"Alright, alright! We'll take care of-"
The door slammed shut, the holographic display turning red as the locks engaged, leaving Crimson staring at the cold metal, fingers twitching as the shear amount of illogical accusations crashed onto his mind. His non-existent jaw clenched and his eye flickered as the past two minutes replayed in his mind.
"That..." he growled, searching for the right word. "That... that... bitch!"
Two startled gasps and a shocked warble came from behind his back. He turned and saw Gipsy, Striker and Cherno standing there, shock written all over their glowing visors.
"What?" he asked.
"Did he just...?" Gipsy gasped. Cherno nodded gravely.
"He sure did," Striker agreed in awe.
"I did what?" Crimson asked, giving them a questioning look.
"You swore," the Australian beamed. "You actually swore!"
He paused for a few seconds before his shoulders sagged and he grumbled, "I should probably be disgusted about I how proud I am right now."
Crimson's eye started flickering again, for entirely different reasons. "Is that really the ONLY thing you think about?!"
"Well you have to admit, that is the first time we've ever you swear," Gipsy shrugged. "You're like the goody two shoes of language."
Though lacking a real face, Crimson's stare of disbelief was almost palpable as his eye shifted between the three of them. "...Really?"
Cherno keened, nodding again.
"No," Crimson growled. "I mean, why are we even talking about this?"
There was a moment of silence before the three gave a collective shrug. Crimson gave them one last glare before turning and stomping down the hallway of their apartment complex, muttering, "children... I'm surrounded by children."
The encounter with Ty in Afterlife had left him in a bad mood, and though the message he'd gotten from their landlady had been, thankfully, distracting, the rant she had given him once they'd gotten there brought his mood to all new lows. According to her, two Rising Maw Krogan had been able to sneak into the place past all of her sophisticated security systems.
According to security footage, they hadn't done anything malicious, only searching up and down the halls as if searching for something. But that didn't stop the black armored one from executing anyone they encountered. There were no less then a dozen bodies laid out in the hallways after the Krogan had made started on their search.
But they had found what they wanted, and Crimson had seen them stop, hack the front door to their apartment and enter. But they hadn't come back out yet, a fact which worried him.
Of course, their landlady wasn't so worried. She blamed them for the break in, the deaths of her tenants and a few other unrelated issues revolving around the problem. As Crimson tried to apologize for her troubles she had practically ordered them to get rid of the oversized lizards before slamming her door in his face.
The encounter had left him seething, but, at the same time, puzzled.
If the Krogan were here to try and kill them, why send only two? They practically decimated a quarter of the Maw army single-handedly, what made them think that two grunts could take them down?
The situation felt wrong, and as their door started coming into view his arms silently shifted into buzzsaws, ready for a fight. Behind him, he heard the sounds of three oversized guns being readied for action.
He idly wondered what would happen if Striker fired his ego incarnate and missed. If that was the case, bodies in the hall would be the last of their problems. The most Gipsy's Revenent and Cherno's Claymore could do was punch holes in the walls, but Striker's Striker could penetrate a tank and blow it up from the inside.
He didn't know about the other three, but Crimson had no intention to explain to their host how, or even why their wall and room on the other side had been blown to smithereens.
The door to their room was unlocked when they reached it, seemingly inviting them into the trap Crimson was so sure lay beyond. Only once the others had gathered behind him, weapons peeking over his shoulders like a firing squad did he slap the door controls.
The door opened with a slight hiss, opening to reveal a scene he expected, but at the same time, didn't expect. There was no ambush for one. No guns opened up on them the moment the door opened and nothing charging them with an intention to tear them to ribbons.
But there had been a fight though; that much was apparent by the dead Krogan lying in a pool of his own blood, a knife stuck neatly in the center of his helmet. Slowly, both their visors and weapons turned towards the broken couch where the victor of the dual, a Krogan in grey armor with a red stripe across his chest, sat motionless.
"Uh..." Striker trailed off, glancing at the body. "The fuck happened here?"
At the sound of his voice, the Krogan stirred, turning his head and regarded them with cold eyes.
"About time you got here," he rumbled. There was a clatter as he tossed a Claymore shotgun to the ground and kicked it away. There was a second clatter as the ammo block joined it on the ground.
"Who are you?" Crimson demanded as the four moved to surround the couch, weapons trained on the intruder.
"I'm a deserter, and that's all you need to know," the Krogan grunted. "But that's not why I'm here. I have information, if you care to hear it."
"Information?" Crimson asked, sharing a questioning glance with the others. "About what?"
"And why the fuck should we listen to a fucking coward like you," Striker growled. "Fucking deserter."
