Earth-shaking detonations reverberated throughout the air; the vibrations so deep to shake one's very soul. Tank shells sliced through black billowing smoke at regular intervals with ear-piercing whistles, before detonating violently against bricks and concrete, sending debris and masonry cascading down the building's façade and into the street below.
Standing up from the turret's hatch of his Scorpion Tank, Pack Leader Zertis peered through his binoculars, licking his lips. He could feel the heat lapping at his face from the fires raging around him, devouring entire floors of the buildings nearby. Once again, he reached up with a hand and scratched beneath his eyepatch. The itch had not left him alone for a moment since all of that had begun.
The fight so far proceeded well, he reasoned, yet their advance remained slow, and they were starting to get behind schedule as well. Begrudgingly, Zertis had to concede it to the Markazians; they knew how to fight. What was supposed to be a quick and decisive strike at their main HQ had turned into a slugging match. The Kartisians would win of course, no doubt about it; they had the numbers, training, and equipment on their side. Still, losses would be considerable at the end of the day.
Lowering his binoculars for just a moment, Zertis looked down the street, where the blackened wreck of another Scorpion Tank laid some distance away. Its ammo compartment had cooked off, burning the turret from the inside out. The driver had not detected the explosive buried beneath the asphalt, and the entire crew had thus paid the price.
With a shake of his head, Zertis went back looking at his target, tapping on his earpiece.
"Epsilon to Maverick Actual, come in," he said. The crackling quickly gave way to a crisp voice belonging to the tank's commander. Though there were probably a couple of metres at most separating them, they had to resort to their comms to communicate. The roaring from the tank engine working at full capacity was simply too great.
"Epsilon, Maverick Actual speaking. Go ahead, over."
"Maverick Actual, telemetric data incoming for new target. Distance is two thousand metres, elevation eighteen point six. Shift aim by eleven degrees," Zertis reported accurately. "Target is sniper nest operating by one of the upper balconies. How copy, over?"
"Solid copy, Epsilon. Firing two HE rounds in quick succession. Stand by for adjustments, over."
From beneath him came the whirring and purring of pistons as the tank's turret slowly turned towards the new target, the smoothbore barrel climbing steadily before coming to a halt at the new elevation, settling on an apartment block two klicks away. Zertis simply reached up with a clawed hand and activated the noise-dampeners secured to his ears beneath the helmet.
"Shot out," came the simple command, and the world around him shook as the tank fired with a sharp crack, the barrel jerking back due to massive recoil before hydraulics brought it back forward. A white cloud of gas erupted from the muzzle, then dissipated, allowing Zertis to check on the damage through his binoculars. He frowned.
"Maverick Actual, correct aim. Depress aim of two degrees. Try and put one right through the window."
"Copy that, Epsilon. Second shot out, stand by." Again, another crack and another puff of smoke, the explosive shell too quick to be traced by naked eye. What could be observed however, was its immediate effect.
"Maverick Actual, Epsilon here. Superb shot. Sniper nest is just rubble now. Send my compliments to your gunner, over," Zertis said, before tapping a second time at his earpiece and switching radio channel. Reports were flooding in from the battle raging around the Markazian HQ. His Pack was making progress, but casualties were heavy.
It couldn't have been otherwise: the Markazians had commandeered an old hotel complex in the middle of a tightly-packed residential area, making sure each building would function as a strongpoint. The approaches were few, forcing Zertis's armoured elements to hang back and let the infantry do the heavy work, occasionally managing to take a pop shot or two against some far-away target but little else.
Impatiently, Zertis drummed his claws on the metallic surface of the turret. There were a few scars decorating it, memories of earlier battles.
"This is taking too long," he muttered under his breath, scratching his chin as he did so. "And we don't have much time anyway. We must wrap this up quickly before they rally for a counterattack."
A sly grin made its appearance on his face. Perhaps it was finally time to bring out the hammer. He tapped on his earpiece one last time. "Epsilon to Manticore, come in Manticore. What's your ETA?"
"Epsilon, Manticore speaking," the sharp female voice echoed in his ear. "We are having trouble navigating our way through the streets, but we should reach your position in five minutes or so."
"You sure you are not just enjoying your time on the wheel?" Zertis quipped, before hearing a soft chuckle coming in as a reply.
"It is not an honour you get every day, yes, but fear not. We have not forgotten why we are here. Telemetric data is already being transmitted. By the time we arrive, we'll already have targeting solutions."
"Good to hear it, Manticore. We'll be waiting for your arrival. Epsilon, out."
Zertis glanced up, and grinned as he lowered his visor. A few blocks away, an explosion gutted the fifth floor of a building, hungry fires reaching up to devour the upper floors as well, concrete blackening with soot. The sight filled Zertis with anticipation.
Soon, that whole matter would be put to rest.
"This is Colonel Veralux to all Markazian forces that can hear me. Begin withdrawal f- . . . -ctor 7, I repeat, we are pulling out of the HQ so- . . . -nd get the fuck out of there! The place is lost! Abandon th- . . . –otel and regroup, I repe-. . ."
The room shook, and Kit nearly winced. Usually employing a communication console would have been a child's play for her, yet every time that booming sound echoed from outside, she would look up in apprehension, as if she was expecting the next shot to just land inside and atomize them all.
She tapped at the console again. "Rivet, this is Kit! Do you read me?" The only answer was static, crackling and hissing. For a moment she had gotten the impression of hearing her voice from the other side, but the signal came back distorted.
"Rivet, it's important! Please, pick up!" Still no answer. There was too much interference in the area, no signal would get through. Kit's eye-sensors went slant in worry. But what if it wasn't that? What if she was in danger? How could they get into contact with her if she-
"Kit, how long is gonna take girl?" Clatchky shouted at her from his cover, trying to be heard through the cacophony of gunfire filling the lobby. He peeked from it just enough to let out a few shots with his blaster, before hiding back behind it with a yelp. Retaliatory fire came at once his way.
"Almost there, I just need a few more minutes, that's all!" the small bot replied, her systems synchronized with the portable console laying to the ground. There hadn't been any need to ask before using it; its previous owner laid on the tiled floor of the hotel lobby some distance away. Kit tried not to look at it.
"We don't have that long!" Phantom said as he made his appearance by their side. "The Markazians are pulling out and those dudes are about to overrun this place! Me and a couple of guys managed to secure a vehicle in the garage in the back, but we've got to move now!"
Kit looked up, eye sensors blinking. "But . . . Rivet-"
"We won't be able to help her if we get killed," Clatchky retorted. He hissed under his breath. "Besides, the girl is tough. She can handle herself. Right now, we need to-"
The building around them shook violently once more, dust falling off the ceiling. There was a flash, and the shockwave threw back a couple of Markazian fighters from their position behind a window. High above them, and old chandelier shook on its chain. And then snapped.
"Watch out!" Clatchky leaped to his feet. He scooped up Kit with both hands before the bot had time to realize what was happening and dived for safety. The ear-splitting crash came from behind them a second later, as the old chandelier that had occupied the lobby's ceiling dropped precisely where they had been a moment before. Shards of glass flew, and metal groaned and screamed upon impact.
Kit blinked in shock, Clatchky standing over her as he shielded her with his body. A moment later, and a mass of wrought iron would have crushed her underneath. She looked up as Clatchky rose to her feet and slowly deposited her back onto the ground. He was huffing, dust covered his face, yet the one-eyed alien was grinning.
"Well, I'll be damned. That was too close for my taste." He glanced at Kit. "You alright girl?"
"I . . . I think so. A bit shaken maybe, but still functioning." She smiled genuinely. "Thank you."
"Don't mention it girl. Sorry for you console though," he jutted a thumb at the sparkling and half-smashed pile of electronics that used to be a portable console. "Don't worry, I'm sure we'll find something else for you to use. Now," Clatchky said as he slapped a fresh magazine into his blaster, "are you ready to move?"
