Torrance, Fall Present, 3067.
Despite the air conditioner having been turned to full blast that rendered the office room to be nearly as cold as the Arctic Circle, perspiration continued to soak Mr. Peach's clothing. The rivers of sweat generated by his anxiety made his bulky outfit even more uncomfortable as it stretched and glued the artificial fibers of his heavy pants and coat to the point that he nearly drowned in his own pressure. It also didn't help that the sweat would run down his forehead and onto his face to the degree that he had to continuously go to the back room to wipe it off his brow so that he could get the proper fit for his mask without clouding the eye slits.
A light tap on his left shoulder startled him so much that he inadvertently dropped his shotgun. He quickly tried to scramble for it as it fell from his right hand to no avail, the weapon fell with a muffled but heavy thud onto the carpeted floor. Since he had the safety switch deactivated, it was a miracle that it didn't go off.
"What in the hell are you doing?" His brother asked incredulously.
"I'm sorry, Ray. I-I don't know if I could do this." Mr. Peach said nervously.
"You muppet!" He could see the baneful eyes in his brother's werewolf mask. "Don't say my real name!"
Mr. Peach gulped. "Oh God. I messed up again."
"Keep it to yourself. There's no one here right now so just forget about it, okay?"
"Yeah, I guess I'm just a little nervous, that's all." Mr. Peach said as his brother picked up the shotgun from the floor and gave it back to him.
"Hey, what the hell you guys doing in there?" A loud voice shouted from the slightly opened door. "Get out here now!"
Mr. Peach and his brother quickly recovered and ventured out into a larger room. Several dozen people lined the stark white walls around the large hallway, they were leaning against the walls, some were in a daze of denial while others were sobbing and crying. About four other masked men were watching over them with shotguns on the ready against any resistance.
"Mr. Black, I need to talk to you." Mr. Peach's brother said to a man wearing a vampire mask.
"What is it, Mr. Brown?" Mr. Black said as he kept a machine pistol close to his side.
Mr. Brown was apologetic. "Mr. Peach is pretty nervous about this. I don't think he should be watching the hostages."
"So what do you suggest he do? Make coffee? You tell him to get his act together, Goddamn it! We're all in this together no matter what now." Mr. Black shouted.
"I know that. We are with you all the way but if it comes to more killing," Mr. Brown gestured over to the security guard on the far side of the room, lying in a pool of his own blood. "I don't think he can do it."
"Fine then!" Mr. Black was angry before whispering into Mr. Brown's ear. "Just remember that he will fry with us if we get caught."
"I'll deal with him, okay?"
"You do that. He's lucky we didn't call him Mr. Pink. Now stop bothering me." Mr. Black said before heading towards another room.
Mr. Brown went over to his brother and patted him on the back. "Just sit tight, okay? We should be outta here soon."
"Okay. But just to let you know, if it comes to shooting these hostages, I-I won't be able to do it." Mr. Peach stammered.
"Then don't." His brother said. "Just stick close by me and everything will be okay."
"Right, but what about Mr. Gold? He's out of control in there." Mr. Peach said.
Mr. Brown was getting irritated. "You let Mr. Black worry about Mr. Gold okay? We watch the hostages."
"Sorry. I'll shut up now." Mr. Peach said before moving away to a corner where he could be by himself. He was beginning to feel sorry that he had even been involved with this group in the first place. Mr. Peach had a sobering feeling that his brother and he might end up in prison or even worse, dead.
It didn't start out like this; then again, nothing ever does. Mr. Peach's real name was Art Alexander. He was a former Liberal Arts major in New Avalon's Gogh-Bukowski University. Gogh-Bukowski was well known in some circles as a school for intellectual rebels of the establishment. Furious debates as to the merits of being a member state of the new Star League led to angry demonstrations that later turned into vicious rioting. Art and his older brother Ray were infuriated at the lack of opportunities for people in the private sector; it seemed that most of the economy was earmarked for nothing but war and the lowly civilian was the ultimate loser; if you weren't part of the ruling class or the military, then you were a second-place citizen.
