I knew there was a non-zero chance that the League had their eyes on me. If they weren’t a fan of me getting myself into a mutant turf war, well - that was tough luck. I was a vigilante, which meant I broke the law to uphold the law. Or something like that, I wasn’t entirely sure how they saw it.
Still, with the promise of access to Frauxemite if I cracked a few skulls, I was happy enough to drink deep from the cup of violence once more. Most mutant tribes were classified as enemies of Goldarch, anyway. I was doing… someone a favor. Mostly myself.
I narrowed my eyes from the back of the outpost, looking out further west. Hear-guts hadn’t been lying. The Jaded Tusks were already on the way. Perhaps part of my usual lucky streak that I had arrived just in time. Dots on the horizon approaching. A good… thirty plus shapes, I estimated. Hard to tell at this range.
Looking back around the outpost, I didn’t think this group of mutants had even twenty fighters ready and able. Partly my fault, although Roxy had done most of the killing. Although their current leader had said they were desperate enough to trust me, it was still… a little too convenient.
[Hear-guts, before I arrived, how angry at me were you? On a scale of one to ten.]
The mutant scratched at his scaled chin with his clawed hand. “Probably an eight, but the Crimson-bitch was a solid ten.”
She sure was.
[Did it go down when I arrived and spoke with you?]
“Maybe to like… seven?” He shrugged, brow furrowed as he tried to understand my train of thought.
[How about now that you’ve been standing next to me for ten minutes?]
“Three or four.”
I grunted, now pretty sure what the magic detector would say once we came to use it. That thought fell away as I looked at the notifications coming in from Wren. A couple of documents I’d need to read through when I wasn’t involved in a gang war.
[Let me tell you the extent of what I want, Hears-guts, and then I will offer you what I can exchange.]
He nodded politely and glanced at the woman who stood beside him. Tall and slim, in a dress of wrapped leathers, the leader had introduced her primarily as his frequent mate - before letting slip that she was also the tribe’s shaman. Jutting jaw and curled hair rising from her head like a cloud, her eyes were covered so that she could use her minor magical powers. Her name was Wet-foot, and it seemed she was the spiritual guide for the group.
Although... she hadn’t helped protect against Roxy and I rocking up and kicking the shit out of them.
[I need the green rock known as Frauxemite from your mines. Perhaps all of it that you can find.]
They both nodded along, before raising an eyebrow - expecting more than that.
[Oh, and don’t call her Crimson-bitch. Maybe… Lava-queen.]
Hear-guts pulled a face. “A name change is unusual and not something often given… however, it depends on what you are offering in return?”
[For the Frauxemite, I will trade you more useful materials or items for your tribe. As for the name change…]
I turned and pointed my gun-arm out to the wastes where the other group of mutants were approaching from.
[I will kill every Jaded Tusk on their way here, ensuring none of you come to harm.]
Defenders often had the advantage in such a siege, but they were outnumbered maybe 2 to 1. Although the Tusks didn’t have many vehicles, I had been told that they had something akin to a wide bulldozer. Even with the mines surrounding the base, it wouldn’t take long for the walls to be breached, and then we’d just have enemies on every side.
Rushing off and soloing was dangerous as well, but part of me… craved it. Like the old me was now leaking out, and I needed to push the extremes to know exactly what I was. What I was capable of.
The pair looked at each other and murmured something in a language that I didn’t know. By their body language and tone, it didn’t sound negative or threatening. They probably knew that I could wipe out their outpost, even if they didn’t think I could take on the Tusks by myself.
“You tell-speak brave words, Green-gas,” the woman said, speaking for the first time. Her voice was dry and raspy, but filled with confidence. “This green rock must be important for you to take such a danger-risk.”
[I am a killer, killing anything in my way of becoming a better killer.]
Hear-guts grimaced, but nodded. “Then we will not stand in your way. Is there anything we can do to help you succeed?”
