[Log 23-4-2056. Forward sensors detect an unprecedented raid on Night Parade forward operating facility NE2. Loss of the facility would represent the loss of an unacceptable amount of war salvage. Raiders are identified as Militech standard Silver-COG platoon, estimated three squads in total. The Logistics Director has activated me as part of the defensive response.]

[Addendum. My right arm has yet to be repaired from Log 18-4-2056. Its ammo bin is still half depleted. I didn't threaten the engineers enough to repair me faster. Infuriatingly stupid on my end.]

[Addendum. I had plenty of ammo. I had just gotten sloppy with my shots. Slop is for livestock.]

The elevator shook slightly as it carried him upwards towards concealed exit C. He glanced at his internal tactical map. A multitude of blinking red dots on the opposite side of the facility from him. They were on the dry hills that overlooked the facility entrances. Vantage points.

Flank with superior speed and crash into their sides. Disrupt formation and shatter them. The light overhead blinked once, then went out entirely. They had cut the non-essential power lines already. Optics 1, 2, and 4 were still functional. Optics 3, 5, 6, and 7 were now useless.

His left manipulator twitches in anticipation. His optics gleam in the pitch black elevator. Eventually, it reached the entrance to the surface with a near-silent clink of metal on metal, and the sudden loss of acceleration from upwards momentum.

A message from Operations Director appears in his field of view, telling him to link up with Team 3 before moving to engage in defensive attack. He ignores the message. Operations Director had no technical authority over him. He wasn't an agent, he was a weapon, and thus under the orders of Logistics Director.

And Logistics Director had activated him to attack.

The door in front of him opened, and he began to race forwards at a leisurely pace. Through the cellar floor, up the stone stairs, emerging into a bombed-out stone building that used to be a gas station. He checked his tactical map again. They were in roughly the same positions, creating clear firing lines at this point.

[Addendum. I should have noted their defensive strategy was unusual for Militech. Those fuckers like to do things fast and hard. This patient shit was only used when they had to buy time for something.]

[Addendum. I should have realized that the first time I checked the tactical display. A proper Militech raid would involve squads attacking from multiple simultaneous angles. This company was set up on an overlook to fire down on sortied defenders. Two chances to notice and I failed both times. Stupid.]

[Addendum. I didn't need to check the tactical map at all. Wasting seconds on such when I knew their previous positions, tactical speed of Militech Silver-COG infantry, their current goal, and time elapsed. The calculation is pathetically simple. These are the actions of a fucking amateur.]

[Addendum. Previous addendum was incorrect. A lack of current tactical information made it impossible to be sure of enemy movement without at least two data-points. The motivating factor was incorrect, the action was not. Still, too long was spent on the second check. This can be done while moving in the future.]

He began to move, running fast as he could out the side-entrance of the building itself and thus outside the immediate view of most on the overlooking hills. He made sure to shift his smartcamo to match his best estimation of what was beyond him as he moved. His Thermal Dam made sure that he wasn't seen in infrared either. It was only UV and motion sensors he needed to worry about at the moment.

He finally reached the hill-line, and began to run along it, far enough down the hill that his head wasn't visible from over the lip. This required an indirect route, but the initial advantage would be worth it. Hit hard, hit fast, destroy their central line. His left manipulator twitched again as he ran.

Thirty seconds to complete this route and be within range of the attackers. Forty seconds to be within more effective range. One minute to be within melee range. They were setting up their guns, ten seconds to mount, five seconds per reload. He needed to catch the nearest one on a reloading cycle…

He paused before cresting a hill, waiting for a moment. Crouching, he crept forwards until he could angle one of his sensory extensions over the hill and look to the distance.

A few more seconds passed. A machine gun burst into color and light on the overlook almost opposite to him, at the far end beyond him. It fired down at one of the entrances of the forward base for a few seconds, then stopped. The exact opposite side of the line from him would mean that his quickest group to target would be last in the suppressive firing order.

Waiting for a reload cycle would take too long then. He would have to risk direct fire on the first squad instead of just the second onwards. He crept down the hill and started running again.

[Addendum. Another tactical error wasting precious seconds. An ideal situation will not be given in battle, it must be taken from the enemy. Checking the situation provided no new information.]