Within months of his sophomore term in the college, Art and his brother joined up with a militant anti-establishment group dedicated to the disillusionment of the Star League as well as the removal of the Davion family from power. The group was led by a charismatic leader named Frank Chavez who argued that the continuing subservience to the Davions and other feudal families were the cause of all the misery that was plaguing the Federated Suns. Demonstrations and debates were the order of the day, the rest of the time they spent lounging at the local coffee houses in order to formulate their latest conspiracies. It was a fun time since most of the group came from wealthy and influential families who provided them with every comfort possible despite the fact that their sons contributed largely nothing in return.
As the months went by and the economic crunch from the FedCom Civil War took its toll, their funding from their formerly wealthy parents dried up and the once wealthy bohemians had to look for menial work in order to support their constant partying and political debate sessions. This added to their resentment of the establishment even more. Within months of this dreary existence, their leader Frank Chavez hit on a bold new plan for the group. They would resort to force of arms as well as armed resistance to the hated Davions and their kin. Some of the more pacifistic members dropped out and newer, more violent ones came in as they began to establish a network of illegal arms smuggling so that they would have the weapons necessary for their glorious revolution. Of course, in order to buy weapons one must have money and so the members of this new revolutionary group engaged in drug smuggling as well as bank robberies in order to get the much needed cash; the mix of crime and brutality all in the name of a better world became a self-perpetuating spiral for them all.
Art never wanted to be a killer; he felt that the revolution could be achieved by peaceful means. But then he did not want to work for a living either, so he reluctantly went along with the group's plans for kidnapping and drugs to finance their aims. In his view, you couldn't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs, so if a few innocents died, so be it; they were martyrs for a good cause anyway.
But then a few weeks ago things radically changed. Frank had found a mysterious backer who could finance them with the weapons necessary to make their biggest statement to the establishment yet. Of course, there would be more violence, but if they could pull this off, their reputation would be assured. All they had to do was to break into the headquarters of Vinson Pharmaceuticals and steal the latest batch of medicinal drugs destined for the soldiers of the AFFS. With one fell swoop, the group could make a statement as well as earning a reputation that they so desperately wanted. Since Torrance was defended by only a small police force, a half-dozen armed men with battlemech support would be unstoppable in carting away the riches from these corrupt conglomerates, Frank reasoned. It was bold and dangerous plan but they were nearly broke, so they decided to go for it.
They also needed a name. Many names were suggested by the many members of the group, some were classical, others downright obscene. Frank finally came up with a perfect name, it was a symbol that was on his uncle's mech when he was a mechwarrior with the Fighting Urakhai mercenary unit; an image of a white hand on a black shield. Frank presented his idea to the group and they enthusiastically supported the new name for their revolutionary order- the White Hand. Soon they would be known and feared throughout the Federated Suns, perhaps, throughout the whole Inner-Sphere someday as well.
Mr. Peach's lamented thoughts were quickly extinguished when he heard a commotion across the main hallway. Mr. Black came in through an adjoining office and threw up his hands in exasperation. Something was clearly bothering him and he waved his machine pistol around like an angry child. A number of hostages screamed and shrieked in panic when he waved his gun at them.
"They are delaying us!" Mr. Black shouted to no one in particular. "We were supposed to be outta here by now with our crates of drugs and they say the shipment has been delayed! Do they think we are idiots?"
With those words, Mr. Black grabbed a terrified young woman from the floor and pointed his gun at her. She wailed like a banshee and tried to look away from her impending death.
"No!" Mr. Peach shouted as he ran across the room and tried to pull the woman away from Mr. Black but their leader quickly kicked him in the groin that sent him reeling to the floor.
"Do not interfere with me again." Mr. Black hissed at his fallen comrade before addressing the rest of the room. "We are not here to harm anyone! All we want is the latest shipment of the medicinal drugs that Vinson Pharmaceuticals will be delivering to the Davion military instead of the ones who really need it, the people! We of the White Hand are the people! All we want is the resignation of the entire feudal command structure of the Great Houses and there will be peace among us all!"
"Can't you all see?" Mr. Black continued his tirade. "All the causes of war and misery are because of these accursed feudal lords and their war machines! Yet who suffers the most in any war? It is we, the civilians! They will only rule over us if we let them. All we want is an equal distribution of medicines, food and the essentials of life; but no, they will have it earmarked for the military if they have their way! But this time we won't let them! We, the White Hand, we the people won't let them!"
