The reception room was the first room that one entered when traveling into the Temporary Arasaka HQ in Pacifica. It had one main entrance from the outside, very thin and tall windows, a reception desk and reinforced benches, and one door leading further in right behind the reception desk. The benches were perpendicular with the entrance, forming a vaguely church-like structure on the interior. Along each wall, small horizontal windows led to rooms that flanked the reception room and stored a large number of standard issue assault rifles and body armor.
It was a killbox, designed to funnel invaders into a room with cover that was useless to them but useful to defenders. The windows to the outside were too small to jump through, and the concrete exterior was reinforced with internal rebar, making it very difficult to break through by force with anything short of a tank. The exterior, cleverly, was surrounded by a wall, with two gates each about fifteen feet away from the center. Meaning that any such weapon would be forced to punch through two layers of outer wall first, as the gates were too small to fit any vehicles.
It was a crude, robust, and cheap modern day fortress.
The moment he got back, he started arranging the reinforced benches in a circle, and had a large table brought in to put in the center. He needed a war room and he needed one immediately. Uriel had made the calls on the way over, they had picked up the girl along the way south, and right now he was puppetting his other frames to gather everything while he worked on this.
This would take time, which meant that the meat-thieves would get farther away, but that was ultimately fine. If they captured the brat, that means they want him alive. If the brat was alive, then he could be patched up afterwards, which meant that he could take his time here. It was better to take more time to ready an attack rather than go in and not have enough bullets for all the fuckers you wanted to kill.
There was no chance the brat ran, boy was too touchy-feely to leave without his girl and mother. The boy was also completely worthless dead, there wasn't a thing in his frame other than his spare sandy that was worth taking. His spare sandy was something that no one would bother with either, because no one else could handle it. It had no particular secret to its performance, it was just cranked higher than any other on the market. It wasn't worth picking a murder contest with him over.
That meant the brat was kidnapped, and they wanted him alive. Probably to brainwash or something, he didn't really care why. So long as the brat was alive, anything they did to him could be fixed after. Taking the time to ensure success on the first try had no downsides then.
He told the assembled brats one thing when they got back. Grab everything, this is a full-force operation.
The entrance way burst open as someone stomped in, not halted by the guards at the door.
"Where is my son." It was a demand from a very angry looking red-head. Her forearms and legs were covered in bloodstains, an EMT jacket hung loosely from her shoulders, and her hair was a frazzled mess. Her glare was half-decent, not bad for a meatbag, unfortunately ruined by the hint of panic and tears behind it. Uriel had sent her a short message when they picked up the girl.
'David has been kidnapped, go to Pacifica HQ.'
"Get your best gear woman. Retrieval planning starts soon." He commanded. Fortunately, she seemed to detect his bad mood, and his glare was much better than hers, especially when he stood 11 feet tall and weighed more than a ton.
It had been difficult to fit through the front door.
She practically ran past him arranging the benches, deeper into the fortress to gather up whatever garbage she used. She was a meatbag, it was a given that her gear would be shitty meatbag gear.
Soon after, the door opened again, and walked in five figures with Arasaka logos on their uniforms. The second person Uriel had messaged had been the Old Man himself, explaining the situation. The Old Man then ordered five Arasaka agents to form a strike team and show up at the HQ. Apparently, handpicked by himself according to who was actually present here in NC.
One of Kagekaze's ninja brats, a modified Gemini, Jorogumo V1, a terrified-looking fuckmeat, and a full-kit Arasaka soldier from the tower security. All in all, a pretty sorry looking group for Arasaka standards, but if the Old Man sent them, then they probably weren't deadweight.
"Onimusha. We await your orders." The Ninja-woman (Kunoichi, Uriel provided) spoke in a sterile tone and bowed. He pointed a claw at one of the benches. Not reacting beyond that, they walked over to sit down. Well, most of them didn't make an expression. Scaredy-meat looked like she was about to rip her own skin off. He made a note to strangle that one if it started making annoying noises, he wasn't in the mood for it right now.
Eventually, he had gotten the benches just right, just in time for the second group to burst in. The second person Uriel had sent a message to had been that one meatbag that manages the Arena's finances, again just a message about the situation, and Adam's current need for the best fighters he could scrounge up and ask to go over.
