Well. Sun's setting. We're getting close to the hour at hand. The slaggers are already right outside the checkpoint, making a huge ass scene. Here I am behind the wheel of a stolen delivery truck. Drab gray coveralls, and a matching ballcap. I figure the best option is wait for the first few squads to make their pass through into the Slag, and drive in while they're getting through the checkpoint.
After all, I'm sure that a different corporation owns the security checkpoints from the sec teams coming in and going out. With the party that's going on outside, the operator is more than likely shitting his pants in there. He's not going to check me while he's got a riot to one side and cops to the other. Especially if I raise a fuss as I try to get through. Nobody wants to lose their job over a delivery driver being an asshole.
Though, McNamara must've raised a stink about something if this plan is working so well, considering that they wouldn't bother to even enter the Slag in the first place. Even if that crowd surged forwards and firebombed the checkpoint? They’d sit on the border and wait for people to cross into their jurisdiction. They must figure I'm in that crowd somewhere, and they've sent all available hands to bring me in.
I rattle my hand against the back of the cab. Saba's sitting in the back with all of the equipment and guns. The plan is stupid enough and risky as is, but a brick shithouse of an ork girl is going to give that checkpoint operator enough pause to realize we're not actually a truck that's moving oranges.
“Saba. You good back there?”
“As good as I'll ever be, Luc.”
“We've still got a few before it's go-time. How've you been doing, anyways? Haven't had shit for time to talk,” I call out through the thin metal separating us. I have no idea why I'm trying to make small talk right now. Maybe I'm trying to keep my nerves from fraying. For once in a long while, I know that I'm going to be up against a bunch of bozos who for sure have better training than me. Better gear is a given.
“Fuck. Visited some family I haven't seen in a couple of years, remembered what I was missin'. Got back into the swing of things. Kinda realized I've spent way too much friggen time fighting for what people pay me for instead of just doing shit my own way.”
Shit. This seems like a recurring theme. I wouldn't be surprised if there were other people on the force who were going through the same crap as me. Burnt out and just living out the days until it's time to hit the punch card. Except McNamara. He's a prick. I'm sure he's just on the force so he can legally shoot people.
Saba speaks up again. “How about you? Figuring you have family out here if this is the roadshow you're puttin' up.”
“Guess you could say that. Fuck, that sounds cliche, doesn't it?” I laugh. The riot seems to be intensifying, the bright glow of orange fires piercing the veil of night in the distance. A few red-blues seem to be approaching from the checkpoint. A few more minutes and I'll flip the ignition and slip on through. We're nicely snuggled between two ruined buildings a fair distance away. Just enough that we're not going to be spotted until we start our approach.
“Just a little, but it tracks around here,” she responds. I can hear her lighting up a ciggie in the back. “I was hangin' out with my cousin. Actual family, but blood doesn't really matter out here. She's got herself a gang, so. You know how it is. Odd job here. Odd job there. But that's how you make it out here.”
A few more blue-reds are popping up on the horizon. Time to flip the switch. The engine rumbles to life, and I ease onto the gas. Though, I realize quickly that I should look like I'm trying to get beyond the rioters, and I start to gun it towards the checkpoint. As expected, the bollards are up. I may as well put on a show. I lay on the horn a few times, swerving back and forth like I'm trying to avoid some invisible Slaggers in the process.
“Sorry, Saba!”
“For wh—” is the best she gets out before I slam on the breaks.
WHUMP. Everything in the cargo bed goes skidding and flying. I should've warned her way ahead of time, but I pumped the gas a little too hard.
I can barely understand the multitudes of swears emanating from the back of the truck. It's like she's swearing in at least three different languages, given that I recognize a few of those cuss words. Just not all of them. I’d laugh, but I know she's already pissed off enough as is.
“Cool it, cool it. Checkpoint,” I call over my shoulder. Thankfully, she gets the picture and does indeed cool it.
The poor fucker in the security checkpoint is, as expected, looking like he has no idea what's going on. Disheveled and keeping his head low. This'll be easy.
“Lower the bollards! You see what the hell is going on behind me?! Let me in!” I holler at him. He hasn't even noticed the fact I'm there. He's probably just trying to avoid getting shot. I lay on the horn a few times to catch his attention. “The fucking bollards!”
Thankfully, the bozo forgoes the awkward small talk and slams on the button to bring the barrier down. I punch it again, and I can hear more things skidding around in the back. This isn't exactly the best thing to be driving if you're transporting someone in the back, as evidenced by the shouting ork as she tumbles around some more. I can't help but feel bad, but it's hard to not laugh at the image of an augged up super cop having the same issues of a dog in the back of a cargo van.
At least I can break the speed limit without the red-blues speeding beside me trying to pull me over to ticket me.
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I pull over into a side alley to give enough time for us to light up and talk about the plan. Or at least catch our breath. It's going to be a while before most of the security forces filter through the checkpoint and give us a clear shot to our goal. The precinct.
“Luc. You're fuckin' tellin' me that the plan is, still, to run in there, guns blazin'.”