The hostages responded with incredulous looks on their teary-eyed, weary faces.
Mr. Brown dragged his semi-conscious brother back into the storeroom. After partially removing his mask, Mr. Brown could see a slight bruise on Mr. Peach's face but otherwise he seemed okay.
"Dammit. I told you to stay out of his way." Mr. Brown said.
"I'm sorry, Ray. I thought he was gonna kill her." Mr. Peach sobbed.
"You stupid frakhead. You will get us all killed." His brother was bitter with both him and their leader now. "And you said my name again! Damn you!"
As the two brothers argued, they did not notice a small wire jutting out from the ventilation shaft above them. The wire was in fact a fiber-optic tube connected to a vid-camera. The operator was situated above the room, hidden inside the crawlspace. He was completely covered in a streamlined, camouflaged stealth suit and had red-tinted night vision goggles over his eyes, which gave him the appearance of an otherworldly creature. A 10mm Blacklight sub-machinegun, the weapon of choice for Wolf's Dragoons infamous 7th Kommando units, was slung over his shoulder.
The black suited operator spoke into his throat mike. "Sliver to Camelot, come in, over."
"This is Camelot, reading you." Came the reply from his scrambled radio.
"I spot two hostiles that just entered the south storeroom. They are arguing with each other and one looks slightly injured."
"Roger that, Sliver. I confirm two hostiles in your area. That brings the number of total hostiles within the building at ten; four at the main room, two where you are, two more at the south stairwell and two watching the lobby elevators. Stand by." With that, the line went dead.
Major Dominic Durant depressed the microphone button and turned to face the Black Widow. "Okay, looks like we covered all the rooms, we are good to go."
With those words, the rest of the staff in the control room went silent, waiting for their commander to speak.
Natasha Kerensky strode over to where the virtual map was and punched in the coordinates for all hostiles within the building. In a matter of seconds, their last known positions would be fed into the noteputers of the ground forces as well as the uplinked battlemechs of the Wolf Spider lance. All was ready.
"At my command, prepare to execute." The Black Widow spoke into her throat mike. "Three. Two. One. Now. Execute."
Several blocks away, two identical 100-ton metallic monsters were having their way at the entrance of the massive Vinson Pharmaceutical headquarters in downtown Kiverson City. Only a few minutes before, the entrance to the main building had a guardhouse as well as chain-linked fences, now all that was left of the security post was a black hole in the ground and the fence was all but a memory. Several cars had been smashed flat into the pavement along with some of their occupants. The streets within the entire block had by now been deserted, those that could have left fled to distant parts of the city while those who couldn't cowered in their respective offices in nearby buildings, waiting for help to arrive.
Kiverson City's small police force scrambled to the best of their ability but it was not enough. Several police cars as well as their single APC had been virtually ripped apart into tiny fragments as they ran headlong into two assault-class BattleMechs when they responded to a report of armed men that were spotted at the entrance of the pharmaceutical building just minutes before. The few surviving police officers were several blocks away, attempting to restrict traffic and foolhardy onlookers from venturing into the avenue of death. They had tears in their eyes, grieving for their dead colleagues as well as fuming in frustration at their helplessness.
"Come on you mothers! You want some more?" Mr. Gold said as he toggled the 'Mech's loudspeakers to their maximum volume, hoping that the entire city would hear.
"Goldie, cool it." Mr. Blue cut in on a private channel from his own mech.
But Mr. Gold would not be dissuaded as he drove his 100-ton Fafnir into the middle of the now deserted street. "Come on, send more cops! I dare you, you mothers!" He screamed. "I'll kill every one of you guys! You think just because you got a gun and a badge you think you're the toughest bastards on the planet? Well, come on and prove it, you pigs!"
Mr. Blue grimaced as his own identical Fafnir strode onto the street, away from the cover of the pharmaceutical building, to support his comrade. "Goldie, get back into the compound so I can cover you, you're too exposed out there." Mr. Blue said as he continued to use the private comm. link to Mr. Gold.