I turned my gaze past them, to an area of the outpost that was still charred and darkened from my previous visit here.
[Perhaps there is.]
----------------------------------------
I hummed to myself as my bike rocketed over the dry dunes. An odd tune, something akin to a pre-battle hymn. As long as it wasn’t played by lute, I allowed it. While Roxy had wanted updates on my day, I didn’t feel as though it would be a good idea to tell her what I was about to do.
Perhaps someone should know, just to recover my body in case something bad happened.
//Gunquake: Nothing major, but I’m heading into a little scuffle.
//Gunquake: Don’t want Roxy to worry.
//Clara: But it is okay if I worry?
//Gunquake: Yes.
//Clara: Be careful, Gunquake.
//Clara: And if you can’t be careful, be unrelenting.
//Gunquake: Already on it. Will keep you updated.
Would only be a minute before I would have intercepted the wide convoy heading this way. It made no sense to me why the Jaded Tusks would want to erase these mutants and claim a half-ruined outpost. Not that much in my life really made much sense, either.
I was close enough to the oncoming horde to make them out with a little more fidelity. Perhaps a dozen or two more than originally anticipated. The head of their group was a wide vehicle - the bulldozer, no doubt. They had a few other vehicles in their retinue. A couple of buggies and smaller bikes, but they were slow and keeping pace with those on foot. Seemed like an inefficient way to do a siege, but they must have had confidence that they had the upper hand against the outpost.
And they would have, if it weren’t for me.
If I wanted to be at least a B-Rank hero, then there was a certain amount of competency in the face of greater threats I needed to prove I had. Mostly to myself. I’d killed just over a handful of supers, but almost died each time. Not only would the League expect a better track record, but Roxy would, too - which was something even more important.
The Jaded Tusks had stopped now, either readying to deflect my assault or wondering if I was a messenger sent to parlay. If they had any rifles, then I’d be coming into range very shortly.
It was time to see what I was truly made of.
I unclipped my gun-arm from the handlebar rest and loaded up a Triple shot. Left hand pressed at the first button, causing a shield to envelop the vehicle and myself. Couldn’t take any chances. My V-Force hummed and crackled as my shot went out, the Tusks now zipping into taking up the majority of my frontal arc.
Smoke billowed from the three shells as they blew up dust, striking in a line as I continued at the group like a rocket. My approach was immediately obscured, causing them to shout and realize my intention.
The bike burst from the front of the deep gray cloud at the forefront at a steep angle, turning to the right. A handful of shots rang out, most missing the vehicle completely - but just as two struck the shield - the Tusks found out something.
I was no longer on the bike.
The last button on the panel previously untouched allowed brief remote control. As the bike circled around their flank, still drawing a plenty of eyes, I stepped out from the cloud myself. Momentum and a brief breeze had carried both myself and the smoke closing to the group arranged in a loose regiment. Roughly fifteen wide and three deep.
Front row had the bulldozer center stage, with two buggies on the far ends. A handful of ramshackle bikes mixed in between. Those with guns were in the second row, if not already standing on the back of a vehicle for extra height. A mixture of melee weapons were mostly at the back, but I could see the ones who weren’t distracted ready-up to charge at me.
Jaded Tusks was perhaps an apt name. Each of them resembled humanoid warthogs, with coarse dark hair covering where thick leathers and decorated pieces of their previous victims didn’t. They had an overtly punk aesthetic, full of piercings, studs, and tattoo-like graffiti on any surface that allowed it.
My shotgun fired off a High Explosive shell, striking the nearest bike on the left in the exposed guts of the machine. It completely blew through the fuel tank and whatever other reserves it held upon it, causing it to explode. The rider atop it was split in half from the resulting force.
A third of the Tusks were still distracted by my bike coming back around. The leader standing on the bulldozer stared me down, raising what looking to be a double-barreled shotgun toward me. Unfortunately, I always won shotgun-offs.
