I grab the IV tube connected to the bag loaded with sedative and the valve controlling the flow of the drug twists on its own accord to full flow, spilling the sedative all over the cot. Slowly getting back up to my feet while Tubby and his muscle are distracted by whatever is happening outside the barred window, I take a quick gander over their shoulders at what has gotten the pair so excited.

My breath is taken away at the sight of actual battle tanks painted in the stark white associated with ORPO charging towards the SOPO HQ. Accompanying the tanks are ranks of mech suits armed with axes, screening the flanks of the approaching force. Behind these troops are the men dressed in the usual ORPO style, white uniform with stab vest, carrying rifles. The entire assembly resembles a tsunami of metal and flesh sweeping towards the building I am in. The lamps mounted on the tanks and mech suits shine menacingly against the darkness of the late night, or perhaps is it already early morning?

The Voice wasn't joking about reinforcements being on their way. But no way such a large force would be fielded just to rescue me. Hernandez must be intending to use this opportunity to finish things with SOPO once and for all.

Instead of a wall, the SOPO HQ's perimeter is secured by a tall wrought iron fence bearing sharpened spikes to prevent any would be intruder from climbing over it. The fence is however no impediment to the tanks which just drive right through it, in the process uprooting large pieces of the structure from the ground. The mech suits and infantry flood through the gap created and continue their march towards the building. Little wonder my minders are standing at the window slack jawed at the sight.

I lunge at Tubby's back and stab the IV drip straight into his neck. Right on cue, I hear the sound of the IV bag being compressed and a huge glut sedative rushes down the drip. Tubby flares his core and attempts to struggle, but the sedative hits him like the proverbial truck and his entire body relaxes against his will. As Tubby's spirit core flickers intermittently as he struggles against the drug, I draw the automatic pistol holstered at his side and clumsily flick the safety.

Man, its a lot more difficult to do stuff like this without the core helping out.

The goon whirls about and draws his saber in one smooth motion. In response I pull Tubby's limp body against me like a shield and press the barrel of the gun against his head. The guard's saber lowers at this sight and I take the opportunity to take stock of my situation. Can't escape through the window, its barred and I don't have the means of forcing it open without using the core. That means I have to take the long way out of here.

I pull Tubby towards the Medical Room's door while keeping the gun on his head and my eyes on the goon. I lean Tubby against the wall with the gun still trained on him and open the door with my freed hand. Sweating profusely, I then put my hostage under a weak choke hold and depart from the Medical Room with him in tow. The guard soundlessly follows us with narrowed eyes, saber at the ready.

"Where's the exit?" I demand. Tubby moans incoherently in response while the guard looks on expressionlessly in silence. Shit, I don't have time to play games with these guys. Who knows when Tubby will recover from the sedative. There's also the issue of being caught in the crossfire between SOPO and ORPO.

I plant the gun against Tubby's leg and fire a shot, the gun's report echoing throughout the corridor. Tubby makes a listless sound of displeasure at the injury and blood spurts from the wound. Is he going to bleed out? Who cares, as long as he doesn't expire before I get out of here.

"Where's the exit!" I shout angrily over the blaring alarm.

The guard unhappily says, "Down the corridor to the main building's reception. That's the only way in or out of the detention block."

I spy the set of handcuffs and a holstered revolver hanging from the guard's belt and snap out an order, "Handcuff yourself to the door and slide your belt and weapons to me."

The muscle hesitates for a moment but complies when I aim the pistol at Tubby's other leg. In no time at all his left arm is secured to the door knob and he halfheartedly tosses his equipment belt and saber in my direction, the items landing at my feet with a clatter. Grunting in satisfaction I level the pistol at the helpless guard and fire off a shot straight into his gut.

The guard's eyes widen in alarm and his core flares, causing the bullet to pancake against his body, resulting in a shallow wound. I snarl and begin emptying the pistol's clip into my target, my finger continuously pulling the trigger until there's only a dry click and the empty cartridge is released from the gun's frame. The guard slowly slides to the ground, his right hand bravely holding in the ruptured organs that threaten to spill out from his blasted open stomach. He glares at me hatefully, and I realize that the wound is already starting to heal as the gaping hole starts to slowly close up. Guns really aren't worth all that much in this world after all.

Dropping Tubby to the floor, I pick up the discarded revolver and get back to blasting away at the wounded guard. The impact of the third shot from the revolver causes the guard's back to explode outwards, spraying guts and blood all over the wall as the light goes out of his eyes.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

As I am contemplating whether or not to deal with Tubby now or keep him around as a hostage, the entire building is rocked by a series of explosions right to the foundations. And the worst thing is, the explosions aren't stopping. They erupt at regular spaced intervals without any sign of dying down and are occasionally joined by the staccato burst of gunfire. ORPO must have begun to shell the building using those tanks of theirs.

I need to move, otherwise I might very well be buried under the wreckage once ORPO is done here. Deciding to hang on to Tubby as a precaution, I secure my hold on him and push forward towards the exit.

.....

"Inspector Scott! We're forcing them back!" the SOPO officer in formation next to me cheers happily.

