With their meals finished and spirits heightened, the trio of mercenaries left the vicinity of the “mess-tent”. Before leaving, Chernobog managed to persuade the machine distributing the food to package an extra portion “to-go”.
With that he expanded the amount of his baggage by an addition of a plastic grocery bag with a large Ouroboros logo on it.
“Probably from one of their private pharmacies.” - the veteran thought, before focusing attention on Misha, who suddenly took a hard right, splintering off their group.
- That’s enough lollygagging for now, ribiata. - ruskie declared, stretching. - Gotta go to my own unit, check if your older sister isn’t getting bullied by some gopniks.
- Appreciated, Red. - Barbara smiled with a slight nod.
- Just don’t injure half of the Guardian Team before departure. - Dirk bid his friend adieu with a half-serious remark.
- No promises.
With that he left, mischievous spring in his step. Leaving the remaining male side of their group somewhat worried. As their march resumed, Barbara elbowed the former god of war slightly.
- Do you have some plan to garner instant respect from our comrades? - her question was genuine. - Some psychological trick used by fossils like you?
- Of course. I intend to order Argonaut to fill the sides of our path with wooden stakes on which all my dead enemies will be presented, announcing the ruthlessness and cruelty of my profession before everyone gathered.
Saying all that with a straight face took skill, and around halfway through Dirk’s speech, it reached the desired effect - Barbara’s losing any and all interest in what he was saying and her deciding to keep to herself.
Just like he wanted. Stupid questions should only be answered in an equally stupid manner. Still, it was entirely her fault for not cluing in on what the two old soldiers were discussing at the table. As positive and upbeat as she was, Dirk hoped she turned into a completely different person on the battlefield because if not…
He refused to finish that train of thought, as a pit started forming in his stomach.
The former candidate for the Heavenly General seat would keep them all safe, not only to spite Tom, but to prove something to himself.
Or rather, to that final ember of doubt within himself - that he still got it.
But it wasn’t the time to be getting sentimental, he had to get his groove on.
- Prusk. - a single word, stern yet polite.
- Yeah, yeah, you aren’t old, you're vintage. - she responded to a tangent that must have formed in her head in the meantime.
- Do you have a piece of string on you?
- String? What for? Something between your teeth?
- No. For my hair, to tie it up.
- Shit, did I hear that right? - Miss Prusk suddenly perked up, with glittering eyes. - Am I finally getting through your thick skull?
- Do you have it or not? - the old soldier’s masculine soul screamed at him to speed the process up. - If not, I’ll just use the piece of wire within the backpack–
- Are you dull?! - the female merc’s sudden scream caused Jason to jerk a bit.
Without waiting for any response, she grabbed Dirk by the shoulder and turned him around. The old dog had to forcibly keep his impulses in check, so as not to break her arm on sheer instinct.
Albeit, even with his reflexes allowing him to easily react and follow Barbara’s movement, the force which she exerted to move him was nothing to scoff at. Even if their crew already had their “brawn” quota covered five times over by a certain tall kid, Prusk was taking the second spot in that department.
Back in the real world, the lady presiding “above the female median” reached into the inner pocket of her leather jacket. With quick motions she scooped up the wild mane on top of Dirk’s head and, holding it with one hand, she spread something between the fingers of the other.
- There, much better. - her joy was palpable. - It would look much better if I had a brush on me-
- That’s enough. - Dirk cut her short, turning around. - Thank you, but I wanted you to give me something to tie my hair, not take care of it for me.
- Learn to accept help without being a grump, soldier-boy.
He wanted to tell her something about adult behavior, their surroundings, infantilization and whatnot, but decided against it. Making an educated guess that it would all go through one ear and out the other.
Now free from the grasp of the female Hercules, Dirk inspected his new hairstyle, with the help of a nearby windshield. It was a ponytail, pulled backwards but loosely enough to not stretch out hair on top of his head. Despite multiple wrinkles and barely visible scars, the man in the mirror looked barely above 40 years of age. The old soldier never cared about such banal things, but his hairstyle made him look surprisingly younger.
- It would look much better if you washed that mane of yours, used some conditioner, cut the beard... - Barbara started showing a more feminine side of her personality.
- Paint my nails while I’m at it? - unfortunately, Chernobog wasn’t receptive to such advice.
- Sorry, I forgot that back in your day, men who took care of themselves were seen as less. - she scoffed. - All you need is natural musk and the odor of cigarettes, right?