Kit nodded. There was little she could do now, not in her current form anyway. Of course, if she were to assume her warbot form, she could have-
'No. Not right now. You don't need that. You are more than just a weapon. You've been helping them in other ways too, haven't you?'
Still, it wasn't easy to just abandon that thought. One of her subroutines had already calculated attack patterns and ammunition expenditure if she where to assume Warbot form right now, together with a rough estimate of just how many enemies she would destroy. And, for a moment, she had even considered it.
That line of thought did not last long.
"Back! Go back!" One Markazian shouted. "They're breaching the door! Stand clear!"
The barricaded door at the entrance disappeared in an expanding cloud of smoke, the shockwave sending stone, bricks and wooden pieces cutting through the air. The lobby was showered by shrapnel as they acted as impromptu high-speed projectiles, cutting down the Markazians too slow to reach their covers of sandbags or other sturdy materials. Blood-curling screams rented the air; limbs and heads were lost, and bodies hit the floor.
There was one single moment of silence as the dust settled, and then the Kartisians charged inside. With hisses and growls they emerged from the smoke, giving the Markazian defenders only a few moments to realize what was happening before they fell upon them.
Kit's eye-sensors widened in horror as she saw one of those hideous, reptilian-like creatures tackling a Markazian fighter to the ground and then proceeding to hack her to pieces. These were no simple soldiers, she realized. They were shock troops, clad in carapace-like body armour and wielding blunt weapons, power mauls, long knives, energy blades, as well as a varied assortment of short-barrelled, combustion-based firearm.
There was nothing elegant about their method of fighting, no sophisticated tactical manoeuvring. They were killers, and they were there to do one job. Where weapons failed, teeth and claws were employed with gruesome efficiency.
By her side, Phantom tossed a cryo-grenade at a trio advancing on them. Two dived out of the way, but the one in front was caught squarely by the sub-zero blast, the freezing mist enveloping him on the spot. Phantom pulled out his own blaster and opened fire. Ice exploded and the assailant fell to the floor, much of his frozen upper torso gone.
"Watch out!" Kit cried out. The other two now rushed him; the first one came swinging his weapon, something that resembled a crude meat-hook. There was a blur and the Kartisian cut through empty air. His four-eyes widened in surprise, making him hesitate a moment too long. Phantom's tri-barrelled blaster barked again, and his head exploded.
"Sorry dude, you were too slow," Phantom said with a chuckle. Something smashed into him from the side, and the Rilgarian found himself twisting and grappling on the ground against the last assailant. The Kartisian twisted her head around, her mouth opening to take a bite out of him.
"Dude! Ever heard about oral hygiene before?" Phantom hissed as he dodged the first lunge, the Kartisian snapping forward, jaws closing where his head was one moment before.
Kit could only watch, unable of doing anything, as the two rolled on the ground. They traded blows as they held onto each other, struggling for control of the Kartisian's blade. Phantom managed to wriggle himself some room and deliver a powerful hook straight into her jaw. The Kartisian jerked her head back in pain, but not before ripping the weapon free from Phantom's grasp through one last effort.
She lashed out with a clawed hand, seizing Phantom from the throat, and slamming him to the ground. She pinned him there with her weight. The Rilgarian fought desperately to break the hold, but to no avail. The Kartisian raised the blade with a hungry grin, licking her lips.
"NO!" Kit cried out. She seized the Kartisian's scaly, swinging tail and pulled with all her energies. "Let him go, you brute!"
The assailant let out an annoyed yet painfilled groan. Her head snapped around, four amber-coloured eyes narrowing on Kit as she growled. The small bot had but a moment to regret her hasty decision, for the next she found herself thrown back by as savage backhand. She slid across the pavement's tiles before slamming against a nearby marble column.
Kit blinked, eye-sensors still fuzzy after the violent impact, as she caught sight of the Kartisian raising her blade once more over Phantom.
"N-No . . ." was all Kit managed to say.
It was too late.
She could do nothing else.
The world around her slowed down, each second crawling forward like a small eternity. The clash of weapons; the screaming of gunfire; the cries of wounded and dying. All became a distant and forgettable sound in the distance.
She almost missed Clatchky jumping on the back of the Kartisian and seizing her from behind, all to buy an injured Phantom a few more moments. The Kartisian swung her blade around, trying to get rid of him.
'TACTICAL ANALYSIS COMPLETED. PROBABILITY OF SURVIVAL FOR SUBJECT KNOWN AS "PHANTOM" IN THE NEXT TWO MINUTES IS 15%. WARNING! IMMEDIATE ACTION IS REQUIRED.'
Kit blinked. That had come from one of her subroutines. She did not remember activating it.
More explosions echoed throughout the lobby as the walls as well were breached. Heavily armed and armoured Kartisian Centurions led their forces inside, firing with long-barrelled pulse rifles. The Markazians fought savagely from their positions but there were outnumbered and outmatched. They began to fall back deeper inside the complex. Blood stained the once elegant tiles across the floors, bodies laying amidst broken furniture and piles of sandbags.
'WARNING! TACTICAL SITUATION UNTENNABLE. REQUIRING PERMISSION FOR INITIATING COMBAT MODE.'
'No!' Kit replied. 'I don't need that, not anymore. I can do it by myself, I can help them!'
There was a yelp as the Kartisian finally threw Clatchky off her shoulder and sent him flying some distance away. Phantom tried to escape, only for his attempt to be brought to a sudden stop by a taloned foot smashing against his chest, pinning him again onto the ground. Another maul-wielding Kartisian shock trooper had made his appearance.
'WARNING! PROBABILITY OF SURVIVAL FOR SUBJECT KNOWN AS "PHANTOM" AT 3%. DEADLY FORCE IS SUGGESTED. REQUIRING PERMISSION FOR IMMEDIATE OVERRIDE OF SECURITY MODE.'
'What? No! No, I can do it. I can- '
'PROBABILITY OF SUCCESS WITHOUT THE ACTIVATION OF COMBAT MODE IS 0.0017%. IMMEDIATE SECURITY OVERRIDE IS ADVISED.'
There was a strangled cry. The Kartisian stomped on Phantom chest repeatedly, her companion determined to not intervene and to let her enjoy her prize. The Rilgarian made one last attempt to lift himself from the ground, only to receive a punch in the face that sent him collapsing back down. He spat blood on the tiled floor.
'PROBABILITY OF SURVIVAL BELOW 1%. IMMEDIATE ACTION IS REQUIRED. SECURITY OVERRIDE NECESSARY.'
The Kartisian went back to recover her blade. She advanced on Phantom slowly, taking her time, almost like a stalking predator. She twisted her blade in her taloned hands, eyes glinting with murderous intent.
And Kit could only watch, too far away and impotent to do anything.
That is until . . .
'Override authorized.'
'AUTHORIZATION RECEIVED. STANDBY FOR COMBAT MODE ACTIVATION. INITIATING SYSTEM-WIDE SCAN . . .'
'. . . SHIELD GENERATOR ONLINE . . .'
'. . . PLASMA CANNONS ONLINE . . .'
'. . . MISSILE LAUNCHERS ONLINE . . .'
'. . . TARGETTING COMPUTERS ONLINE . . .'
'. . . JET THRUSTERS ONLINE . . .'
'. . . SCAN COMPLETED. ALL SYSTEMS ARE OPERATING AT 94.23% EFFICIENCY. IMMEDIATE ENGAGEMENT IS AUTHORIZED. POWs PROCEDURES NOT REQUIRED. PROJECTED ENEMY LOSSES AT 41% OF CURRENT FORCE AVAILABLE . . .'
'. . . TOTAL WAR PROCEDURE INITIATED. LETHAL FORCE IS AUTHORIZED.'
Pack Leader Zertis felt it before even seeing it. It was an instinct, a sixth sense that went immediately into action the moment something started turning sour. He could not say when he had first started getting those hunches; too much time had passed. However, in all those long years in service of the Restorationist's cause, it had never been wrong and, Zertis suspected, it would not start being wrong today.
