6th Street

Morton took a drag as he watched the numbers on the screens, all that was available to them through the Fog of War. There were units to cut through the automatic ECM, but NUSA was really careful to make sure no one but their own boys had access to them. 6th Street had to rely on second-stage overwatch rather than the direct overwatch that they used back in their army days. Still, better than nothing.

"Sir we have confirmation on what that weapon of his is. It's a large shield, estimated five point five feet long, two point five feet wide, four inches deep. Its profile is being thrown off because of two struts on the handle side." Overwatch alpha relayed quickly as Overwatch beta and gamma commanded regroups and supports on their flanks.

They had lost about a third of their men so far. It had been three minutes since the battle began. This was within the tactical projection, but only barely. Smasher was awake, the aquatic team had been eliminated a while ago. Two died due to shockwave. Damage to neck then fatal damage to neck, minor damage to torso then fatal damage to entire upper body, mortal damage to legs then fatal damage to torso. Certain details were missing from that, he couldn't determine how their deaths played out.

Then another flank squad was eliminated. Significant damage to legs, followed by head, then head, then arm, then head. They were crippled all at once, then eliminated as fast as possible. He couldn't kill the last one in time, so he crippled first then killed. Around ten seconds for that encounter. The missing variable was in how he managed to cripple them.

It wasn't until the next two squads, the ones sent to the flank round on the building that netrunner was tucked away next to, that they figured out what it was. A massive slab of…

Morton narrowed his eyes and did some mental math. Assuming that it was just aluminum plate… "...That'd be just a bit over seven fifty pounds…" He exhaled and shook his head. That would certainly explain the sudden injuries, although if Smasher was in a stock Alpha, something like that would be straining his arms something absurd. Four inches of aluminum plate…

No, the tinboys would be able to penetrate that with their guns. That wasn't aluminum, but it couldn't be steel either, stock Alphas were only graded for one-thousand pounds. Had to be a lightweight alloy. Not something he just picked up then, a custom. Smasher had prepared for this exact scenario.

He took a drag.

The operation was going to end in failure. They hadn't prepared for him to have anything with such high grade armor, and he was more experienced than all of them combined. He's already linked up with the netrunner as well. So long as he was smart, Smasher was going to snowball off this and swing the battle in his favor. They wouldn't be able to kill him in time to pull back without being picked off by Smasher's allied factions. Even if they succeeded, everyone here would die if they kept fighting.

He exhaled. "Call a full retreat." He announced. There was an immediate hush that fell over the command tent. Overwatch alpha swallowed and began to call the full retreat over the comms.

"...Commander?" His second-in-command questioned, brows suddenly furrowed and gaze hard. Will was young and full of vinegar, in the military this would get the book thrown at you, but they were a gang now. It was less formal than he'd like.

"Smasher prepared for this, we're down a third, and he's linked up with his netrunner again. The tides are turning in his favor by the moment, and with Fog of War in place we can't issue commands fast enough to outmaneuver him. We can't afford to drop it though, because he'll be able to immediately communicate with his own allies…" He shook his head and took another drag, seeing another injury pop up on screen. This one caused by Smasher's protegee and daughter, most likely. "Operation isn't feasible anymore, we're calling everyone out."

"We lost a third… for nothing…?" Will muttered again.

"Sir what are we going to tell Militech? If we back out now…?" Overwatch beta said. Morton turned to the lad and replied.

"We're going to return the war material we can and tell them the operation was a failure. He had preparations we didn't have intel on, and thus tactical retreat was our best option. Getting rid of an asset over one failed mission isn't something they'd do. The deal we made was a mistake, as it turns out." He calmly explained, taking another drag and watching the estimated tactical map slowly update.

"...You mean the deal you made with them." Will spat out hatefully. Morton narrowed his eyes into a glare and turned to give his second in command a tongue lashing.

The barrel of a Militech Crusher greeted him. He didn't have time to react before it fired.

Will Gunner lowered his shotgun and glared at the three overwatch agents, all of who had their sidearms drawn and raised. He ignored their hostility and spoke. "Keep up the retreat, we're going back to fortify. We're not dealing with Militech's bullshit anymore. We're getting something out of all this."

There wasn't a reply, they just glared nervously. He hardened his own gaze at the three. "You've got your fucking orders. Or should all our men out there die for fucking nothing?! Full retreat! Back to main HQ! Fortify! Do you hear me!?"

Another pause, one of them swallowed before slowly lowering his gun. "...Yes Sir…"

Will Gunner glared at the three, now getting back to their jobs. He reached down and picked up the discarded cigar, quickly taking a drag and exhaling. It smelled like power.

This was why you didn't make deals with fucking corprats. Only ends with business end of a fucking gun barrel.

—

David

He felt like he had been living life in slow motion for the longest time. Only about… two years ago now he supposed, he had been doing the same routine day after day. Wake up early, head to a school full of gonks he didn't like and who didn't like him, listen to boring lectures, do frustrating homework, go home, sleep, do it all again tomorrow.

An endless cycle of monotony, broken only when mom bit the dust for a while there. Installing that sandy was painful as shit but… it had been worth the pain. For a few moments, whenever he activated it, he wasn't in slow motion. For a few moments at a time, the world was forced to slow down for him instead.

Hard to describe how addictive that was.

Then he met Lucy by chance, then he met Maine and the crew, then he got to be an actual Edgerunner. How preem was that? He was worth something to a crew, he was accomplishing something.