- No. I just don’t need to stick out like a sore thumb when killing people, that’s simple amateurish behavior.
- Oh. Really?
- Hygiene is important for a soldier, don’t mistake my negligence for laziness.
- I know you wanted to sound profound, but what you said is a "nothingburger". - Prusk’s eyes conveyed that she was not impressed with his oratory skills. - Negligence is laziness.
- What did you use to tie my hair?
Dirk skillfully changed topics, as continuing the previous one held no merit in his personal opinion. Ignoring how rude it was to do so.
- A scrunchie. - the mech pilot said.
It was an incomprehensible word to the soldier before her. Merely the sound of it made him turn around towards her with a raised eyebrow, now much more visible than before with all the hair out of the way
- Don’t tell me you don’t know what a scrunchie is?
Dirk refused to respond.
So she exhaled heavily, raising her hand towards her face before stopping mid-way.
- Sorry, forgot about the age disparity. - despite her visible disappointment, she decided not to dwell on it and educate the man instead. - It’s a type of hair tie, popular among the fair sex. Elastic, covered with a colorful fabric, don’t worry yours is dark so it won’t be sticking out of your mane too much.
- Mhm, sure. - as she was explaining, the soldier was using one of his hands to feel out the item described.
- You can keep it. I’ve got more in my personal luggage.
- I don’t think I want to.
- Now, now, don’t look the gift horse in the mouth, old man. - with that, she patted him on the shoulder.
Not wanting to be needlessly ungrateful, Chernobog relented, agreeing to receive “the scrunchie” as a gift from a new teammate. With that, they started walking again, as the area where the rest of the Scout Team resided was looming on the horizon.
It was easy enough to notice, as the gathering spots for each team were carefully selected and described in the file given to each mercenary during the onboarding. Even without those, one would have to be especially dim to not notice the large banners with a single number written on each - corresponding to each squad's position in the convoy’s lineup.
Approaching the large banner, the former leader of the Empire's special forces saw two large trucks and around them a small crowd of people. All armed, but with different hardware. He was looking for a specific piece among them, one that would stick out like a sore thumb.
But it was nowhere to be seen, at a glance at least. So he moved on to the main issue at hand, lightly elbowing Jason in the hip. The latter emitted a very low grumble in response. It was time to start the show.
With one hand still holding a plastic bag he decided to hide the other inside his pocket, willingly becoming defenseless, enforcing the faith he was putting into the creature beside him. Whether other mercs reached the same conclusions remained to be seen, but their approach at the very least garnered attention.
While Jason made a good show of himself, growling and snapping his head towards anybody even remotely in the way of his “master”, Dirk took in the sight of one of the trucks with a smidgen of curiosity and apprehension.
It was large.
Perhaps too large to be considered viable for a scouting position in the convoy, being at least a meter or so wider than a standard truck, its blueprint - a weird mix of a heavy-duty dump truck, a military transporter and a bus. Under the black, reinforced sheets of metal, the protruding front of the machine no doubt concealed a powerful engine fit to traverse the unforgiving Russian wasteland, while its enormous wheels looked like they were taken straight from a construction vehicle, both menacing and durable.
The cab on top, reachable by a ladder on the machine’s side, looked sturdy enough, with retractable steel panels, double-layered with blinders protected by, what Dirk could only assume, were bullet-proof windshields and windows.
The design connected smoothly to the back compartment through a joint covered in an insulated, protective bellow.
Dirk wanted to groan, but thought better of it. It was an obvious structural weakness that was bound to bite his unit in the ass, he could already imagine it.
The back compartment looked like a black, elongated cargo container with the Ouroboros logo sprayed onto its side in pearly, almost luminescent white. Dirk could spot a few MG ports lining the walls of this glorified metal coffin, and a little fortified nest on its roof, probably to serve as a convenient lookout and sniping position.
It was… bad.
Experimental, some could say, but at this point Dirk could only grit his teeth and power through. He’d worked in worse conditions, that much was true.
Much worse, in fact, so having anything at all to serve as a mobile base was at the very least workable.
Still, despite his best efforts to keep a poker face, some of his discontent must have shown through, because somebody spoke to him, unfazed by Jason’s intimidation.
- It’s our camper. - a man with a sizable beer gut said to him, his blue eyes shining brilliantly in the artificial lights, almost as brightly as the bald top of his head.