The first clue that something was indeed wrong came from his own earpiece. The radio chatter suddenly spiked in activity, going from regular and rather professional reports, to frenzied shouting and panicked orders been relayed one over the other. Zertis could not understand what they were saying, too many voices were speaking, drowning each other while explosions and gunfire resonated in the background.
Hissing in frustration, Zertis pulled out a pair of binoculars, training them on the entrance of the Markazian HQ. A few minutes before, a strike team of the most elite warriors within his Pack had launched a daring assault inside, blowing up the entrance and the walls and then storming inside. And things had seemed to be going well. Now, however, something strange was happening; the same warriors that entered were now rushing outside, their attack suddenly broken.
It was not an orderly retreat either. It was a full-on rout, plasma bolts hounding them as they fled. Explosions ripped bloody holes in their ranks, and bodies went flying.
Zertis peered through his binoculars and cursed under his breath. Thick black smoke had enveloped the entrance, he could see nothing of what was happening inside. He pressed his earpiece.
"Epsilon to Basilisk, come in." Silence.
"Basilisk, I want an immediate report. What the fuck is going on in there?" Still no answer.
"Epsilon, Maverick Actual speaking. Our, uh, our sensors are detecting one big energy spike coming from the building."
"What? Explain at once! What kind of signature are you receiving?"
"I can't say, sir. It coincides with nothing we have on our database and . . . hold up, we have something on the camera feed . . . by the Brood Mother, what the hell is that?!"
Two twin glares, belonging to a pair of red, malevolent eyes, broke through the billowing smoke. Thunderous steps of metal on stones echoed across the plaza. Yellow metal plates glinted under the sunlight as the hulking construct strode forward; its robotic head was too small in comparison to the massive, armoured body. In any other circumstance, this would have looked comical, almost funny. In this case however, there was nothing amusing; the warbot had a pair of twin-linked plasma cannons on each arm, and there was blood splattered on its chassis.
Its eyes radiated utter malevolence as it raised its weapons and fired, hissing plasma bolts reaping a bloody toll on Zertis's Battle Pack. Not even experienced Centurions managed to keep their underlings from a quick and uncoordinated withdrawal. Scores of the Kartisian heavy infantry that had been waiting outside began to fall back in panic, their weapons pinging uselessly onto the warbot's heavy plates.
Zertis lowered his binoculars, jaw going slack at what was happening. Where did the Markazians even got a warbot? Either they were good at keeping secrets, or Zertis's Pack recon elements had failed catastrophically at their job. Frantically, he reached for his radio.
"Manticore, this is Epsilon. Where the fuck are you? My Pack is getting butchered, and we need immediate support! They have a warbot, I repeat, the Markazians have a warbot!"
The answer came his way shortly afterward. "Copy that, Epsilon. We'll be in range in two minutes, hold for as long as you can. We're almost there." There was an urgency in her voice. A good sign, Zertis reasoned. It meant she was hearing what was happening on the radio.
Some distance away, another Scorpion Tank detonated, a burning plasma bolt ripping away its turret with one clean pass.
Jaw set in determination, Zertis switched to all channels.
"This is Epsilon to all armoured elements. Push forward and fire at will!" He snarled. "By the Brood Mother, I want that monstrosity turned into a pile of scraps! Engage! Engage now!"
Beneath him, the Scorpion Tank groaned, threads churning into gravel and asphalt, pushing the mighty war machine forward. The turret swung around toward the distant target, targeting computer feeding firing solutions to the gunner.
Mighty booms echoed across the plaza as Scorpion Tanks surged forward and opened fire with their guns. Armour-piercing shells whistled through the air as they fell all around Kit, only for her to reply with her wrist-mounted plasma guns.
The battle for Kalithar was far from over.
"Insane! That's what you are, Lombax; absolutely fucking insane!" Xavia snapped at her, although her tone was anything but an angry one. In fact, she seemed to be struggling with joy, disbelief, and outright awe, all in the same sentence.
"You all saw that, didn't you? Nearly two hundred meters of open ground to cover, warbots shooting at her from every direction and a fucking metal monstrosity about to turn her to dust. And what does she do? She runs. She fucking runs all the way here with the captain on her shoulder!"
Rivet barely paid any attention to her rant. Her back pressed against the wall and with her hands resting on her knees, the Lombax was trying to prevent her heart from outright exploding in her chest. She huffed and puffed, her breath coming out in ragged, labouring gasps.
Someone had eventually removed Tanya's still bleeding form from her shoulders, and now she laid some distance away on an improvised coat, a pair of combat medics hunched over her as they administered a quick dose of nanites.
"How . . . how bad it is?" Rivet croaked in a barely audible whisper between breaths. Her throat felt parched dry, and even swallowing was painful.
One of the medics, a young Markazian woman with short-cropped hairs, looked up. She nodded at her. "She lost a lot of blood but she's stable for now. We'll call an evac as soon as we can. She'll make it."
She was about to turn her attention away before adding, "Good job, by the way. Never seen anything like that."
Rivet wanted to say something in return, but the exhaustion made her wary of such an attempt, so she simply nodded in return. She didn't want to think of what would have happened otherwise; if she had not activated her hover-boots when she did and launched herself ahead, the Seekerpede's heavy laser missing the two of them by mere inches.
She remembered what Ratchet had told her, about hover-boots being a surprisingly delicate hardware, strictly calibrated to their user's weight. And she had just used them to cover one hundred meters as she carried somebody on her shoulders. Rivet made a mental note of checking them later and make sure they were working properly.
The reminder of those quiet and happy moments spent together on Sargasso after the Emperor's defeat were a little bit sourer now, considering the destruction all around her, yet Rivet couldn't help herself. It had been a glimpse into a different life.
The sound of boots on the ground alerted her and she glanced up. A trooper dashed into the alleyway at full sprint before finally coming to a stop beside Xavia. His weapon hung through straps by his side and there was blood on his face.
"Our armoured vehicles are pulling back; they're getting chewed up out there!" The statement was punctuated by another burst of energy through the air, accompanied by the sound of another vehicle going up in a fiery explosion.
"We're on foot then. Where are the others?" Xavia asked.
"Second and Fourth Platoon are stuck on this side of the street with us. The Fourth will try and cover us as we withdrawn." He pointed towards the alleyway's mouth, indicating the block opposite to them. "Third Platoon is coming under heavy fire, but they'll use the sides-streets to break line of sight."
"Where's First Platoon?"
He shook his head. "Gone, ma'am. All of them."
Xavia spat a curse, loudly.
"If we begin a delaying action as we pull back, we should be able to keep the warbots off our backs long enough for reinforcements to arrive. Moving between buildings will dilute their fire."
"I'm from the LF, you moron! Don't you try and teach guerrilla warfare to me!" Xavia frowned, wiping trickling sweat off her forehead. "And no, we can't move now. Unless you want to get blown up by that flying bug over there."
"So what, we're stuck here?"
Xavia shrugged. "For now, yeah, we are. Do we have something to deal with that Seekerpede?" The trooper shook his head.
"Our weapons can barely scratch it. Maybe once Cobalt gets here-"
"And tell me, when will that be, uh? Twenty minutes?" Xavia spat. "We'll be dead in five!"
"Who's Cobalt?" Rivet asked, her breath finally becoming more stable, as she got up.
"Heavier ordinance," he simply replied, sparing a quick glance in her direction. "They are supposed to come in from Sector A-6 though. They'll take some time to navigate their way through the city."
"Well, we don't have some time, do we?" Xavia pointed out.
There was another flash, and the heavy laser clipped the street's corner some distance away from them. Masonry flew and smoke filled the air. The trooper closest to it dropped, his body's upper half no longer in place, vaporised.
Injured screamed and were dragged further back, just as more of their comrades moved up to take their place. Constant laser fire from the warbots was coming in their direction, chipping and cracking against the street's corner.
"I can do it," Rivet said.
"You what?"
"You said you need time. I can give you that. That thing has probably put its sight on me anyway, so it shouldn't be all that hard to lead it on a wild chase around the city. Once it's gone you can pull out, right?"
