"Miriam, say that again."

"Enemies, Adam. They're approaching the village and lining up outside its walls. Thirty, forty, fifty, maybe even more. Look." The viewport changed, showing Miriam's holo-monitor. A livestream of Saliel's camera played, displaying to tops of Glenn's Rest as little grey and brown rectangles amongst the burned-out fields. Tiny dots poured out of from vehicles at the south, east and west. They lined up in a crude imitation of battalion rows.

Adam peered closer. A neon-pink, smirking gas cloud was emblazoned the top of one of the vehicles.

"The Gasheads! They're here?"

"Detecting crude artillery and aggressive fauna with them. Those vehicles are sporting firearms, too. This is an invasion, Adam!"

"It's a siege." Adam said, his mind churning. Both Lucy and Saria stared intently, having reached the same conclusion.

The walls of the town were solid. Those artillery stations weren't designed to batter those down, rather to lob chunks of hot metal over the walls and destroy the buildings within. People tended to associate sieges with medieval times, but they still occurred in modernity. Case study: himself. A coward of a contraband supplier had holed up in a warehouse with a bunch of his friends. Adam had joined a crowd surrounding the outside, throwing bricks and garbage bags into the windows to snuff the man out. The night stuck in his head, if only because it ended with one of the supplier's friends vomiting out of the window to the laughter of Adam and the rest of the crowd.

That man had been a rat bastard. He beat his wife and sniffed so much of his own stock his blood became clogged with lab chems. Adam didn't regret forcing him out into the back of a van. The man got off lucky anyway—only one limb and an eye taken.

The people of Glenn's Rest, though?

"Excuse me, Adam?"

They were a different story.

"May I ask who you're talking to?" Andrey asked. His arm was still out. He looked befuddled. "And what language is that? It's unlike any of the dialects the merchants bring with them."

"It's here. The invasion. The village is surrounded." Adam said. The Ram's Roach fell to a screeching halt of a silence. Jona squeezed a bottle so tight it almost shattered into pieces.

"How…" Cole spoke up. He stumbled back, his back grinding against a table. "How do you know that?"

Adam tapped the side of his head. "I've got a friend. She has eyes. Check outside if you don't believe me."

One of the patrons climbed out of his seat, opened the nearest window and vaulted straight out, her straw hat fluttering to the floorboards. A shout came back a few seconds later, and the entire bar flew into chaos. Adam and his crew sidestepped aside as people rushed to the door. Others grabbed their radios and barked into them. Jona loaded her sawn-off shotgun as Cole fumbled with his bolt-action.

"Everyone, to the town square! We'll plan there! Don't rush each other and spread the word." Andrey's voice roared across the crowd. He placed a firm hand on the boy's shoulder. The straw-haired boy trembled as he held his rifle close. "Don't worry about it, Cole. Together, we'll figure something out, just like our ol' community already has. Go and fetch your friends, okay?"

"Yes, sir." Cole said, unable to hide the tremors in his words. He ran off. Jona followed, shooting Adam something of a look. Then, she too was gone, leaving Andrey behind with Adam and his crew.

"Adam." Andrey said.

"You want an answer."

"I'm afraid push has come to shove. We would've loved to give you more time to think over it, but we need to know where you'll be during the battle. We can't afford the risk."

"You're being weirdly reasonable to some guy you just met." Adam said.

Andrey shrugged. Bags lay under his eyes. "Someone has to be. It's what I learned from Old World books. This community was founded on uniting stragglers together, and I'd be damned if I'm letting a bunch of two-bit bunch of thugs trample all over our home again."

"Again, huh?"

"It's happened before. Too many scoundrels and fools around the Valley, thinking they're entitled to whatever their eyes lay on. The old man—Glenn, as you can guess—wanted to found a place where that didn't happen. We've driven them off. Always have. We've never seen a reason to stoop to their level, either."

That uncomfortable, squirming sensation once again coiled inside Adam. "Hey." He said. "Say I hide out in the village. How do you know I'm not working with the bandits? How do you know I won't tell my girls to blast your heads off for chump change?"