"I have information," the Krogan repeated, "and I don't have a lot of time. Take it or leave it."
"And what makes it worth our time?" Crimson demanded back.
After a moment of consideration, the Krogan shrugged. "Fair enough. I have a way for you to win this war."
He gave a small grin as he saw them straighten in surprise.
"I've seen you fight," he continued. "Your good. Very good. You might actually have a chance at this."
Cherno growled low in his chassis, asking a question that didn't need translating.
"To kill my old leader."
At their confused silence, the Krogan sighed. "This war has to end. Our reasons might not be the same, but we have a common goal, and that's good enough. The Maw army is big, too big for you to take down on your own. That's why I'm here."
Crimson's eye narrowed. "Explain."
The Krogan grinned darkly. "I can't. That would spoil the surprise. All you need to know is that in a few days time, a trade will take place that will leave the whole Maw army crippled. There's not a lot of details, but it'll kill them all in a week or less."
"That's it?" Striker growled. "Ya' break in to tell us we win in a few days. Brilliant plan. Fucking brilliant."
"If it were that easy I wouldn't have come here," the Krogan glared back. "If left the way it is, the rest of the Maw leadership will find a way to stop it. You need to kill them if you want to win this."
"Well isn't that fucking obvious."
"I mean it," the Krogan growled. "Kill their two leaders, and the others will be powerless to stop what's coming. But it has to be done fast. If you wait too long, the event will take place and they'll realize something is wrong. If that happens, you'll lose."
The four shared glances. To the outside world they were silent, on the radio, however:
"The fuck is going on here?" Striker exclaimed.
"A 'win the war quick' scam apparently," Gipsy quipped. "Like all those weight loss commercials back home."
A low rumble echoed over the line.
"Fuck no!" Striker shouted. "Never trust a deserter, they're the scum of the world!"
"Uh... we're not on a..."
"Fine! A station, whatever! It's the fucking galaxy for all I care! It's a trap, that's what this is!"
"Or he could be telling the truth," Crimson butted in. "I mean, all he told us to do was kill the Rising Maw leaders and the war is over. He isn't leading us somewhere to be ambushed."
"Oh yeah, and how do you know that?"
"What is your problem with this? We have a chance to end this quick with as little death as possible and you don't want to."
"What makes you so okay with it?" The Australian retorted. "He may be trying to paint himself as a good guy, but I won't trust a fucking deserter. You don't just abandon your duty and run like a fucking coward to join the other side."
"Even if your duty is to slaughter thousands of civilians." Crimson shot back."Would you run from that?"
Silence.
Crimson sighed, air rushing out of his vents as his shoulders slumped, the first outward signs of the conversation. "Listen, Striker, I don't like this either. We don't know why he's here, but he's giving us a way to end this."
Cherno rumbled, giving him a pointed look.
"We don't know that," Crimson replied. "This doesn't seem like the right setup for a trap. He's asking for an assassination, not giving us a location. That means he want's us to do it our way, meaning there's less chance that they'll be able to see us coming and anticipate our movements. We're making the playing field, not them."
Another rumbled.
"True."
Crimson switched off his radio, addressing the Krogan, who had been watching the silent exchange with half lidded eyes.
"Why?" the Jaeger asked. "Why will killing your former leaders help us?"
"Internal conflict," the Krogan grunted. "The Maws may be well trained and... disciplined, but they're still Krogan, and more power hungry then the rest. When the head gets cut off others will rise to take their place. Hell, maybe even the grunts will try their luck for the throne. They don't fear you, and they don't fear the rest of the station. They think of you as vermin, things to be ignored or crushed. So, when the head is gone they will all turn inward in one big brawl for power in the classic Krogan election process: Last man standing. With luck, you'll only have to deal with a few battle groups before phase two kicks in."
"And what is phase two?" Crimson asked.
"Classified." A sick smile slowly spread over his lips. "But I will say this: You need to tell Aria to watch the environment systems on the upper levels. The moment the lower system registers a hard containment reboot, separate the systems."
"A containment reboot?" Crimson questioned.
"Just tell that to the operators in the environment systems, they'll know what to do."
"But what is it?" Crimson pressed.
The Krogan frowned. "If you want to kill everyone else on this station you'll do as I say. I didn't have to tell you that. I could have let everyone in this hellhole die a painful death, but I planned around that. If you want to ignore it, be my guest, but their deaths are on your hands then."
The glaring match that followed was broken by Crimson's resigned growl. "Fine, have it your way. But let me ask you something: Why are you doing this? Why are you helping us?"