Xavia frowned, exchanging a brief glance with the MAE trooper beside. He shrugged at her. From behind, a scream rented the air as another freedom fighter went down.
The Markazian woman spat on the ground. "By the Zoni, you're serious, aren't you? Alright fine, but if we're doing this, we'll do it in the proper way." She grabbed Rivet by one shoulder and led her back near the alley's entrance. Pocket marks dotted the walls at either side.
"Cobalt should be a couple miles to our east," Xavia explained her, "Just head in that direction. I'll warn them on the radio that you're bringing the party to them. Hopefully, that will be enough to prevent them from shooting you by mistake."
Rivet nodded, then gave her a confident grin. "Well, that's encouraging. What about the warbots? If the Seekerpede follows me, you'll still have to deal with them."
The Markazian lifted the laser rifle up to her chest and gave it a pat. She smirked. "Oh please, I've been dealing with them my whole life! We'll be fine, am I right guys?"
The fighters around her nodded in agreement. A few spoke up, but it was hard to hear anything amidst the cacophony of battle still going on around her.
Then, Xavia's expression turned serious, her eyes narrowing in determination. For the second time that day, she extended an open hand to Rivet. The Lombax did not hesitate this time, and the two firmly clasped hands together.
"Don't get killed out there, Lombax," she said. Rivet simply nodded.
"Wasn't planning on that."
"I'm sure you weren't." Then, as Rivet broke the handshake, she added, "By the way, how do you plan on getting that thing's attent-"
She stopped, for Rivet had just activated her Tele-equipper. A Warmonger rocket launcher appeared on her shoulder. Sure, the thing had only a couple of rockets left in its magazine, but it remained an impressive sight.
Rivet looked over her shoulder as she came to a stop just short of the alley's entrance and shot her a confident eyewink. Xavia's jaw was slack, just like most of those present. Without another word, Rivet charged back into the street.
There was smoke in the air, billowing out from the many blackened and twisted vehicles still burning. Bodies laid sprawled on the asphalt, too many to count. A few had been disfigured by the flames, or cut apart by lasers, well beyond recognition.
Rivet's mechanical hand tightened on the weapon's handle, hot fury building up quickly inside of her. Looking up, she caught sight of the Seekerpede; the metal monstrosity was taking fire from a nearby building and was therefore turning around, bringing his glowing heavy laser to bear against the new threat.
Rivet dropped on one knee in the middle of the road, taking aim through the launcher's integrated sights.
"Hey! Shithead!" she snarled. And then squeezed the trigger.
A pair of rockets erupted in quick succession from the weapon, white streaks of smoke trailing behind and toward their target.
The Seekerpede probably did not hear the insult thrown his way. He did however feel the rockets slamming and then detonating against its armour, just below its cockpit. The twin blasts alone jerked his head to one side, causing the laser to misfire into the wrong building. A pain-filled, electronic screech boomed through the air.
The Seekerpede recovered quickly and whirled his whole body around to face her direction.
Rivet allowed herself a grin. Only half of the war machine massive maw twitched, the other claw hanging limply in the air, accompanied by the occasional spark of exposed circuitry. Part of the armour on that side of his head had fallen off, the rest dented and blackened by the blast.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Did that hurt you?" Rivet mocked the towering biomechanical machine of death. "Do you want to call Nefarious so he can give you a little kiss on that nasty scrap? Oh, wait. You can't!"
That got his attention and more. The Seekerpede screeched in fury as it lowered its body into the street and raced in her direction, his laser cannon charging up again. Laser fire and the occasional rocket-propelled grenade smashed into him, courtesy of surviving Markazians fighters, but the thing ignored them.
Its sensor-lens were focused on Rivet and nothing more.
"Yeah, that's right, big boy! You want a piece of me? Then come and get me!" she snarled; ears pressed back. Perhaps not the smartest choice, but by that point her blood was up. Rivet dropped the now empty weapon by her side, just as her hoover-boots flared to life with a hiss.
In but a moment she was a blur of white and grey fur. She raced eastward and down the street, past the signs of battle and death, the Seekerpede in hot and relentless pursuit behind.
The hov-bike let out one last, strangled grunt from its engine before finally dying. Maximilian Apogee looked down, a frown on his face, as he went on to flip the activation switch a couple more times. Nothing; the engine had reached its limit. The Markazian had at least the sense to slow down once the sounds from the hov-bike beneath him had become too loud to just ignore. Maybe it was just dry; maybe his haste had fried some vital internal component.
Maximilian had no time to check; his destination laid but a block away. The crackling of gunfire and hissing of energy weapons filled the air already, occasionally drowned out by a thundering explosion in the distance. Maximilian's face twisted into an ugly grimace. His suspicions had been correct; they were aiming for the Dimensionator after all.
He dismounted from his now-useless vehicle in a hurry, boots crunching on the charred debris covering the asphalt. He stopped just for a moment to pick up the plasma gun and secure it in his holster, before finally breaking into a run down the street. The sounds of battle grew in intensity all around.
The sight that greeted him was one of utter desolation. What had once been a green and flourishing park had now become a brutal battleground; the grass was gone, replaced my burned soil and mud; the tickets of trees had vanished as well, leaving nothing behind but smouldering and blackened trunks. The place was now an immense battlefield and, in the centre of it all, laying on a small, fortified rise, laid the Dimensionator, the device's antennas towering above all the rests and arrayed around the central core like a five-fingered hand.
The shield-bubble encompassing it warped and blinked as energy blasts smashed violently and repeatedly against it. The Markazians defenders replied in kind, the thunder of heavy guns drowning out every other sound in an earth-shaking cacophony. The battle raged with untold fury around the hill, where the final prize laid, as hundreds of Markazians fighters braced on their fortified positions against the approaching wave of Imperial bots.
'Fantastic. They put it straight in the middle of that mess.' Maximilian sighed, then shook his head. There was no going back now; he had no choice but to push on, no matter the cost. For Markazia, his colleagues and, above all, for his daughter.
And so, he ran across the open ground and up the slope, racing past fortified pillboxes and trenches, mud splashing against his boots. The Markazian kept himself as low to the ground as he could, energy beams zipping back and forth just above his head.
The screams of wounded and dying were drowned out only by the crumping and roaring explosions shaking the earth and throwing up fountains of dirt and mud. Maximilian forced himself to focus, trying his best not to look at the broken and mutilated bodies of Markazians fighters dotting his path up the slope. He covered his mouth with a handkerchief as a wave of nausea slammed into him, threatening to make him empty his stomach right there. There was nothing he could do for the omnipresent smell.
He managed to reach the top and stepped inside the energy shield, panting and heaving, yet alive. The sounds from the battle outside came muffled, distant; a deceitful island of peace amidst a fierce storm, aside from the constant groaning and beeping of machinery. Various industrial machines and containers laid about, no doubt employed for the transport and assembly of the Dimensionator.
Maximilian took a moment to catch his breath. Yet, as he glanced around, a suspicious frown made its appearance on his face. Where was everyone? His colleagues were supposed to be working on the device by now, probably running the last tests for the incoming activation. Instead, the hilltop was utterly deserted aside from the various equipment. The security detail as well was nowhere to be found.
The hair on the back of his neck rose, and Maximilian removed the plasma gun from the holster, his grip tightening on the handle as he squeezed it. Aside from a few basic shooting lessons that Tanya had managed to give him, Maximilian had never actually fired a weapon before.
He spotted the command centre some distance away from the Dimensionator's array, two cargo containers joined together to house the activation mainframe. He approached it at a brisk, yet careful, pace. An eerie silence reigned beneath the glistening energy shield, the surface rippling as more energy beams crashed against it and then dissipated.
It was only once he came closer to the metal structure that he noticed the bodies lying beside the entrance. There were four of them in total, all Markazians clad in heavy armour, their large calibre weapons laying by their side. Maximilian's eyes fell on the one slumped against the wall, her glassy eyes staring at him, mouth slightly agape in surprise. The back of her head was simply missing, sprayed all over the wall behind.