Then Pilar got flatlined, and he couldn't do a thing. All he could do was watch and hesitate. He wasn't fast enough, he wasn't decisive enough, he wasn't enough. That was fine though, he could just get experience, he could keep getting better at this edgerunning thing.

Then Maine died, and he was the one that the crew had to rely on. He was the one responsible, and he wasn't enough yet again. So he needed more of what made him special. He needed more chrome to get better. They were all relying on him, after all.

Then he started losing it. Then he lost it. Then he almost lost everything. Then Smasher beat the metal off him and offered a job instead of killing him. Just like Maine did.

Forced to backtrack, forced to lose what made him special, and then… rebuilt from the ground up almost. New chrome, new loadouts, new tactics, new training. All of it was making him better in just about every way possible, from as many angles as possible, and barely any of it involved getting more chrome. It was hard to not notice how inefficient he had been, looking back on it.

Turns out a guy who had been killing for decades was really good at telling you how to kill better if he wanted to, who knew?

The world was still moving too fast, but he felt like he could keep up, and the new sandy let him slow it down just the same as before. It was getting easier to keep living.

This body though?

He reached out and grabbed the arm, jerking it up just before the man in heavy armor could start blowing chunks in his body with that HMG of his. Widening his stance, he twisted into a throw, using the man as a club to smash another one's head in, even through the helmet.

He heard a shifting of gravel. He activated his sandevistan and flipped forwards. The laser, too fast to track even in sandy time, passed through the air where he just was. His feet touched the ground again and he tugged the HMG out of his victim's hands, starting a controlled burst of fire towards the heads of the guys who hadn't fired yet.

In the corner of his vision, he saw Spares finally catch up, activating her own sandy and leaping forwards to pulp a man's head with a flying kick.

In this body, he wasn't in slow motion, he didn't have to keep up with the world. In this body, the world was in slow motion, it had to keep up with him. Even in the middle of a firefight, this was the most at ease he had felt in a long time.

Thanks 'Vincent' you fucking weirdo. Not sure why you had to jump through this many hoops for the gift, but it was pretty preem.

His sandy was going to expire soon, so he tossed the gun at another guy with a laser raised and twisted into a kick against the off-balance guy he stole the gun from.

The myomer in his leg tensed like real muscle, but the power behind it could only be chrome. His sandevistan expired as his kick landed, sending the armored target flying back to crack the wall of the alley behind him. He knew that guy weighed around three hundred pounds, and yet the only hard part of doing that was making sure his other leg was braced for it.

No need to leave the job half-done, he unloaded the magazine of his pilfered gun on the stunned man, slowly turning his armor into swiss-style tack. To his right he heard Spares jump twice, two very rapid sounds due to her sandevistan being active still, and then a squelch as she tore another head off with a kick.

No time to delay though, this place was swarming. He kicked off the ground, reaching a windowsill high above him, and kicked off again, sending him all the way up to the roof. Nearly two stories ascended in two jumps.

No wonder Smasher had that ego of his. The difference… It was like him before and after chipping in the sandy. All of a sudden he could simply do things that he couldn't before. Fuck, chrome was so fucking preem.

He checked the surrounding buildings, careful to stay crouched and eyes peeled for snipers. Once he had completed a loop, he reached a hand over the ledge and gestured 'come up'

Three jumps later Spares was on the roof with him, crouching behind the same cover. Smasher's HMG was slung across her back now though, one of their guns in her hands instead.

"Out of ammo?" He asked quickly, keeping his guard up.

"Yes." She was quick and simple with her replies, he had noticed. Very focused on the task at hand, no matter what it was.

Her frame was currently covered in places where they had managed to tag her. A few points of shattered armor, a few bits of laser-melted surface, a few scrapes and cuts. He wasn't fairing too much better, laser burns and tears in his… synthflesh? From where those big irons had grazed him. He was certainly feeling it, but it was all superficial stuff. Nothing that could slow him down.

He frowned as he looked around. Normally something would show its face by now, forcing them to move to counter. No squads were chasing them up here though. He quickly glanced over the ledge down to the streets below.

Nothing.

"Spares, check for comms, I'm going to scout for a second."

She stared at him intently for a moment, before slowly nodding. He activated his sandy and started running.

Outer perimeter of the rooftops immediately adjacent to them.

Nothing on north side.

Nothing on west side.

Nothing on south side.

He moved more cautiously, his sandevistan deactivating as he glanced over at east side.

…movement in the distance, a squad that was… heading away from them?

He jumped twice, moving back and landing next to Spares again. Before he could say anything the rumble of thrusters caught their attention.

In the distance an AV moved from over the buildings, coming towards them. Both he and Spares immediately moved, leaping off the building and to the street below, rushing for cover…

The AV passed overhead and kept moving towards the southeast.

He narrowed his eyes.

Were they… retreating? Did gangs even do that? So that meant this was a corp attack, right?

Wait, that AV came from the west, that meant-

"Spares, to the docks." He commanded, instantly bursting out into motion. Spares followed behind not a moment later.

If they were retreating, that probably meant they had completed an objective. They had to fall back to be sure. He grit his teeth for a moment. Fucking meatbags better not have, for their sake. "You get anything on comms yet?" He asked while they ran, crossing over roads and buildings with singular leaps.

"Not yet. Communication jamming is still in effect." Spare replied, features blank but eyes constantly swapping between glowing and not glowing, evidence of her constant attempts to make calls.

He growled to himself, kicking off the road hard enough to crack the pavement as he crossed over a shitty bridge.

He wasn't about to lose anyone else. This city didn't have the goddamn right.