Curt peeks and hard shadows. Every angle to the sky looked through and listened to. Though silent running seems to be possible even for the massive, so the miniscule should be expected. Still every square had to be checked, every hole through and to until he was sure. A methodical crawl pulling his head out to the sun, but its comfort lost to the training demanding through the fog. A feral clamber under greyed out cloth cementing this disregard for his old wants. A slow shadow freeing itself from its defiled guardian, but stopping upright at its feet.
The echoes were non-existent. Peace had returned to his home. Some amount of rebuff to his headlong step out of the door. Micha wasn’t a fighter anymore, no matter how much he had been wronged. This little piece of sanctuary still inviting and intact. The Green still offering its bosomy carpet. And he was rather hungry actually-
No! No, shake those thoughts away. This is no time to fall back into another year of regression. To just let this mossy conqueror have its way in totality. That warmth was your weapon. That comfort your life blood. Those dreams who you were and not what you’ve become. This is your mission, your duty. Fulfill it and get back what was taken from you and prove your pride right.
A stern glare ahead to that trailing distance, a whipping off of that shadowing cover. The warmth of the sun allowed to feed those streaks of green and malaise, and keep him set on his duty profound. That coat fluttering and tied to his waist as he stormed ahead to leave his safe pond at long last. An assertion that the overwatch would be focused ahead, the drones not looking to retrace already treaded path. Least of all with such precious cargo needing to be secured. And he knew he could catch up and track this behemoth without fail, the city too winding a maze and his foe’s speed metered by consumption. There was no dissuading this, no temptation enough to draw a line. He wanted back what was his.
The city proper seemed to degrade and yet remain as he charged confidently forward. Less green and more grey domination as irrigation proved not quite so viable. Though still the damage was absolute to say the least. If a building even still stood it was by the barest sliver of concrete and rebar. Barren facades and shattered glass, coated in fine rubble and more than likely someone else’s asbestos. Roads chewed and scattered, or melted to weathering debris. Though there were still patches of life hegemonic. Craters abound and collect water as if purposeful. Emerald shores stretching and feasting upon the carrion of civilization. But among them there were those unfilled, cut out, fresh. Cracked open pavement and asphalt shaped, a cross cut of moss smooshed flat. A trail clear cut and impossible to miss. And yet doubled over in both directions. The quickest way out the way you came in.
“vvvrrrr -fuse to believe that. Serendipity is not this kind Rezz.”
“Well then *click* you can just sulk in your M.U.T.T. and regret ever doubting me.”
Micha’s ear piece was tuned to life with the sound of his thieves still chattering on. Some amount of reminiscence clouded with professional disappointment trying to make its presence in the fog known. Though most of it flattened out rather quickly. They talk too much.
“How does the road look at least Nieba?”
“…Drab. Green. The same as it was yesterday. Seriously, the hell?”
“Just good karma I guess. The commander always said the worst was behind, so ahead had to be fortune. She just expected it somewhere else.”
“With good reason…! Still refuse to believe we’re this lucky, everyone else who went in this far never came back. And honestly all of that is just optimistic hindsight. Stop thinking that everything has to get better.”
“Well it sure can’t get much worse… Goddamnit Dan I was actually feeling happy.”
“*slap* Ughh… Fine then, let’s be happy. You bet it all on red five and landed it fair and square. Just please don’t let it get to your head. I don’t… want to see you hurt more.”
“… You really need to find a better pickup line Dan. That was just depressing.”
“Hey, I’m serious! So don’t make me tell the commander about all these opsec violations.”
“ghe! You wouldn’t dare!”
“Oh wouldn’t I? Well then you’d better start actually using the full damn callsign!”
“Hrgg… uggghhh, fine! Oka Nieba how copy over?”
“Bearing two five zero is clear for the next five mikes Highmark 1. Over.”
“I hate you so much... Over.”
“Acknowledged Highmark 1. Over and- Oh shit!”
Casual listening turned to frantic scanning as the attitudes shifted on a dime. The prospect of compromised tailing barely even though of this far out, the city too quiet yet the data link flooding in manual.
“Bogies bearing two eight zero on intercept! Count two mark 90s and infantry! six… ten… Three squads in loose formation! uhhhh… shit I can’t get closer… Looks like anti armor mixed in. Fuck… Fuck! I told you we had it too easy, their hunting you!”
“Calm down Nieba! We see them but they don’t see us. Light ’em up and *clclak* get me some targets to shoot.”
A thumping surge beat Micha into action, he was too far away and he had to be there. Who they were fighting didn’t matter, but what they were fighting with made him too anxious to let this play out. Two mechs just like his, more than likely with firepower to match. Weapons meant to break armor open like it was never there and turn compartments to pressure cookers. And turn things inside them to slag. His reactor was in the line of fire and he had to keep it safe. The issue was he couldn’t do much to fully operational armor. Especially not with supporting infantry. But tactics were for later, he had to get there now!