"No, no, no, no . . ." Maximilian hissed under his breath, pure horror settling in his stomach. He went for the door in a hurry, forgetting all his precautions. He pushed it, and the door swung open.
The smell was the first thing that slammed into him. Strong and metallic, it assailed Maximilian's nostrils, causing him to wince back in shock.
"No . . ."
The interior was a slaughterhouse. His colleagues and friends, together with the technical team and many others, laid sprawled across the floor amidst a lake of blood and entrails. Professor Alabaster, from the Department of Advanced Technologies, laid slumped over a console, blood leaking over his working station from a sliced throat. A few feet away from Maximilian laid the mauled body of Professor Kassel, head of Druzin's Quantum Physics department. The Markazian recognized her only from the nametag dangling from her once white lab-coat; her face had been caved in.
Those were only the ones he recognized. There were many, too many bodies laying in the command centre. The entirety of the personnel working on the Dimensionator, all of the research team, they were gone, exterminated like rats. Holes and scorch marks lined the walls, just behind the line of burned out and smashed up consoles.
Maximilian had to step back outside, acid bile rising in his throat at the sight, just as the smell invaded his mouth. His head dizzy, he failed to suppress the urge; he fell on his knees and finally emptied his stomach onto the bare earth outside. He retched again and again, tears streaming down his face. His breath came out in chocking gasps amidst heaves.
After several moments, the wave of nausea subsided, and Maximilian climbed back on his feet. Panting and shaking, his legs threatened to give out at any moment now.
'It's too late. I am too late. They . . . they are dead. All of them are dead. And it's my fault. What was I thinking? Why did I choose to involve them as well?'
His brain was working on overdrive, thoughts and regrets smashing and clashing into each other to form a tangled mess in his mind.
'Think, Max, think! What to do, what to do . . . If they've found them, it means they are onto you as well. And if they've found you, it means . . .' He froze, his mind immediately going back to Tanya. She was still out there, in the midst of all the fighting. She was in danger. Cold sweat trickled down his forehead.
'We must leave Markazia. Leave it now and never return. It's too dangerous here. But where can we go? They might very well have spies in all of Polaris for all I know and . . . wait . . . there are other dimensions. Yes, of course! And there was a second Lombax too! He was with Miss Rivet when they brought down Nefarious! She mentioned his name, how was it again? Rach? Rattel? Something like that, I think. Whatever, I'll ask again when I see her.'
Maximilian reached up with a hand and switched on his earpiece. "Activation code, Primrose. Begin transfer of all designated files on the back-up server." He sighed for a moment before continuing. "ID of the only authorized user is Tanya Apogee. After that, delete any other copies and proceed with tabula rasa procedure."
A soft blink in his ear warned him that his vocal command had been accepted and that the operation was underway. Maximilian was at least glad he had been thorough, that he had carefully prepared should a thing like this ever happen. His life work was safe for now. Maybe one day Tanya would be able to access it and continue it and-
'No. If it just remains buried in that server and forgotten, that will do the whole galaxy a favour but . . . Dammit, she deserves to know. She deserves to know the absolute mess that her dad has left behind at least.' He shook his head. 'I'll leave it for her, she'll draw her own conclusions and do the right thing. Of that, I'm sure.'
He tapped again the earpiece, giving one last instruction before deactivating it. Maximilian shot one last glance at the command centre behind. It was now a mausoleum for his life work, dripping with blood and filled with the bodies of all those he had ever known. Maximilian shook his head once more. He couldn't allow himself to be distracted, he reasoned. He reached for the plasma gun inside his holster and checked the power supply. It was fully loaded. He nodded and placed it back inside.
He made his way toward the Dimensionator proper, moving past the array of metal components and electric wires. He had one last thing to do before finally leaving the planet, and that was making sure nobody could ever use the new Dimensionator ever again. And to do that, there was just one little thing he had to do.
He reached the inner core of the device. Lines of thick orange cables sneaked across the floor, all converging into one single raise pedestal at its centre. And there, secured firmly in place through a series of raritanium-grade clamps, was the . . .
Nothing.
Maximilian's eyes bulged, his jaw going slack at the sight of the empty pedestal where the Blizon shard, the core component of the device, was supposed to be. The clamps, specifically made to secure it, laid discarded on the ground as useless heaps of melted metal.
"Oh, fuck," Maximilian muttered.
His ears caught almost by mistake the soft hiss somewhere behind. The Markazian howled as hot, searing pain exploded in his lower back with a flash. He dropped, legs giving up from beneath, and he hit the hard ground with a strangled grunt. The air smelled of burned flesh.
His mind and body filling with an equal mix of agony and adrenaline, Maximilian tried to push himself back up, only to realize that his legs were not answering him anymore.
'Shock, probably,' a detached part of his mind noticed with surprisingly coldness. The sound of approaching footsteps echoed his way. Gritting his teeth, Maximilian looked up. The air shimmered as his assailant blinked into view, curls of white vapour coming off from the energy weapon in his claws.
"You are still alive," a Kartisian clad in full body armour noted with mild surprise. His suit appeared to be made with overlapping, translucent glass-like shards. Despite the light still around them, the armour maintained a dull, opaque colour. The Kartisian reached up with a clawed hand to lower his visor and flashed the Markazian a grin.
"I must be getting sloppier with age," he said with evident mirth.
Though the pain was overwhelming, Maximilian recognized him sure enough. Despite all the time that had passed, he hadn't really changed that much, at least his features. He scowled, then spat blood on the ground.
"You." He coughed violently, words struggling to come out through clenched teeth. "Oktar, was it? I . . . I should have guessed it from the . . . handiwork back there." He tilted his head in the direction of the command centre. "Did you . . . did you wait here for me all this time?"
"A hunter never works alone," he noted. "And I had an entire team of scouts keeping an eye on you. As for the rest of your colleagues . . ."
Oktar tilted his head to one side, amused. "A bit messier than usual, but your friends refused to die. One even pulled out a gun on me. A gun!" He chuckled. "It was amusing though."
"Amusing!?" Maximilian shouted, his voice coarse. His hand slowly but steadily made his way toward the holster on his belt. He just needed to hold his attention a little bit longer. "You were a butcher five years ago . . . and you are still one now!"
"Oh, come on. It's this how you greet an old friend? And here I thought our travels together had warmed you up towards me!"
Maximilian barred his teeth. "Let me . . . let me make this perfectly clear, you lunatic," he hissed. "The only reason I ever tolerated your . . . your presence was because I needed the information within Savali's Archive! I would have never . . ." Another fit of coughs. "I would have never joined you or any of your wretched kind otherwise!"
Fresh pain flared up again from his injury, and Maximilian winced. He touched his jacket where the shot had connected, struggling with the pain. His trembling fingers came out slick and dripping with blood. That was not a good sign.
Oktar raised an eyebrow, his four amber eyes narrowing. "A shame, then. Very well, let's get this over with." The Kartisian reached back and drew a straight blade from the sheath on his back. Maximilian eyes grew wide.
"Wait . . . wait . . ." Maximilian raised a hand to stall him. He tried to speak through the encroaching wave of pain, words coming out as a strangled plea. Oktar scoffed in response.
"Please, don't tell me you are trying to beg right now!" he commented, baffled. "It won't work, you know. It never does."
"Why . . . Why the Blizon shard? Why take that?"
"Uh? Oh, you mean that little thing." He shook his head. "Don't worry, it's not for me. Her Voice though wants to have a look at it." He reached within one of his pouches, pulling out the translucent purple shard, glistening as its surface caught the light rays.
"A lot of talk about 'unleashing its true potential'. I don't really care much about it; it's just gibberish to me anyway. I like things to remain simple, you see." He lowered himself to a crouch, the two of them locking gazes, Maximilian's eyes boring like daggers at him.
"Still, what I can tell you though, is that he has something special prepared for the Lombaxes. Very special, indeed. Something that has been decades in the making. Some would call it 'giving them a taste of their own medicine.'"
