Chapter 3 Identity Theft
August 25th, 3175 (R799)
/DESCENT TO ISB2262 "RUBICON 3": COMPLETE.
"Your position is Grid 135." Her operator, Handler Walter, advised. He was an older gentleman, and currently spoke to her as through she was his property. That wasn't far off from the truth. "Off target, but within permissible range."
Her Armored Core, a Sixth Gen, ten-meter-tall, 2000 series medium weight cyclopean scout model with grey armor and a large sensor suite in the chest, and armed minimally with a cheap rifle, laser blade, and four cell missile launcher, had fallen through into an unused and decrepit area of massive conduit and void spaces…something Rubicon had in spades.
"There's a catapult ahead. Use it to close the gap." Handler Walter ordered.
"…" 621 sent a silent confirmation response. During her fall, her armor had taken roughly 30% damage. She decided to use one of three nanite repair packs stored in the armor to repair the damage. Following the advice of her Handler, she used her thrusters to fly forward, and found another void space. This time it was an unused loading area designed to pick up cargo from kilometers below and raise it up to a train yard.
There, she found a handful of small Muscle Tracers, four-meter-tall, automated bipedal turrets armed with light auto cannons. She made quick work of these enemies with her rifle, tearing apart their meager armor with 85mm autocannon rounds. Behind them had been a pair of vaguely humanoid, box shaped, eight-meter-tall Muscle Tracers, armed with heavy machine guns. Gliding quickly towards them, she cut them down with a single swipe of her blade.
At the end of the train yard, were another half dozen small Muscle Tracers. Using her missile launcher in multi-lock mode, she took out more than half in a single volley, most having never known what hit them, and finished off the rest with her gun. The whole engagement had been about thirty seconds, with not even a single scratch to her paint job. Gravity had been more dangerous than these enemies.
Passing through a narrow train line fifty meters wide, she came out into an open area with a view to the distant horizon and setting sun. Huge megastructure towers dotted the landscape, uncaring of the terrain below, even built into the side of mountains, and towering above them. In the foreground, just a few miles away was her target zone. A relatively normal looking city, long abandoned, and with a multi-kilometers long megastructure having fallen on half of it, leaving a crushed cylinder taller than even the skyscrapers of that city.
"See the contaminated city down there?" Handler Walter pointed out. "That's where you're landing. Access the catapult."
Like the catapults on old aircraft carriers, this one could launch all manner of cargo and vehicles miles away. It was an odd structure to find, pointed at the contaminated city as it was. Though disused structures built upon disused structures built upon disused structures built upon the megapillers that held it all up was a common sight on Rubicon.
Loading herself into the catapult, she waited as it locked her in place for a high-speed launch. She bent the knees of her Armored Core, and turned her back thrusters on to warm them up, letting them spit flames from her rear.
"Time to fly, 621."
The catapult shot her down, sending her flying forwards at twice the speed of sound in a second. She glided herself to the edge of the city, holding steady and on course.
"If we get our hands on Rubicon's Coral…we'll make a killing. Plenty for a merc with a fried brain like you to buy their life back…if that's what you even want anymore." Handler Walter sounded nearly excited.
"…" 621 ground to a halt as she hit the ground, sliding forward several meters, just about two kilometers short of the contaminated city, in a forest covered in snow.
"Enough chat. Back to work." Handler Walter ordered. "Scavenge the AC wrecks ahead and find a valid mercenary license. We're illegals here, you'll need ID to operate."
Four more humanoid Muscle Tracers blocked the way. The difference this time was these units were manned. Opening up with her rifle and missiles, 621 cut through their squad.
"An AC!? Where the hell did that come from!?" One of the pilots shouted fearfully.
"Affiliation unknown! Is it a merc!? Shut it down!" The squad leader ordered, but it was already too late as 621 drove a laser blade through his cockpit block.
"Guerillas from the Liberation Front." Handler Walter identified the enemy. "If they get in the way of our work, eliminate them."