The alien scoffed. "I'm not doing to for you. I have my own reasons, none of which concern you. But it leaves us with a common enemy and a shared victory. You do it, you save Omega."
"And whats in it for you, bastard?" Striker demanded.
"Nothing that concerns you," the Krogan shot back.
"So say we do listen to you," Crimson asked, moving to stand in front of the armored alien. "Say we do go along with this, how do we find them? Is there a command center they have set up?"
"Yes. But the place is so heavily guarded you'd be torn to shreds. No, the bast way would be to draw them out somehow."
"Draw them out, huh?" Crimson muttered, mind going back to the Krogan they met in Afterlife and his none to subtle threat. "That could work. You wouldn't happen to have his call number, do you? Your leader's, I mean?"
The Krogan's gave him a raised eye ridge before waving his omni-tool through the air. Crimson's own device pinged as a data packet was revived.
"That should get you in touch with him," the Krogan grunted, rising from his spot on the couch.
"And where the fuck do you think you're going?" Striker asked, stepping forward and blocking his way as the Krogan headed for the door.
"Out," the alien replied simply. "I don't know about you, but I have a ship off of Omega to catch."
"Oh, and who said you got to leave?"
A smirk came across his features as the Krogan pulled a detonator out a pouch on his belt and flicked it open. "Says the twenty grenades I've planted around the room."
He jerked his hand away, dodging Striker's grab and held his thumb over the button. "You honestly thought that I was stupid enough to come in here without insurance? That you would just let me go?"
Striker's visor blazed in fury at his smug expression. "You fucking bloody coward."
"I'm alive," the Krogan replied. "And can you say you wouldn't do the same? Call me a coward if you want, but I'm running. I'm getting off this shithole"
A tense standoff that followed was broken only by a low, angry rumble from Cherno. Then Crimson grunted and deactivated his buzzsaws before jerking his head towards the door. "Fine. Get out."
The other three shot him incredulous looks but he ignored them, carefully watching the Krogan as he walked to the door and tapped the display. Before he stepped out, he flicked the detonator shut and tossed to Crimson who caught it one handed. Then the door slammed shut and all hell broke lose.
First came Striker's "WHAT THE FUCK!" followed closely by Gipsy's "You let him go?!" and Cherno's delighted rumble as he snatched up the Claymore shotgun that the Krogan had left on the floor.
Crimson just let it wash over him, mind turned inward as a plan started to form. A crazy, stupid plan, but a plan none the less.
A hand grabbing his shoulder finally broke him out of his thoughts as Striker's angry visor filled his vision. "What the fuck were you thinking?! You just let him go!"
"And what's wrong with that?" Crimson shot back, shoving him away.
"Fucking everything! Who knows what else that wanker did! Maybe he did more then plant a few fucking grenades!"
"Yeah, about that," Crimson interrupted holding up the detonator to reveal a small display on it's side. "If you had actually looked you would have seen it wasn't connected to anything at..."
The detonator was swiped out his hand, dropped on the floor and stomped on viciously by a silver armored foot, accompanied by a chorus of curses. Only once the device had been ground into powder did Striker look up.
"Fine, maybe he was fucking lying about the bombs, but what about other shit?!" he screamed, gabbing a finger at Crimson chest. "He's already a fucking liar! Leaving Omega my ass! He probably just went back to report to his buddies to expect the biggest fucking idiots who walk into traps on a daily basis! So why the fuck did you let him go?!"
A thousand answers raced through his mind, but none of them seemed to fit the growing frustration that Crimson could feel building inside him. Maybe it was his sense of honor that made him do it. A favor for a favor. But the more he thought about it, the more one single idea filled his mind.
This had to end. This war, the Maws, it had to end. The things he'd seen the Maws do made his core burn in rage. They were monsters, and it was their job to end them, by any means necessary.
"Because this has to end," he replied steely, looking Striker dead in the visor. "You've all seen what I've seen. The Maws are killers, slaughtering everyone who crosses their path. They're monsters, and we were made to kill monsters."
The fire in Striker's gaze started to shift, burning with another flame.
"I don't care if he was lying," Crimson continued, "I don't care if his plan is a trap, we will end this. If he chooses to go back then he will die, but he did have good advice: Cut off the head of the snake, and the rest will follow."
He turned to Gipsy and saw her nodding along with his words.
"We were made to kill monsters," he repeated with conviction. "We did it once and we can do it again."
His words seemed to ring in the air, resonating beneath their plating and making their struts tingle with excitement.
"Well... when you put it like that..." Striker murmured, his voice sounding rather horse. "I can't say I like it, but what the fuck are we waiting for?"