Apparently, that group was Meatman, Tigermask, Copborg, and a Blackwatch agent. An eclectic bunch, but Meatman was respectable compared to most, Tigermask had… 66% percent chrome, Copborg was someone Uriel knew was strong, and Blackwatch agents were always tricky to deal with. He didn't know how the deskjockey knew all these people, but he really didn't care.
They took stock of the situation immediately, Tigermask bursting in with a shout.
"I, EL TIGRE GRANDE, ENTER AS A-"
"Shut Up."
He immediately went quiet, staring at him somewhat tensely. Adam pointed a finger at a bench and growled out his next line.
"Sit down."
"Ah, more allies are coming then." Meatman spoke as he walked over, leading the rest of the group without hesitation.
"Yes."
The brats were almost done, Uriel was keeping one wisp of fire watching them as he assembled everything.
There was silence for several seconds as the two groups stared at each other from across the table. He didn't care about the looks being thrown around, he walked over and crouched on one end of the table. He would destroy any bench he sat on except the one up in his rooms, and that was behind several doors too small for the DaiOni to fit through. He made a note, the next HQ was going to have every door big enough for the DaiOni.
After several minutes of waiting, the brats came downstairs with their gear in tow. Apparently they had gone shopping again while he was in Japan.
Blueberry was in her Kyudoka (which he only now realized had been a modified Arasaka Standard B this whole time. He hadn't seen one of those in decades now, Hijitaka must have pulled it out of the closet back then), carrying her Yumi Railcannon, and a few backup weapons strapped to her frame.
Bowlcut was in full Arasaka Light Armorjack, helmet secured to his head and carry-bag full of what was probably gear. A knife secured to his arm, waist, and foreleg. A bandolier of grenades, and an Arasaka Masamune on his arms.
Girl was sporting her fancy new Battledeck, a helmet and kevlar vest over her armormesh bodysuit, and a sturdy pair of boots. A pair of knives on her waist and a smaller bag over her shoulder.
Woman had her own armormesh bodysuit on, helmet, boots, and gloves included. Carrying her riot shield, what looked like an electrified nightstick on her waist, and a shotgun in her arms.
Spares looked exactly the same as she usually did. Armor on, her (his) limbs perfectly still, and a helmet that conveyed a blank expression. She was carrying one of his Militech HMGs and his club on her back. He did tell her to grab the best gear after all.
All of them, to his grim satisfaction, were carrying a Microwaver-20 on their waists.
They didn't talk, recognizing the seriousness of the situation, and instead walked over to sit at the bench he was pointing at next to him. They quickly got over, exchanging wary (or familiar) looks with the assembled group. He didn't care, he was busy making sure Uriel had gotten everything together.
Eventually, the last group walked in. Uriel had messaged Rogue last, asking her to send him some mercs that were good, but that she didn't mind dying violently. She had apparently come up with this bunch.
A red-haired woman with a shitty side-shave haircut, a man in a brown jacket and a shitty fade haircut, another man in a black jacket with a samurai top-knot, and a tanned woman with tight gear and dog-mods who hadn't stopped staring at him since walking in.
"Yo! Queen of the Afterlife said you had a gig for a couple mercs, huh?" The man in the brown jacket said with a cool grin on his face, scanning around to the assembled and the table in the center of the room before focusing on Adam once more.
Streetmeat. Basically useless overall.
At this Adam shifted his position to an informal kneel, to get a bit closer to the table. He pointed at the benches first, and spoke.
"Sit. Briefing begins now."
Slightly nervous under their confident expressions, they sat. After which, he began to speak.
"Fifty-four minutes ago, my apprentice was kidnapped and driven to a warehouse in the north-eastern corner of the city. From this warehouse, five trucks drove away and into the badlands. Their positions are currently being tracked by satellite."
"There are going to be five teams. Each team will handle one truck apiece. If the truck arrives at its destination first, then they are to butcher everything there and confirm that David Martinez is not present before reporting back. If they find David Martinez, they are to announce it immediately over comms before extracting him and moving to a secure location to await pickup. Failure is not tolerable."
"If David Martinez dies, I butcher everyone in your team."