The brave man was sitting atop a small metal crate, fiddling with a small, but pristine looking hunting rifle with some dexterity. His brown bushy beard parting in the middle to reveal an imperfect smile, missing a single upper front tooth. He seemed to be in a good mood, despite Jason sending him a piercing death glare. The young regenerator’s killing intent, however, seemed to be completely ineffective against the man.
Dirk raised an eyebrow, but took the bait.
- Camper? Doesn’t look like one to me. I’ve been out of the loop for a few years, though, so I might be wrong. - he scoffed with a bit of sarcasm.
- Well, that’s the first thing that came to my mind when I saw it. I saw you eyeballing it too, and with a sour face to boot. - he chuckled, wiping the muzzle of his rifle with a cloth.
- That’s my neutral expression. - Dirk quipped back, deadpan.
- I’m sorry, then. For assuming, not your face. - he nodded with a smile. - But hey, the other one’s looking a bit more “professional”, if that will ease your worries. - he added, going right back to the premise that Dirk was worried.
- We work with what we are given. It was part of the deal. - Dirk answered matter-of-factly.
- You all say that, but I know your type.
- Excuse me? - that ticked Dirk off, somehow. - My type?
- I can see it in your eyes. That discontent.
- I think you are seeing things. Must be the food they served. - he shook his head, ready to abandon this whole conversation and head off.
- I have an eye for those things, trust me. Can’t go far without it in the biz.
- Of killing people? - a shot in the dark.
- Close, but not quite. Of supplying people who kill. The difference is pure semantics, though, so I guess I can give you at least half a point.
- So a manufacturer? - Dirk guessed again, his eyes now laser focused on every meticulous move of the man’s hands as he worked on the gun.
- Sometimes, if they paid me enough. But we can sit here guessing all day. How about a trade?
- I don’t need a gun. I’ve got the big guy. - Dirk nodded his head towards the huffing colossus, now louder and more menacing than ever. Jason was really putting on his A-game in the acting department.
- Yeah, I can see that. Heard the stories, too, about how you guys finished dead last. - The man smirked, but it didn’t feel mocking in any way. - We all have our tempo, I suppose. What matters is that you got in.
- It wasn’t easy wrangling him once his bloodlust kicked in. - Dirk tried to throw in a little offhand comment, but it didn’t seem to take with the man, his expression unbothered as could be.
- Well, you’re doing just fine now, and that’s what matters to me. But taking a step back in our little talk, I wasn’t talking about weapons trade, not yet at least. I wanted to exchange information. Your profession for mine, how does that sound? - the man said, a spark of curiosity glistening in his eye.
- Doesn’t sound like a good deal to me. You practically gave your answer to me for free. At this point, I could probably just guess in three tries or less. Besides, it’s of no concern to me, as long as this unit works as intended.
- True that. - the man nodded, not really specifying which part he was referring to. He checked the chamber of his gun, and once sure it was empty, aimed down the sight, pointing the barrel right at Jason, prompting him to growl.
- Easy there, boy. - Dirk took the chance to flash the leash on his wrist for just a split second.
- I wasn’t expecting to strike a big deal right out of the gate. - he mouthed a “bang” and put the gun down with a quiet chuckle. - How about we start small, then. Name’s Michael. Michael Becker. - he extended a hand.
- Chernobog. - Dirk answered, ready to reciprocate, but before they could meet midway, Michael stood up and energetically grabbed his hand and shook it.
- Good enough. Let our cooperation be long and fruitful. - he smiled
For a corpulent man such as him, Michael sure had a strong grasp. Dirk took a mental note of that, amongst other things.
- If you do have a gun that needs maintenance or modding, I’m your guy, so just drop it off at my lap and I’ll do some magic. - Michael announced louder than necessary. Seemed like Dirk and Jason weren’t the only ones who wanted to make their positions clear to the rest of the group.
- Yeah, right. I’ve seen you work that hunk of junk you call a rifle. I’d sooner twist my balls off than trust you with my gear, chubby. - an unknown voice cut in from behind Dirk, making him turn around.
If, according to Barbara and Misha, Dirk looked like a hobo, then the man to whom the new voice belonged might just make them reconsider their statement.
He was old, withered and shriveled. His clothing, despite their visible quality, looked as if they came straight from a wardrobe after decades of disuse without any maintenance or cleaning. Those patchwork garments were like a thick hide, bleak and scarred, yet a part of him that refused to fall apart. From underneath the brim of the hat peered two emeralds, seething with hatred.
- Oh, here he goes. - Michael whispered, not even wanting to look the interloper in the face.
