Immediately after exiting into the alleyway, another explosion shakes the building's weakened foundation. A single, jagged steel plate dislodges from the overhead wall, impaling firmly into the ground beside me as it narrowly grazes me. I'm left with a long, precise gash running down the length of my arm, tearing through the sleeve of my black undershirt. Deep enough to sting sharply, but not deep enough to cause any lasting damage. I sprint out of the alleyway and take cover behind an overturned car. Corvus remains behind in the alleyway, using the outer corner to shield himself from incoming fire. For a brief moment, I peek over my protective barrier to assess the situation. I quickly duck back down once I catch a glimpse of our well-equipped adversaries.
An Icarus security detail makes its way towards us, trying to keep us down with suppressing fire. The newly advanced VTOL transport that dropped them off flies directly overhead, disappearing as another one descends to take its place - it appears that Icarus has upgraded its arsenal. More Icarus forces spill out of the troop carrier, the aircraft's side-mounted chainguns providing covering fire in a constant hail of bullets. Once the footsoldiers find adequate shelter, their transport takes off. This particular one remains in the immediate area, providing additional close air support as their ground elements continue to push their way towards us. I look up at a three-story building across from me, spotting a single Patriot mercenary in a top floor window. The mercenary mounts a rocket launcher on his shoulder, aiming at the enemy repulsorcraft hovering above. Within a few seconds, he achieves lock-on and sends the projectile downrange.
A massive fireball overtakes the side of the VTOL, the explosion obliterating one of its repulsors and forcing the crippled hovercraft into a downward spiral. The maimed transport slams into a building down the street, disabling the other repulsor as the vehicle loses all remaining power. Suddenly, the VTOL dislodges from the impact site and crashes into the street below. Another violent detonation engulfs the burning wreckage, illuminating the surrounding darkness like an eerily-lit bonfire. A single Icarus trooper stumbles out of the devouring flames, flailing his arms in a panic as the fire begins to consume him. I feel an unnerving chill travel down my spine as I listen to the blood-curdling screams. Soon enough, the screaming stops, the life extinguishing from the source of the screaming.
I shake my head out of a daze, trying to keep myself from being distracted. Corvus fires several bursts from his rifle, suppressing the enemy. I aim my sidearm and fire several rounds in tandem. Together, we force the security detail to entrench themselves behind heavier cover. They deploy several rectangular-block devices onto the ground, which erect into thick barriers of layered metal. Collapsable shields, completely impervious to small-arms fire, judging by my wasted ammo. Every round I fire is deflected off the curved design. Ingenious engineering, by the looks of it. The conglomerate must have ramped up its military-industrial complex in the last few months, considering the brand-new technology at hand. Another one of Vox's soldiers creeps up behind me, priming a grenade.
"This should snuff 'em out." The mercenary says, tossing the grenade behind the deployable shields. I quickly duck behind the car, my only form of protection against the explosive meat-mincer.
*BOOM!*
A loud ringing permeates my ear canals, drowning out the rest of the world around me. Thousands of tiny pebbles rain down, showering me in dust and debris. I silently cough and wave my hand in front of my face, trying to clear the hard-to-breathe dust. I find myself having to blink the burn out of my eyes, meanwhile the ringing in my ears begins to subside. The mercenary helps me to my feet, brushing the dust off my shoulders.
"You couldn't have thrown that any closer?" I snark at him, half sarcastic, half pissed.
"Look on the bright side, they're dead no-" His final words are cut short as a bullet impacts his skull, passing from one temple through the other. His blood splatters the side of my face and part of my clothes. I blink, slowly, trying and failing to process what just occurred. In an adrenaline-fueled rush, I snap out of it and get back behind the overturned car, my back to the metal. Once again, I peek over and see that the grenade had indeed taken out most of the troopers, outright destroying one of the barricades. One of them was still writhing on the ground, however, rifle still in hand. Half their helmet had been blown off, revealing a severely burned but vaguely feminine face. Metal fragments were embedded in the portions of her face that hadn't been seared off. What remained of her hair was torched, barely covering her face. As she raised her rifle, I put three rounds in her chest and ended her suffering.