"I don't." Andrey said. The swiftness with which he admitted it stilled Adam. "Cole certainly thought so. Maybe Jona, Blake, Rocky, Banner too, after meeting you. I don't blame them for not trusting an outsider in these times, nor do I blame you for not getting along with them. We at least know you honor agreements with payments, seeing as you brought back Rick and helped us figure out what happened to Lee."

"Who?"

"The carpenter in the woods. He was a friend of mine. I should thank you for finding out what happened to him. He was a friend." Andrey went quiet for a while, then continued. "Offer's still on the table. Power box for your co-operation. The more you help us, the more extra we'll throw in too. But if you don't want, and choose to shelter yourself, I won't blame you."

"That's… no, you're not making sense." Adam said, clenching his teeth. "You saying the answer to my first question is 'yes'?"

"Like I said, good values. There are enough bad ones out there to last a lifetime. Please don't underestimate us, by the way. Just because we support each other doesn't mean we'll go down fighting. We're all armed, and we're tougher than those bandits think."

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

"Christ, you think you can win."

"We have to."

"You do realise they have a shitload of guns and artillery with them?"

"I'm sure we can figure something out." Andrey said, in a tone that suggested otherwise. "So, Adam, what's your answer?"

He looked aside. "Give me a moment. I need to talk to my girls."

Adam turned around and summed up the last few minutes to Lucy, Saria and Miriam. None of them appeared frightened, or even the least bit apprehensive. They were expectant. Excited, even. Saria rubbed her chin with glee.

"So, what you're saying is that we're under attack and we need to clear out a group of murderers and pillagers first? Alright, Chosen, let's do this! Leave it to me and Lucy!"

"There's like fifty of them and they have guns." Adam said. "This isn't a joke."

"I understand, Chosen, but we are trained to fight in large-scale battles against humanoid entities. The Scourge-kin are much worse in this regard. I don't expect much of our opponents to be professionals, but we will keep a lookout."

"And what of Adam?"

"What of him?" Saria said. "We'll clean the place up. He doesn't need to do anything. We're not gonna let him get shot!"

"If it's his safety you wish to prioritize, there's an exit route through the river. Swim through it, eliminate any obstacles, and you'll be free. Of course, that means abandoning this town to its fate."

"Hey, Operator, you better not be implying something!" Saria said.

"I'm being comprehensive, Alcott. Adam deserves to understand his options. And you will follow his decisions, as it is Her will, no?"

"Huh, why do you even need to ask?" Saria said, stamping her foot. "Of course he will! C'mon, we're wasting time. Talk to her, Chosen."

"You think…" Adam said/ "You think you know me?"

"Nope!" Saria said. "I have no star-slamming clue what you said to these people. But, from the looks of it, they're in trouble. And I bet they're decent people, since they weren't bad to you or anything. I say we should help them out, and I believe in Her Providence to guide you to the right decision.

She said it so innocently, so casually, as if his past never mattered to her. Regardless, his word was their law. He could spin a tale in numerous ways. The denizens of Glenn's Rest used the red in their foods, and were all heretics. They came in the middle of the night and tried to smother him. They spent the last hour insulting his deceased sister and told him to go die in a ditch. Just lie! He thought. Lie like you did to the matrons, the police and even Lucy!

He squeezed his eyes shut and imagined. If he left, the Gasheads would bomb the village to shreds. So many of their fighters were banged up, and their ammunition stocks were tanked from dealing with the candleheads and previous encounters with the bandits. The bandits would break down the wall, shooting any resistance dead. They'd raid the crops and feast on ill-gotten gains. The men would have their throats slit, or their necks broken like that fat lug of a bandit tried to do with him. The women would be taken and defiled. The children…

Maybe one would escape. Hide in a box and float down a river, a novella in the making. Swear vengeance as they watched the corpses of their mother, father, brother, sister or lover hang in the distance. They'd wander around. Become crushed by the reality of the world. Engage, indulge, and be addicted to violence. Wind up as a bitter, rotten, angry piece of shit who talked with their fists and treated others like shit…

Like who? He thought. Hey, who does that remind you of, Pitbull of Steeldale?