- Just looking at the shitty job you’re doing makes me want to retch. Who the fuck gave a gun license to someone like you? - at closer inspection, the unnamed individual didn't simply seem “washed up”. To put it more aptly, he was like the very personification of the passage of time.
Decay on two rickety legs.
- That rude gentleman is “Black”. - the armament supplier explained to Dirk. - Another member of our squad, unfortunately.
- What are you yapping out my name for, we aren’t friends, you half-baked salesman! - the man in question took great offense to that introduction. - I introduce myself to people who are worthy of my god-damn time, it is my decision to make, not yours.
- If I am a merchant, then he is a rusty assembly line of the gun-toting world.
- You bastard!
Despite his anger and upset, the old man carefully inspected Chernobog from head to toe, then did the same to growling Argonaut, before walking up to them.
At first glance, Black’s step appeared shaky, but Dirk could see through the charade instantly. That walk wasn’t caused by age, but by the tug of the large and heavy duffle bag which hung from his back, just slightly off-center.
With every sway, the bag made quite a metallic racket. It didn't take a genius to take a guess as to what was inside, considering the circumstances, but the description Michael gave Dirk pointed towards all but the obvious answer.
Guns. Loads of them.
Black extended his hand towards Dirk, but unlike the previous merc who treated the growling Jason as not much more than air, this one actively tried to stare the mighty beast down, despite the regenerator's feral act. Their stare down lasted a few more seconds than it should, cut short only by the beast-owners reciprocation of the customary pleasantries.
- “Black”, as the dullard said. - when not used for screaming out insults, the color-coded mercenary’s voice sounded frail but melodic, like wind passing through a faulty instrument. - Unlike that fraud I’m a real gunsmith, if you need anything don’t be a stranger.
- W-
Chernobog couldn’t even get a word out as the fossil before him raised a finger towards his scarf-covered lips.
- Partially to spite “the larder”, but also because the moment I laid my eyes on you in the canteen I could tell...
He let go of the handshake and whispered.
- You know how to handle a good gun, I can smell it. We’ll get along.
With that, he turned around and walked away.
Two and a half men watched him hobble into another one of the trucks assigned to the Scout Squad, this one looking much more ordinary than the fruit of engineering malpractice Dirk inspected a few minutes ago.
- What a weird old coot. - Barbara made herself known, appearing near her new colleague during the whole commotion.
- You can say that again, young lady. - the gun merchant shook his head from side to side.
- Ha! Young lady! Why aren’t you that polite to me, Chernobog? - she joked innocently, oblivious to the fact she was getting in Dirk's way.
Her poorly timed appearance and jovial attitude towards him was bound to clash with the image he wanted to create of himself for the other mercs.
- So you know each other?
- Yep, went and attempted the practical test together with two other guys. - lass oversimplified.
The flattery put her in high enough spirits to smile widely while speaking.
- Name’s Prusk, what’s yours?
- Michael Becker, all the other deets you can ask your friend, repeating oneself is bad for the jaw muscles. Outta curiosity, that surname of yours rings a bell. - he stroked his chin. - Is that private car transporter, perchance, yours?
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
The young woman's eyes opened widely, looking towards Chernobog for some type of assurance on a topic he had no prior knowledge of.
- How’d ya know that? - the pilot leaned in, half-whispering in an almost comically conspiratorial tone.
- One of the Ouroboros boys drove it up to us a couple of minutes ago, asking for you by name. - Michael’s thumb pointed towards an arbitrary point somewhere behind him. - Since you weren’t there, he parked it a quarter of a click behind the junker. Told me to give you the keys once you show up.
With that being said, Mr. Becker rummaged for a while within his back pocket before pulling out a key-ring. There was nothing special about the keys themselves, but something else there certainly caught the eye.
A small lizard-shaped keychain toy, made entirely of beads. It had a black coat with a red underbelly and a pair of red eyes.
- Nice gecko. - Michael commented, passing off the keys.
- My big sis made it, it’s a crocodile. - Barbara fondled the creature in question with her thumb. - She’s amazing.
- Guess I’ll finally get to see your pride and joy. - Dirk inserted himself back into the conversation, as derailed as it was.
- Yeah, I’ll finally be able to get a breather from this whole ruckus. All this walking on foot and interacting with all of you is cool… - she shuddered. - But I prefer doing that from within the comfort of a 300 mm thick titanium plated cockpit.
Not waiting for any company, she started joyfully skipping towards the previously mentioned direction.