"Nova, you good?" Corvus called out, rushing to my position. He glanced at the dead mercenary beside me, face wincing ever-so-slightly.
"At this point, I think I'm as good as I'll ever be." I said, purging a replay of the last five minutes from my mind.
Off in the distance, I can hear… thunder? As it gets closer, it becomes more apparent that a very loud engine was creeping towards us. The ground begins to shake as the obnoxious noise of a rugged motor overwhelms all others. An armored, battleworn truck rolls up behind us, its turreted machine gun providing support-by-fire as a few Patriot mercenaries pile out both sides. *TA-TA-TAT, TA-TA-TAT, TA-TA-TAT* the machine gun fires in brief bursts, establishing fire superiority by pinning down the remaining Icarus forces. The truck's horn sounded as the driver waved at Corvus and I, motioning us to the vehicle. With haste, we rush to the truck. I quickly climb into the passenger seat while Corvus mans the exposed machine gun in the flatbed. The driver puts the pedal to the floor, spinning the tires and launching us forward. Engaging the handbrake while spinning the wheel, he drifts into a very sharp U-Turn that raises the hair on the back of my neck. As soon as he comes about, he disengages the handbrake and hits the gas once more, zooming us out of the area.
"Thanks for the truck. *He* never gets me anything." I keyed into my TAC-PAD, trying to reach Vox.
"I heard that, jackass!" Corvus yells from the rear of the truck.
"Consider it a gift, from one fugitive to another." Vox keys back after a moment of silence.
The long ride gets bumpy very quickly. We drive over countless piles of rubble and debris that decorates the surrounding landscape. The roads are in complete disarray and barely traversable. Our world is but one massive, ancient concrete jungle - the bits and pieces ready to collapse on us at any given time. I turn on the truck's relatively new central console, a touch-screen computer in place of the usual archaic radio. I spend the next few minutes programming the directions from my holo-map into the truck's built-in GPS system. It pings with life, quickly routing us to our destination. We make several turns, ending up on a long stretch of road heading towards our exit. I double-check the map, tracing the path to our destination. The most direct route is through a derelict highway system known as "Hell's Highway", a name given to it for its numerous access points into the undercity. Only problem is a solid number of gangs have staked their claim on the highway, meaning most of the access points are already occupied. Fortunately, the one Vox linked us is the Patriots' claim. Unfortunately, between gang violence and Icarus' crackdown, we're gonna be fighting our way to it.
"Well, that was a close one." Corvus chimes in, breaking the silence.
"Enjoying the view back there?" I ask as he swivels the turret back and forth.
"Y'know, I've always wanted one of these." He replies, preoccupied with his new toy.
"Sewer's a way's out, nearest entrance is in the under-city. We have control of an access point just off the main highway, it'll take you straight down to where you need to go. From there it shouldn't be much more of a hike to the sewers themselves." The driver speaks up, directly to me. "I'd tell your friend there to keep his eyes peeled along the way."
"Corvus, you catch that?" I ask, leaning my head back.
"All I heard was 'shoot first, ask questions later'." He quips back.
"...You do realize that a machine gun is objectively more lethal than your stun rounds, right?"
"To be fair, I don't /have/ to kill people."
"Then why are you on the gun?!"
"Character development."
I stare out the passenger-side window, admiring the view of the aging roads and abandoned buildings. Despite this being a ghost city, there's still an air of wonder to it all. I sometimes dream about what could have been, if Icarus had never taken over. How vibrant the city would be, teeming with life and lights. Instead, we were left behind to fend for ourselves, as they grow fat on their stagnation and indulge themselves in decadence. Just as I begin to slowly drift off into slumber, we hit a nasty pot-hole that sends my head into the truck's ceiling. "Son of a bitch!" I curse, yelping from the sudden pain. The bumpiness doesn't subside. These roads haven't been maintained in decades. Once again, I feel my eyes get heavy and I fade away into a place of blackness beyond this world. I dream of nothing in particular. The cold void becomes my only companion as time passes without me. After what feels like hours, I'm awoken with shaking, but not from the vehicle. I open my eyes as the driver shakes my shoulder.