"What . . . what are you . . . what are you talking about?" His breath was starting to become painstaking, demanding him increasing effort.
Oktar shrugged, rising back to his feet. "I thought you were an historian. I've told you once already, all those years ago, but seems like you were not listening. Well, no point explaining it to you now. You'll be dead by then anyway." The grin disappeared now, his face darkening.
"Now, do me a favour and spare me the effort. I've been instructed to seize your research as well, but you seem to have done a pretty good job at hiding it. Where it is? Does your daughter have it?" He crossed his arms on his chest-plate. "I will find her, you know. It doesn't matter where she hides, she's not the first prey that I hunt. If you don't tell me right now, I will ask her directly and, I assure you, she will talk."
A malicious grin made its appearance on his features. "They always do when I cut deep enough. So, what it will be?"
Maximilian grimaced, teeth grinding together in pure rage. His pain seemed suddenly unimportant compared with the sheer hatred he felt right there. That fucking animal dared to threaten his daughter? The anger cleared his mind of any other concern, allowing him to finally focus. And there was but one last thing left to do.
His lips moved, slowly, blood staining his teeth and lips, but no sound came out.
"What did you say? Didn't catch that, you'll have to speak louder."
"I . . . I said . . ." Maximilian hissed, his hand finally closing on the plasma gun's handle. His eyes shone with determination.
"Don't you fucking dare to touch Tanya!"
The weapon came out from the holster in a blur. In a moment, Maximilian had his arm outstretched and lined up with for Oktar's exposed face. The weapon hissed, charging up. There was no way he was gonna survive that.
'Got you, asshole.' He squeezed the trigger.
And nothing happened.
Maximilian blinked in shock. What had just happened? The gun was loaded, he had checked it! And why was he now staring at Oktar's feet? Wait, was he-
It took Maximilian Apogee the rest of his life, namely fifteen seconds, to realize that his head was no longer attached to his body.
'Tanya . . . I'm . . . I'm sorry . . . it wasn't . . . I was . . . not . . . enough . . .'
Darkness enveloped him, and he felt nothing at all.
The shop window exploded, thousands of translucent splinters flying through the air and showering the inside. Rivet leaped right through the new opening and past the broken glass, hit the tiled floor with a roll and kept on running deeper inside. She came to a final stop behind a support column.
Back pressed against the concrete, Rivet waited, ears perked up and ready for any sudden sound. The only one present though was her labouring and exhausted breathing, and the Lombax fought to keep it under control. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears.
Eyes darted around at her surroundings. She was in what looked like an old shopping mall, now deserted and abandoned. Empty shelves and aisles stood behind her and she caught sight of corridors leading deeper into the complex. The ticking of dripping water from leaking pipes echoed from somewhere. The lights were out, plunging the room in a constant penumbra.
Then, came another sound. Deeper, like a soft growl of electronics, accompanied by a louder screeching of metal on stone. Rivet held her breath. Slowly and with upmost care, she peeked from behind her cover. And then darted back.
The Seekerpede was in the street outside, his entire biomechanical body resting on the ground. The insect-like head swept slowly from one side to the other, scanning his surroundings, looking for her.
The damaged mandible had fallen off during the pursuit, and the remaining one twitched occasionally as some sort of dense liquid dripped down from the open gash. Its armour had lost much of his glint now, blackened and caked in dust and soot. It was so close that Rivet caught sight of the pilot's shadow moving inside the bulbous orange-hued cockpit.
The Lombax dared not to make a sound, one hand clasped firmly on her mouth just to be sure her own breathing would not betray her. She glanced around for a possible escape route. The only one however, barring going back to the open street, was to go deeper into the abandoned shopping mall. If she waited a little more time, that thing would probably give u-
Clink.
The noise echoed louder that it had any right to be. Her body freezing on the spot, Rivet's eyes swivelled down in horror. A piece of broken glass had gotten stuck in her suit from before and had now come loose, clattering on the ground.
The electronic growling stopped. Every sound in the universe seemed to come to a halt in that very moment.
He had heard it. Rivet was certain he had. Every fibre, every muscle of her body tensed up in preparation, adrenaline flowing in her veins. She would hear its laser cannon powering up any moment now. She had to be ready to run.
And yet, after several seconds, nothing came. Against her better judgement, Rivet carefully peeked from behind the column and towards the entrance. The Seekerpede was still there, but it wasn't moving anymore. It looked almost as if the machine was stuck in place, his gargantuan head hovering a few meters above the ground.
Rivet raised an eyebrow. Had it run out of power or something?
Then, just as suddenly, the machine moved again, his grav-repulsor whirring to life as the colossal war-machine leaped to the sky and disappeared from her view. Rivet was expecting to hear it become fainter and fainter as it moved away. Instead, there was a loud groan, then a crash as the whole building shook. Freckles of dust fell from the ceiling. Only then there was silence.
Now alone, Rivet blinked in momentary confusion. Slowly, she stepped mindfully away from the pillar, half-expecting for the Seekerpede's ugly head to make its reappearance, but nothing happened. Finally, after more seconds of absolute silence, Rivet let go of the breath she hadn't realize was holding.
Maybe it was gone for good, though that wasn't likely. The Seekerpede had chased her with terrifying tenacity all the way there. And even if he had indeed got bored, she could not let him get away. She had promised Xavia and the others to lead him away and keep him busy. She had to get his attention back on her.
The building shook around her another time. Her eyes glanced upward at the ceiling for a few moments. And then it finally dawned on her. The Seekerpede was on the roof, that's why she'd heard all that noise.
'It's waiting for you. It knows you're here so it's laying a fucking ambush. Dammit, since when Nefarious's warbots got that smart?'
Now, Rivet couldn't leave that place even if she wanted to. City blocks were a lot more spread out there, and thus using buildings and apartment complexes to constantly break line of sight with the Seekerpede was no longer a viable tactic.
If the Lombax were so much as to place a foot outside, the war-machine would turn her into a scorching stain on the ground in an eyeblink.
Still, at least she was safe for now.
Only in that moment the wave of exhaustion finally hit, smashing against her like a brick wall, threatening to send her collapsing on the floor. Rivet quickly averted that, reaching out with her prosthetic toward the concrete pillar and using it to keep herself upright. More or less.
With a surprised grunt, her legs gave up from beneath, and she fell on her knees.
The Lombax gritted her teeth. Every single muscle of her body was on fire. How long had she been doing that? Honestly, she wasn't sure. Each breath felt painful, an exhausting endeavour by itself.
The last couple of days had been a flurry of activities, jumping constantly from a hotspot to the other, helping the local fighters as best as she could. Rest, or anything resembling that, had been scarce, if any at all.
She couldn't keep doing that alone. Rivet was burning herself out, she knew that. She had the earpiece still with her though; maybe she could contact the other resistance members if they weren't too far.
She could try and contact Clatchky; Phantom too if the Rilgarian was still in the area. Heck, she could even try with Kit.
'No.'
Rivet narrowed her eyes. The prosthetic's metal finger dug into the concrete with a sharp crack.
'You can do it, girl. You've faced worst, haven't you? You're not going to give up now. You don't need help. You can do this.'
The Lombax climbed back to her feet, her breathing coming out more regularly now. The pain was still there though, every muscle aching with fatigue. Her throat felt suddenly parched dry.
Undaunted, Rivet drew a deep breath and focused, her mind shutting off the pain. After years of practice in her fight against the Emperor, ignoring the pain came easily enough.
Eventually, she felt safe enough to start taking the first steps deeper into the abandoned mall. Going back into the street was suicide anyway and, with some luck, maybe she could find supplies. It was a mall after all.
As she walked past the shop's counter and into the back area, Rivet checked on her integrated Tele-equipper. The grimace on her face only deepened. She was running dangerously low on ammunition, and she had not had many chances to replenish her reserves in the last days.
She could only hope no warbots stragglers were inside. Rivet could manage them easily enough, but she feared that, by the time she was finished, the only way she could damage that Seekerpede was with her OmniMallet. Not a very comforting prospect.