"You have a plan?" Gipsy asked, her voice harder then the steel she was made of.
"It's coming together," Crimson nodded. "Though there are some things we need to get ready. Gipsy, you're coming with me. Striker, we need a skycar. Cherno..."
There was a questioning growl as the Russian turned around, duel wielding two Claymore Heavy shotguns, a truly terrifying sight be behold if you were of the organic variety.
"You... uh," Crimson stammered, trying not to picture Cherno in the same pose atop a mountain of bodies. "Just, uh, go with Striker. And please, make it fast."
-Linebreak-
The skycar wobbled again, making the occupants glare at the pilot.
"I swear, it wasn't me this time," Striker grumbled, adjusting his grip on the control column.
From his place in the back set, Cherno growled sarcastically.
"I said maybe," Striker retorted. "And I think I'm doing pretty good for only an hour of flight experience."
Another growl.
"Shut up! It's better then your flying, at least."
"Can we please keep this civil?" Crimson butted in, cradling a package in his hands. "We are pulling off the mother of all suicide missions to date. Let's not let the stress get to us."
"So jumping head long into the Breach wasn't a suicide mission?" Gipsy pipped up from beside Cherno. "Good job making my last life seem completely pointless."
A pause, then a questioning keen.
"I blew up," she deadpanned. "That's suicide. Trust me, I know, because I died."
The Russian shrugged, letting out a groan.
"Okay, maybe it was a noble sacrifice, but I still died. That's makes it, you know, a suicide mission."
"Alright, let's stop talking about suicide missions," Crimson interrupted, looking over his shoulder at the two. "From now on, it is simply us going to someplace and killing someone. That better?"
After a moment of consideration, the two nodded, proceeding to pull up their weapons from in between their knees: Gipsy her Revenent machine gun, and Cherno his two Claymore shotguns. The display of raw firepower and strength would have been enough to give even a Thrasher Maw pause.
Sighing, Crimson turned back to the windshield, watching the towering spires of Omega as they sped by.
This was it. Quite possibly the turning point of the whole war, and here they were winging it like a DIY bookshelf from Ikea. It didn't help that the closer they got to their destination, the more Crimson's core clenched in anticipation.
This had the real possibility of blowing up in their faces, big time.
Their plan; lure out the Maw leaders by saying they had the head of Aria T'lok in a bag and wanted to show to them.
For once, Crimson agreed with Striker on the fact that their plan was a heaping pile of bullshit. But it was all they had to go on, and so far it was going along just fine.
He'd made the call right before they left, using the number the Krogan gave them. The voice on the other end, while sounding familiar, was no less surprised when it heard that Aria was dead. Of course it asked for proof, whereupon Crimson asked for a rendezvous where they could meet in private. It had taken a while, getting to the point where they had started thinking it hadn't worked, but finally the voice came back, giving them the coordinates of certain warehouse on the lower levels.
They were almost there, only a few minutes away. Opening his vents, he sucked in the cool air, held it for a moment before releasing it, easing some of the tension in his gut. The pre-battle calmness was beginning to set in, but it did little to settle his nervousness.
He took another breath, glancing down to the package in his hands. Well, it wasn't really a package, just a simple cloth bag filled with a lumpy roundish object. The only think that gave away it's contents was the dark stain on the bottom that dripped a thick, sticky blue fluid onto his thigh. He idly wondered if he should act more disgusted with what was inside but decided against it. They wouldn't need it for much longer anyway.
"Here we are," Striker announced, pulling the side and towards the hanger entrance to a large warehouse.
A dry rumble came from the back.
"Yes I brushed up on my landing!"
He guided the car over to a marked out space in the empty hanger and cut the power. The vehicle dropped like a stone, hitting the ground with a hard jolt, rattling all it's passengers.
"Ha! How's that for a perfect landing?"
They all glared at him. The Australian ignored it, popping the hatch before stepping out and stretching his cramped legs. The others all squeezed out, dragging their weapons with them. Once she had extricated herself from the tight cab, Gipsy reached back in and pulled out Striker's Striker before tossing it at him. He caught it one handed and began checking the number of thermal clips in the drum mag.
"Right," Crimson started, gripping the bag tightly as a few drops of liquid fell to the ground. "We all ready?"
Cherno growled grimly, holding both his Claymores aloft like a western gunslinger. Gipsy let her Revenent answer for her, the signature red hologram of incendiary ammo coating the weapon in an intimidating jacket. Striker merely pulled the action on his rifle, hearing the satisfying click as a round was loaded in.
"Lets get this fucker," he grunted.