- Shouldn’t you join her?
- She’s a big girl.
- That’s an understatement.
Both men chuckled slightly. Dirk pointed towards the high caliber ammo box, situated next to the metal crate on which the husky gun enthusiasts resided. With a wide arm motion, Micheal gave the old veteran his sitting approval, and soon they shared a smoke.
One stolen from a certain tank-top wearing individual.
- So. - the openly friendly fellow took charge of the conversation.
- So? - in the meantime, Chernobog continued inspecting the gathering point of his squad.
He was actively trying his best to memorize the faces of those that didn’t approach him for introductions and making mental notes of their gear.
- Just because you didn’t want to share your profession with me doesn’t mean I’ll let you off the hook that easily. - Becker showed off his pearly whites. - I am quite a curious guy.
- No one ever told you that curiosity killed the cat? - the more unkempt of the two tried to change the topic of their upcoming conversation…
- Then it's good for me that I’m just a plump Homo sapiens instead. - …to no avail.
- Fine. I’ll play your game. - Chernobog decided to take the bait.
- Music to my ears.
After all, he also was quite fond of information, a solid bedrock of data never hurt anyone. On the contrary, it could only help him.
- So what are the rules of this exchange? - Dirk asked, approaching the subject with a soldierly callousness.
- Rules… - Michael rubbed his beard in thought. - One party says something about themselves and the other just has to share accordingly.
- That’s rather limiting.
- The answers don’t have to be true. - the round man shrugged with a good-natured chuckle. - If you don’t feel like answering truthfully, just make something up. I simply want you to talk.
- So what’s the point?
- On my side? I just like conversing. Hearing people’s voices really makes my mind click, especially when things are stressful. Aside from Black’s. His voice is like nails on a blackboard to me. - he sighed, shaking his head lightly. - Anyway, I can start, then we can swap. I’ll say something about myself and you–
- Sorry, but I still don’t see the point. - Dirk interrupted with a raised hand. Not that he wanted to be rude. He just didn’t want the man to waste his breath.
Michael pouted slightly, which was hard to see under his beard, then stretched a little in place.
- Given enough time, truth always comes out. Doubly so in such a cramped space with so few people. - he nodded towards the big truck. - A little game like this might help you judge their character, then. Why did they lie? What about? What was the lie, and was there a seed of truth in there. - he took out a small candy bar out of his pocket and started munching, swallowing before speaking so as not to be disrespectful. - Some of my most successful partnerships were built on utter lies, but lasted forever. Others, the truthful ones, didn’t last a day. We all have our reasons to lie, and I like to think of myself as the liars’ advocate.
Dirk had to think about it for a second. He never really thought about people’s motivations for lying this deeply. You either told the truth or lied, and that was that. A conversational tool to manipulate the flow of information to best suit one’s interest. There wasn’t much to judge once the truth ultimately came out. There were simply adjustments to be done. He straightened his back, looking deeper into the man’s eyes.
- We don’t have to be truthful, you say? - Dirk wanted to confirm, the very premise of this conversation was a weird anomaly in his head.
- Not a lick of it. - Michael smiled a smile only a seasoned salesman could muster and finished his candy.
- Alright. I’m game. You were going to start? - the ball was already in play. It was simply good manners to let it roll.
- Indeed I was. - despite quite a bit of trash littering the ground already, Michael stuffed the candy wrapping deep into his pocket. - Hmm. Something easy. Something small… How about this? I was born in Old Britain in the town of Sevenoaks.
- An Anglo, huh? Couldn’t tell from the accent.
- I just don’t have one.
- And the Imperial border guard just let you in?
- It pays off to keep a good network of contacts all around the world. Knowing people who know other people will often open up many doors in life. Mind you, it was neither easy nor cheap to step foot on Empire-controlled land, but I’m sure the profit at the end of this little excursion will more than make up for it… But I’m babbling. How about you?
Dirk considered his options. The man before him didn’t show any obvious signs of lying, but the information he gave wasn’t critical either. Dirk would start off with a truth.
Sort of.
- I was born on Imperial soil, a little ways off from the capital in a small rural village. I don’t even remember the name anymore, but it doesn’t matter. It was probably converted into a factory town or an agricultural complex decades ago. - Dirk’s tone was flat.
- Interesting. It’s not too uncommon to meet other Imperials here, but I must say that the people here who got hired are way more diverse than that. Makes you wonder if some of them got headhunted specifically for this mission.
