- Wow, you screwed the pooch on that one.
- Shut up.
- You were limiting the output of our power, I was fine with that-
- Shut it.
- As long as we got a chance to let loose, tear something to bits. The target was so large and resilient it was a perfect punching bag, yet here we are-
This time he didn’t respond. After all, agreeing with ‘it’ would get to its head.
- In the middle of nowhere, thrown aside like a ragdoll. This feels like shit, wouldn’t you agree? We were so close too, each hit went in so smoothly, resounded so gloriously. Had us going for a while, both you and I. Looking at that armor slowly denting from each impact, the victory was so close at hand, you just had to break through that hard shell to get into the creamy insides, but you fumbled at the end, right at the finish line. The consequences of your poor judgment and even poorer execution, Jason-boy.
- Don’t call me that.
- Why not? You do seem to respond better when old people talk to you. Can’t hide that lacking father figure-
- Shut the fuck up already, hell! - he couldn’t hold it in anymore. - Yeah, I screwed up, can you stuff it already? You had a ball with that scrap, didn’t you? There will be more once we get the convoy going. Just sit in some damp corner of my mind until then, you insufferable prick!
The conversation finally subsided. With it, Jason finally opened his eyes, freely gazing into the starry sky above.
“Suit yourself, loser” - with those parting words, Fleece went silent again. Thankfully.
Despite his patience and understanding, Fleece was the only entity in the world that could make him lose patience in the matter of seconds.
To most people, having a little voice nagging them in the back of their head was a metaphor for compulsive behavior and bad ideals, but in his case it was a living, malicious force forever watching over every action he ever took.
Jason exhaled.
“Man, I’m spent” - the regenerator declared, hoping that the passenger in his head wouldn’t respond. - “I want a shower and a nap inside one of the cars…” - the giant’s enormous body, bereft of any post-battle scaring, stretched itself out within the crater from his landing. - “After that portion Dirk saved up for me, it probably went cold by now…”
That fight sure was a wake-up call.
Or rather, a not-so-gentle reminder. Fighting against a human-sized opponent was simple enough, based entirely on Jason’s natural ‘specs’. Wide swing here, push-kick there, some more or less compact jabs, and it was all it took. Like with every rule there were exceptions, like people unnaturally skilled or seasoned in killing, those would take some more work, but there was rarely an obstruction that constant regeneration and sheer force couldn’t topple.
And that’s all putting aside how many weaknesses human beings possess. Despite their natural durability, a being with the strength of Jason could simply scoop a human and throw them against the floor with lethal results.
Being on the top of the food chain made him complacent and sloppy. He had that nagging feeling when talking with Dirk before the fight, that a mech suit could prove to be more than he can handle without relying on Fleece. But young Chrysos couldn’t even fathom to what degree.
With a swift motion, he removed the limiter helmet, letting his unkempt hair spill out alongside all the droplets of water blanketing his face. A side effect of breathing inside a bucket for this long.
Air tasted extra sweet tonight.
- Guess it means I can only go upwards from here. - Jason smiled. - But how the hell am I supposed to practice anti-monster techniques?
- We’ll have to ask Barbs for a favor.
A new voice joined his monologue, one that the young giant was pleased to hear.
- What can we even offer her in exchange?
- Whatever she asks for. - Dirk spoke with certainty while lighting a cigarette. - I just hope she won’t ask for money, ain’t got much of that.
- You sound surprisingly chirpy. - Jason raised his head to see the other man better. - Didn’t know you were addicted to nicotine so badly.
- Very funny. I just had some soul-searching session while scouring the bushes for your sorry ass. - milky smoke escaped his nose between sentences. - So I took a bit of a new perspective towards the situation at hand.
- Damn, you too?
- Great minds think alike.
Both men chuckled in the middle of the night. Reveling in the sad state of things surrounding them, only finding more power in misery.
- So what’s the plan now? We’re simply going back? - Jason got up only to take a seat on the nearby stump.
- In a bit. Unless you’re in a hurry to put the limiter helmet on? - Dirk joined him, opting for a nearby rock instead, making double sure that the cloak kept some of the cold from his rickety ass. Last thing he needed was to catch a cold.
- I’ll take you up on that offer then. - the other man replied, catching a pack of cigarettes thrown his way. - You wouldn’t happen to have my supper with you?
- Left it in the other pair of pants.
- Yeah, I was afraid so.
Then a silence fell between them, as they both enjoyed the brief moment of respite.
As they basked in their shared solitude, back at the camp the crowd that bore witness to their battle already dispersed, leaving Barbara to check on the damage sustained by her mechanized suit.
She thought it wasn’t anything major, simple dents, scrapped waterproofing here and there, but the biggest issues were the servos holding the front shielding. They loosened quite a bit from all the force affecting them during the duel. Under normal circumstances she would have to move Pollux back to the truck but thanks to simple forward-thinking she brought the toolbox with her.
