P.O.V. Joe the Unbeatable
"FUCK FUCK FUCK SHIT FUCK," Joe was shouting as he pulled on his combat armor. His "companions" were doing the same, though the drugs were making it difficult. Figures, his castle was under siege when he was enjoying some company in his bed. "Tell me the what the fuck is going on Josef, and someone get me some fucking jet for my god damned nerves!" he shouted.
"Some guys rocking black power armor with laser guns and theseā¦. things that shoot green goo. I think we kicked a Stingwing nest with our recent raids boss," his second in command shouted. They were running down the stairs, weapons in hand. While the outside had been scantly defended inside the base there was an army of raiders, near a hundred. While most had shitty pipe guns and bits of scrap metal tied to their bodies, a good three to four dozen were well-armed.
Combat and assault rifles, combat armor, grenades, miniguns, gatling lasers, missile launchers, and so much more. And all of that was getting lined up on the door, ready to blow whatever came threw to Hell. He hefted his full-auto assault rifle up, its sixty round drum topped off with armor-piercing rounds. Several scantily clad, bomb collar wearing women and men ran along the line, passing off drugs, ammo, booze, grenades, weapons, and everything else that the raiders would need to hold their line.
The sound of an impact against the main door shook up a good number of people, but everyone held. Then another. The third ruptured the door open and every gun opened up. Out from the gap came five massive black-armored figures, red spotlights emanating from their helmets. The green goo that Josef had told him about exited the weapons and struck across the line. Their advance did not halt, they just walked through the fire.
Raiders were dying by the dozens, and the fire lessened. Then, they broke. They ran. Many dropped their weapons, practically threw them at the advancing armored men. The only difference between them and those at the barricade was they were shot in the back. His gun clicked empty and Joe turned to his attendant for more ammo, only to find her upper body completely disintegrated. He turned back just fast enough to see the burst of goo that would end his life.
P.O.V. Lieutenant Richard Nox
Even after the shattering of their major defense, and the death of their leader, the raiders kept fighting. Not that Nox cared. It was what he was bred for, raised for, and trained for. It was also, what he lived for. He'd been offered two promotions and he rejected both. Taking them would mean being stuck at a desk, organizing the company rather than being on the ground with his platoon.
The ping of 5.56 caliber rounds striking against his armor alerted him to several raiders that had flanked him. Turning to his rear he identified three raiders, all with horribly painted combat armor. He guessed they were supposed to be a depiction of a Yao Guai but after a few blasts of plasma, they were just melted bits of metal merged with hot flesh.
He continued down the hall, plasing any raider that didn't get smart real quick. He reached the end of the hall to a door that would take him to a major internal storage depot. He opened the door and immediately closed it, not that it mattered. The shot from the tesla cannon tore it open and sent him reeling. He ducked into a room. A pair of troopers ran past, thinking the coast was clear. He couldn't warn them quick enough. The shot tore right threw them, didn't even slow down.
"Heavy fire on my position," he reported over the comms, "Tesla Cannon, two of ours are down,"
"You need assistance?" Mason asked, the sound of gunfire spilling from his end. Nox smiled. "Negative," He pulled a pair of plasma grenades of his belt and clicked them live. Tossing them around the corner, into the room he heard a "feminine" voice shout "GRENADE!" before they detonated, filling the halls with the screams of the damned. He turned the corner and into the room. The Tesla cannon was no longer operable. A plinking noise brought to his attention a survivor to his right. She was on the ground, her legs burned off. She was firing a 10mm pistol at him, not that it did anything.
He marched towards her, not even bothering to raise his weapon. Her gun clicked empty and she tossed it at him. It harmlessly hit him in the chest and fell to the ground. She turned away, trying to crawl towards a crate of some kind. He walked past her and opened it. It contained about half a dozen assault rifles. He smirked behind his helmet, "Even with this, you have no chance," She couldn't hear what he had said, not that it mattered.
He turned back to her and leveled his boot over her head. She continued to crawl. No begging, no pleading. He could respect that. He slammed his boot down. The crunching sound of bone-shattering mixed with the squelching of grey matter and blood flying. His boots and legs were stained red, as were the floors and several of the crates.
"Status," he said over the comms.
"Sector 3 clear. Six casualties, zero fatalities," Mason sounded off.
"Sector 2 is being mopped up. Three casualties, one fatality," Keyes announced. The sound of several plasma shots from Keyes's comms was followed by, "Update, sector 2 is clear,"
The other sectors sounded off, fairly similar reports. All in all, they had lost nine people total in the operation and a further seventeen had been wounded. Of those wounded only four were critical, but they would most likely recover. "Alright, sweep and clear one more time. The Dagger Wolves will take care of salvaging the bases cache,"
"Yeah, first round's one me boys and girls," Mason shouted over the comms, causing a few cheers to erupt. "Another successful op for the Devil's," Nox thought to himself.
Author's Note
No real updates for this week, just hope everyone who reads this has a good week and stays healthy. Thanks for reading.