The Rubicon Liberation Front. They tried to make themselves appear like some noble, resistance group fighting off the insatiable greed of the corporations for the ruinous world they called home. In reality, they were little more than a drug fueled cult, injecting the very Coral they claimed to protect directly into their brains. Dosers, they called them.
Flying down to the outskirts of the city, 621 caught another squad, their backs turned on the wall they were supposed to be protecting.
"Did you hear anything about what the corps are up to?" One woman asked on an open channel.
"Yeah, they'll be coming soon, they got us on the run." Her companion answered.
Their situational awareness was so poor, that 621 quietly maneuvered her ten-meter-tall AC behind the squad, and ran her blade through the woman pilots back.
"We're being attacked!" Her partner managed to scream, before 621 tore her blade out of the one mech and cut the one next to it in half.
"Unidentified AC! Return fire!" Another mech tried to coordinate, only to meet the same fate. Against these foes, she made her mark, cutting through them with terrible, relentless focus and utter apathy.
"…" Having cut down an entire platoon of RLF MTs, 621 moved to the first marked wreck, having been shot down there some time ago, left on a section of the fallen megastructure.
"Extract the pilot data. I'll analyze it from my end." Handler Walter advised. A few seconds to connect to the fallen pilot's black box pulled up their mercenary license.
Registration number: Rb18
Callsign: Thomas Kirk
Rank: 26/E
Affiliation: Independent
License Expired
"This one is already expired." Handler Walter noted with mild annoyance. "Keep looking."
"…" 621 flew up and away from the fallen megastructure, back into the flooded, contaminated city.
As she did, a super heavy combat helicopter commenced a strafing run through the main avenue a few hundred meters ahead, wiping out several platoons worth of RLF mechanized forces. The RLF soldiers cried out in fear of the massive weapon platform, trying to run away. 621 kept in between buildings, staying out of sight of the massive war machine.
"Code 23: Taking out the trash." The pilot of the helicopter announced as they killed dozens of RLF MTs.
"What?" Handler Walter seemed surprised at the arrival. "That's the PCA's planetside force. Keep a low profile, we don't want them breathing down our necks."
The PCA, or Planetary Closure Administration, was a massive paramilitary corporation that had the loose backing of distant Sol, and were entrusted to keep law and order on Rubicon. They'd long lost sight of their master's goals, and terrorized Rubicon to their own ends. No one liked the PCA, and the PCA hated everyone on Rubicon. But their technological prowess meant they always had the upper hand.
"…" 621 passively considered the helicopter, and went to salvage what she could in it's wake, finding another AC wreck from which she might steal a license.
Registration number: Rb29
Callsign: G7 Hakra
Rank: 22/D
Affiliation: Balam Industries
License expires in 12 hours
"Corp license. Easily traced. Forget it." Handler Walter spat.
"…" 621 moved, keeping low in the streets until she came to the next target site, guarded by another platoon of RLF mechanized, this time supported by a flight of combat drones armed with machineguns, and a MLRS variant humanoid Muscle Tracer. None of that mattered. She wiped out the flight with a wide spread of missiles and closed into melee range with a laser blade, cutting through the platoon one by one.
The platoon cut to ribbons, 621 uplinked to the nearby wreck.
"Let's see about this license." Handler Walter quietly hoped.
Registration number: Rb37
Callsign: Monkey Gordo
Rank: -/-
Affiliation: Independent
License expires in 15 days
"It's still valid, but the pilot's rank is no good. We can't use this." Handler Walter complained. "We've picked up one more wreck, 621. Transmitting marker, go and check it out."
The point of interest that appeared for 621 was high, at the top of a comparatively small megastructure building built into the side of a mountain. The position necessitated her to use a nearby vertical catapult, the mechanism propelling her straight up at the speed of sound, up the side of the excessively large building, and up to it's roof.
The wrecked AC was a similar model to hers, except for the head unit. It must have taken part in some great battle, as it left a considerably large crater in it's wake.