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Controller in my left hand clicked as I activated the other button on the bike. Electricity crackled and burst out from the sides as I controlled it to plow into the back row of apprehensive mutants. I rolled across the dirt as a barrage of shots scored the ground around me, one bouncing off my cybernetic arm, while another pierced my leather jacket but was stopped by my gauntlet.
Another Smoke blew up around me from my selectloader, but I sprinted straight away. Emerging from the cloud and covering the distance between us in two short seconds. They had recovered from the initial shock of my assault and were rallying. Their vehicles spluttered and thrummed into life as some from the back charged to meet me.
My bike had run two down, and other five lay in various states of being stunned from the pulses of power. It had escaped the grouping off to the left flank, and was circling back around as tightly as the speed and my controls would allow.
Second HE slug blew the front tire away from the bike right in front of me, tipping the rider and passenger off balance. I was already there to meet them, my synapses flaring up as my arm lashed forward in what I’d call… Quick snap. Pretty terrible… but much worse for the warthog passenger. My gun barrel flashed straight into his face, completely shattering his features.
I followed up by grabbing the driver and dragging them off the inert bike and onto the floor. HE shot to the back of their head, painting the dry ground with a long spray of their brain matter.
A shot whizzed past and struck the bulldozer that was now behind me as it slowly tried to turn to my current position. I was using it as cover from the left side of the group. The click of another makeshift firearm had me rolling across the ground, turning into a crouched position to rack another HE cartridge. My shot cratered through the chest of the one who had fired, and they fell from their position.
Any further attempts to pick off the ranged mutants were immediately halted as I turned with my gun across me to block the downward swing of a rough axe. My left fist lashed out, blade extending from my gauntlet to cut into the thick thigh of the Tusk. As they staggered back in shock, their limb immediately weakening, I powered up to my feet and pushed their weapon away. I knocked them down to fall to the rocky ground just as my empty shell bounced beside them.
Turned and shot another bike engine, sending a warm shockwave through us as a dark cloud of smoke billowed into the air from the explosion. While the others tried to get a bead on me, my motorbike careened back through the group—narrowly missing the back of the bulldozer—to plow through three more warthogs and ramp briefly over the last bike on this side.
The bike landed awkwardly, tumbling and kicking up dust before managing to right itself. A few more dents and scratches on the poor thing.
I lashed out at the downed axe-wielding mutant with a kick, his face cracking from the impact. Three more melee mutants were fast approaching. Being locked in might make it too risky for the ranged Tusks to fire on me - or prevent me with opportunities to escape.
As my gun-arm raised up to meet them, they went to dodge. Instead of firing, I turned in an arc and sprayed a foul smelling liquid out from the tank on my back. The sneeze of the chamber emptying made them wince, even if they could ignore whatever I had just sprayed them with.
First one lunged forward with a spear. I caught it and pulled it past my left side, bringing the mutant forward so that I could turn and strike him with my metal elbow. The air cracked behind me as a shot managed to pierce through to my lower back, dulled by my tactical gear. Stims washed through me, erasing the notion of being hurt. Gun-arm turned and blew the leg off the shooter, just before the second melee hog barreled into me.
We both fell to the ground and rolled along, trying to get a grip on each other. I didn’t have time to be pinned down. He grabbed at my throat. I grabbed at his. The extendable blade from my gauntlet burst through his tough neck, covering my gloved hand in blood. I rolled off of him and fired at the third combatant that was trying to take advantage of my position.
Their lower leg came clean off, causing them to topple forward over their fallen friend. I rolled to a crouch and lashed up with my hand-blade, finding their eye socket as they dropped toward me. As an empty shell dropped on their convulsing body, I blew through the tank-tracks on the buggy being driven toward me. The disconnected wheels bit into the rocky ground and caused the vehicle to twist and roll over.
Motorbike zoomed past, out of view behind the bullzdozer, before there was an almighty crash and large explosion - perhaps it had found the other buggy. As another group of five mutants ran toward me, with a further three rounding the large vehicle, I partially wished I had convinced Roxy that I could have two shotgun-arms instead of just one.