"What the hell for?" Mr. Gold answered back using the private communications link, perhaps he still had some sense left in him after all. "These cops ain't got anything that can stand up against us. We can do whatever we want."
Mr. Blue settled back into his pilot's chair. His partner was right; the planet had no BattleMechs. But nonetheless, he needed to reason with Mr. Gold before his old friend went over the edge. He could understand Mr. Gold's hostility to authority figures; after all, they had been beaten up multiple times by these very same cops when they had participated in countless demonstrations against the ruling elite. But being in control was one thing, being bloodthirsty and killing for fun was something else, he thought.
"Just remember, we will have to abandon these 'Mechs once we make the getaway so don't get too comfy in there." Mr. Blue said as he eased his Fafnir closer to the pharmaceutical entrance.
"I ain't leavin." Mr. Gold whispered into his neurohelmet's microphone. He had already made up his mind the moment he strapped himself into the stolen BattleMech. All his life, he had been beaten up by everyone, from school bullies to cops and he was sick of it all. Now he had the power to do whatever he wanted and he was not going to relinquish that; they would have to pry his dead body from the cockpit before that would happen. It would take an awful lot of force from this pacifist world to bring him down; he would take a lot of people with him. He hoped that he could kill as many lawyers as cops; he hated lawyers almost as much ever since they used their way with words to strip him from his parents and his inheritance. Everyone who ever hurt him was going to pay today.
"What? What the hell are you talking about?" Mr. Blue said incredulously as a warning beep came onto his targeting computer.
As if on cue, a large black shape strode onto the opposite end of the street, its massive contours painted entirely in black, its grinning skull-like head seemed to foretell an imminent doom upon them both. Mr. Blue instantly recognized the model; it was a Pillager, a 100-ton assault 'Mech that harkened back to the days of the first Star League. As both Fafnir pilots sat frozen in their cockpit seats, their minds seemingly unable to accept the fact that there were other BattleMechs on the planet besides their own, the Pillager instantly fired its twin gauss cannons, splaying chunks of armor from the front torsos of Mr. Gold's Fafnir.
"Blue to Mr. Black, we have enemy 'Mechs in sight!" Mr. Blue screamed into his comm. link. After waiting for a minute that seemed like a century for the reply, he realized that he was not getting a link with his friends inside the building; all was static.
"You want me? Come get some!" Mr. Gold screamed into the loudspeakers as he triggered his 'Mech's dual heavy gauss cannons. The Fafnir was nothing more than a rectangular box perched on ostrich-like legs, it was a weapons platform designed around a pair of heavy gauss cannons, a larger and more devastating version of the standard gauss cannon. Able to propel a massive 220mm solid slug of metal at hypersonic speeds, the heavy gauss cannon was considered to be the ultimate in Inner-Sphere BattleMech weaponry, a pair of them could obliterate anything in its path.
But then again, firing at a target and hitting it were two entirely different matters. Mr. Gold cursed in frustration as the first massive gauss shell missed the Pillager by several meters to the right and the second slug made a near-miss which impacted into a nearby building, sending chunks of concrete and steel into the deserted streets. The Pillager began to sidestep into an intersecting street as it fired its extended-range large laser at Mr. Gold, melting off more of his Fafnir's armor as the lethal, reddish beam found its mark.
"You're gonna die slow for that!" Mr. Gold hissed as he pushed his 'Mech's throttle to maximum. With a sudden lurch, the Fafnir lunged forward, as fast as its bulky back-canted legs could take it, running across the avenue so that it could catch up to the fleeing enemy.
"Goldie, wait!" Mr. Blue screamed into his mike but to no avail, Mr. Gold's bloodlust was fully realized as his friend's Fafnir kept moving farther away from him. Within a split-second, Mr. Blue realized that he had two choices; he could either follow Mr. Gold's Fafnir in order to provide support for his friend, or he could stay and somehow try to link up with his other friends inside the building to stay on the defensive and hope for the best. But Mr. Blue also realized that his associates inside might already be dead because of the static and so he pooled his logic into the one choice- fight to the end. With silent determination, he too opened up his 'Mech's throttle and proceeded to follow Mr. Gold down the street.
