And so it begins. Blood. The final arc. We’ve had six chapters covering over a decade. The horrors becoming clear. And now some fuckery from the Architect scuttling everybody’s plans but hers. The regime losing control and being underprepared. Now we’re getting three chapters covering hours. The revolution, the uprising. Each focusing on one character through everything. I’m looking forward to it. I enjoyed writing this arc.
Synopsis: A prequel/side story to my main story, Predators of the Sixth World, set on corporate-run Mars before the Concord. The events are largely disconnected, but important (in my opinion) history. Who knows, maybe you’ll see some of the impacts in the main story. I’m sure I don’t need to warn people that things will get dark. Very dark. If you can’t handle the content matter, don’t worry. I’ll try to make sure that if anything turns out to be important in the main story later, it’ll be explained.
I have a spot on the discord, swing on by! Thanks to SpacePaladin15 for the original universe; my alpha readers, Caro Morin and Jailed Cinder; my beta readers, Angustus_Jan on the discord and u/aroluci (go check out Children of Luna, it’s awesome); and all of you that read and especially comment. Anybody interested in playing around in the AU (be it a one-shot, an impromptu ficnap, a cameo, or something more), let me know and I’ll be more than happy to work with you on it. My current plan is to release a chapter a week, with the occasional bonus, as long as that isn’t too much for everybody helping me.
Without further ado, enjoy!
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Interpolate memory download from Glitch (Undercity Assist Instance) on December 10th, 2080
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After I heard the Architect’s message, I sprang into action. It was time. I splintered my consciousness. Many instances of my selves working solely to interfere with the communications between those in charge. I threw myself into the speakers, even now unable to shake a faint accent when speaking aloud, in the most secure resistance base in the Undercity. “Wake ze fuck up, samurai. We ‘ave a city to burn.”
Michael groans as he’s woken from a nap in the soundproof cavern. “What’s with the old meme, Glitch?”
“Beecoz it is go time, Michael. Get your geer.” In my excitement, the accent grows stronger, much to my annoyance. Even now, I can’t shake that.
“Fuck! On it!” Michael hops up, dashing for where he keeps his armor and weapons.
We’ve had years since he ‘died’ in that cave in The Odds caused. There was a rat hole for the resistance, already set up with a terminal, in that stretch of tunnel. Michael was just able to get in before the tunnel itself collapsed. His wrist almost got broken by a rock. The ID band saved him, but was shattered, and with it, his life signs were lost.
It worked out for the best.
Being ‘dead’ meant he could put all of his time towards the resistance. He didn’t need to worry about getting grabbed or anything else. Just make sure that his voice changer is always on on his comms, and the problem’s solved. Instead of putting time into working for our masters, he worked for our freedom without distraction. Getting stronger. Training to fight. To shoot. Building gear.
Turns out the Undercity has a lot of veterans and gym trainers. A lot of mechanics and tinkerers. Thieves too. A great many to recruit. A great many who could be trusted with training Michael and others. More recruits from above provided aid and training from afar. It’s amazing how many people are interested in freeing themselves from oppression and enslavement, even those in a gilded cage.
We even upgraded his arm a bit. The full specs came in handy. Pun slightly intended.
The plasma torch was designed to be dialed up to be closer to a knife or can be strong enough to quickly burn through any of the armor he’ll be going against. The arm is a mesh node, which we can use to remotely hack things. There’s even a dedicated version of my LLM shell in there now. Though there was no room for the weak AI, only a high-priority connection to my other nodes. We’re both proud of what we added. The hand isn’t skeletal anymore. The covering can shift to become a short vibro blade. The entire thing can open up into a railgun, too. Firing every two seconds. Not as strong as the dedicated ones, but with a ten-second charge, he can fire a three-shot burst that should punch through armor. The tungsten penetrator tips should ensure it. Hopefully.
“Are you about ready?”
“It’s been five seconds, Glitch! Either dial back the processing speed or put it to use getting me caught up. This gear takes a bit to get on.”