Without much of a choice, Rivet pressed on.
"Move it, you damned apes! I said move it, we're getting out of here!"
Boots pounded across the asphalt as Markazian fighters followed Xavia's command and began to pull back. The occasional laser beam from the Imperials blinked and hissed their way, but so far, they had managed to just wound a couple of her guys.
All the vehicles had been sent back with the injured, Tanya amongst them. The rest would try and hold back the Imperial tide as best as possible. The retreat had to be slow and methodical, pulling the warbots ever closer to the secondary defence line further back. Still, it wasn't like they were toothless just yet, and urban warfare was the field the Markazian Liberation Front truly excelled.
Every block's corner was contested; streets were lined up with explosive charges, while the main thoroughfares functioned as perfect killing fields for concealed snipers and HMG teams. The Imperials would advance only to hear the hissing of plasma weapons behind as Markazian combat teams emerged from buildings and windows that had been declared secure but a minute before.
Such measures could slow down the enemy advance, turning it into a painful crawl forward, but they could not stop it. And so, the Imperials advanced.
Xavia peered over her cover, a small trench in the asphalt that had been dug by the fuselage of a crashed Imperial fighter, and saw another warbot exploding to smithereens, courtesy of a heavy auto-gun and its operator a few feet away from her.
The weapon chugged and clacked, spent casings tingling as they were tossed out and on the ground. There was a sudden, sharp click and the weapon stopped firing.
"Ah fuck! It's jammed!" the operator reported with a panicked cry. He pulled savagely at the weapon's handle to unjam it.
"Copy that, I'm covering you," Xavia shouted back. She rose from her crouch, lifted her laser rifle, and let out a short yet controlled burst towards the advancing Imperials. A robot collaborator fell to the ground some distance away, one of his legs sliced and melted by a laser beam. He trashed around until Xavia put a couple more shots in his chassis.
A Slugger tried and flank her, taking advantage of the confusion. Xavia spotted him almost immediately. The Markazian produced a concussion grenade from her belt, pulled the pin and sent it flying. One crumpling detonation later, and the warbot was thrown back. Still, that did not stop his comrades as they surged forward once more.
Xavia crouched back into cover as more fire came her way, smashing against the improvised trench's brim and kicking up dust in the process. She climbed back once more as the fire slackened in intensity and squeezed the trigger, firing down the road until the weapon run dry.
"Come on, come on, you piece of junk!" The operator cursed under his breath. "Don't do this to me, not right now!"
"Toki, I needed that machine gun functioning five minutes ago!" Tanya snapped as she slapped a fresh power pack into her weapon.
The Markazian pulled fiercely at the handle, to no avail. "It just. Won't. Bulge!"
A Bliztrooper made its appearance further down the street, its arm-mounted blasters whirring before they opened fire with a keening whine. Xavia dropped again behind cover.
"Toki!"
"Almost there."
Just behind the Blitztrooper came the hovering form of a Sniper Bot, its weapon core charging up with a menacing glow as the barrel settled squarely on their position.
"TOKI!" Xavia snarled in equal panic and anger.
"Almost . . . there!"
There was a satisfying and sharp metallic clang as the loading bolt snapped back and then forward. Toki shot a wide-toothed grin her direction, just as he lined up another shot.
"These tin cans are fucked now-"
His head exploded the next moment, and he fell back, a laser beam punching a crater into his face, vaporizing it.
Xavia blinked, then looked up as she swung her weapon around, Toki's blood splattered across her face. Something big and metallic was standing over the trench, casting a shadow over her. She pressed the trigger, a trio of shots exploding from the gun and connecting with the warbot's body.
The thing did not stagger back, nor it moved at all. Silently, it simply raised its right arm and pointed it straight at the Markazian. Xavia's mind only half-registered what kind of weapon was mounted there, but by then it was already too late.
There was a flash, a wave of searing heat, and the roaring of crackling flames was the last thing Xavia would ever hear.
The bodies had been laying there for some time, the smell told her that much. A couple of days maybe, although Rivet suspected more. Pushing through her disgust, the Lombax covered her nose and mouth with her scarf, before pressing on. She switched on the flashlight fixated on her belt, and searing light flooded her surroundings.
As she went deeper within the shopping mall, creeping past deserted and boarded up shops and boutiques, the corpses became increasingly frequent. All of them sported Liberation Front symbols on a collection of military and civilian fatigues. Rivet had to move carefully so to not accidentally stumble on one.
She stepped beside what had once been an impromptu barricade, bodies laying together with their now useless weapons. Pocket marks and blackened smears by Imperial lasers covered the walls.
Some of the overhead pipes had burst open at some point, for there were large pools of green-hued and putrid water. The Lombax tried to avoid those. The smell of rot chocked the air, and her ears caught the ticking sound of dripping water.
Eventually she came across the rusting and smashed bodies of Imperial warbots too. They laid in scattered and blackened pieces across the floor, most having been blown up by explosives.
'Whatever happened here, it must have been one hell of a fight,' she noted to herself. 'I wonder if Xavia knew anyone of them.'
Sudden movement at her eye's corner caught her attention. Rivet whirled around as she stood ready with her OmniMallet, the flashlight's illuminated cone swinging with her to point behind. Rivet expected an assailant to come out of the shadow any moment, yet nothing happened. The corridor behind her was empty, no other sound echoing around her, aside from her labouring breath and dripping water.
"Uh, hello?" Rivet eventually called out. "Is there somebody out there? You can come out if you want, I'm not going to hurt you."
'Unless you are a warbot of course,' but she left that unsaid. Still, no answer came her way. More movement above caught her attention, and she pointed her flashlight up. Finally, she found the culprit. Looking down from one of the overhanging pipes, a tri-horned, grey-furred critter let out a shriek before scampering up the metal tube and disappearing into a crack in the wall.
After a few more tense moments and a shake of her head, Rivet lowered her weapon.
'Way to go Rivet, you are now jumping at shadows.' She chuckled despite herself. 'The Rebel Lombax gets scared by a rat. Brilliant. Just wait for Phantom and the other to hear it.'
She turned back around and was ready to press on when she spotted something further down the corridor. At a brief glance, they were just another group of destroyed bots but, as Rivet moved closer to them, an alarm bell started ringing in her head.
First of all, there was not a single warbot amongst them; they were all more-widespread civilian models, just like those she had grown familiar with during her missions on Corson V. Furthermore, they were all gathered on one side of the wide corridor, laying against the wall. A dense, oil-like liquid trickled out from the crack and holes in their chassis, flowing out and across the floor into a puddle, while various metallic parts laid around, scorched, and broken. Plasma marks and bullet holes dotted that part of the wall.
It was almost as if they had been l-
Rivet's eyes widened as the realization struck her like a power maul in the face.
'This was an execution. They lined them up against the wall and then . . .' Ears flattened against her skull, Rivet flared her teeth.
She was no stranger to violence nor fighting; about a decade of her life had been devoted to nothing but that, a brutal struggle against the Emperor and his goons. She had met new friends only to lose them a few months later during constant Imperial sweeps. The daily battles had hardened her, sure, but Rivet and her comrades-in-arms had always maintained certain lines to never cross.
Rivet looked again at the now destroyed bots with a deepening frown.
'Who could have done this? I don't see the Imperials killing their own, not like this anyway, so that leaves the . . .' A painful grimace twisted her mouth. 'The Markazians? But . . . why? They are not warbots; they pose no threat at all. This doesn't make any sense!'
The building shook around her with a faint, cavernous groan. Dust fell off from the ceiling and onto her long ears, much to her discomfort. Instinctively, Rivet's eyes swivelled upward.
'Right. That thing is still out there. I'd better push on before it decides to just bury me under a pile of rubbles.'
She shot one last regretful glance at the destroyed bots before pushing on.
'When I get out of here, I'll need to ask Tanya a couple of questions.'