Not wanting to dawdle too much, she took off the jacket, put on thick working gloves and removed the toolbox from the cockpit. But as she took a knee to rummage through its content, someone approached her.
- Blyat, ain’t you a busy bee? - Morozov said, sipping on a beverage of unknown origin. - After a show like that, the victor should enjoy the afterglow a bit more, roll the taste around in your mouth.
- First, gross. - she responded. - Second, I’ve got a window of opportunity now, so why would I delay it?
She got up with a handful of tools and moved towards the chassis of a machine, now laying dormant. Misha followed her with a bitter expression.
- Devochka, it is the privilege of the young to be reckless and slovenly, if you act so mature and responsible now you’ll grow old in a blink of an eye. - ruskie spoke his mind, leaning against the machine's right forearm, near where the girl in question started her repairs.
- So said the wise sage? - she scoffed without looking at him, resetting her attention for the work at hand.
- So said the man who made that mistake already.
- You’ll have to introduce me to him one of these days.
- Zhopa. - he chuckled under breath while taking a sip.
- Don’t worry, your little head, Red. Youthful blood runs in my family.
- Couldn’t tell.
- Guess I walked straight into that one.
- You sure did.
Both chuckled, as the mech pilot took a knee to look at the servo from a different angle. Taking an unorthodox position, her companion couldn’t help but steal a glance at a place where no reputable man dared to look in public.
- I would say that my eyes are somewhere else, you lush. - she said calmly, putting a wrench into her pocket and grabbing an allen key. - But I don’t think you would reach my eye-sight now.
- You’re too kind. - Misha grinned, being caught red-handed. - You do have a nice rack, though.
- I am quite surprised it took you this long to say that. Ya know, some could interpret it as workplace sexual harassment.
- That’s how you kids call it these days? - ruskie spat on the ground. - Back in my day, appreciating a fine looking woman was proof of good taste and proper etiquette, as long as you weren’t married.
- So that answers one of my questions. - she whispered, changing the repair tool again. - Don't worry your little head, old-timer, I don’t mind that much, as long as you’re just stealing glances.
- Hey, durak, what gave you the idea I’d try anything else? Do I look like some creep?
For that question, Barbara paused.
She turned around and looked him straight in the eyes.
The both remained silent, locked in the battle of gazes.
- Nah, I’m just fucking with ya. - Prusk started laughing before turning back towards her playground.
In response, the old Russian leaned back and took a deep sip.
- Pashol na hui, almost had me going there for a minute.
- Don’t worry, compared to Chernobog you look like a kindergarten teacher.
- Are you still trying to diss me? - the Russian wasn’t too sure how to interpret that.
- I am just happy that despite your age you still know how to banter and goof around, Red, unlike the resident grump of the Scout Squad. - they both knew who that moniker was referring to.
- It’s his personal charm, devochka! Every group needs that cold and calculating guy.
Hearing that, she exhaled heavily. It wasn’t that she minded Chernobog’s personality, she simply would have liked it if he could act more approachable to people close to him. With that in mind, she turned around, about to ask Morozov for a ‘flat-head’ from the toolbox.
Surprisingly, a hand with the exact screwdriver was already extended towards her. At its opposite end was a grinning Russian.
- So ya got any more funny gossip to share? I am quite fond of that girly-talk.
- We’re not gossiping, we are exchanging information on an old fart who is tougher to crack than an old Russian tank. - she corrected him while snatching the screwdriver.
- Ha! That’s a very good comparison, devochka! - Morozov was greatly amused. - Unfortunately for you, he behaves almost exactly the same around his close friends, so I won’t help you too much.
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- Does he behave exactly the same or almost the same?
- Zhopa, you know what I mean.
- Yeah, yeah, that’s a bummer…
With that, she focused again on her work.
Barbara wasn’t about to say it out loud to the giant blabbermouth next to her, but she grew somewhat fond of the Chernobog and Argonaut duo, despite knowing them for barely a day. They had something about them that she could best describe as a ‘vibe’.
One that made them exude an almost suffocating aura of mystery that instead of pushing the young pilot away made her want to learn more about them. That’s why the realization that Chernobog was holding out on the info concerning Argonaut filled her mouth with a bitter aftertaste.
Wasn’t she helpful and friendly towards them?
Why didn't they want to open up to her?
“Maybe big sis will know” - she pondered, ending maintenance on another servo. - “She’ll probably say that I’m trying too hard and going too fast”.
Prusk couldn’t help but smile meekly. The number of times her older sister gave her an earful over the years made some of the responses almost predictable. But she’d see how it turns out once she met up with her.
- I see that Argonaut did a number on you after all. - Chernobog’s calm voice jolted Barbara away.