Inside the headquarters of Vinson Pharmaceuticals, Mr. Grey was the first to notice that something was amiss when the communicator he carried with him to maintain a link with the 'Mech support outside just went dead. At first he thought it was just the batteries, so he removed the safety catch and peered into the unit until he realized that he slapped on a fresh power source just two days before. As he walked over towards the main hallway to where Mr. Black and the hostages were, he heard a strange clanking noise on the locked steel door just behind the emergency stairwell. As he pressed his ear to try to determine the cause, a shaped charge blew out into the corridor where he was standing, completely demolishing the door as well as driving multiple fragments of steel into his head and sides. As his mangled corpse flew back into a bloody heap, strange figures began pouring through the door, their stealth suits partially obscuring their forms as the artificial lighting inside the building fused out, plunging everything into darkness.
Everyone in the main hallway froze when two loud explosions came from the adjoining corridors. Before anyone could react, the entire structure then disappeared into blackness as the electrical circuit was cut off. Several of the hostage takers readied their weapons, reacting with uncharacteristic flair despite their lack of training, hoping to find something to shoot at but to no avail, since they couldn't see anything.
As the commandos made their way into the main hallway by the use of their night-vision goggles, they instantly threw flashbang stun grenades into the room, compounding the hostage takers dilemma by deafening and blinding them at the same time. The red-tinted night vision goggles of the commandos instantly compensated for the blinding light of the flashbangs by shielding their eyes and then reverting back to light-intensifier mode as soon as the flash ended. The commandos' stealth suits were also equipped with protective ear covers that lessened the effects of the stun grenades somewhat. The hostage takers had no such protection and all were practically stunned for a few, vital seconds.
When an operator trains for hostage rescue situations, quick thinking and split-second timing is the key to causing maximum devastation to the hostage takers and minimal collateral damage to civilians. Upon venturing into a room full of hostages and hostiles, the first rule of thumb is that if he is standing, it probably means that he is a hostage taker due to the fact that terrorists usually instruct their hostages to sit or lie down, thereby keeping them in control. The second rule is that the operator never looks at faces when he assaults a roomful of hostages, he keeps his eyes at people's hands; if the operator can see that one is cradling something that is black and bulky in their arms, he is trained to shoot immediately because it would usually indicate that someone is carrying a weapon of some sort, and hostages would never be allowed to carry that.
The third rule in commando training is, when you shoot; go for headshots.
Because of this rule, only top marksmen ever get eligible for counter-terrorist instruction. Some hostages that day later recounted that the commandos who came in to rescue them fired their silenced weapons with such accuracy that the only things they could hear was the pulpy sound of heads being blown apart.
As Mr. Gold's Fafnir finally rounded the corner to get at the Pillager, he noticed the black-painted enemy 'Mech moving away into another intersection just as he triggered his heavy gauss cannons. The buildings beside the retreating Pillager were gouged by massive shells that shattered concrete and splintered steel, as the massive slugs tore through them in another failed attempt to connect with the enemy. With his temperament bordering on complete frustration, Mr. Gold followed into another city intersection in pursuit, he felt that all he needed were a few clean hits and his quarry would be a pile of metal and debris.
But as he moved into another street to face the Pillager, the black enemy 'Mech quickly activated its jump jets to soar over his left flank. As Mr. Gold reacted by twisting his Fafnir's torsos to track the Pillager, his 'Mech turned just in time to see an all-black Axman heavy 'Mech get to within point-blank range at his left side.
"Say hello to my little friend!" Johnny Gundam said as he swung the Axman's hatchet down onto the Fafnir's head, cleaving the cockpit in one fell swoop. The massive 100-ton assault 'Mech instantly lost control of its gyros as it toppled on its right side, sending large pieces of concrete and asphalt into the air when it landed with a loud crash onto the street.
Just as the Pillager settled down beside the Axman, the second Fafnir ran headlong into the street.
"Johnny! Look out!" Stilicho Jones shouted to his ally as he triggered his jump jets in reaction to the massive weapons being aimed at their direction. The Pillager shot straight up into the air as Mr. Blue sighted his weapons.
"What?" Johnny Gundam exclaimed as he was completely surprised by the sudden appearance of the second Fafnir. His training and experience partially saved him as he was able to twist his 'Mech's torso towards the side as the Fafnir's heavy gauss cannons opened fire.