"We're almost to the highway, we're taking the exit now. Get ready for a firefight." The driver says as we pull onto the exit. After a few moments we pull onto the main highway.
Immediately, we're greeted with resistance. Several Icarus patrols are engaged in firefights with the local gangs. Both sides indiscriminately fire at us as well as each other. We continue to push through, the thud from the machine gun's suppressive fire rocking the truck almost as much as the highway itself. A VTOL touches down as we speed past several Icarus patrols. More troopers spill out of it, engaging the thugs attempting - and failing - to hold their ground. As they fade away into the distance behind us, a pair of vehicles close the gap. Behind them, a dot takes off into the sky and hastily creeps towards us. As the vehicles gain on us, I quickly realize they're an Icarus patrol. The aircraft behind them being one of their VTOLs, attempting to provide close air support for the vehicles.
"Well, shit. That's going to be a big problem." I say, looking through the rear-view mirror.
"For some odd reason, I don't think this gun is designed for anti-air." Corvus replies with equal sarcasm.
"Aim for the cockpit, the glass isn't rated for higher calibers." The driver says. "Or take out the repulsors. They don't have much protection either."
One of the patrol vehicles fires at us with its own mounted machine gun. Corvus quickly returns fire, aiming mainly for the engine under the hood while keeping the gunner's head down. A round tears straight through the grille, black smoke escaping the hood and blinding the driver. The vehicle speeds up, trying to blindly ram us. Suddenly, the motor catches fire and the driver loses total control, swerving into the other patroller. It narrowly misses it and crashes head-first into a sound barrier, the fire spreading to the rest of the vehicle as we leave it behind. The second patroller speeds up in response, but the VTOL overtakes it and positions itself overhead. Its two side-mounted chainguns begin peppering us with rapid, sustained fire. Our driver begins swerving, trying to avoid the high-powered rounds. A block-shaped launcher extends from beneath the nose of the cockpit. Several missiles lash out from the repulsorcraft, trailing out and locking onto us.
The first missile flies too far ahead, detonating in the road a safe distance in front of us. Our driver swerves past the crater as a second missile detonates to our right, showering the shaking vehicle with bits of debris. Corvus returns fire, sending a hail of bullets into the hovercraft's repulsor. The repulsor ignites as the rounds tear through its fragile frame, the transport turning into a spin as another missile barely misses us. Unpredictably, the cockpit veers into the stream of bullets. Several rounds pierce the glass, unintentionally killing the pilot and sending the aircraft into a steep nosedive. It crashes directly ahead of us, consumed by an internal explosion. Once again our driver attempts to avoid it, but swerves too sharply. The truck flips into a dangerous rollover.
My world goes black, my face filled with blinding pain as I eat the dashboard. My neck whips backwards, my head slamming against the seat. I feel an unbearable pressure in my skull, like my entire head wants to swell. It doesn't help that I continue to get thrown about while the truck tumbles and rolls, finally coming to a complete stop - albeit, upended. I open my eyes to a blurry mess, unable to see anything clearly. I can hear ringing in my ears, like someone hammered a bell between my ears. As I hang upside down, blood slowly trickles from my nose and mouth, creeping down my face. Dripping from my forehead onto the ceiling below, my blood forms some small but sickening puddles beneath me.
I slowly lift my head up and check the rear-view mirror, my sight slowly becoming clearer. My vision suddenly turns red as my eyes become bloodshot. I see cuts and scrapes all over my heavily bruised face. I feel the blood still dripping from my nose, smearing my face with macabre war-paint. I realize my hair has been completely ripped from my braid, covering either side of my head. Streaks of blood have seeped through and stained the purple-blue dye. It was like a grotesque mixture between sloppily-done highlights and overdone watercolor that had bled through a painting's delicate canvas.