She turned around and surely, there he was, with a towering regenerator in tow. Despite his usual gloomy demeanor, he seemed strangely happy.
It was baffling. But maybe it was Barbara who still had a lot to learn about the old soldier before her.
- Must have launched him pretty far. - she welcomed them both with a smile. - But still, nothing? Not a single scar on him?
- It’s all in the name. - Chernobog responded. - If you want to stop a regenerator, you gotta kill them in a single stroke.
- Or to send them flying all the way to the border. - Morozov interjected, earning a low roar from the previously mentioned bio-weapon. - There, there, big guy, no need to be a sore loser.
- Don’t agitate him. - Barbara kicked the Russian in the shin, garnering no reaction. - Maybe you should get him some GPS bracelet? To prevent issues like that from occurring in the future?
- Sure, let me ask the local forest gnomes. - Dirk said sarcastically, heading out towards the place where their Scout Squad was located.
- This was a business proposal, old-timer. - the woman got swiftly into the pilot seat, finally finished with the repairs. - Making a rur-rudre-rudemr- a simple device like that would take me half a day at best.
- I see, and? - Chernobog turned around, somewhat intrigued. - Want to sell it to me? I’m not too keen on monetary transactions. I’m here to make money, not spend it.
With a roar, Pollux’s engine awoke from its slumber. The mech took a few steps towards Dirk before stopping.
- Oh, I don’t need your dough. - declared the machine’s pilot from the wide-open cockpit. - I’d just ask ya to loan me Argonaut each time we reach a stop, for training purposes. Even if I won, it was way too close of a match. - she turned towards the regenerator. - I need to get better and by looking at your friend, I can tell, we both want this.
Jason didn’t show any expression through the gilded helm, which raised a question how Barbara reached that conclusion, but at the same time Dirk cast his gaze down.
The old soldier inspected the ground, shrouding his face in shadow and unkempt hair. He wasn’t contemplating the offer, though. He was hiding his shit-eating grin.
Everything proceeded perfectly as he wanted it to. God of war didn’t even have to beg Barbara for anything, nor attempt any type of barter.
A lesser man would consider such an outcome a stroke of luck, but Dirk knew better. It was an outcome of meticulous planning and decent enough acting on both his and Jason's part.
He might not have been as rusty as he thought when it came to espionage tactics. Not wanting to toot his own horn too hard, he looked at the machine before him, meeting the woman’s eyes filled with expectations.
- You sure ‘bout that, kid? Argonaut is a wild beast, next time he might do something you won’t predict, and I might not be there to pull on the leash.
- That almost sounds like you’ve got no faith in me. - the steel left arm of Pollux waved dismissively. - Don’t sweat the small stuff, I’ve got parts to spare if the worst comes to pass.
- Is it economically viable to play like that? - Morozov interjected, while lighting a cigarette.
- You too got your panties in a bunch? If the pilot-mechanic of the vehicle says they can handle it, why do you still doubt them? - she was a step away from pouting. - Experience in fighting against humanoid bio-weapons is much more precious than any spare part. How many people in the world could ever say they got any of it?
- True, I suppose. - Dirk contemplated for a bit before turning around towards his previous destination. - I’m in, we can shake on it once you’re out of that death-machine.
With that, all sides got what they wanted and left the trade satisfied. While walking away, the old man shot a glance at his Russian friend, who without saying anything got the memo and promptly joined him.
- I’ll join you guys in a jiffy, need to check up on sis! - pilot Prusk declared before strutting away in her own direction.
Once she was gone and the trio made considerable progress towards the Scout Squad gathering point, Morozov lightly elbowed Dirk.
- So, what’s the new sensation spreading through the nation? - he kept his voice low, predicting the importance of what the others had to share.
- I’ve met up with Marcus, or rather his proxy.
- Suka blyat, for real?
- Who? - Jason whispered, lowering his head.
- Old friend, might have heard of him. - Dirk gave the giant above him a side-eye. - He’s in the military, likes bug taxidermy.
It took the youngest of them three a bit, before he connected the dots and simply said.
- Holy shit.
- What did he want? - Misha took the reins of the conversation to not derail it any further. - Don’t say he only wanted to catch up.
- Apparently a certain upstart got things in motion to put a noose around my neck. - despite the severity of their topic, Dirk acted casually.
After all, they were in the middle of the Ouroboros encampment, if they somehow were already on-site they wouldn’t try anything. But acting suspicious about their topic could catch the attention of some riffraff, and he had no desire to deal with any at the moment.
- Sent a pack of stray dogs after me, two found my scent, more are still napping. - the code in which he spoke, despite its impromptu nature, seemed easy enough to understand for his listeners.
- That’s quite a lot of dogs. - ruskie summarized with a sage-like expression. - We don’t have enough snacks for them all.