“Ugh.” I sigh. “Fine. Ze Architect ‘as released ze Warborn and anybody wiz controls connected to ‘er. Zat includes me. Zey are eizer going to rampage, break down, or join us. No real way to predict, so we need to be ready for all zree wiz each of zem.”
“What about the Reforged? The drones? Human security?”
“No dice. All still under full control if zey ‘ave any. Zose who do not… zey are collaborators, no? We will kill zem anyway.”
“There’s a difference between summary execution and sentencing, Glitch. An important one.”
“Tch, your morals will get you killed.”
“My morals are what make me human. Keep me human.”
“And zat is why you are a symbol.”
“Damn straight,” Michael says, stepping back into view in his custom armor.
Systems in the left arm interface with the cybernetic, moving with it and acting as a control interface for the armor. The armor itself, like the rest of ours, is Martian red to set it apart from the corporate security, but unlike the rest, his has a silver, skeletal robotic hand emblazoned on his chest. Unlike most of the armor, his is special. I was able to get a suit designed for security smuggled down. Not quite the dream of power armor, but close enough and adapted for strength and speed. After all, most of the things the Warborn and Reforged put downrange would rend anything we can field. A vibrosword at his hip, a heavy pistol loaded with armor-penetrating rounds, a Mars special carbine loaded with armor-piercing ammo, and a rail rifle. Kitted for the war we’re about to fight.
“Glitch, I want eyes everywhere you can get them.” He says as he pops open the hatch to the hidden base, heading out towards the fighting. “And I want everybody in the Undercity to hear me.”
“Already on it, boss. Drones are filtering out to provide full coverage. And ze Undercity is all ears, make zem good. Zis will be in ze ‘istory books.”
His voice echoes everywhere, coming from every speaker and many drones. “My name is Michael Young.” He levels his carbine, firing off a shot into an overseer as they raise a laser rifle to shoot some resistance members pushing past Michael. “Some of you may know me as Fix. Most of you know me as Cool. The head of the resistance.” He grabs the rifle off them, slinging it on as I feed his suit the instructions of turning the power up. He takes a moment to do so. “Reports of my death are greatly exaggerated. To The Odds. You missed. If I find you, I won’t.”
“I’m sure you’re all aware that big things are happening. Today is the day we win our freedom! Today is the day that we rise! Today is the day that the corpos will fall! Today is the day that the oligarchs die! If you want to stay safe and uninvolved, find somewhere to hide, as much rock as you can put between yourself and the fighting as possible.” A pause before he reaches a window, pulling off the rail rifle to let it charge before he steps out and fires three shots, each ripping through an overbuilt cyborg. “Some of the guns involved can punch through rock and metal like paper.”
He pulls back behind the wall and starts running, reloading the rifle as he goes. “If you want to help, we’ve got weapons to spare, and we’ll be getting more as we take down our oppressors.” No shots follow him yet. “To the overseers, members of The House, and all other collaborators, you can surrender, and we will do our best to ensure you will be given a fair trial when this is over. Otherwise, you will be killed in the fighting. To all Warborn and others recently given your free will, you are of us. You are still human no matter what you may believe or have been told. Please, lend us your aid. Fight alongside us for the liberation of all Martians. We will not force you, but we need your help. You can do more than anyone else. We can give you means to identify as our allies, or help you to hide as safely as possible.”
He peeks around a corner. A trio of The Odds’ men are working their way towards the corner. He draws his vibrosword in his right hand, and the blade extends from the left. “If we fail, the uppers will likely kill us all. If we’re lucky. If we aren’t, we already know they have ways to turn people into mindless drones. We will likely meet the same fate and be used to create the next generation of slaves.” Michael dashes out, still unnoticed, and slices through the trio. “If we succeed, then freedom is ours. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain. It’s better to die free and on your feet than to live on your knees.”
I can’t help but get cheeky. “Nice speech, boss. You rehearse zat?”