I take in the surroundings of the wrecked reception area as a bone white mech suit desperately backpedals after my spirit sword had cleaved off both its arms. Another swing from my spirit sword pierces the armored cockpit, ending the life of the ORPO pilot. The mech suit sags to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut, joining its comrades already littering the floor of the reception. My long hair flows freely down my back, the neat bun undone by a missed swing from the mech suit I just took down.

My colleagues and I stand tall amidst a sea of white against a backdrop of red. Mundanes are really no match for mages. Guns, mecha, all these tools cannot make up for the fundamental inferiority of ORPO. I frown when I realize that Hernandez had already disappeared from the scene. That rat must have run like the coward he is the moment things started looking rough for his side.

The remaining mech suits rally and hold their position, giving the riflemen cover to fire their weapons. The ORPO infantry kneel and their guns begin vomiting out a relentless barrage of lead at us. Pathetic. If volley firing is all it took to drive back mages, then humanity wouldn't have lost so much during the Millennium War. At my signal, all the SOPO officers raise their sabers and with a series of lightning fast flicks, deflect the ineffectual stream of gunfire.

More and more riflemen begin piling into the reception, adding to the weight of the firepower being thrown at us. I roll my eyes and keep deflecting their useless attacks. ORPO is what happens when the past refuses to acknowledge that it should remain in the past. Obsolete tactics used by obsolete people. An irrelevant organization, that should have been consigned to the rubbish dump long before things got this serious.

This world belongs to mages, and no amount of ranting from people like Hernandez about the perceived unfairness is going to change things. And guess who decided to show up again. Hernandez stands behind the line of riflemen, shouting into a radio.

"They're pinned down. Now! Open the breaches now!" Hernandez's roars in his hoarse smoker's voice.

The entire building shakes as the tanks open fire on the building at Hernandez's signal. But reception is left completely untouched from the attack. After a moment of bewilderment, my mind makes sense of what is going on, causing my spirits to sink. I got too overconfident and forgot about ORPO's one big advantage over us.

Their overwhelming numbers.

"Fall back to the motor pool!" I order my colleagues, "We cannot hold this place!"

A ripple of confusion spreads across the formation, but my colleagues trust me enough to follow me at my word. The formation begins to break away under fire as the mech suits slowly begin to creep towards us. Hernandez is using the tanks to create openings for his men to charge through. If we stay at reception, we will eventually get surrounded by the ORPO troops moving in from both sides. At least at the motor pool we have a chance of managing a breakthrough of the siege we are in.

As we make our way down the corridor with Hernandez nipping on our heels, I see mech suits and infantry pouring through a nearby hole in the wall. Its too late, we are already flanked. My colleagues, no, my friends begin to succumb to the attacks tearing away at both ends of the formation.

"Charge!" I shout and raise my sword high. Its impossible to fight off so many opponents at once. We need to cut a way through as quickly as possible.

I rush headlong into the incoming reinforcements, with my friends right behind me, their sabers gleaming in the fluorescent light. A wall comprised of the mecha marches forward to rebuff us as Hernandez's unit gleefully fires away at our unprotected backs. I gather all my strength and swing wildly at my opponents, at this range its impossible to miss. Step by bloody step, we carve our way towards escape.

"Inspector help!" my neighbor in the formation screams in pain as a massive ax carried by one of the mech suits slams into his shoulder. But I can't help. I need to keep pushing forward or I will be next. I lower my head to avoid the sight of the ax hacking the man into mince as he screams at us, his friends who have abandoned him.

As I free myself from the meat grinder, the sibilant hiss of static begins cutting into the alarm sounding throughout HQ. The PA system must have gotten damaged in the fight. The static mocks me for my failure as a leader as the formation I lead falls apart in bloody heaps, evidence of my failed gamble. There is nothing that I can do for my friends, not now when its too late.

Soon, I stand alone against the tide. With nowhere else to turn, I face the stampeding ORPO force and flare my spirit. I will not fall here. Not when there is still a chance for me to be with Tensei. The blade of my spirit sword begins to crack as the power builds. I shut my eyes.

And throw the sword up as hard as I can.

An earsplitting explosion tears through the area, and I barely remain standing as the blast wave from the spell slams against me, pulling at my hair. The alarm fails completely, the speakers occasionally emitting only static. But other than that, silence reigns after the ringing in my ears passes. I open my eyes and see the entire corridor shrouded in dust and grit, the walls and floors pockmarked with craters. Through the gloom, I make out the wreckage of the mech suits and the piled up corpses of the infantry, all tossed together in an obscene pyramid, fresh blood pooling at the base.

Its over, for now. I need to leave this place before more ORPO reinforcements arrive. I hear them gathering just outside the building, their jeers breaking the silence. The motor pool should have a car that I can use to make my escape from here. To return to Tensei's side.

I stride down the corridor through the churned up grit and to my surprise come face to face with the man who should have been leading us in the first place.

Hartley kneels before me with a gun pressed to his head, whimpering feebly while bleeding freely from a leg wound. And menacing him is the person I hoped to put behind bars.

Gallant.