- What do snacks mean in this context? - Jason inquired.
- You don’t know? For shame malchik, for shame-
- Nothing, he is fucking with you. - Dirk cut the joke short, prompting the giant to stare down Morozov who winked in response. - I want you to inform me of any dog-stench within your unit and get as many people who are good with dogs on your side as you can.
- Yeah, yeah, I know how to get along with people. - the Russian responded dismissively. - How’s it looking on your side?
- Found one, possibly two dog-lovers, but haven’t checked their resumes yet. Not counting the sisters that is.
- I wouldn’t rely too much on the older one if I were you. - Misha rubbed his naked scalp. - From the few words I exchanged with her, the “big-boys” of Ouroboros are keeping her under close watch due to the nature of Castor.
- You’ve seen it?
- Da, lemme tell ya - Russian whispered loudly. - That thing is a walking natural disaster, no way in hell Ouroboros will allow it to even straighten its joints without direct permission.
- That’s fine. - Dirk said with a smile.
- It is?
- Sometimes a gun in its holster is more dangerous than the bullet it could fire.
- Sounds like the “Cold War” doctrine. - Jason made himself known with a poignant commentary.
- Exactly. Its presence will limit the RoE those mutts could apply even further, us being in good graces of the older sister wouldn’t hurt to that end.
- Blyat, you know I’m not good with married women.
- Sounds like a “you” problem. - the old soldier smirked and looked towards his friend.
- Idi na hui, blyat. - it was the first time in a long time that Morozov was visibly upset about something. - Don’t expect a miracle, but I’ll see what I can do.
They finished just in time, as the ugly vehicle that previously caught Dirk’s attention reared its head. They reached the Scout Squad, but this time around Michael Becker was nowhere to be seen. Instead, some new faces turned around to observe their approach.
“An EoD suit? Haven’t seen that in years” - Dirk commented on one of them as they approached. - “That thing is more ancient than Misha’s PM pistol.”
Being back in character, Argonaut growled. Giving one of them, a man who wore a full Ouroboros outfit but with a checkered armband, a pause.
- Don’t be a bitch, Lance. - a muffled voice came from the beige explosive-resistant suit.
- Go fuck yourself “Spoon”, not all of us wear 40 kilograms of kevlar. - the reluctant man responded, looking Argonaut up and down.
There were two others, but they stayed by the horrendous looking transportation vehicle.
- How can we help you, gentlemen? - Morozov started, clasping both hands together. - Want a donation? Directions? Or maybe a broken nose?
- Easy there, “baldy”. - the armored man took charge. - We’re all reluctantly sitting in the same boat here, so my friend and I came over to introduce ourselves properly to our squad's late-comers.
“Honest response with a veiled insult, guess some corpo-type interactions were long overdue” - Dirk couldn’t help but wince internally.
- I’m “Spoon” and that’s “Lance”. - he pointed his thumb towards the other guy before looking at Chernobog. - And you are-
- You sure his name ain’t “Fork”? - The Russian decided to force himself into a conversation he was denied a part in. - That would make those in the back a “Knife” and “Tea Spoon”, giving you a whole bourgeois cutlery dinner set!
- Very funny. - Spoon spared him a quick response before taking a few steps towards the owner of the bioweapon. - Am I correct in assuming that you’re Chernobog?
- You are correct. - not wanting to antagonize his teammates too much, Dirk spoke out. - Two others in the back don’t feel like introducing themselves yet?
- It may sound a bit “weirdam”, but they are shy. - Spoon explained with a very forced laugh.
The old soldier had no clue what the other man was talking about. That word sounded like he was having a stroke in the middle of the sentence.
Maybe it was some lingo of the modern youth? If that were the case the armored guy gave him more info than he realized. The realization of how much power simple words like that held came pretty late in life for some.
- Nothing we can do about that. You want something else from me? - he might have been playing a role the whole time, but the performance Spoon invited him to felt stale. - If not, I’d like to get to my things I left in the truck, my regenerator is hungry, you see?
As if to make sure the point stuck, Jason growled and small droplets of saliva started escaping his limiter helmet. Quickly getting the gist of it, Spoon simply took a step back, while his friend walked back to the other two.
- Thanks. - Dirk nodded.
- What military unit are you from? - the bomb-suit man asked the last question.
- One where you do a favor to get a favor. Stick around and maybe you’ll learn.
With that, the conversation was gently put down by Dirk as he marched onwards towards the truck. The hour of their departure was inevitably drawing near, and as much as Dirk had already made himself familiar with their transport from the outside, most of the interior of the lumbering beast was still a mystery to him. His only contact with it was brief, serving only the mundane role of depositing food for Jason somewhere recognizable. A mistake easily rectified, if only he could squeeze by without any more annoyances taking up his time.