- I know I wasn’t. Were you? - the subject certainly was an interesting one. Dirk never asked his brother how exactly he got the details of the recruitment process, but it probably wasn’t just there, out in the open.
- I got the info in a trade as a bonus from a trustworthy client in exchange for a particularly punchy gun. I say they lost out in that exchange, considering the payout, but we will see.
- Care to share the model?
- Wanting to get a freebie out of me, huh? - the man chuckled and patted Dirk on the shoulder. - Nice try, but I’m not falling for that. Client confidentiality and all. Still, you will know instantly who they are and what they’re shooting if you get to see them in action.
What the man was saying was ironic, considering how much free information he was sprinkling in, but Dirk was not about to complain.
- Fair enough. Your turn.
- Now that we’re past the foreplay I say we can get down and dirty. - the weight of the conversation suddenly shifted. - Personally I think that the current world we live in is as corrupt as it comes. If historians were to ever look at the era encompassing our life from the far-off future they will compare it to “dark ages”. Time of fruitless strife, stagnation and death.
- Quite a topic shift. - Dirk couldn’t help but smirk.
- What can I say? Opinions on fringe topics are the juiciest scraps one can get during those exchanges.
- Wouldn’t questions concerning combat prowess or personal info carry more merit?
- Maybe if I was a military interrogator.
That comment halted their conversation dead in its tracks.
Both men started quietly sizing each other up, looking for any suspicious reaction or a glint of suspicion. Those words were a wake-up call for Jason, standing tall behind Dirk, that no matter how friendly people around could seem or act, all of them were cutthroats and opportunists.
For the first time since their arrival, the Goliath didn’t know how to act. Should he start murmuring, maybe lean forwards?
- Good thing you aren't. I would have to kill you if that was the case. - the old vet’s voice cut through the young man's uncertainty. - It would cast quite a gloom over this evening.
- Ha! Now that’s a morbid response. - the oblong weapon-seller let out a hearty laugh, dispersing all the built-up tension. - Where does the certainty of yours come from?
- Real “ex-empies” use many more tricks even in the simplest of conversations. If you interact with one, you can pick up on their patterns. - with that, Dirk grabbed a cigarette from a crumpled pack. - You’d have to be one dishonorably discharged interrogator to have such shitty oratory skills.
- Now you’re just being mean, and I won’t even mention the “gloom” line. Really cashing in on my Brit heritage?
- You walked into that one yerself mate. - Chernobog’s accent changed to a well known caricature.
- Oh, piss off and don’t forget it's your turn.
- My opinion is brief and quite boring on this topic. - the soldier took a deep puff from the cigarette. - Times in which we live may be shit, but if that’s the case, then It's good to be a fly. Loads of dung to wallow in and make a big buck off.
- Amen to that, old-timer.
A crackling mechanical voice filled the air, causing Argonaut to look around spastically.
With a loud sound of mechanical servos, a wall of steel approached them. It was over four meters wide and six meters tall, as the professional killer judged at the first glance. As it stomped heavily on its reverse-jointed legs, no one could mistake this creation for anything else but a mechanical combat suit.
The voice itself, even if warped, easily betrayed who lurked underneath a smooth, featureless cockpit.
- So that’s your toy. - Dirk commented, slowly standing up. - Color me impressed.
- It’s named “Pollux” and you’re correct to be impressed. - Barbara’s voice, despite being warbled and crackling, made it certain to any listener how proud she was of this machine. - It’s mayhem and destruction incarnate!
- Holy hell. - Michael joined in. - No wonder the Ouroboros goons gave you a permit for an extra truck, young lady.
- With me around, this whole “trailblazing” of ours will be a walk in a park! - a sudden shift in her already boisterous personality was quite jarring, but not unfounded.
- Careful now, don’t jinx it. - Chernobog warned her, walking closer to the unpainted chassis.
As he walked closer, the machine raised its right arm. It was slightly larger and shaped differently from the other, as if made from different parts.
Argonaut jumped in front of its master, pulling him slightly backwards. But all Pollux did was flex its arm, rousing engine sounds from within itself, and brandishing a large spike protruding from beneath its hand.
- There is nothing to jinx fellas. I’m just stating facts.
Dirk’s expression soured in response to all the self-aggrandizing remarks, while Michael simply laughed, pulling out another bar to snack on.
Nevertheless, the machine was impressive, so Dirk decided to not comment on it anymore and give the gal the benefit of the doubt.