Instead of shooting at the mutants, I ran toward the bulldozer. A vehicle converted from something stolen from the city and outfitted with more metal plating and an unhealthy amount of spikes. As I moved, my gun-arm leaked. A modest amount of V-Force just emptying the contents of my backpack at a controlled pace.
The apparent leader atop this vehicle fired at me. Didn’t matter, I kept moving. His anger came out as guttural yells to his underlings as I hopped up onto the wheel arch of his shitty steed. Another couple of wide steps and I was on the vehicle proper. As he switched to something more close-range, my Overcharge spooled up, and I nailed him near point-blank with a sneeze that was more of a punch of pure force.
His feet slipped on the slick metal after I had so carelessly soaked everything on my warpath. Bouncing off of the roof with an ungainly clang, he then fell off the front, rolling across the large spiked scoop to crash atop the ground. Luckily for him, his driver stopped moving and didn’t run him down.
Unluckily for him, my Incendiary shot clicked in from my selectloader.
After I had destroyed the flamethrower at the outpost, they hadn’t had much need of all the fuel stockpiled. Or at least they were willing to part with enough to fill my backpack tank. I dropped down from the left side of the bulldozer as high flames spread from the top of the vehicle and ran down across the ground where I had emptied so much of it.
Their leader squealed and rolled around, trying to put out the fire—and that’s when I could see it in the rest of their eyes. They had been beaten.
My next few shots disabled the rest of the vehicles on this side. Some tried to run. I picked up my damaged bike—still functional—and chased them down. Returned and went through the carnage with one of their spears and stuck each of the bodies. Made sure every last one was dead.
As the bulldozer continued to burn, darkening the sky with smoke, I stopped and surveyed the destruction. No sense of pride. Nor any regret. I felt neutral about the whole event. It was just part of a greater transaction. Was I not supposed to be more empathetic these days?
All I was left with was some notes for Clara on what tech I would like.
Perhaps this was what she had been saying. My speed and strength had increased lately. A side effect of my old connectors regaining their function. I was made for killing supers, and these… mutants weren’t anything close. It was like a professional fighter taking on the friday night drunkards. Enough of them could be a threat - and I had taken minor injury - but left unaccosted I would run over them roughshod.
I shook my head. Hundreds of criminals had met the same fate over the years. Karma already had me penned in for something dire. This wasn’t even a drop in the bucket. I straddled my damaged bike, and it complained as it spluttered back into life.
It was time enough to return to the outpost and see if they’d uphold the deal. I knew some of the sour tones clouding my mind were because this was the closest thing to a Boss contract I’d had in a while. As much as killing was almost as natural as breathing, the League and my friends didn’t expect that or ask it of me. That was nice, sometimes.
I tried to keep my mind clear as I trundled my way back to the outpost, Hear-guts opened the gates with a look of complete shock on his face as I pulled to a stop just inside.
[My part of the transaction has been completed.]
“We… watched.” He nodded slowly. “We are thankful… and mildly scared.”
[Good. That should keep you alive and useful to me. You will mine and store the Frauxemite for me, and store it here. I will send someone to collect it on occasion.]
Whatever inclination the mutant might have had to argue some of the finer details had clearly left his skull once he saw how ruthless and efficient I had been. “Yes, Green-gas. How will we know the courier is legit?”
A fair question.
[I will send them with a flag. Black, with two bright green circles. To remind you of the last thing you’d ever see if you crossed me.]
Tongue caught in his mouth, Hear-guts just nodded.
[It would be useful for us to have a way to communicate. I will arrange for that to be facilitated. Before I go, I have one question for you.]
“Please, ask away.”
[Do you know anything about the safe we opened last time, or have you had any other visitors lately?]
He worked his jaw, looking just past me in thought, before his clawed hand came up to rub the back of his neck. “No, nobody that we haven’t eaten. We’ve been here about five months after being displaced from the Jut-Jut Range.”