"Registration number Rb23. Rank fits the bill. Callsign…" Handler Walter was distracted as the PCA heavy attack helicopter returned, coming straight for 621 with weapons hot. "What? Looks like they were onto you after all."
"…" 621 considered her new opponent with unexcited thrill. Pumped to be facing a large and dangerous foe but utterly apathetic to it.
"Code 5: Unidentified AC spotted. Intercepting." The PCA pilot reported with a cold tone.
The AH12: HC Helicopter was more of a cargo plane that had two massive rotor assemblies in each wing. It was armed with two, four-barreled 50mm chin mounted turret machine guns, six dozen guided missile cells, and eight heavy unguided rocket cells. It was a flying fortress and, if she let it, could tear her apart in seconds.
621 wasted no time, immediately jumping up to mount the forward armored slope of the weapon platform, shooting point blank into it's armor and leaving long, melted scars with her laser blade. The pilot of the helo shook her off, and pulled away for another attack run.
"I'm in no mood to pick a fight with the PCA. But it doesn't matter. Take it out now and they won't have enough to ID you." Handler Walter ordered.
"…" 621 did as she was told, flying back after the helo, in the blind spot where it's guns and missiles couldn't get her. She hit it hard enough that it's onboard flight computer, the ACS, started to malfunction, causing it to drift out of control of it's pilot. 621 kept up the assault, tearing into it's heavy armored hide.
"Code 31A: Slippery bastard." The PCA pilot cursed, as they fought to regain control.
The pilot of the helo recovered, and used the flight assist rocket boosters to maneuver far enough away from her that it could bring it's vast arsenal to bear. Caught out in the open, 621 evaded behind a nearby structure, baiting the pilot into pursuing her. Still, she took some missiles for her trouble, damaging her armor by ten percent.
The pilot came around as predicted, angling to get a shot at her. Having waited for this moment, 621 flew up, and kicked the helo near the cockpit, disabling the ACS and also disorienting the pilot. With a well aimed slash of her laser blade, 621 entirely removed the cockpit from the rest of the airframe. The onboard reactor on the helicopter went critical, and nearly entirely vaporized what was left of it.
"Code 7-!" The PCA pilot was unable to finish as they died in the explosion.
"…" Landing calmly near the new wreck, 621 awaited instructions.
"Confirmed. Heavy combat helicopter is down. That's all for our work here today, 621." Handler Walter announced. "Here's the callsign from that license you picked up:"
Registration number: Rb23
Callsign: Raven
Rank: -/F
Affiliation: Independent
License expires in 3 days
"'Raven.' That's your new name here on Rubicon." Handler Walter decreed.
"…" 621 said nothing. She'd heard the legends, once before. How Ravens once ruled the battlefield. How they fought in equal parts with justice and honor, as well as terror and brutality. How the old worlds of Earth and Mars had once faced their wrath, and had never been the same.
It did not matter what she was called. Raven. C4-621. Hound. Dog. She'd come to Rubicon for one reason alone, and she would not rest until this world killed her.
Rubicon III
'Coral.' A sublime substance. Discovered on Rubicon, a planet on the frontier of developed space. For a time, Coral was a revolutionary energy source and data conduit. Poised to transform human society by leaps and bounds.
They called it the "Fires of Ibis." A storm of flame that tore through the stars, leaving lethal contamination in its wake. Coral, the kindling, was thought to have been utterly consumed, forever lost.
However, on Rubicon, the embers continue to burn. Humanity would inevitably return. To stoke the fire.
Author's Note: This chapter is just the first mission of AC6 with a few extra small details, like half an extra line from Walter and the PCA pilot having voice lines. This story will probably follow most of the events of Armored Core 6, but the longer it goes on, the more apparent things are going to deviate wildly. The triple or quadruple crossed lore for this story is a composite of OTK, AC6, Murder Drones, and The Expanse, so things will get kind of crazy. I'm looking forward to telling this story. I hope you're as excited as I am.
Also this site has been giving me a lot of problems so if I don't answer any reviews it's because I haven't seen them. I don't even know if anyone is reading this on this site. I'll keep posting though!