Quicks was a seasoned veteran of the Military Police Department, but even he was taken aback by the ferocity of the gangsters he was facing.
There was a man covered in black rags and a green gas-mask, who charged towards Quicks, wielding two daggers coated in a white, laced with a more unstable variant of the sugar designed to drug, incapacitate, and kill.
Quicks quickly raised his plasma rifle, but the gangster leaped high into the air as gracefully as a frog.
“SHIT, HE'S A SUPER-HUMAN!”
The gangster dodged the whistling hot shots of plasma and closed the distance between them in an instant.
Quicks was forced to drop his plasma rifle and draw his sidearm, but it was too late.
The gangster was upon him, and Quicks had to rely on his plasma tipped combat knife to keep the gangster at bay.
The two men clashed in a brutal dance of blades, the sound of their struggle echoing like a bell through the abandoned street they were fighting in.
Quicks was outnumbered and outmatched most of his men already lay dead, but he was determined to survive.
He fought with a relentless fury, his muscles straining as he blocked and parried the gangster's quick strikes.
Multiple strikes from the gangster landed but thanks to the body armor Quicks came out most unscathed.
But despite his best efforts, Quicks could feel his strength waning.
The poison on the daggers was starting to take effect, and he could feel his vision blurring.
“W-what! B-But the blade barely touched me!” He commented.
He knew he had to end this quickly, or it would be the end of him.
But just then the gangster spoke in a muffled voice due to the mask, “Heh… the poison… is also in the air you know? Don’t you taste it? That sweet… sweet… sensation?”
In that moment Quicks took a moment to taste his mouth with his tongue, indeed, he felt a sweet and savory sensation like honey.
His eyes widened as he just realized his mistake, he could feel his body shake from some kind of sugar rush effect.
In that moment the gangster stabbed his sugar coated dagger into Quick’s neck. Like a viper striking its prey.
“Sweet… Dreams…”
Quicks collapsed to the ground like a broomstick, blood and sugar gushing from his neck.
His eyes red from being drugged, his mouth pouring with saliva due to the sugar.
>>>
Communications were back up, causing a flow of static and messages to echo in the MPD’s helmet.
(BZ~) “THIS IS CAPTAIN LUCK, COME IN, STATUS REPORT!” (OVER)
(BZ~) “C-captain this is squad Frost, we lost contact with Echo, Winston and Bravo!” (OVER)
(BZ~) “Shit, so only 4 left huh?” (OVER)
(BZ~) “This is the survey unit, we found the black box, we can leave.” (OVER)
(BZ~) “Copy that, all units retreat back to square for extraction” (OVER)
(BZ~) “Affirmative!” 4x (OVER)
Captain Luck knew the situation was dire, if they were facing the normal crooks around these parts they could’ve easily fended them off.
But fighting the 3 major gangs of Dark Side on the other hand, was a entirely different story.
The remaining thirty or so men made their way to the small open square.
It was an open area, which made it less than ideal to defend compared to the bunker, but it was the only place big enough to accommodate the Trojan dropships.
Like rats scrambling after being spotted in a barn the MPD set up several positions in the open square.
Taking cover behind some concrete debris or leftover barrels.
The hoard that approached seemingly surrounded them from every direction, it was the Mithril gang.
The gang had a very bright palette of colors and were very hard to miss.
Their white jackets and suits, along with their golden augmentations made them seem as if they were glowing.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
Whether by design or a stroke of luck their noticeability played a key role in their gang’s formation.
For one, they would be easy targets, you could see them from a mile away.
But due to this fact, only the strong or the lucky survived traits vital in Dark Side.
Even more so, those who survived had a lot of black market augmentations to show for it.
There was a seemingly endless barrage of plasma fire. Like some sort of acidic rain.
But the Mithril gang hardly took any losses, their augments, either shielding them or helping them dodge the fury of fire.
They returned the favor with their own ranged weapons.
Only a few had them, as the majority of the guild focused on close combat augmentations. But those that did were devastating.
The Mithril gang were like the MPD in the fact they were a blunt force. Like a sledge hammer of violence they would operate.
They employed infantry grade railguns, rocket launchers, and grenade launchers.
Their firepower matched that of the MPD, unfortunately the majority of the MPD didn’t have the luxury of the same defensive augmentations as the gangsters.
Laying a concentrated fire of explosives and armor piercing railgun shots the MPD forces began to take noticeable losses.
The railgun's shot had a distinct thunderous roar, almost that of a lion.
Piercing, and eating through concrete and steel like a drill, they were a formidable weapon.
The rockets hissed as vipers before they exploded causing fragmentation and other debris to be tossed around, causing chaos as if you were in the presence of a tornado.
The grenade launchers caused a similar amount of shock and debris to fly about, albeit causing noticeably less damage than the other two weapons.