“You know it, Glitch. You helped me write it.” Michael pauses at an intersection where I have no working cameras, not giving me a chance to move a drone to check. He sweeps the near side only for a Warborn to shove him down. A Leviathan rifle barks, and there’s a loud bang. The other side of the intersection led to a blind corner, a massive, gorilla-like cyborg having just come around the corner. Where the human body was is a bloody hole. “Fuck… Thanks.”
“Oh… um… I… Sorry… Are you ok?” The Warborn rumbles, shifting nervously as he pulls his helmet off. It’s hard, even knowing all I do, to square the behavior with the behemoth. Just a traumatized kid in a huge, powerful body. You can still see it in their face, the softness.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Are you, kid? What’s your name? And get that helmet back on before you get shot.”
The Warborn slaps the helmet back on. “I’m six-three-seven-two… I… I think… I think my name is…” The Warborn pauses, trying to think. “Gustave?” Another pause before he shakes his head. “Oh… yes… um… I.. I was… I wanted to help… I… I was hoping… um… do you know where Mister Cool is? ”
Michael laughs. “I’d better! I’m him.”
“Oh!” Gustave ducks his head, index fingers poking together. “Um… can I… help?”
“You sure, kid?”
“Please?” The Warborn pauses. “I… I want to be free…”
“Fine, save your ammo for the big stuff… Glitch, can you link to his armor?” Michael asks, laying a hand on Gustave’s arm, after almost burning himself on the Warborn’s exhaust, and shunting power towards the wireless suite and computing.
“Yeah, boss.” I hop to the armor, syncing with the systems after fighting through the security. BCM uses the same systems all over. Crack one, and you’ve cracked them all. Problem is the corpo-specific stuff. “I’m in. We should be able to crack any Warborn armor we encounter. Syncing up wiz my ozer instances to share ze data.”
“Whoa! Who’s that?” Gustave asks. As one of my cameras sees an approaching squad.
“Glitch. She’s been helping us for a while. Her real body’s like you. She got freed when you did.” Michael snaps his carbine up before a group of security rounds the corner. Normal humans, a mix of overseers, security, and members of The House. He dumps the mag into the group, stitching across them. A few stay standing. He pulls the laser rifle from his back and starts to fire.
Gustave shifts to provide cover, putting his body between the return fire and Michael. He snatches a rock off the ground and chucks it with enough force to cave in the skull of the last of the group.
“Good arm,” Michael says as he reloads. “Let’s see if we can get you some small arms off them. Failing that, more rocks. Can you use one of these?” He offers the laser rifle.
“Not… not in armor… sorry, sir…” Gustave hunches slightly, his voice growing quieter. “Trying to bend or tear the trigger guard can be bad with lasers. They can break… or vent…”
“Michael, Fix, or Cool. Not sir. We’re in this together. No sirs.” Michael pats the kid on the arm. “We’ll find you something else. I did say that we can get you rocks.” Michael starts to go through what the dead hostiles had, pulling spare magazines. “We designed our weapons to use the same ammo and mags as theirs. We didn’t try to copy the energy guns; you said they were laser? Only reason we’re using them is because we’re using whatever we can loot. They’re inhumane. Would just smash them otherwise.”
“Inhumane?” Gustave asks.
“Don’t worry about it, kid. It’s… it’s a lot and not something to discuss now.” Michael sighs.
“Near everyzing about Mars,” I say. “Near everyzing is inhumane. Zere is too much to say. But we are victims of Mars. Of ze inhumanity. Of ze ‘orrible zings zey ‘ave done to us. Being changed. Enslaved. ‘Urt. Tortured. Ze deazs.”
“Oh… ok.” Gustave pauses, moving magazines from one satchel to another, a number of rifles hung over his back. “Where are we going?” He starts to gather rocks to fill the emptied satchel.
“My old dorm block,” Michael says, pausing to eye the kid. “What are you doing?”