With that, Crimson turned and started towards the door on the far side of the hanger, the others following behind him.
It was the same warehouse that both he and Gipsy had visited less then a week ago when helping Aniya. He noticed it hadn't really changed much under Maw control. The hanger was still mostly empty, save for a few modified garbage hullers turned troop transports parked against the wall.
As per the agreement they arranged over the call, the place seemed completely deserted. Of course, Crimson wasn't dumb enough to believe that for an instant. Doubtless, dozens of enemy troops were hiding somewhere in the massive complex just waiting for the word to strike, but that didn't stop them from heading deeper into the facility. They were on a mission, and nothing was going to stop them now.
The connecting passages passed in a blur as the pre-battle calm set in, all unnecessary thoughts pushed to the back of their minds as the door to the main atrium opened silently. As they crossed the threshold, Crimson quickly hid the bag behind his back, thinking it best to keep them guessing and off their ploy as long as possible. And just in time too as they entered into the main area.
It hadn't changed much since Crimson had last seen it, except for the distinct lack of crates anywhere. A quick glance around confirmed that the room was completely bare of any pieces of cover and that only the ladders that went up to the catwalks remained. The main door on the far side of the room was wide open, giving them a good view of the area outside. It also cast the silhouettes of the two Krogan standing in the middle of the warehouse into sharp reflef. One of them was smaller then Striker, and the other was the same Krogan they encountered in Afterlife; Ty. His giant ten foot frame struck an impressive figure compared to his short, black armored counterpart beside him.
"There's they are." Striker growled over the radio.
"Wait!" Crimson said quickly, stopping him before he could raise his rifle. "Let's see if we can't get something more out of this."
"It's your funeral."
They marched forwards, stopping fifteen feet away from the pair. Glowing visors met bright eyes as the two parties glared at each other. A minute passed before Ty snorted.
"Well, here you are at last."
"Sorry, traffic was a bit tight," Striker growled. "So you're the fucker behind all this, eh?"
"Indeed," Ty nodded. "In that light I would like to reintroduce myself: My name is General Titanus, leader of the Rising Maws, soon to be the New Krogan Empire."
"That's... nice," Crimson said slowly, searching for anything they could use to their advantage in this fight. "But we didn't come here to listen to you gloat."
Titanus nodded. "Of course. But I am... surprised you chose to except my offer."
"Well, it took some consideration," Crimson said, fingering the bag. "But it seemed like the only thing we could do."
The shorter Krogan scoffed, looking sceptical. "So you say. But how do we know she's really dead?"
In response, Crimson drew the bag out and brandished it in the air. The dark stain on the bottom letting loose a steady stream of dripping fluid.
Titanus eyes widened a fraction as he hummed appreciatively. The shorter one seemed less then impressed, something Crimson didn't miss.
"Striker," he murmured. "How good is your aim?"
"Good enough. Where do you need it?"
"Take the small one, the rest of us will go after the General on my signal. Everyone got it?"
As the others gave the affirmative Titanus started laughing.
"I didn't believe you'd actually do it!" he laughed, slowly slipping his hand behind his back towards his holstered shotgun.
"Yeah, me neither," the short one grunted, not sharing his humor.
"Ah, that's just perfect," Titanus continued, laughter calming down to a few sparse chuckles as he brought his shotgun to bear. "I would have loved to see the look on her face."
Now came the double cross they had all seen coming a mile away.
"Oh, she was surprised," Crimson said, playing along as the others tensed. "In fact, we got the proof right here. Catch!"
Before they could react, Crimson drew back his arm and threw the bag with all his might at Titanus' head, at the same time screaming into the radio: "Striker now!"
Two things happened at the same time. First; on his signal, Striker had his rifle up and ready in an instant, aiming squarely at the shorter Krogan's head. But for all his speed as a Mark. V, he was a second too slow in pulling the trigger. The Krogan saw it, diving to the side as the round sailed by, missing his head by an inch. Second; the bag hit Titanus square in the face and Crimson heard the wet squish as the blue melon/orange-like fruit hidden inside burst, staining the rest of the fabric and blinding the beast. But while his vision was impaired, his basic instinct wasn't. His drawn, doubled barrelled shotgun came up, pointing in the direction he'd last seen the red Jaeger.
The weapon fired, sending twin carnage blasts blazing through the air. Crimson barely dodged them in time, rolling away as they roared by. Even before he was halfway through the motion, his buzz-saws were out and ready, and the moment his feet were back on the ground he charged, weapons singing their deadly tune.
At the same time, Cherno level his two Claymores with an angry growl before letting loose his own barrage of firepower.