Captain Luck, using his hot-shot plasma pistol and his men seemingly were pinned to the square, occasionally firing when there was a break in the enemy fire. Like a game of whack-a-mole.
The Mithril gang either seeing as the MPD forces were sufficiently bombarded, or the fact that they ran out of rockets and grenades, launched their melee assault once more with occasional railgun shots zipping past them.
One of the junior officers yelled, “HERE THEY COME! OPEN FIRE!”
Plasma shots whistled this time hitting their targets as the close distance made it harder for the gangsters to dodge.
But it was too late, they were too close. The MPD forces had been caught off guard by the Mithril gang's sudden and brutal attack.
Like a wave crashing into the starboard side of a ship, the MPD forces buckled as they clashed in close combat.
The MPD forces couldn’t handle the Mithril gang’s might.
It was like fighting a golden lion with a single dagger.
The gang fought with a savage determination, using whatever means necessary to take down their enemies.
Their combat augmentations proved highly effective in this brutal environment.
A scorching arm flails, gravity knuckles, shock blades, ripper teeth gauntlets, reflex enhancers, combat protocol chips, just to name a few.
But just as the climax was coming to an end, a bright light appeared overhead. As if God was watching.
It was a spotlight from a Trojan dropship.
But not just any dropship, the side of the dropship was painted with a clear white skull with a brown cowboy hat.
The dropship shot its hellfire missile launchers at the square indiscriminately, causing havoc to friend and foe alike.
At the same time the side door of the dropship opened, and with it a hail of hot-shot plasma fire grinded away at the hoard of augmented freaks.
Captain Luck, who managed to escape with only a broken rib or two and cuts, saw the phenomenon.
Spitting out a bit of blood, he whispered to himself, “Heh, well shit.. Reinforcements…”
From the height of several floors something jumped out from the Trojan dropship.
Crashing into the center of the square like a meteor. The ground shattering like a plate being dropped.
The entire square was paused for words.
Through the dust that has been pushed up they could see the mysterious figure.
A man… No… A THING!
This was Captain Capachino, of the 1st Company
He was a generation 2 SUPER-human. Although it is more fair to say he no longer is human anymore.
He was a skeleton man, wearing a brown cowboy hat, and with black and red checkered shorts.
There was an unnatural phenomenon about it.
Upon closer observation you can see spikes protruding all over his body, some of which pierced through his clothes, growing randomly like a cactus.
His skull wasn’t human and resembled more so of a goat although it didn’t have any horns, it had markings surrounding the eye sockets.
What was stranger was the tubes that protruded from his cheek to the back of his head.
A ghostly figure to many who saw it.
But while everyone was idle Capachino slashed the air with his hand, causing those same needle-like bones from his body to fling towards the gangster.
What shocked everyone was that they couldn’t see the needles, they seemed almost invisible to the naked eye, only an audible whistle of a flute could be heard.
As soon as the needles hit their mark piercing only an inch or two deep, they began to spontaneously grow. Like a pufferfish.
“Heh, was that sup’post to hurt?” (BOOM!)
The expanded needles exploded with intensity of a volcano, the fragments cutting even the cybernetic limbs of the Mithril gang.
The scene was that of an anti-tank mine exploding on a bystander.
The guts and cyberware rained from the sky as if someone had nonchalantly tossed it.
At the same time several more dropships appeared overhead, with the same markings on the side; a skull with a cowboy hat.
Plasma shots rang once more, ripping and tearing through the metal and flesh the; Mithril gang quickly retreated.
The troops within the dropship disembarked soon after the gang disappeared, securing the square.
Compared to the 7th Company the 1st Company troops under Capachino had markings on their armor, skull has been painted on their helmets, and bones on their arms and legs.
Capachino walked up to Luck who was leaning against the wall.
Capachino took a quick glance at Luck’s men, before turning his head to face Luck.
His voice was haunting, as if the devil himself was talking, “How many did you kill?”
“W-what?”
“The savages, Captain, how many did your company kill?”
Captain Luck was confused but he answered in a grizzled voice, “Several dozen I would assume.”
Capachino seem unimpressed as his body creaked as he stretched his shoulders, “5 minutes captain.”
“Huh?”
“Get your men ready to re-engage in 5 minutes.”
“Y-your crazy!”
“Your men were butchered, an outpost was destroyed, don’t you think someone needs to pay?”
“Half my men are dead! The other half wounded! You want me to have them march to their deaths?”
Capachino pulled a spike from his arm and pointed it at Luck.
“March with me, or you can all die here… Captain…”
Luck felt as if he was being stared down by a lion.
If Luck represented Justice within the MPD, than Capachino represented the unflinching authority of a tyrant.
“Well… Captain?”
After a brief stare down Luck replied with a stern voice.
“No…”