- Chernobog, I need you to do me a solid. - she spoke as the machine turned.
- Do you now?
- Gotta get servos and pistons churning for a bit before we depart, especially in this weather. - Barbara started explaining herself while her machine’s limbs moved around, like a boxer loosening up before a match. - So I need a sparring partner.
- I don’t think I want to spar with a hunk of titanium alloy. - Dirk exhaled smoke through the nose, focusing his attention on a minigun protruding from Pollux’s left forearm.
- Give me Argonaut for an hour or so.
- Would you mind running that by me again?
- Well, he’s the only thing that looks sturdy enough for this role in the whole convoy. - she stated flatly.
- We’re talking about a biological killing machine here, Prusk, not a roided-up strongman. This thing was genetically perfected to kill people in droves. It is a bio-engineered apex predator.
- So?
Her request was quite surprising to say the least.
Dirk found it positively delightful, all was going according to his plan.
Even if Barbara wasn’t in on his whole respect-building scheme, her request couldn’t have come at a better moment. All the mercs comprising their Scout Team came out into the open to marvel at the weird contraption strolling about, a machine that naturally inspired awe and fear with mere sounds it made.
If Jason were to hold his own against it for a prolonged period of time, maybe even toss it about a few times, people around them would see the regenerator in the same light as a mechanical combat suit, easily giving “Chernobog The Late Mercenary” respect and fear he required to act in accordance with his own whims.
“Fortune favors the bold.” - he couldn’t help but smile, while pulling out the magnetic leash. - “Now I just need to give Jason a sneaky sitrep and the show will begin”.
- But I guess it's your funeral. - the scheming old man moved the leash downwards, tugging Jason towards him. - I’ll just alter the setting on the helmet so he doesn’t tear your toy to shreds, it would severely impact the combat prowess of the Scout Squad.
- Just don’t neuter him. - Barbara turned around and walked towards a larger clearing within the encampment. - I want to have a good scrap, not a one-sided beatdown.
While they talked, all other mercs in the vicinity started to converge, as the word of mouth traveled fast. Among people whose profession was death, seeing a potential carnage of that magnitude was still a rare occurrence, and quite a spectacle to behold, too. Using the sudden stirrup as a smoke screen, Jason took a knee and started whispering.
- Is she suicidal? Have you gone senile? - his voice was quite nervous. - Are you both stupid?
- Have some faith in your hero, this is perfect. - Dirk started to hastily explain while fidgeting with nothingness near Jasons’s helmet. - With a simple show of force, our position in the convoy will be secured, allowing us to cut the whole act short. There will be no need to show off to anyone, nor brag about our exploits, making our life much easier.
- You mean “your life”? - Jason sounded quite exasperated. - I’ll still have to act like a gorilla in a zoo.
- But a gorilla without idiots trying to jump into his enclosure. Sounds tantalizing now, doesn't it?
- Guess I’ll bite then. - the young man rolled his shoulders. - Any pointers, coach?
- Just don’t make Fleece go ballistic. Focus on simply increasing muscle mass, that’ll be enough to sell the act as the higher-end B-Type regenerator.
- Aye, aye, Captain. You want me to win while I’m at it?
- Can you?
The question stayed in the air for a while. Which surprised Dirk, it was probably the first time Jason had to ever think about his chances against anyone.
- With all those restrictions… If she doesn’t use the in-built weapons, it should be doable. - the regenerator contemplated a bit longer before adding a small caveat to that statement. - But if she does, especially that weird apparatus on the left arm, I’m probably, positively, fucked.
Dirk has seen his fair share of weaponry during active service, from the barely functional relics, to the prototypes that never saw the light of day. Ones given to soldiers and those mounted or mobile platforms.
But despite it all, he was stumped when it came to what kind of contraption Pollux had installed within its left arm. The lack of information increased the threat it posed at least tenfold.
As cruel as it was to think so, Dirk hoped deep inside that Barbara would brandish it during the fight with Argonaut. They, no, he needed to know as much as possible about the people within his squad, and just as the chubby merchant of death said it before - people have reasons to lie.
And he didn’t share his flippant attitude towards working with unverified information. Thankfully, actions always spoke louder than words.
Especially actions taken under pressure or duress.
“I’m starting to sound like an Empire's interrogator myself” - Dirk looked as Jason got up from his knees. - “Some of Ajax’s musk must have rubbed-off on me”. - it was a terrifying thought to have.