“We're kind of short a team to do anything otherwise.” I gesture to the whole lotta nobody around us. She has a point, though. Running head first into the cop shop without a plan is going to be suicide, even if we cut the power. We're going to be outnumbered ten to one, at minimum. Including McNamara. “Besides, we've got some explosives in the back of the truck. They're not going to expect us to be breaching with military spec gear.”
That's bullshit. They're going to be expecting that much and more.
A non-committal grunt is Saba's response as she takes a drag from her ciggie. “Yeah, well. Here's fuckin' hopin' that they didn't realize we're in metroplex limits.”
I check my commlink, looking over the time. We have a window between the patrols pushing into the Slag, and the riot dispersing and the patrols coming back into the metroplex proper. We can't move too early, or we'll end up in a police chase and a stand-off. Can't move too late or we'll, again, end up in a police chase and a stand-off. That narrow window lies between there being an engineered traffic jam at the checkpoint. Once it looks like things are starting to clean up, one of the Slaggers is going to slam a spare convoy truck into the bollards and gum it up for as long as it takes them to move the bloody thing.
“Figured we’d get a call around now if they knew.” I look up, watching an interceptor speed by the back alley. “I should've asked before we got beyond the point of no return. You're good with this, right?”
The ork pounded her fist against the hood of the truck. “Told ya. I'm good to get a shot in on McNamara. He's the reason I got thrown on the security detail, so I'm just as pissed as you are with him.”
Though, I figure I have a little bit more motivation than that. I still don't have a clear idea of what the hell happened there, and I didn't stop to think about it. Why would I? Everything was going real fucking well in the Slag. Besides, I don't even know if it was McNamara who got me put on the security detail, anyways. No idea who I could've pissed off badly enough that they wanted me dead. It's not like it matters. I'm not out here for revenge or blood, I'm just here to get my team back. Shit, if I could walk in and retrieve them without anyone getting shot? I’d do it. Well. Okay. I’d like to shoot McNamara in the chest. Not once. Maybe a few times.
“Still doin' that thing, Luc?” Saba cracks a dumb toothy grin, her yellow eyes looking nearly luminescent in the darkness of the back alley. Shit. I hate being called out for that. “I figured someone would've beaten it outta you by now.”
“Old habits die hard, you know?” I laugh, stubbing out my ciggie on the hood of the truck.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
This entire thing felt like stop-go-stop-go with how much we had to wait. Not that I should complain too much, it was my plan after all. I could've made a better one, but I was put on the spot. I figure about now we could probably get going to the precinct, with the roads looking a little bit more sparse now.
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Back in the truck. We hit the road. It's starting to rain again. Classic metroplex weather. It's something I’d complain about a few days ago, or even weeks. But now? I don't mind it. It's definitely an atmosphere. If everything ended right now, at least it’d end like a movie. Hero goes out in the rain. Sad track plays over the credits. I wouldn't actually mind that.
Second thought. I should probably stop being a fucking downer about all of this. If I put myself in the mindset to fail, or even consider it? It's just going to make it all that more likely to happen. Letting myself down doesn't just include myself anymore. It includes the crew. It includes Saba. Not that I expect her to let me down. I'm pretty sure she'll get the job done even if I get filled with lead and kicked off the side of the building.
Another cruiser shoots by. Lights on. Kind of funny to think that they've dispatched most of the district to find me and bring me in. Any other time we’d send the absolute bare minimum to deal with a situation. Some excuse about keeping the shareholders happy by keeping our overhead down. If we brought the hammer down on more perps, we could clean up a lot more neighborhoods, but you know how it is. Streets stay dangerous, the metroplex keeps paying us to exist. Job security, just like that. What a fucking sham.
Maybe one day when this is all said and done, I'll be able to come back. Clean all this crap up. I'm only one man, but I figure that's all it takes sometimes. Someone to push against the system and get it all back in order. I feel like I made a difference in the Slag. Why not shoot for the whole metroplex? It's a bigger scale, with more complications, sure. But maybe it can be done, now that I know that you don't have to be a cop to do what needs to be done.
Another cruiser. And another. I think the hour is getting close at hand. All I'm waiting for now is the call, and I know it's time for the safety to get flicked off. My commlink chimes. It's time to—
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Ah, shit. Bobrovnikov. Maybe if I ignore him, he'll stop. I don't want to get him involved.
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If there was one thing I didn't need at this moment in time, it was this. Fuck. I resist the urge to punch the dashboard, given that it looks like Saba is in the passenger seat having a reflective moment of her own.
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I guess I should actually respond to him. I know he's clean. Maybe I can tell him to keep the hell away from the precinct, because he's probably the last cop left on the force that's not being paid off by someone.
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Typical Bobrovnikov. To a fault, he’d rather everything end peacefully, even if it isn't an option. If I stop to talk to him, I'm running the risk of missing our window. Fuck.
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Fuck. Another moving part that doesn't need to be in the plan. The more of those you have, the more complicated things get, and the easier it is for something to fail. This time I actually punch the dashboard, and Saba startles to attention.
“The fuck?” She's sounding groggier more than anything. Was she just sleeping? I don't know who the hell could take a nap at this time.