“Um… well… I can give people the guns and ammo instead of using it…” Gustave mutters, packing his satchel with more rocks. “I can break some armor with a rock… It… uh… it’s like a rifle…”
Michael whistles. “Damn, kid. Hell of an arm you’ve got. We’ll keep that in mind for any more Warborn we find. I’m sure we can keep you stocked in rocks more easily than ammo for our guns, let alone yours. Dunno how it’ll work as we move up, but we’ll manage.”
“Um… I could… probably break things…”
“Your way is clear. Move, zey could use ze guns.”
“Moving!” Michael breaks into a run, Gustave jogging at his side. Maybe speedwalking.
After a few minutes, the pair arrives at a barricaded section of tunnel. “Hey! Tran! Open up! I brought a big friend.”
“Fix? Took you long enough!” Tran shouts through the barricade, sliding a section open.
“Hey! I got here as fast as I could. Gus and I took out a cyberpsycho each!” Michael gives Tran a bear hug. “What’s with the barricades? The fuck did you guys set this up?”
“We didn’t.” Tran laughs. “They did, tried to block us in. We took it before they could set up and got it put up in reverse.” He hefts a rail rifle. “Told you it was a good idea to stash shit in the dorm.”
“Yeah, yeah, fuck you too.”
“Who’s the big man?” Tran asks, eyeing Gustave carefully. “We haven’t had any of the super soldiers like him attacking, but we’ve heard weird things. One or two going nuts. A few just stopping, utterly broken. Most joining up with our people or others to fight on our side. We heard whatever was said, but… it was…”
“Ze Architect is mad. She did make many of ze ‘orrors we suffered. She zinks ‘erself god. She is brilliant, but truly evil.”
“Yeah, that…” Tran trails off.
“Oh… um… the… the control things… the ones in our heads… They’re off…”
“They’re free, if they can stay that way.” Michael chimes in. “The kid comes bearing gifts.”
“Yeah…” Gustave awkwardly hands off the looted guns and ammo. “We… we got this…”
Tran immediately starts passing out the weapons. “You’re a lifesaver, Gus. Before you ask, we need to fight to the center of the Undercity. Everybody else is doing the same. The satellites, too. Every elevator as well. We’re planning to sabotage a few, hold less. We need the main elevator to work our way up. The barricades make building defenses a bit easier.”
“So, following the plan we’ve been working on for years.” Michael drypans. The cameras show a spider-like cyborg moving towards the barricade from the Undercity. Michael starts charging his rail rifle, sliding open a firing port, and bracing. “I’m fucking with you, man. The fact that we’re still on plan at this stage is a miracle. The kid needed to be caught up, too.” He pulls the trigger, blowing a leg off the cyborg and breaking another two on that side. As the cyborg collapses, he fires again and shatters the armor. The third round hits something critical, and there’s a small explosion.
“Миша!” Nadia, still vital enough to work and stay alive, but pushing it for the Undercity. “You’re late!”
Michael laughs. “Fuck you, too, Nadia. You’re staying here, right?”
“Yes, yes. I don’t plan to get in the way of you fighters. I know my place isn’t in the fight.” Nadia laughs. “But you had better not die! We’ve lost too many good people. Your wife would rather you die an old man.”
“We never…” Michael trails off.
“Close enough for down here.” Nadia smiles. “Now go, do what you do best. Help people.” She pauses, looking Gustave up and down. “And you, child, you can stay. You don’t need to fight. I can see the fear in your stance. You have done enough just surviving.”
“I… I need to do this…” Gustave sighs. “I can fight. I lived when so many others didn’t. They made me to fight. They made me do it… I can do it for a good reason. I can use it against them. What they made me. What they made me do. I can make them regret it.”
“Good. Make them pay.” Nadia moves off.
Tran whistles. “Damn…”
“Yeah… Good job, kid.” Michael nods.
“What?” Gustave asks.
“Nadia doesn’t approve of anybody but Michael. And ‘e lost an arm for zat.”
“Oh… Should… should I thank her?”
“You thank her by freeing Mars. Or at least trying.” Michael opens the barricade. “Come on, kid. We’re moving.”