But if he tried to fight alongside them… well, he'd be risking his life and limb. Stray bullets were bad enough in the streets. An open field was asking for trouble. Monsters sprouted out of corpses when they died, and the bandits might be carrying more demon boxes. On the other hand, their Astraean tech gave them a real leg up over the competition. The laser rifles were faster and hit harder than buckshot or bullet. Their augmentations could be tweaked to resist incoming fire or avoid it entirely. Miriam was eyes in the sky—a massive tactical advantage.

And, on the chance they won, the villagers would…

He didn't know. He couldn't remember anything similar.

Until he opened his eyes, saw Lucy and Saria, and then realised.

Oh, so that's how it is.

"Lucy." Adam croaked.

"Yes, Chosen?"

"You… you guys can win, right?"

"Of course! We're trained for large-scale battles. Saria and I both have accumulated experience during multiple ADO campaigns. This is a mere speck of dust in the grand scale of Scourge-battles."

"They're bad guys. Let's deal with them and let Her sort them out."

"Promise. Now."

Lucy and Saria placed hands above their hearts. "We promise, Chosen. We swear, on our honor as War Maidens and Her Faith, that we will defeat the evildoers and protect the innocents of this village. We will guide you to victory!"

Their words echoed around the empty space. Adam let them ring, then clenched his fist.

"Okay. Okay, you two. Let's do it!" Adam shouted. His blood boiled. He spun around to meet Andrey and gripped his hand tight. "Let's kill these fuckers dead!"

----------------------------------------

There once was a bandit named Roy. No-one in Grassruin Valley, never mind the rest of the world, had heard of him.

It made sense. Roy wasn't much. He could fire a shotgun and hit a target. He had decent bulk and towered over women and children, even if some of it was flab from too many fatty meats. He joined the Gasheads because his father kicked him out of the village and the gang was a ticket to easy money. Plus, their treads were cool.

Roy stood with his crewmates outside the walls of the dinky little village. The scrap artillery machines were loaded up with their shells. A horde of red dogs barked and growled, chained to their handlers by thick anchor-grade steel. The sky-orb shone with a low orange, uplifting the excitement in the air.

The Gasheads, under their new leadership, had formulated a ripper of a plan. Kick 'em while they were down. They'd pried the details out of a merchant they raided and learned the town was quite the bountiful place. Food, riches, decent-looking women and even star-tech lurked inside. Plus, the village had to deal with the aftermath of the Flame Witch's rampage. They'd be an idiot not to take advantage of this opportunity. What had his old nan had said? Something about geese?

The captain for this job, a bulky man with a skull helmet, thick iron armor and vivid magenta tattoos across his body shouted into a radio. His message radiated to everyone in their near vicinity, including the hicks in the village. The demands were the obvious. Surrender now. Give us all your shit. Play nice, submit nicely, and we might not eviscerate the lot of you.

The village wouldn't do it, of course. They were counting on that. They wanted it. The more of a struggle they put up, the better. The farmhand with a dopey smile was long gone. Now, a real man stood in his place, who smashed things first and never asked questions, because that was fucking stupid, you idiot.

"No? Not gonna surrender? Alright, it's your funeral, you stupid hicks! Don't blame us when we're skinning your face off with one hand while fucking your daughter with the other!" Captain Dirk tossed down the radio. He banged his chest-plate with a gloved hand, and shouted to his crew.

"Prepare yourselves, you bastards! In two, we're going in!" His roar was audible across the entire field, even to Roy at the fringe of the battlefield. "Let's teach those hicks what we're about!"

The Gasheads raised their weapons and roared. Roy grinned and licked his oversized lips. This was it. This was the big moment. His time to shine. The world ran on a hierarchy, and Roy had joined the Gasheads to move up. He was going to go out there, raid and smash as much as he could, and prove himself to the captain!

He took a step forward and heard something rustle. A small object rolled to a stop near the person next to him. Roy looked down, and then his world was pain and fire.

He landed on the grass, his entire body slathered in fresh burns. Screams echoed all around him. Through his dying vision, he saw a blonde girl in white dash through the fields, firing shots and throwing spears at his crew. He would've tried to get up, but didn't, because Adam blew his head off from behind a tree.