Somehow I thought it unlikely that they’d captured and killed Boss. I was started to suspect the mystery man had capabilities further than just being an elusive mobster.
[Fine. That is all. How many days do you need before I first send a courier?]
“With our reduced numbers…” He winced as he looked around the outpost. “A week, perhaps? Two, if you want anything substantial."
I ran the numbers in my head. We had a lot of spinning plates, and some of them were being gatekept with red tape. Good things came to those who had patience. To get my hands on a constant source of super-damaging material… I could wait a little while.
[Two weeks it is then. Stay safe, Hear-guts.]
“Thank you, again.” He bowed low as my bike groaned back into running.
I said nothing more as I left. The gate shut behind me as my lense map directed me back towards home. Mission accomplished? Sure. I had stretched out my killing muscles and earned a tentative ally. Respect due to fear wasn’t tenable for the long term, however. Another undercooked problem I’d had to spend more time on in the future.
With a sigh that brought up some of my battle-earned aches, I flicked out the nutrition canister and slipped in the breakfast burrito one. There wasn’t an immediate sense of relaxation, nor disgust. There was a slight warmth, and it wasn’t unpleasant. My eyes smiled despite the wishy-washy reaction. I was eating something Roxy cooked for me.
//Gunquake: Alive and well, heading back home.
//Clara: Good. What did you gain?
//Gunquake: Fortnightly deliveries of Frauxemite.
//Gunquake: In exchange for more blood on my hands.
//Gunquake: And some creature comforts.
//Clara: Impressive as always.
//Clara: Debrief me later~
I left out the part about possibly needing a new bike. Or other vehicle. My mobility had become a sticking point, both in combat and out.
//Gunquake: On my way home now.
//Roxy: Good! In one piece, I hope?
//Gunquake: I only feel like one whole piece when I’m with you.
//Roxy: …
//Roxy: Fucker x
//Roxy: You must have done some shit to be buttering me up.
//Roxy: Spar with me when you get home?
//Gunquake: Sounds great.
//Gunquake: Oh, breakfast was great - thank you.
//Roxy: Anytime, Dubs x
A quick glance at my lense and I had three superficial bullet wounds, one shallow cut, and a handful of bruises. It seemed like wearing all this tactical gear had advantages other than carrying all my death-dealing implements. The fact that the former-Tusks had makeshift weapons was beyond the point.
Still, if we started getting into proper missions, I needed a little more. The outfit the League would give me would have more damage absorption—Clara had informed me that the balaclava would be similar to wearing a helmet with how much it could protect from bullets… but with Wren mentioning shielding there must be other ways for me to edge away from death.
Another case of too much to do with little time. Our money issues should be sorted soon, at least.
Despite the heat of the wastelands, I found myself feeling rather hopeful. A dangerous thing, I was sure. Moving forward and making progress helped me ignore the mysteries hiding in the shadows. My motorbike didn’t seem to share the same viewpoint, the engine making some unhealthy sounds as I continued. All it had to do was get me home, and I’d give it a respectable burial with its brothers.
Something that I had missed out on…
I blinked away a half-formed thought as a notification came in. Expecting it to be one of my team, a weight shifted in my stomach in seeing that it was from Stacy.
//Stacy: Hey GQ. Hope your day is going well.
//Stacy: I’d like for the three of you to come in this afternoon.
//Stacy: If you’re not otherwise engaged.
My muscles tensed up as I considered whether she knew what exactly I had been up to.
//Gunquake: Is this for the mission debriefing?
//Stacy: That, and the League are eager for you to get into something new.
//Gunquake: B-Rank, and soon?
//Stacy: Yes, and tonight.
//Stacy: We will talk more when you’re here, GQ.
//Gunquake: Understood. I can’t wait.
That’s what I get for thinking too positively.
Looks like I’d need to step into the darkness once more.