[Addendum. I didn't need to stop to gain this information. The machine gun that just fired could have been determined by listening, filtering out the noise of my own movements, and estimating the distance. I was too reliant on visual information. Not only a tactical error, but an inefficiently pursued one. I was squandering momentum here. A warmachine acting like a man, a goddamn embarrassment.]

He would lose effective cover in a few seconds. He could gain more cover by taking an even longer route, but that would delay the engagement even longer. Another message appeared on his display from the Operations Director. He dismissed it and started along the faster route. Adjusting his smartcamo to match the sky behind him as he ran, he would only have a few moments before they'd bring their secondary arms to bear when he hit them.

Loud, Hard, and Fast. The less fire that was aimed for the entrance would be more chances for other agents to slip through. If they decided to disregard his presence as a threat, it would be easy for him to dismantle their back line. Either case was a victory if the squads could actually pull their weight this time.

Up ahead, he could see the hints of the nearest attacker squad. Optics 1, 2, and 3 had confirmed visual. His radar and sonar worked in tandem to get readings on the next squad over. Their weapon was ready and they were waiting to fire upon the entrance when their turn came.

He turned to ascend the crest of the hill, and at the highest point, he jumped.

Their sensors beeped at them, a new object had appeared over the hill line. Two of them turned their weapons in his direction.

His armored pedipulators crashed through the armored skull and then torso of one soldier. The splatter covered the other four in a fine paint of gore. They were professionals, bringing their guns up to aim before firing at him. Unfortunately for them, that was too slow.

The railgun in his right arm hummed and barked, punching a head-sized hole in the gunner and causing the other two to stumble as their inner ears shuddered. Lunging forwards, he punched the third and heard his ribcage collapse with satisfying cracks and snaps. His railgun hummed and barked again, turning the fourth member of the squad into a corpse.

Bullets began to bounce off his armor from the last meatbag. He stumbled back and attempted to aim at his head. He ducked and wove three steps forwards, enough to grab the last member of the first squad by the face and slowly… crush.

First his skin split. Then his bones cracked. Then his face collapsed inwards. He dropped the corpse shortly after. His optics gleamed in the night, his manipulator flexed in delight.

He ducked down and began to rush for the next target immediately. They surely noticed the loss of a squad, and would be sending lead his direction soon enough. Momentum was still on his side, he needed to keep it up.

The next squad soon disappeared under another lightning fast assault, and the squad after that did as well. By that point, gunfire was already starting to be shifted from the entrances of the facility, and directed towards him instead. That was good.

[Addendum. A continuous stream of wasted time and effort all around. The first squad could have been eliminated in half the time if I had fired before and during my jump, not just after landing. The second squad could have been eliminated in one well-placed micro-missile. The third was the worst of all, a missed fucking shot against a meatbag. Completely fucking inexcusable.]

[Addendum. The first squad could have been killed in pure melee if I simply used their machine gun as a club. This would lower my overall presence while killing just as if not faster. An opening micro-missile would've killed them all if I hit their ammo bin, loud, but instant. I was already wasting so much time, why not some fucking more while I was at it. Worthless. Waste of ammo when I knew I had limited bins. This entire fight is a goddamn mess.]

[Addendum. And that last kill on the first squad. What the fuck was I doing dwaddling on one meatbag? I had more to slaughter lined up. His death was nothing.]

Bullets screamed overhead as he couched in a shallow dip in the terrain, considering his next move forwards. Seven squads left, and three of them were currently subjecting him to suppressive fire.

Before him were three paths, either he could go directly over the ridgeline and be subject to the fire that was currently coming his way, he could try going down the hill towards the base and then approach, forcing them to redirect their lines of fire before hitting him again in his approach. Or he could go down the hill away from the base, doing the same but forcing them to turn their lines of fire even further away from the facility.

[Addendum. I could've just lined up an indirect target and fired through the hill. The railgun in my arm would practically ignore a thin enough layer of earth and still hit hard enough to blow up an ammo box. The shot was trivial, I already knew where they liked to keep their ammo from the last three squads butchered. That would disrupt the nearest squad and make my approach less costly on armor.]

A message came through his tactical display and he was a moment before dismissing it. Just in time, he noticed the sender was Logistics Director, not Operations Director.

It was an order to disengage the attacking force, head to I-80 road, and attack the convoy that was currently moving along it.

Why?

Even as he considered that, his body began to move, running in full sprint towards the ordered direction. It was an order after all, he couldn't disobey one from Logistics Director. Scattered bullets crashed against his armor and bounced, stripping off paint and flakes of composite materials as he dashed beyond their sight and down the hill once more, moving far away from the facility.