After a brief walk, the corridor before her opened into a small plaza. There was a ring of raised flowerbeds around it, all of them overrun with wild weeds, and a small, silent fountain in the centre of the tiled floor. Glancing around, Rivet noticed the overturned and broken tables and benches. Looking up, she spotted the overhanging balconies of the first and second floors, connected through hanging concrete bridges and a couple of now-inactive escalators.
The place must have been nice when there wasn't a war raging. At least there were no more bodies. She blinked; well, there was in fact just one, laying some distance away.
Bright and natural light shone through skylights high above in the ceiling. A glint caught the Lombax's eye. There was something metallic on the dead body, in one of his tactical gear's pouches. Or was it a she? Rivet couldn't be sure, they were wearing a pair of googles, their face covered by an earth-coloured scarf.
Gingerly, she stepped closer, switching off her flashlight. It was a canteen. Rivet hesitated for a moment, her metallic hand already moving to pick it up.
'What's the matter? He won't need it anymore. It's not like he'll bite you if you try and take it.'
Eventually, her parched throat got the better of her. Rivet slid the canteen carefully out of the pouch, holding her breath against the stench. She pulled it free and quickly took a few steps back. Unsurprisingly, the body did not move.
Rivet shook her head and chuckled ruefully, more to herself than anything else. The place was giving her the creeps, that was about it. She quickly checked the canteen.
"Yes!" she hissed in relief. The cap was sealed shut. The water should still be drinkable enough. Without a moment of hesitation, she lifted the canteen and emptied it in her mouth. The water was lukewarm and had a slight metallic aftertaste as it rushed down her throat. It felt like the best thing she had drunk in months.
There wasn't much inside, so she wisely decided to spare a sip or two for later, securing the canteen to her belt.
A short, annoying series of beeps from her earpiece warned her of an incoming call. Rivet keyed it on.
"Riv- . . . -can you he- . . . -we're trying to- . . ." Kit's voice echoed in her ear, breaking through the white noise.
"Kit, is that you?" Rivet shouted back. "I can't hear you, there's too much interference!"
"Rivet, we're und- . . . -they're assaulting the- . . . -Clatchky said t-. . ."
A sickening feeling began to spread into her stomach. "Wait, what? An assault? Are you alright?"
"We are tr- . . . -don't know how long- . . . -communications are too fragile at- . . . -trying to reach the- . . ."
"Reaching what?" Rivet tapped again at the earpiece, hoping that a smack was just the thing it needed. Unsurprisingly, it did not work. "Kit, repeat. Where are you guys going?"
The only answer that came was the groaning of statics, making it impossible to hear anything of what Kit was trying to tell her. Rivet frowned in irritation before saying, "Alright Kit, I'll try and find some place with a better reception. You stay put, alright? I'm on my way. And if you can't, just find someplace where to hunker down for a while. Do you copy?"
Nothing.
"Kit? Kit, you are still there?" Once again, the answer was the sound of static and nothing more. Rivet grimaced, before closing the channel in frustration. She cursed under her breath. For all she knew, Kit had not heard a single word of all that.
Splitting up had turned out to be a terrible idea, and now her friends were in danger. And Rivet was now stuck inside an abandoned shopping mall, with a bloody Seekerpede waiting outside for her to just come out. The Lombax grinded her teeth. Helplessness had never been a welcomed feeling for her, and it was not going to be any time soon.
'And I'm out of ammo as well, so that's just the icing on the cake.'
"Hel- . . . Help me . . ."
Rivet's ears perked up. The voice was feeble, with a distinct mechanical tone to it. It belonged to a robot, and it was coming from nearby. The Lombax slowly turned her head around, trying to better identify the source.
"S-Somebody . . . please, I . . . I n-need . . ."
Rivet snapped her head around, toward the fountain. That's where the voice was coming from. She broke into a run, rushing towards it. No matter if it was indeed a bot; if they needed help, Rivet was always ready to answer. She reached the fountain's metal railings as quickly as she could.
And then she nearly winced back in horror.
Beneath her was an open reservoir a couple of meters deep surrounding the stone fountain proper, completely dry. Now, there were robots inside, their metallic bodies mauled and broken, piled one over the other like they were common trash.
There was not one single warbot amongst them. None of them had any visible weapon. Yet, they all laid there, unresponsive, their eye-sensors dull as they stared blankly at the ceiling. A few laid against the reservoir's wall, their mechanical arms reaching up in a desperate effort to escape. There they remained now, frozen in the moment death had found them, amidst a tangle of bodies and limbs of their compatriots.
Eyes wide, Rivet took a step back. She pressed once more her scarf against her nose as the smell slammed into her. It was strong and acrid, belonging to hydraulic oil and coolant.
"P-Please . . ."
One of the robots was still functioning, Rivet realized. He was reaching up with a metallic hand, jerking and sparking due to exposed wire. One of his eye-sensors dangled from its socket, blinking with some residual power. The robot itself laid half-buried under a pile of destroyed bots, coolant dripping out from where his left arm used to be and onto the ground.
"Shit. Alright listen," Rivet said, overcoming her shock, "I'll find a way to reach you, okay? Just give me a moment and hang in there. Can you tell me who did this? Was it the Imperials? The Resistance?"
There was a violent sparkling erupting from his arm, and the bot jerked his head back with a pain-filled electronic groan. His head twitched and his eye-lenses flickered briefly.
"P-Please . . . I . . . I-I don't want to . . . I don't want to d- . . ."
The arm stopped jerking and simply fell limp by his side. The eye-lenses darkened before being turned off for good, his mechanical body going still. All sounds ceased, except for one.
Rivet was struggling to control her breathing, her own mechanical arm tightening into a fist. There had to be dozens of robots shoved inside that fountain, maybe a hundred. What kind of psycho would do that? She refused to believe it was the Markazians. They had used nukes in the opening stages of the war, that was true, but this was another matter entirely. At the very least they had employed them against Imperial bases, on actual warbots.
But that, to coldly eliminate innocent bots that had nothing to do with Nefarious, and to then pile their bodies in the first place at hand? It was just cruelty for the sake of it, no other way of describing it.
Rivet shook her head, a whirlwind of thoughts and conflicting emotions raging within her mind. There had to be an explanation surely. Were the Imperials just turning on themselves? Maybe, but that honestly seemed unlikely. She had to get back to Tanya, right now.
'I don't believe it. There's no way the Markazians would do this kind of things, right?' Then, out of nowhere, the words that Tanya had spoken to her some time before echoed again in her mind.
"I'm sure somebody took care of them; that's what she said." Rivet cursed under her breath. "Dammit Clathcky, in what kind of mess did you just dragged us all?" The Lombax took a few moments to collect her thoughts before finally shaking her head.
"No matter. I need to find the exit and get out of here, before it is too late, and the situation gets even worse than it is."
"Greetings, Lombax."
The voice came from behind, and Rivet snapped her head around. A figure emerged from the shadows of a nearby passageway and into the open. He was tall, and his scales, marred by cuts and bruises, were pearl-white. Armour plates glinted as they caught the incoming light, and a soft, blood-red hue played along the edge of his weapon, a long-staffed axe. The energy blade hissed and crackled on contact with the air.
"It has been far too long, hasn't it? Yet here we are at last," Kalani's clear voice echoed throughout the small plaza, dripping with clear delight.
"I'm glad you could join me and my brothers in time. Now, let me introduce myself," he said with a small bow of his head.
"I am Kalani, seventh consecrated Voice of the Brood Mother, leader of her armies in four different campaigns. I am the blade of the faithful, Hammer of Kalastava, and vanquisher of your kind in two dimensions. By my orders, Savali was burned to ashes, and the forces of the Ancient Enemy were scattered and slain by the thousands across its barren plains."
"And you, Lombax . . ." He looked up at her, his eyes burning with intensity as he licked his lips in anticipation of what would soon come. "Today, you are our prey. Deliver us what is rightfully ours, and your death shall be quick. Or don't. Whatever you choose, I'll have your skull by the end of the day."
'Way to open you goddamn mouth, Riv.'