“Four mikes and closing on your nose. Keep-“
“I got this Nieba, just keep the tags on them! See any markings?”
“Does blood count?”
“Okay so it’s ferals, maybe caution is warranted.”
“Ya think!!”
The others, those left out in the cold and unable to cope. Those champions of The Green’s hegemony. Micha had never been directly introduced but the fog offered enough ideas. His kind but far less peaceful and far more ornery about intrusions to their territory. Though his faded memories didn’t quite attribute mechanized warfare as one of their quirks. Maybe he wasn’t alone in clinging to an old life, just alone in sensibility and separation. But whatever the differences, the similarities would be too clear. He had to be careful or get swept up in the current of war. Jacket already getting forced back tight over the beat of his heart in his ear.
“First targets in range! Clear to fire!”
“Yeah, but that’ll just scatter the frogs to the alleys. Need to *bzz* cut their numbers.”
“Huggh… rrr… shit I just saw it… There, exposed supports!”
“Perfect.”
A slight echo against the bifurcated silence, falling debris to most but a step taken to Micha. Positioning carefully made. A hunting blind for a hundred or so tons of mobile death. If iteration still was what it was then it would be little more than a gun presented to the enemy. If they even recognize it as such. But he was close and more than confident of his assertions. The trail was still ahead but turned to avoid a quagmire of mossy hills. A straight away around the corner… and his quarry vibrating the air on it. He was close, too close to keep sprinting. It was time to keep low. A building blocking view still standing halfway, structure and hollow to use as cover should that eye in the sky turn his way. Jacket crouched into regardless, absorbing material and common palette good enough to fool the more robust sensors if they were present. And the darkness and cold blood anything else.
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
A slight sting at dusty disturbance, a shake rather than a cough clearing it back. An old storefront missing its doors, and windows, and anything even resembling a store. All except its counter, and the shadow it offered. That slight hum in the air putting confirmation to anxiety. An engine only so silent and a power too strong to be contained. A vague shape made out in unfocused peripheral, the route to his own hide more important. But he couldn’t not see the dark splotch against the grey and green. Hallmarks all to success of intuition. And the need to be as careful as possible. To crawl across a desiccated floor just a street away from a mech that outstripped his by leagues.
Where his was rounded, this was angled into shape. Dark black paneling formed into the same capsized boat without really capsizing it at all. A menacing yet fat point formed toward the front, armor angled enough to veer and bounce what came its way. Though towards the rear the aspect became plainly attainable. Vents stacked and blurring their contents, the outer paneling cresting the sides and top yet not covering much else. Waves of heat pouring from the spread thin exhaust, cloaking maintenance ports in mirage and definite dissuasion. No one was going near that for fear of lighting on fire. If they could ever get close enough.
Under the chassis and on top of the hull sat small hunches barely fighting to round the angular motif. But offering the astute serious pause. Some of them clear swiveling glass with sights tracking up and down the immediate. The others with tubes both aimed up and down, and smart enough to fire them at whatever got too close. Whether they be infantry or anti material, it would be splattered to slag. But all of this precaution was rendered comical compared to the main armament.
Four rails aligned and banded together square. Conjoined at the base by turret and rotor able to swivel and pitch to all angles of the operator. Feed in betwixt it all, solid metal ready to break all barriers before it. Yet more possibilities allowed if the blocky mass shouldered behind offered anything more. A rail gun above the one that used to be on his, yet its parentage clear and concise. His only had two rails.
Adding diversity to this standoff obliteration were more tubes racked together trapezoidal and hugging their mount opposite. More mundane missiles for when a gun taller than you are can’t really be brought to bear. But occluded here as this silenced hulk kept its bulk around its set up corner. Waiting for just the right moment.
“…aaand… There! Targets in the open.”
The man still exuded more worry than the woman actually in the field, but his apprehension became far more understandable as their opponents stomped into view. Rounded hulls and rusted plates, mundane armatures loaded still for bear. Not quite the mark 90 he had but still the same platform. Intricate and complicated rails replaced with conventional cannon barrels. Plural. Slapdash remountings and obvious salvage jobs adding something quite off putting. Something that can’t quite be saud enough given the massive skull painted in blood on the hull’s face!
And it was most certainly blood if the hung and tied to skulls didn’t make that fact clear. Not quite all human, but too many to just ignore. Adding some extra zing to the horrid motif was a more squared off rack opposite the married barrels. If this thing still had guidance then it would be a miracle, so assumptions leveled at dumb fired rockets packed to the gills with explosives. Not quite as precise and deadly, but more asbestos avalanche inducing than weaponized modernity. Though only if it was allowed to fire in the first place.
“100 meters… Please let this work?”
“It’ll be better than the alternative. Keep a tag on the squads, I want them out the most.”
“On it… 75 meters.”
The other stompy unit continued the aesthetic, though somewhat less bloodied. But the gaggle trudging behind the pair made things diverse enough.