Although the slugs of the heavy gauss cannons were less effective over extended ranges due to the fact that their massive shells tended to break up over longer distances, at close range they were the most devastating weapons ever built; the huge 220mm metallic slugs tore into the Axman's side, ripping off its right arm and doing tremendous damage across its sides as the heavy 'Mech's armor was shredded.
As Johnny Gundam struggled to regain control over his stricken 'Mech, Stilicho's Pillager landed beside the Fafnir and began punching it with its claw-like hands. Mr. Blue's 'Mech did not have any arms to speak of and so he tried to rotate his Fafnir's torso once again in order to bring his weapons to bear but Stilicho slammed his Pillager into it, pinning the Fafnir along the walls of a nearby building.
"Johnny, get up!" Stilicho screamed into his neurohelmet's headset as he tried his best to keep the Fafnir pinned to its side but Mr. Blue's 'Mech was slowly ripping itself free, tearing off chunks of the adjoining building as the Fafnir struggled to get out.
Gundam shook his head for a few seconds as he tried to get his bearings straight. He quickly deactivated the whining alarms in his cockpit so that he could concentrate on the task at hand. By sheer skill, he willed his Axman back up to its feet as he checked his load-out status. He could see that his 'Mech's right arm was sheared off with the hatchet along with it and he took some internal damage to his gyros, thankfully there was no ammunition breach or else he wouldn't be alive to be even doing these things now. With grim determination, Gundam's mech picked up the fallen hatchet with the other arm and readied it.
As the Axman slowly turned towards the other two 'Mechs, Gundam could see that both the Pillager and the enemy Fafnir were shooting their medium lasers wildly at each other. The Fafnir was pinned to its side onto a building and so could not fire its forward facing heavy gauss cannons and the Pillager's main weapons were too close to do any good; even the standard gauss cannon slug had to travel a short distance to be effective.
"Enough of this." Gundam mumbled as he swung his 'Mech's hatchet at the pinned Fafnir. Within several minutes of hacking, Stilicho's Pillager backed off as chunks of machinery and metal fell onto the street. By then all that was left of the enemy Fafnir was a carcass of wires and scrap metal; the 'Mech's myomers had burst at their seams, the cut musculature and oozing lubricants gave it the effect of a mutilated steel behemoth. The panorama resembled a murder scene of titanic proportions.
"Jesus, that was close." Stilicho muttered under his breath.
"You can say that again." Gundam added.
"Jesus, that was close." Stilicho repeated.
"Shut up!"
When the commandos finally finished their sweep of the entire building, the Monk surveyed the carnage in the hallway. Now that the lights had been turned back on, the hostages were being escorted out of the building, leaving only the dead bodies of terrorists strewn across the floor, pieces of their brains mingled with blood and excrement as some of their bowels emptied upon the moment of death.
"I always find it weird how people tend to do strange things even when they are already dead." Jimmy Clavell said as he walked over to the Monk while slipping off his night vision goggles and headgear. The former Wolf's Dragoon had just ventured out of the storage room after putting several 10mm slugs into the heads of two terrorists that he found there when he smashed through the ventilation shaft after the lights went out.
"In what way?" The Monk said as he safetied his sub-machinegun and then slung it over his shoulder.
"Oh, just that people's bowels tend to open up when you gutshot them or when you hear someone's death-rattle when their final breaths leave their lungs, the involuntary stuff, you know." Clavell mused.
"I usually don't think of things like that. It's a job, nothing more." The Monk said without a trace of emotion.
"Yeah, I guess it is." Clavell smiled. "These fools were just a bunch of rich kids trying to be terrorists; what a waste."
"Waste?"
"Yeah, a waste of my talents. I want to go up against real professionals, not a bunch of rank amateurs." Clavell said.
"Be careful what you wish for, it might come true." The Monk answered.
"Sure hope so." Clavell concluded. "Anyway, this pretty much spells the end of the White Hand terrorist network."
"I wouldn't be too sure about that."
"What do you mean?" Clavell asked.
"Nothing ever ends." The Monk said as he started walking out of the hallway.
Clavell concluded that there were times when the Monk would just scare him silly.