally, they slammed into the wall, flying out into the street. With a grunt, Courier managed to kick Brad off, forcing him back while he got to his feet.
Slowly, the two fighters circled, sizing each other up. Internally, Brad grinned. He hadn't had this good of a fight since he triggered; just two men with nothing but their heads and their fists (and their powers, admittedly), each trying to brutalize the other into submission. He would've loved to keep this going forever, but now that they were out in the open, they were on a time limit. Somebody was bound to show up sooner or later to investigate the noise, and Brad didn't delude himself hoping that they'd be friendly.
It was time to end things.
"You're a damn good fighter." Brad grunted, his voice slightly distorted from his blades.
"Same to you," Courier chuckled, "Shame you weren't at the Battle for the Dam. Maybe then Lanius wouldn't have gotten his ass handed to him like he did."
"The fuck are you going on about?"
Courier laughed.
"Holy shit, you guys already did the 'forbidding speaking his name' thing or whatever? I get that it's like, your thing, and that you did the same thing with Graham, but honestly? Pretending you don't know him just makes you look like a dumbass."
Brad growled, his blades churning violently.
"Anyway, I think it's about time we ended this, yeah?"
Brad didn't bother to respond, lunging forward to make another slash at Courier.
If he could just get one good hit past that armor, he'd have the win: It was thicker than the shit PRT troopers usually had, just thick enough that his blades couldn't quite dig in enough to do real damage. He just needed a bit more leverage.
As Brad approached Courier, the man sidestepped his attack, ducking down to grab a handful of rubble and flinging it at Brad's face in one motion. It wasn't much, just enough to force him to shut his eyes, to keep out any tiny particles, but it was enough. When Brad turned back around, the cape held a huge red and white lance, the end sparking menacingly.
This time, it was Courier that attacked first, his lance stuck out like a Hookwolf-seeking missile. Brad lashed out to bat it to the side, but hissed as his hand came into contact with the superheated end. He jerked back in instinctual fear of the sparking tinkertech device. He'd been hurt before, but that lance had just gone right past his blades. This wasn't a threat he could just throw himself at any more. This was a threat Brad hadn't faced since fighting in the Pits himself.
Brad made a tactical retreat, keeping his distance from Courier and his lance as the cape stalked towards him.
It was easy enough to cycle the blades that the lance had melted back in and replace them with fresh ones, but the tables had been turned, and Brad no longer held the advantage. He dashed into a nearby alley with Courier following behind, using his blades to dig into the brick wall and gain some altitude over the cape. When Courier finally arrived, he let go, diving towards the man with a victorious howl.
Faster than any normal person could have reacted, though, the cape looked up, his eyes burning red. Brad had only a moment to consider his mistake when the lance's tip rose up to meet his body, sinking in deep enough to nick his real body. Brad howled in pain, jumping back once more. When Courier reappeared, framed in the light from the street, the lance sparking and smoking menacingly and the cape himself barely looking the worse for wear, he realized he was outclassed. With one arm slagged and charred, Brad focused on regenerating what he could of his blades to protect himself.
Distantly, it occurred to him that he should have run already, but he ignored it. He didn't have anywhere to run now, his back against the alley wall. It was time to fight or die, and never let it be said that Brad Meadows wasn't a damn good fighter.
Howling one more time, his arms outstretched and frothing with bladed metal, Brad charged the cape head on, intent on tackling Courier beneath his weight and simultaneously pummeling and shredding the cape to death, Brad found himself brought up short by the lance once more, the tip sinking deep into center mass.
He felt an odd tingling in his chest, his blades working quickly to try to siphon off whatever heat they could, but it was already too late. His legs gave out. He fell to the ground, the tip still embedded in his body. The scent of charred flesh and vaporized steel filled his lungs, but he was focused on the man above him.
The glowing red eyes. The unblinking stare. This was Death itself come to take him to hell, kicking and screaming if need be. Brad smiled beneath his mask, the metal in question still in relatively good condition, compared to the rest of his body.
"You know, I just remembered a joke I heard once." Courier chuckled, casually leaning on the lance as it melted through steel and flesh. "Hey buddy, tell me, what's worse than ten guys crucified on one cross?"
Brad was silent, his jaw locked tight in pain.
"Mmh… Not in a joking mood, huh?" Courier sighed. "Dammit, I really wanted to use that one on you. I mean, you're Legion and everything, and you've got the whole 'dog head' thing like the Frumentarii. It would've been the next best thing compared to doing it to Vulpes himself, but that fucker's already dead."
Courier pulled the lance out of Brad's chest, leaving a charred hole around where his heart would be, and raised the tip high.
"Anyway, fuck you, yadda yadda, see you in hell."
Silently, unceremoniously, Brad watched the lance fall, the last thing he saw before the tip connected with his head was the eyes of Death itself, the fires of Hell reflected in their gaze.
With a sigh, Hannah dismounted her motorcycle, scanning the street in front of her.
"Console, I'm on scene now. Seems like the fight's already finished."
"Console copies, Miss Militia. Lock down the area until PRT agents arrive."
"Roger that, Console."
Changing her weapon into a shotgun, Miss Militia crept forward, scanning the street for threats. She could see the wall of a warehouse that had been smashed open. Inside she saw the caged ring, and the various Empire symbols adorning the walls.
"Console, be advised. I found one of Hookwolf's dog fighting rings. Looks like Hellhound hit another one of them."
"Confirmed. Be on the lookout for any civilian casualties."
Hannah nodded, stepping inside. The warehouse was deserted, which was unusual. Hellhound wasn't a cape known for using restraint, especially when she was 'liberating' dogs from rings like this. And yet, she couldn't find any bodies. She kneeled down to investigate a pair of shotgun shells laying on the floor, still smoking.
Odd.
She could see a few more littered around the area, but that didn't nearly account for the entire mob's worth of armed Empire thugs that almost certainly had been here. Somehow, whoever had done this had managed to deal with dozens of Empire foot soldiers without firing a single shot.
Moving back outside, Hannah could see a trail of ripped up pavement. Her grip tightened around her gun as she crept forward. The trail led into a nearby alley, and Hannah took a moment to steel herself.
"Console, be advised, Hookwolf may be on the rampage in my area. I've found evidence of a fight."
"Confirmed. Velocity is two minutes out. Engage at your discretion."
Hannah stood still for a moment, calming herself. Facing down Hookwolf alone wouldn't be the most dangerous thing she'd ever done, but it was certainly up there. As she leaned against the wall leading into the alley, preparing to clear it, she smelled something that made her want to gag.
Burnt flesh.
It wasn't an entirely unfamiliar scent, typically one that lingered in the wake of one of Lung's rampages, but the ABB obviously wasn't behind this particular fight. Not nearly enough collateral damage to be Lung's work.
Turning into the alley, she held her shotgun at the ready.
"PRT! Come out with your hands up!"
The figure that turned to greet her made her freeze, the red glow of his eyes sending a primal chill through her hindbrain; blood dripped from his front, and she could see the recently deceased body behind him, steel blades poking out at odd angles from a body that looked like the man had managed to eat a live grenade.
Then the man's night vision goggles turned off, and Miss Militia found herself with a slightly scruffy cape covered in another man's entrails.
"Uh… I know how this looks." He said, sheepishly, slowly raising his hands. "But… He attacked me first?"
Not really much to say about this chapter. A big ol' fight scene, and finally Courier Six runs into someone to politely and gently suggest that maybe he go talk to Armsmaster now, yeah?