"The trucks each are seemingly heading to one of the five following locations. Truck alpha is heading towards a Metacorp shipping stronghold. Truck beta is heading towards a Petrochem refueling station. Truck gamma is heading towards a known Snake Nation Nomad fort. Truck delta is heading for an abandoned NUSA weapons depot from the 2040s. Truck epsilon is heading for a Collapse-era ghost town."
"If they reach any of these locations and split again, this could escalate to unreasonable levels. As some of those locations are active, it is likely that this kidnapping is either a multi-faction conspiracy, or a false flag operation. I do not care which. Arasaka will shield you from the potential backlash if they attempt to retaliate."
"Questions." It was technically a question, but he did not state it like one.
"How will teams be organized?" It was a prudent question with an obvious answer from the Kunoichi. He stared for a moment before pointing a finger at the Arasaka group, then the Independents, then Meatman's group, then the brats, then himself. "Understood Onimusha."
"It would be prudent to investigate the first warehouse before departing." That wasn't a question, but he nodded at the copperborg anyways. "Correct. Potential heavy resistance, so expect it."
"What's our transport?" This time from the red-haired side-shave meatwoman. She seemed familiar, but that was every meatbag these days.
"Four Arasaka DaiKuma Land Rovers. Each team will get one with a full tank of gas and a second canister in the trunk." These were just being pulled from the Pacifica Patrol stock, sometimes it was good to have resources on hand for when he needs to genocide five fortresses at the same time. "I will not need one."
"Communications?" This time from Bowlcut.
"There are LR Radios available, or use your Agents, I don't care which."
"Any other provided equipment?" This one was from the Blackwatch agent. A cooly-staring raven-haired woman. She was practically a walking fetish, and thus good marketing for Militech.
"Anything from the armory in the rooms adjacent to this one."
"Not to jump ahead in the race or anything, but uh- what's the pay goi- '' The streetmeat with the top-know started talking.
"One-hundred thousand eurodollars. Each."
That seemed to strike most of the room quiet. Every streetmeat sucked in a shocked breath at the same time. Some of the Arasaka group staggered briefly. The Meatman group were stunned briefly before nodding in confirmation. The brats didn't react at all, entirely too focused on the actual mission. He was confused only for a moment, before realizing that most of the people here were not him.
He would be surprised if even one of them had a million eurodollars to their name.
That's what his lowest-paying jobs earned him. This affair would be worth about two-thirds of an average job for him. That was practically a steal for making sure the livestock that decided to cross him got butchered.
Fuckers decided to steal his apprentice. He was going to make sure it was the last decision they ever had to make.
After a moment, the room of poormeats recovered, and another question was asked. The Arasaka Gemini spoke up. "Which team will be assigned to each truck?"
"I will go after truck alpha. The Arasaka team will go after truck beta. The brats will go after truck epsilon. The remaining teams will go after the remaining trucks. Pick among yourselves, I don't care."
"I-I would prefer to use Internal Agents to c-communicate." The dogmodder spoke up, stuttering slightly for seemingly no reason. He huffed in irritation, and forwarded his contact information to everyone in the room. This drew a small number of reactions, such as the timid fuckmeat jumping in her seat and palling, and the dogmodder's tail starting to wag even as she tried to hold it down. Top-knot coughed briefing into one hand, and Tigermask briefly struck a pose.
"You will be going alone?" Jorogumo V1 asked, eyes boring into him.
He audibly scoffed. The door behind him opened.
"I'm the only help I need."
Uriel, puppeteering the body of his other frames, walked them into the room to stand behind the DaiOni.
His newest frame, the Oni, with its CCPL myomer and mounted lasercannons on its arms. His Dragoon, right arm replaced with the belt-fed form of the Tsunami Arms Helix. His Gemini, clad in Arasaka heavy armorjack, carrying his monosword and his old Hellbringer on its waist.
And the practically antique form of a slightly dusty fullborg frame. Covered in heavy armored coveralls, carrying an old hyperhammer and a number of smaller guns on its back. His Samson.
Uriel couldn't use all four bodies at once, but he could upload a basic combat algorithm in each and hop between each body as needed. The overall strength of each frame would be enough that even a basic combat algorithm would be enough to keep them in the fight long enough for Uriel to micromanage.
"I'm Adam fucking Smasher."