Titanus growled, throwing the damp bag aside and wiping the last of the juices away, just as the shots hit. The first blast stuck his shields, making them flare right before the second round hit, shattering them completely with a sound like breaking glass. As the flash faded, Crimson's red chassis rushed him from the side, drawing back his arms in preparation to strike.
Moving with a speed that seemed impossible for his ten foot bulk, Titanus nimbly stepped aside, narrowly dodging Crimson's single right arm and drove his fist into the Jaeger's side. Crimson gasped as the blow landed, denting his plating and throwing him off balance. Taking advantage of this, Titanus grabbed his arm, twisting it painfully behind his back while at the same time turning him to shield himself from anymore incoming fire.
What he didn't count on were Crimson's three back rockets flaring to life, burning through his chest piece and scorching the skin beneath. The shock of the burning was just enough to make his grip slacken, giving Crimson the chance to shake his arm loose before driving both of his left elbows into his chin.
Titanus went down hard on his back, blinking away the spots that appeared in his vision, only to see Crimson turning, arms raised high and ready to strike. Unconcerned, Titanus gave him a quick kick in the torso, putting another dent in the red metal. The blow was just enough to make the Jaeger stagger back, trip over his own feet and crash into Cherno, who had dropped his shotguns and rushed in to help.
As they tried to untangle themselves, Titanus, spat out a globule of spit and blood. This was going to be more difficult then he'd originally thought. He jabbed a button on his omni-tool before quickly going to reload his own weapon. The double barrelled Claymore may have been his favourite, but it ate up ammo like a bitch. But the firepower it gave was one of the best tradeoffs he'd seen in centuries.
He had just slid the new thermal clip into place when he glanced up and forced to roll away a green fist slammed into the ground where his head had been moment before. He came out of it, rising to his feet and saw the green form of Cherno Alpha coming in for another skull crushing blow. Growling, he tossed his gun aside and caught the incoming fist inches away from his face.
Though the mech was a full foot shorter then him, it's strength was far more then he had anticipated, making him slide back, even as he fought to keep the thing's fist away from his cranium.
He wasn't one to call for backup, but as he saw the red blur of Crimson Typhoon charging in from the side, he couldn't help but hope that the reinforcements would hurry up.
-Linebreak-
Krual groaned, shaking away his blurred vision as he crawled to his knees.
Though he had designed the Thrasher M89 and had seen the results they had on organic targets firsthand, none of them had survived long enough to give an accurate description afterwards. Now, after having a shot breeze by his head, he could feel one of effects coming on.
He couldn't hear shit. The concussive force the round had generated, no less then an inch away from his ears had ruptured his eardrums. Already he could feel blood welling up inside his hearing canals. Even with his regeneration, it would take a while before he could hear again. But that wasn't the thing that angered him at the moment:
They had used his own weapon against him! How dare they!
He growled, the sound coming in muted and barely audible, as he stood and saw the silver frame of Striker Eureka stalking towards him, tossing down his own weapon before his sting blades jumped out of his forearms. The Jaeger's visor flashed, saying something that Krual could only assume was an insult.
He didn't have time for this.
Flicking his wrist, his omni-tool flashed to life as it activated the cloaking mods in his armor. As Striker looked on, his form shimmered once before vanishing into thin air.
-Linebreak-
"Fuck!"
Striker spun on his heel, scanning every which way for any sign of where the sneaky little bastard had gotten to.
"Ffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffuck!" He whirled around. "Gipsy!"
Her head turned, away from the Revenent which was held ready and waiting for a shot when Crimson and Cherno got out of the way.
"What?"
"Come help me find this wanker!"
Her visor brightened in grim amusement. "You lost him?"
"Shut up the fuck up and help me!"
Grumbling, she turned her head in a slow rotation, trying to ignore the painful sounding clangs coming from the other fight. Suddenly, her gaze was drawn to a particular spot.
"There!" she shouted, pointing to one of the ladders leading to the catwalks. It was rattling and shaking, just as if someone small but heavy was climbing it as fast as they could.
They where after him in an instant. Though whoever it was had made to the top, they could still hear his footsteps on the metal grating as he ran.
Striker made it there first, grabbing the rungs and, not even testing to see if the ladder could take his weight, started climbing. The metal groaned in protest as he made it to the top, followed closely by Gipsy. Without giving her a second thought, Striker took off in the direction that the invisible Krogan had gone, sting blades at the ready.
Gipsy hefted her machine gun, preparing to follow when something else drew her attention.
It was the front door, wide open and inviting.