As they both followed to where Pollux stood, quite a sizable crowd managed to encroach upon them. A few hundred people at least, not only mercs but also employees of Ourobors managed to catch wind of what was about to happen.
A fight between two beasts - mechanical and biological. A “monster-mash” type movie in real life, something that happens once in a lifetime, so no one could blame the people who would want to see this with their own eyes.
Thankfully, due to their roles as “challengers” Charnobog and Argonaut could reach the arena without much of an issue, with a stream of people splitting before them as they walked.
In the light of the moon, the mechanical armor paced around, yelling to the crowd through its speaker, building up the hype. Maybe it took away from the gravitas of the clash about to occur, but the enthusiasm of Barbara was contagious. Soon the audience was roaring and beating out the rhythm with their heavy boots.
Dirk decided to remain at the edge of the “cutthroat circle”, letting Jason take it from there. Sending him off with a single order spoken aloud:
- Argonaut, engage the target, no collateral. Output 50%.
- Whaaa? Only 50%? - Barbara yelled, causing her mech’s arms to slouch. - I told you not to-
The words she was about to spout became stuck halfway through her throat as Argonaut drew close and grabbed the scruff of his cloak. With a swift motion he took it off and threw it into the air.
What laid underneath caused many gasps and curses to erupt within the crowd. The very muscular, perfectly sculpted body of Jason was a sight to behold, even with scars covering almost every single spot on it.
- Well I’ll be damned, nice build, Mr. Monster. - female pilot’s piped down significantly, making her machine shift into a combat position.
In response, Argonaut started to breathe heavily, in and out. In and out. This simple exercise suddenly started turning into something macabre as people started noticing that during each inhale, the regenerator’s skin started cracking, spilling streams of blood for a few milliseconds through thousands of microscopic wounds, only to be gone with the next exhale, passing like the wind from the giant's lungs.
After each rep of destruction and creation, the creature grew larger. Its muscles started to balloon, visibly stretching the skin, its limbs started to elongate. Soon, Argonaut’s ankles were no longer covered by the pale white pants that were barely holding together his massive calves and thighs.
- Holy fuck, that’s gnarly. - his opponent uttered through the intercom.
It was the only appropriate reaction to a humanoid growing an extra meter of height through breathing exercise alone. That was the moment in which people started screaming from within the crowd:
- Oy! Place your bets, people!
During all that ruckus, Barbara Prusk made a mistake.
A simple one, very human at its core, she relaxed slightly after all call out to all chronic gamblers within the crowd. Were she fighting against a human opponent he would have probably done the same, postponing the scuffle by a few minutes so that all interested in a bit of recreation fortune-teasing could bet their hard-earned money.
But she didn’t really take Chernobog's words to heart, about the nature of her opponent. The weight of that ignorant behavior came to bite her in the ass quite swiftly, as without a word, Argonaut lunged forward on its elongated limbs.
- Incoming missile! - her AI powered defense system screamed at her a second too late.
A deafening crash shook Pollux as it staggered backwards in unison with most of the crowd. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the end of it.
Now firmly grasping a sticking out fragment of the machine's shoulder-joint cover, the regenerator successfully mounted the front of the battle suit. With its free hand, it proceeded to mercilessly pound at the slick, metallic chassis covering the cockpit. It took a few more resounding pounds before two military-grade spherical cameras on the sides of the walker zeroed in on the regenerator.
- Fuck, you’re clingy! - with that declaration, Barb grabbed the humanoid by its scruff, trying to pull it off.
Bafflingly she couldn’t. The servomotors turned and whirred, but the regenerator barely budged.
- I warned you. - Dirk whispered under breath.
Changing her approach, the pilot stopped pulling and instead positioned both fists above Pollux’s non-existent head. Then swung them downwards with blinding speed for its size. But instead of hitting anything, it cut through air as Argonaut sensed danger and bounced back onto all fours.
Despite the feral behavior he had to emulate Jason wasn’t a big fan of losing, especially after the fiasco with Misha, so he already formulated a winning strategy. Closing off any window for Barbara to utilize weaponry installed on her machine should be enough, in-fighting would do the trick. With that regenerator got up and roared into the sky, signaling the end of their first exchange.
As it came to pass a few scratches and shallow dents were visible on the giant machine, while no damage was inflicted upon the old-war horror.
Argonaut 1 point, Pollux 0.
Coming to terms with this outcome and the scale of the scrap before them, the crowd went wild, hollering into the night following the beast's example.