“Bobrovnikov being Bobrovnikov,” I shout at the windshield. I shouldn't sound upset at the chance of being able to see one of my only buddies in the city, but this is going to be a pain in the fucking ass to avoid getting a retiree shot. Especially when you have no idea when Officer Friendly is going to pop up. McNamara's men are more than likely going to shoot his giant ass once the bullets start flying. Either I work quickly, or I cut him off and we join up.
Not sure how he's going to take to shooting his coworkers, though. That's the problem. He shoots another cop, he's off the force. Probably loses his whole pension, and all the other fun shit that comes with breaking the law. Asshole has a wife and family to worry about. No clue how he hasn't been divorced at this point. He's more married to his duty than his wife with how he always acted. Throwing himself in front of bullets for other people, going the extra mile. Sure, he's loaded up with milspec chrome, but you never know when someone's armed just as equally as you are.
“Well, fuck.” She cracks that dumb smile again, showing off rows of sharp teeth. “I ain't gonna complain about having a third gun, Luc.”
I'm definitely gonna complain. The streets are nearly deserted, thanks to both the hour and the shitshow going on in the border to the Slag. I haven't gotten the page that we're in the clear yet, so once again we're inchworming while I try to untangle this ball of yarn. I wish I could go back to rescuing someone's fucking cat. You know. The simple shit.
Once again, I pull into a back alley. We're maybe less than a block out from the Precinct.
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Saba and I might as well be chimneys at this point. We're going to have to start rationing at the rate we're running through cigarettes. If we keep up the rate we're at, I'm not gonna be able to have a last smoke.
Cue a car slowly driving by on the street. Saba and I grip our guns. I know who it is, but it never hurts to be cautious. Especially when you have less than two minutes until you're about to get shot up. The suspension on the sedan creaks as a familiar face steps out from the driver side. Bobrovnikov. Looking just a little bit more worn down than I saw him last. Unshaved stubble, a little more unkempt. Button up covered in bright floral patterns—Fuck me, is this a trend that I haven't been told about?
“Kid, what the hell are you doin'. You're gonna get yourself killed,” he calls out to me, somehow managing to shout and whisper at the same time. He's not wrong.
“What are you doing? You're going to get yourself killed. Get the hell out of here.” I try to wave him off. This only goads him closer.
“—don't be a candyass. You're doin' somethin' real stupid, and it ain't gonna turn out well.”
“The hell else am I supposed to do?”
“Walk away. That's the only thing you can do. He's probably shot your friends already.”
I pause to stare at him. He's probably right. But I'm not giving up just because there's a pretty good chance that I'm going to walk in and find my crew dead on the ground.
“I'm not walking. Either you're in, or you're getting out of my way.”
Bobrovnikov was staring through me at this point. Fuck me. This guy was too good-hearted to be on the force. Though, my train of thought is quickly broken by Saba rattling a knuckle on the hood of the truck.
“Boss,” she says, walking forwards past me to try and catch Bobrovniknov's attention. “McNamara's been a fuckin' tumor on the side of the precinct for way too long. Ain't like anyone higher up is gonna do anything about him. He's their fuckin' attack dog. You're spendin' too long thinkin' about doing things the right way instead of makin' sure that things are actually gettin' done.”
“—Ain't no way I can be part of this, you two. I'll stay the hell outta your way, but you both oughta know how stupid this is.” He steps to one side, folding those gorilla arms over his chest.
Fuck. Well. At least I can get to the back of the truck and start loading up. I pull the swing doors open to take stock—Oh, fuck me. I forgot that I hit the brakes and gas a few too many times in quick succession. Everything's out of order. There's a few dents in the floor and walls that I can tell belong to Saba's shoulders. Shit. I should remember to apologize for that at some point. At least it sounds like the other two are making small talk outside.
Right. Anyways. Couple of milspec AM-77s, modded out for off-the-record corpsec use. Silencers, side sights, reflexes. The works. Caseless rounds to go with. A single RX6 Grenade launcher with a fully loaded out drum mag. Fully auto AL-12 shotgun with a drum mag, smart fed with at least four different flavors of spicy, intelligent-detonation frag rounds being one of them. Breaching charges. Surplus flashbangs. All you could ever want for shooting your way through a warzone. It might just be a regular ol’ precinct, but it's about to become a crater when we're done with it.
Though, the shotgun isn't much to my taste. Don't think it fits Saba either. I heft what I can out of the back, slinging one of the AM-77s over my shoulder and tossing the other to Saba. She catches it without even turning her attention to me. Damn, she's good. She slings the grenade launcher over her shoulder, I take the breaching charges and belt of flashbangs with me.
“Last I checked, there was only about a dozen guys in the precinct before I ended my shift. Includin' McNamara,” Bobrovnikov mumbles, sounding a little more than resigned.
My commlink chirps again. This time it's actually go-time. I give Bobrovnikov one final nod. He nods back. Even if I make it out of here alive, this is probably going to be the last time I see him. What a shitty goodbye, but. It's the best of what I got.