She cocked her head in curiosity. Why leave the front door open when you're expecting an attack? An escape route?
Her visor darkened in thought before it brightened again in realization. Then she started running, the opposite way Striker had gone, towards the section of catwalk that hung above the open doorway, the metal grating groaning in protest every step she took.
-Linebreak-
The worst part about being deaf, Krual decided, other then the obvious fact that he couldn't hear shit, was the devastating lack of situational awareness it came with.
Not many Krogan realized that they relied on their hearing so much. Now, only once it was gone he'd lost his did Krual actually realize it.
Sparing occasional glances at the fight going on down below between Titanus and the Jaegers was now the only way he could keep tabs on the battle. A severe handicap when he needed his eyes to watch where he was going. It also didn't help that he couldn't even hear himself and the kinds of noises he was making, a big factor in trying to be stealthy.
He stopped suddenly, unfolding his Thrasher M89 and propping it up on the catwalk railing before peering through the scope. He scowled as he saw the situation.
Things might have been going according to plan, but that didn't mean they were going well.
Titanus was up to his neck in trouble, grappling with the green Jaeger as the red one charged in from the side.
For a moment, it looked like it was all over. Then Titanus fell back, grabbing the Jaeger and pulling it with him before using it's own momentum to toss it over his fallen form and into it's comrade.
Krual grunted in approval. Titanus might have been more of thinker then anything else, but he sure knew how to fight. And, Krual thought, grinning as his scope settled on the two Jaegers as they tried to untangle themselves, he could give him just the perfect openings for double kills.
Just as his finger brushed the trigger, something troubling dawned on him.
While he couldn't hear, he could still feel, and what he felt was the catwalk shaking beneath him and getting more violent by the second. Just as if something heavy was running toward him.
He ducked out of pure instinct, dodging the silver fist by mere centimeters as it flew through the space where his head was moments ago. Once it was past he dove away, putting as much distance between himself and the mech as he could. He knew well enough that he couldn't beat it in close quarters. Fortunately, he had one of the best anti-armor weapons at his disposal.
He landed hard on his shoulder before scrambling to his feet, rifle raised and ready to backpedal at a moments notice. But as he got the Jaeger in his sights, he saw something so ludicrous and random that he couldn't help but stop and stare.
Striker Eureka was standing there, in the same place where he'd missed the first punch. But it wasn't that which had gotten his attention. The metal plates that made up the Jaeger's chest had slide aside, revealing... something.
Krual blinked, mouth opened in a mixture of surprise and disgust. He didn't know who made this cursed machines, but he must have been one sick bastard to add nipples of all things! And that wasn't even the worst of it: Six of them.
As his mind reeled back at what he was seeing, he almost missed it when the six things on it's chest bloomed with black smoke and flame, sending six flying missiles towards his face, faster then the eye could follow.
In the brief milliseconds before the warheads made contact, a strange thought occurred to him.
He had just been flashed to death... by a mech.
-Linebreak-
The explosion echoed through the warehouse, drawing Titanus' eyes to the various fleshy pieces falling from the catwalk that used to be his second in command. His killer leaned over the railing, glaring at the remains of Krual's skull on the ground.
"Fuck you, wanker!"
Well, that would complicate things a bit. No matter, this would all be over soon enough.
A noise was gradually growing over the sounds combat. A low rhythmic that was slowly getting nearer. As they rose to their feet, Crimson and Cherno both cocked their heads, hearing it for the first time. Slowly, their gaze drifted over towards the warehouse's open door. Through it they could see the growing mass of Rising Maw troops rushing the building as fast as their legs could carry them.
Titanus smiled, turning to give the Jaegers a smug look.
He'd explicitly ordered all his men outfitted with the heaviest weaponry they could get their hands on; grenade launchers, rocket launchers, heavy machines and anything else they could find before sending them off to lie in wait for his signal. Armor or not, not even these mechs could withstand the shear amount of firepower that was coming their way.
His smile grew even wider as they reached the door, rushing in with raised weapons, all pointing at...
"KAMIKAZE!"
The shout took him complete off guard, as did the figure that leaped from the catwalk, crushing the first few troopers beneath her. The rest all stalled, not expecting any resistance at all. The opening was all Gipsy needed.
Her sword flashed in the light as it cleaved a Krogan in two before the Revenent in her other hand opened up with a hail of flaming projectiles. Shields shattered under the barrage, the heavy rounds punching through armor and burying themselves in flesh, slowly smouldering inside their targets.