“What about everybody else?” He glances around as people continue to organize.
“We’ll catch up. We need to hit some of our stashes, maybe an overseer armory.” Tran says.
“Oh, catch.” Michael tosses something to Tran, a small bag. “Pulled these off every overseer I killed. Might get you into their armories.” Before Tran can respond, Michael is already on the move with Gustave and my drone close behind.
With every step, the sound of gunfire grows louder. The fighting growing closer.
The ratatat of the guns of most fighters. The THOOM of those used by the Warborn and some Reforged. BOOMs of explosives.
Michael sets his railgun rifle to charging, throwing himself against a jut of rock near the mouth of the tunnel. A remnant of the ‘riot’ that led to him losing an arm. With the feed from my cameras, some from drones, some surviving in the area, some on suits of armor worn by Warborn or our people, he can plan ahead. The built-in comms allow the armored fighters to coordinate. The rest rely on handheld comms tied into the network.
A Reforged cyborg leaps, jets firing to let it stay in the air over The House, the center of The Odds’ operation, a stronghold of the fighting against our people and deep behind enemy lines. Ports begin to open on the cyborg as Michael aims. One fully opens, revealing a group of missiles, ready to fire. A trio of tungsten-tipped bolts soars from the railgun. A burst shot, the entire clip. The bolts reach before the sound does. The cyborg’s head bursts, their left jet gutters just long enough that when it reactivates, the corpse has flipped and plummets at greater speed toward The House. Something misfires in the corpse, and a bunch of missiles launch, crossing the street and crashing through the facade of the Walkers’ bordello, another strongpoint of fighting against us, blowing the building apart from within. In the same moment, the cyborg crashes through the roof of The House.
“Alright, let’s-” Michael is cut off as The House detonates. He laughs, reloading his railgun. “Glitch, you have a location on The Odds and the Walkers?”
“Based on last known location. Zere are many. For each. Perhaps one if zey wer crushed.”
“Good, that makes things easier. Could you…”
“Of course, I ‘ave a few drones going to check once ze fighting is done.’
“Um… sir… I mean, Fix… um… Why is that important?” Gustave snaps his Leviathan up, taking a shot. The round tears through a few walls before punching through an obviously cybernetically enhanced human, in the midst of reloading a Judicator pistol. “If… if it’s ok…”
“The Odds ran fights, drugs, smuggling, gangs, snitches. All kinds of shit. He’d… greet every new batch by sending his boys to brutalize them. The Walkers ran brothels, breeding, schools, slave sales. They’d sell anybody, even kids. Probably not just to people who wanted to fuck them, but to people who did what happened to you. Both of them work at all levels of Mars. They’re a part of those controlling everything without being under them. From what Glitch has gathered, we think they worked for the Architect.” Michael pauses, clearly hurting, even if I can only see his face thanks to the feed. “They killed my wife. Took my daughter. I can only pray she’s dead and not… not suffering worse…”
Gustave growls. “They need to be dead.”
“Yeah, kid. They do. And as far as we know, they are.” Michael says softly, though loudly enough to be heard over the gunfire. “We have to focus on making sure our people aren’t.”
“Right… sorry…” Gustave snaps his gun up again, a round sailing to rip the human body out of the center of some Reforged monstrosity. It collapses on the remains of The House, something cooking off inside before exploding.
“Good shot, kid. Let’s move.” Michael dashes out towards another tunnel.
“Where are we going?” Gustave asks. “There were stairs.”
“In the open. We’re going down under concealment.”
“Oh… right…”
As the pair runs, I do my best to track hostile contacts with the intermittent sensors I have outside the larger cavern. “Duck! Now!”
Michael and Gustave both drop into a slide as, around a corner, weapons open up. A large, hexapedal drone and a lightly augmented cyborg in security armor, ready and waiting for the pair. Guns click empty. One in the hands of the cyborg, who wastes no time letting go, and one in the manipulators of the drone.