His pedipulators crashed against the dry ground and kicked up a brief cloud of dust behind him. The rhythmic pounding of metal on earth allowed him time to consider what was happening. Why did Logistics Director order this? It wasn't like the stingy meatbag to be treasonous. He was fine murdering a bunch of random meats, sounded like fun, but what did this accomplish for the defense of the facility?

Reviewing the facts at play… There was an attack on the facility, but he was ordered to attack a nearby convoy…

He considered the strange behavior of the soldiers earlier, their less than normal aggression, and realized the connection soon enough.

The attack was a raid to lock down their forces, to prevent them from attacking the convoy that was moving nearby. It was never intended on actually taking or holding anything, just preventing them from moving out. But that facility was currently understaffed, so once they realized that, they could move in and drown it in bodies and guns.

Night Parade needed to draw them away from the fight, which meant attacking the convoy would force them to retreat to defend it. So his job was to be a big enough threat to force them to withdraw…

Fuck that. He was going to be more than just a threat. He was going to destroy that whole fucking convoy and take everything it had. A draw wasn't enough. He needed to crush them.

Almost ten minutes of full-paced running later, he had reached the section of the I-80 nearest to the forward operating facility. He tilted his entire body and dug his left manipulator into the ground, sliding for a few meters as he turned on a dime and then kept running, bleeding off as little speed as possible.

There was a section of road up ahead that twisted on itself multiple times going down a hill.

His tactical display showed a large red dot moving along it, about halfway down already, having to constantly slow for the turning.

Perfect.

He accelerated as he came near the end, where the hill began a sharp fall off. Below he could see the headlights.

He reached the end, angled his direction, and jumped.

Powerful myomer in his Dragoon frame propelled him forwards through the air. He could've crossed over a longwise semi-truck in terms of distance.

The transport was below him, a Militech armored truck, one of their newer models. The… Behemoth, he thinks. He started vibrating his legs as hard as he could.

His optics gleamed. How did that rhyme go again?

Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.

Humpty Dumpty shattered them all.

All the king's horses, and all the king's men.

…Then something else, he forgot the last bit.

With a monstrous burst of metal hitting metal, the Militech Behemoth was thrown off the side of the hill as if tossed by an angry god. It rolled for another dozen meters before coming to a halt at the bottom, tipped on its side and armored panels massively damaged, but intact due to its immensely sturdy frame.

He picked himself up, checking his status as he did. Internals were fractured through in that stunt, massive potential damage held in check by his armor being relatively intact. He'd need repairs across his entire lower and central frame afterwards. That was fine, he had a convoy to rip apart.

He started down the hill approaching the tipped vehicle.

The door on the back was kicked open, revealing the form of an armored cybernetic leg. It pushed its way out revealing a heavily armored form with five facial optics, twisting 'bunny ears', and a borg-sized gun in its hands.

A dragoon then. He immediately threw his body forwards, and started flipping on his hands, then feet, then hands again. A cartwheel down the hill. A movement dragoons don't recognize as combat motion. The dragoon adjusted its position, before being followed by another emerging from the back of the tipped vehicle…

…then three more… All of which were staring at his form and not attacking yet. He needed to consider this carefully then. Two of them moved to the side of the transport, starting to reach down to right the vehicle once more.

Their supervisor clearly updated their targeting parameters from a panicked shout from within the vehicle, as they began to aim at him.

He bent his body inwards, rotating a bit faster, before kicking off the ground and soaring over their heads. They started to follow… until he reached the zenith, and started to go beyond them.

He was no longer 'approaching' the vehicle, and thus no longer eligible for their updated targeting. He had time for two shots before they would start attacking him again.

His optics gleamed. All his remaining micro-missles fired, aimed for his side before swerving in an arc to target the dragoons. They now had a choice, be hit or let the vehicle behind them be hit by the missiles. This would tell him what their orders told them to prioritize.

They stayed in place, and began to target him again.

His second shot came into play. He aimed his railgun…

At the engine-block of the truck.

One of the dragoons jumped in front of his aim to shield the engine, and had its torso armor and structure turned into scrap of its efforts. Its frame slammed lifelessly onto the truck, now running on emergency power for its life support. A dragoon had as much armor as an armored truck, like the Behemoth for that matter, but his railgun was made to hurt tanks.