As the first wave of Krogan fell, Gipsy sheathed her blade and reach for the door, swinging it shut on it's rusty hinges. It was almost there when the Krogan realized what was happening. They surged forward, pressing against the door and pushing with all their might. Gipsy yelped in surprise, dropping the Revenent and digging in her feet as she fought to keep the door from opening. Despite her efforts, it was a losing battle, her feet sliding back an inch at a time.
"Someone!" she screamed as arms pushed through the growing opening, "anyone, HELP!"
A metallic roar was her answer as Cherno charged over, bringing his incredible three ton weight to bare as he dipped his shoulder and slamming into the door full force. The Krogan pressed against it felt their very bones shudder Cherno struck, slamming against the door and forcing it shut. The troopers who had managed to sneak arms and hands through the gap now found themselves reeling back, grasping at bloody stumps.
A dull thunk resonated through the door as upgraded locking systems slid into place, sealing the enraged Krogan out.
"Wow," Gipsy chuckled, taking a step back and admiring their handiwork as the sound of pounding fists leaked through the metal. "Talk about a shutout win, huh?"
Letting out a resigned growl, Cherno lightly slugged her in the shoulder.
"Come on, it wasn't that bad!"
"Yes it was!" Striker's shouted from the catwalk.
Giving an angry huff, Gipsy turned. "Like you could come up with something bet..." The words died in her speakers, horror dawning on her visor. "...oh no."
-Linebreak-
Crimson couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief as he heard the locks echo through the warehouse. That left only one last target remaining. His hands reformed into their buzzsaw configuration as he turned, eye instantly locking onto the solitary form kneeling on the ground with his back to him.
He started running, saws buzzing to life as he charged the Krogan. Surprisingly Titanus, didn't react, not even seeming to care as the pounding footfalls of the Jaeger approached, now only six meters away.
His position puzzled Crimson. Even only knowing him for a few brief minutes, Titanus didn't seem like the type to pray, something that seemed fitting to his pose. Blinking, Crimson cast the thought aside, but it didn't help the feeling of unease quickly growing in his chest.
Four meters.
The ground around the Krogan was empty Crimson realized, sparking his unease into a bonfire. There was something wrong with that fact, something he'd forgotten. The ground shouldn't be empty, bare of anything, but it was. What could he possibly be forgetting?
Three meters.
Finally acknowledging the incoming Jaeger, Titanus looked over his shoulder. His expression made Crimson's core go cold.
It wasn't fear, hate or even determination. His mouth was twisted upward in smug smile, eyes half lidded as if he didn't even care. The smug look of victory.
The rockets of Crimson's back lit, even as his mind raced over the growing terror building inside him. The smile, the open ground, kneeling. What was he missing?
Two meters.
He jumped, rockets flaring as they propelled him higher, arms raised high for a killing blow. Titanus only smiled wider.
Only then did Crimson see. The ground wasn't completely empty. With his new advantage in height, he was able to look down over the Krogan's shoulder. His core froze and time seemed to slow as he saw the spent thermal clip steaming on the ground.
Now it all made sense. The thing he'd been forgetting. Why the Krogan was smiling.
His mind raced as he reached the highest point of his arch and started coming down, desperately trying to change his course... but it was too late.
One meter.
Titanus whirled around, his fully loaded double-barreled Claymore clenched tight in his hands and pointed squarely at Crimson's broad chest.
For a single second, time seemed to stop. The feeling of gravity pulling him down stopped, the air rushing past him stopped, his buzzsaws hung motionless in the air and all he could see were the two barrels, their dark depths likes two eyes that seemed to stare into his very soul.
Not like this, he begged in his mind, but to who he didn't know. Please... not like this. Not again.
The weapon fired with a bang, sending the flaming carnage blasts towards him. He felt them strike him in the chest... then nothing, as his vision cut to black.
Well this took way too long to get out. I suppose you all can thank Justiceseeker85, who continuously PMed me about updating. But the real question, seeker, is: are you happy with what you got?
I'll give you all the gist of it. This is the end of the Rising Maw saga. Unfortunately it also the end of all the chapters I have pre-writen for this story. Chapter 17 was still in the works when Commander Rose became my popular story, and I have spent most of my writing time on that. So, sorry to leave you all on this big cliffhanger.
But very important note: that does not mean this story is dead. Commander Rose is my most popular story, so it had taken up most of my time. I will try to work more on Team Jaeger, but no real promises. I will at least try to get chapter 17 out soon so not to leave you in endless suspense.
Thank you to readers like Justiceseeker85. Your comments and encouragement is what keeps me writing. So thank you once again for being the reason why I sit down at my keyboard and write. I would be nothing here without you all.
Thank you.
DJ out!