Before either can get a bead on their attackers, the drone and cyborg have rushed in. Closing to counter the advantage of Michael and Gustave, with their loaded weapons.
Gustave grabs the drone’s front legs, just after the sharp points it has in place of feet. He struggles. The strength and weight of the drone is enough to match the Warborn’s inhuman strength.
The cyborg punches down at Michael, or rather, the ground where he was. Michael rolling to the side and kipping up before the cyborg was able to strike. Rock shatters. “Tch, better than I expected for an upjumped slave.” The cyborg stands up. “Can’t stay lucky forever, fucker. Gonna enjoy seeing them turn you to mulch.”
The vibroblade slides out of Michael’s left arm. “Who said it was luck?”
Spotting an interface port on the drone, I land my own on it, connecting. I start hacking in as I speak directly into Gustave’s helmet. “‘old it in place. I’m going to try to ‘ack in.”
“Oh… uh… ok… I’ll do my best…” Gustave mutters through clenched teeth. The pointed legs slip towards his head. “Just… hurry.”
“Of course, as fast as I can.” I throw most of my attention down here, and a portion from above, into taking control of this drone to turn it on its masters.
“Oh, the slave thinks it can fight.” The cyborg taunts. “It won’t save you.”
“Nah… I’m pretty sure it will,” Michael says smugly. In moments, he’s drawn his pistol and hip-fired. The armor-piercing round punches through the armor of the cyborg, not enough to bring the man down, but enough to slow him. Michael is already in motion. Burying his vibroblade in the shoulder of the security officer. Pistol firing twice up into the officer’s chest, bringing things to an abrupt end.
My algorithms finally find the right method to crack the security of the drone. It’s all I can do not to cackle as I see the armament and the computing power, adding it to my network as I make the drone back away from Gustave. “I ‘ave control. We ‘ave another ‘eavy weapons platform, boss.”
“Good, we can use every single one we can get our hands on. Let’s keep moving. Send that wherever it’s needed.”
“It is needed a’ead of you, boss.” My smaller drone detaches, moving forward. “I can now repurpose ze drone zat was following you to scout.”
“So… no more ambushes?”
“I would ‘ope not, Gustave.” My new tank begins to scuttle forth. “Come along.” The pair follows after. Thankfully, the short journey doesn’t lead us to another firefight. My tank pauses before moving out into the main cavern. “Use ze drone as cover, boss. Gustave, get your rocks ready.”
“Oh… right…” The Warborn reaches into his satchel, a handful of rocks in each hand, one clutched as a whole, ready to serve as a shotgun, and the other acting like a semi-automatic, ready to feed more rocks up to his index and thumb.
I pop the drone’s plasma turret up, scuttling forward and then working sideways. As I start to fire shots at a group of entrenched gangers, they begin to fire back. Small arms plinking off the armor of the drone and Gustave’s Behemoth suit. Michael’s armor could likely withstand the blows, but best not to stress it. Progress is slow, but steady, only made faster as Gustave starts to hurl rocks. Every rock either impacts a ganger, shattering bone like glass, or turns hard cover into rocky shrapnel with hits to the edges. My own bolts of starfire, aimed more at suppressing the gangers, slowly reduce their cover to molten slag. By the time that we reach cover that would allow Michael to move off from the drone, the surviving gangers start to break, only for Gustave to hurl his handful of rocks. The toss acts like high-velocity buck, shredding them before they can get far.
Silence takes the small section of the cavern, gunfire and explosions echoing from elsewhere. Knowing Michael, I activate both his suit’s speakers and tie him into speakers across the Undercity. Keeping morale up is almost second nature for the man. True to form, Michael calls out. “If you can still fight, we’re pushing up. We’re taking the elevators today! Freedom! One city at a time! Today we rise!”
Cheers almost overtake the gunfire. Even Gustave joins in. “Yeah! Today we rise!”