Micha couldn't remember seeing his own kind before, but knew full well they were out for more blood to paint with. Their black gloss cut by similar green streaks of symbiotic chlorophyll, but stained red in more symbolic iconography. A want for death easily visible on their scarred up faces. A common injury between them all, snouts torn at for an instinctual breath they would never have again. Few wearing anything resembling clothes, mostly rusty orange and red plates tied to their extremities and vitals. Plenty of space left between for the sun to shine in, though larger ones seemed to not bother with even those. Muscle more than a deterrent in their very wrong eyes.
All bore rifles and guns of mixed make, savage demeanor only able to stay with sufficient force of arms. Some disrepair clear, but newer frames seemed able to withstand. Though they all were hardly a fit for the claws wrapped around them. This fusillade amplified well with more personal tubes carried on three of the five backs grouped together. Pointed tips jutting out the tops and simple mechanisms their middles. Dumb fire of a somewhat smaller caliber, yet optimized of payload. Able to punch into armor with molten metal fists if they got within range. Which these ill-mannered manders obviously weren’t ever going to.
“25 meters! Make this count!”
“I only need one.”
“That’s… that’s not… Just fire already damnit!!”
“F-fine!!”
The hum in the air turned to buzz through everything. The rubble strewn and the dust unable to settle. Micha’s skeleton seemingly wanting to revolt. Waveforms rippling the air at intensities too nervous to remain invisible. A feeling undoubtedly spread wide, indicating and belying nothing. Freezing those unprotected columns in their tracks as eyes and wits frayed to every visible firing hole. The stompers trudged but a step more, but stopped in their tracks. Disregarded indicators lighting up without a doubt. But self-contained reactions and redirected outputs left them blind. Until their doom flashed to material annihilation.
No spin imparted, no shouldered hunch backing. Just a flash of lightning preparing its path. Before a hard shot was pushed to its brilliant limits, and a bunch of concrete and rebar was made to take it on the chin. A highlighting streak of friction fire pulling at the air to zinging crack, terminating in a splash of instantaneous dust and debris. A hard rain showering, sparks snuffed out in powderized crest. And all of it falling over the unprepared.
Heads and bodies dropped down, warding off hard rain and sonic boom, and concise understanding of what was coming. Beating them with manufactured stone and metal debris, tinging against armor and cracking against flesh. Forcing all too low to escape the grander shadow being cast over them. A horrifying rush and push adding itself to the broken air. Matter en masse loosed to gravity unkind. And the ambush sprung for the enemy to know and rue horrified.
A scramble too late, slight turns and attempted stock taking made regret flooding over. As a concrete tsunami crushed its base to roaring thunder. More debris and splatter but red tinted green. Released pressure to much to let fly at anything but ballistic. Squishy bodies rippled in the moment they had, concrete knowing no mercy in a flight overmatched. All as their doom came complete and inescapable. A roar louder and louder, the air rushing away in fear, and Micha’s shadowing counter handed too much hope to outlast this crash.
The ground made to feel the air’s wanton fear, to heave and ho and threaten sympathetic topplings. A tidal wave of powderized building material swallowing up everything. Filling every space, and masking shrapnel shredding every surface unfortunate enough to bear witness. Choking out the light wherever it pressed into. Down alleys and side streets, through buildings both dilapidated and unsealed by force. A more true thief of those life giving rays but too great a force to withstand in anything but cover.
Hacking shakes and flashes of disaster were all Micha was left with as he struggled for breath. Bulky bodies getting obliterated by pressure and malicious debris, mechs beaten and eaten by dusty crescendo. He clung to his coat like a mask against the chokehold. But it was little help against the grit seeping its way into his eyes. An impossible to surmount regret ever leaving his pond taking everything else.
“fff… vvv…ca…t kee… tag… passin… heat sigs.”
The fizzing interference in his ear forced some amount of adrenaline in where it was needed. This was a battlefield and he was down range. Desperate pawing and scraping at the dust coating his skin followed him back out to the opposite street. Clouds occluding and keeping the cameras out of the loop. But a better option offered in the other way around as he ran through the alleys out of the line of fire.
Trash turned to mounds and rubble blockading forced him to detour, but the farther out the better. A parallel side street spared the clog of carcinogen, giving him a chance to breathe. To shake loose the worst and take full stock of where he could go. Pouring out clouds marking ways back in. And in use avenues for escape from within.
A scrambling dash for another busted front, only proceeded by the muffled stomps of fleeing bloodied metal bursting out into the road. Barrels catching corners and swaying without proper stabilization, making it look the part of a truly fearful being. But devastating in its retaliation. A leveling stomp, rotors barely able to keep it steady. A tension animalistic and vengeful. And a knowing alignment of where to press its fire. Hulking form cracking graveled street, and draping its shadow over the building opposite the turn. Casting it long over its front.
The one occupied unfortunate. Micha can’t escape the line of fire so easily.