One down

The salvo of micro-missiles slammed into two of them, covering their entire bodies in a fireball from the explosion. That would savage their armor, but not take them out.

He landed on the road before them, immediately being fired upon by one of them as the other slowly lifted the truck into proper form again. He had to move quickly.

He threw himself to the side, landing on his left manipulator again, and starting another spin in a circle around the dragoons and the convoy. A cartwheel. Neither approaching nor retreating from them, and in a movement that they wouldn't recognize as combat-based. This would buy him another few moments to take out another or two. Dragoons were strong, but their limited thinking made them vulnerable to tricks that even the dumbest meatbag wouldn't be tricked by.

Their targeting lost track of him for another crucial moment…

In the midst of another spin, he raised his railgun and let out another humming-bark. Again, forcing them to choose between taking the hit or letting the convoy be hit. He had already demonstrated how powerful his gun was.

Again, one of them chose to take the hit on their thickest section of armor. The second dragoon was thrown back, skidding across pavement with a newly caved-in torso. Two down.

His optics gleamed as his cartwheels broke line of sight for just a moment. Just long enough for him to update his smartcamo to match what the enemy dragoons were currently using, classic Militech camo and star pattern. He ended his cartwheeling on the spot and crouched against the bottom of the vehicle, waiting for just a moment.

They would be forced to come around the corner to pursue him, his updated visuals would force another evaluation, buying him another moment to act.

Sure enough, one of the dragoons came around the corner. He fired off a shot…

His gun clicked empty.

The dragoon raised its gun. He threw himself forwards, vibrating his railgun as hard as he could manage.

It shattered against the dragoon's armor. The armor, already weakened by the earlier missiles, also broke.

The dragoon attempted chipware-loaded CQC, he shifted his stance to avoid the relatively clumsy grab and threw his vibrating manipulator forwards.

Claws dug into its newly exposed torso vitals. He grabbed at the internals, and ripped them out. The dragoon's optics went dim and it slumped forwards. Three down.

Hefting the limp frame, he rushed around the corner and threw the body, straining with the weight of another dragoon, but managing it regardless.

The last dragoon not attempting to flip the truck over side-stepped the frame and raised its gun.

Just in time for the gun to meet his fist, shattering its barrel and a bit of the main body and ruining its ability to fire.

The dragoon raised its fists to CQC him…

Then its handler barked out an order from inside the convoy. "Polyphemus!" A clear-code phrase.

He almost turned his head to look, but was forced on the defensive immediately as the dragoon before him shifted into a non-standard jab followed by a lunging chop. Both of which he blocked on his already ruined gun-arm.

So it had some fancy extra moves installed, no matter. It was still a dragoon. He jumped back briefly, noting that it didn't jump after him. Good. He jumped forwards in a kick.

His leg vibrated.

A dragoon would try to block and counter such an obvious move. Jump kicks were not a threat with how much armor they had. His optics gleamed.

Then…

The dragoon dodged, jumping back to get out of the way of the 'non threatening' kick. His gaze shifted to follow it as it did.

Its gaze was locked on him in turn.

His pedipulator slammed into the roadwork, turning it into a meter-wide crater and three-meters of cracks. A cloud of stone dust filled the area.

A dragoon would choose to withdraw, grab another gun, and keep it pointed at the smoke until either it could extract its objective or something came out. No need to engage in such a potentially dangerous environment.

This dragoon rushed forwards, surprising him as it began to rapidly jab at him, looking for an opening but keeping its guard up. That was not the behavior of a dragoon, with armor thick enough to ignore any normal unarmed combat.

That was the behavior of intelligence that just saw him kick a crater into the stonework and could adapt to new information.

This dragoon could think like a human.

He kept moving back, on a defensive course as he considered what to do. His armor was damaged, his internals were damaged, his arm was gone, he was out of ammo…

A new message on his tactical display from the Logistics Director.

His optics gleamed in fury.

Militech was retreating to defend and reinforce their convoy, he was to link up with a Night Parade patrol and retreat for repairs and a report.

He had 'succeeded' in his mission.

His left manipulator clenched hard enough to fracture his hand as he jumped back, away from the Dragoon. His optics locked onto its white and pink armor coloration.

He was going to finish his job next time he saw that.

[Addendum. Where do I even fucking begin with this dogshit?]