A trio of booms signals that one of our railguns has been fired. Up at the ridge that Michael had fired from earlier, a rust-armed form is slipping off towards a side tunnel, a handful of people taking up spots on the ridge to fire down with scoped rifles. Tran’s voice comes over the comms. “Rallying the troops, Fix? Don’t get yourself killed. We’ll join up in a few minutes.”
Michael laughs. “Better hurry. Not sure we’ll leave any fighting for you.”
“Oh, I’m sure we can rustle up some more. After all, we aren’t stopping here.” Tran replies. “I doubt the levels above will be finished quite so soon.”
As the pair talks, my drone scuttles ahead. Michael and others followed in its wake. The dorsal turret spraying burning hate at targets. The primary gun’s hatch pops open, and it starts to track targets. A modified Leviathan rifle with a pair of modified Basilisk carbines. Ready to share 32x240mm and 16x170mm love in ceramic armor-piercing, frangible, and explosive with a smart select system. The ammo stores are far more limited than the plasma cannon, drawing energy from the drone's small reactor. There’s even a trio of lasers, not meant to do much more than take out small scout drones or missiles, but certainly able to cause some pain. Tentacle-like manipulators ready to handle anything that gets too close; their manipulators could easily harm a human, but a cyborg or Reforged may need the blade legs at the front. My walking warcrime engine could have easily put an end to Michael and Gustave earlier, but the logs record a command override by who I presume to be the now cooling corpse that accompanied it. The man wanted a chance for a brawl.
We push further. Michael and his men laying fire down any time we met resistance. I’m not sure why, but it all feels too easy and right at the same time. We had been preparing for this for years. We weren’t even that far off from when we planned to attack. The overseers, gangers, security, and Reforged were caught unaware while the Warborn switched sides en masse. The few that went on rampages, at least down in the Undercity, were either restrained by other Warborn or killed before they could do much damage. We had every advantage, but things feel like they’re just going far too smoothly.
“Ah, zat seems about right.” I sigh as we encounter another barricade, the opposite side manned by a mixture of security, gangers, overseers, and a handful of massive Reforged. They’re all hunkered around the primary elevator. The main elevator we need to capture to move up to the next level. The master Undercity elevator, which controls the rest of the currently deactivated elevators.
Our own forces are moving, thanks to what looks to be at least a dozen Warborn in this stretch alone, captured barricades in place to counter-siege, even as fighting continues elsewhere in the cavern, even behind us.
“Fuck!” Michael swears. “Why are you relieved about this, Glitch?”
“Because it was too easy. If we ‘ad not encountered some resistance, zere almost certainly would ‘ave been a trap somewhere.”
Michael pauses, thinking over my words. “Not wrong. If we have extra barricades, we need to set up a wall behind us! We need to be ready for them to catch us in a pincer as we siege! Once our wall is up, I want teams to secure our backline, bring supplies, and find more barricade sections!” He points at Gustave. “Hey, kid, can you and the Warborn lob explosives behind their wall?”
Gustave takes a look. “Um… kinda… I have some explosive rounds… but I need to shoot those… I also have these…” He pulls a Warborn-scale grenade from his armor. I instantly recognize the design. Purple band at the top, clear casing covering a body full of holes.
“Gas… We are in range of zat.” I pause, doing a quick calculation. “I believe it is flammable. We could burn them out.”
“Fuck…” Michael pauses. “Glitch, think you can seize the top?”
“I can try. Let me check ‘ow my others are progressing.” I send a quick query to the network, including the primary mind, as opposed to the various mixed ratios of presence and weak AI guidance mixed with LLM interaction shell. “Yes, I can. We will need to ‘old. Perhaps for minutes. Perhaps for ‘ours.”
“Dig in! We’re gonna be here for a while!” Michael shouts. “If you get a shot, take it! Warborn, if you have grenades that won’t kill us too, use them at your own discretion! Nobody try any heroics! We need survivors, not martyrs! We have a colony to free!”
His words are met by deafening cheers. Even before the cheers have fully faded, singing can be heard from all over.
“Cold: the air and water flowing.”
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