Regaining my senses, I try to wipe the blood out of my eyes, but to no avail. I try ignoring the reddened vision as I look to my left, realizing the driver is still slumped over the wheel. "Hey," I cough out, my throat burning. "Wake up!" I say, shaking him. His body leans back, revealing large shards of glass embedded in his face, along with a long piece of metal impaled into his eye socket like a spear. I flinch at the gruesome sight, trying to blink the image out of my shocked mind. Reflexively, I check beyond the back windshield for Corvus, but all I see is the flatbed crumpled against the street. I unsheathe a knife from my boot, cutting my worn down seatbelt. I drop into the ceiling with a loud thud, the pressure and pain in my head immediately returning.
I try kicking open the caved-in passenger-side door, but it refuses to budge. Another firm kick tells me that the door is well and truly stuck. I give up on it, maneuvering my legs to the dashboard. I drive my boot into the windshield, cracking it. I strike it with my heel once more, shattering the windshield outward into hundreds of tiny pieces. I slowly crawl through my new avenue of escape, the jagged shards of glass ripping through my gloves and slicing into my bloodied palms. I drag myself out of the wreckage, barely getting to my knees when I start coughing up mere droplets of blood. A small puddle of the gore collects beneath me, dripping off my face like a disgusting red drizzle. As I rise to my feet, the pounding in my head swiftly returns. I look around for Corvus, trying to ignore the pain and force myself out of the relentless daze. Checking behind the wreck, I spot Corvus, flung several meters away.
"Corvus!" I yell, hastily rushing towards him.
"Yeah, yeah." Corvus stirs, mumbling. He lets out a long, drawn out sigh. "Back to it." He says with a pained grunt.. Sitting straight up, he brings himself to a single knee. As he gets into a crouch, I try to help him up but he waves me away.
"I'm fine, it's just a few scratches." He says, wincing in discomfort. I grab his hand and lift him back up anyway. I can clearly see the skin on his arm and face abraded away, probably from skidding across the road. "Maybe a bit of road rash, here and there." He takes my gaze away from his injuries.
"Riiight." I reply, unconvinced.
"Mate, we've got bigger fish to fry." Corvus spits out a wad of clotted blood.
"You're lucky you didn't fuck yourself up any worse." I look past our flipped vehicle, spotting the second patroller just as it pulls up, slowly to a crawl. The gunner keeps the turret on a swivel, scanning the area as several Icarus dismount with the provided overwatch. They have us pinned between the truck's wreck and the VTOL's crash-site. Smoke emanates from both wreckages, obscuring the air around us and keeping us momentarily hidden from the patrol. "Fishies are here." I tilt my head, motioning us towards the wreck. Corvus grabs his rifle from off the ground ahead of him, where it too had skidded away.
We dart behind the overturned truck, ducking low before the patrol spots us. I load a fresh mag, racking the slide of my pistol to chamber a .40 round. Corvus follows suit, loading his own stun-mag and chambering one of his custom-made 'disabler' rounds. I peek from the side of the vehicle, catching a glimpse of the five troopers. They fan out in a square search pattern, quickly forming a secured perimeter. One trio walks towards the crash-site and the remaining pair walks towards us, both sets having their weapons shouldered and at the ready.
"Thank the Creator you didn't break anything or we'd be sitting ducks." I whisper.
"Jury's still out on that one." Corvus replies, his voice slightly above a pained whisper.
I give Corvus a downward nod. Without missing a beat, we both step out from either side of the truck and open fire. I put two rounds into the left-side trooper's chest, while Corvus incapacitates the one on the right with a three-round burst. Each of his disablers arc back and forth, creating a torso-sized net of erratic electricity. The trooper first grunts in defiance of the pain, then lets out a scream. He soon passes out from the immense agony. The gunner rotates his heavy machine gun, lining us up in his sights. Corvus fires a burst at the blast shield, then sprints to the crash-site. With the gunner distracted, I sprint for the left side in a very wide arc, trying to avoid the gunner's peripherals.
"Are you insane?!" Corvus keys over the comm.
"Keep drawing their fire, I'm closing the gap." I key back.
"But that's way too risky!"
"Just do it!"
I hear Corvus sigh over the radio as he continues drawing the troopers' fire. The trio closes in on the crash-site, trying to surround him as the gunner keeps him pinned down. I manage to close in on the towering patroller, sneaking behind it and crawling up the rear-end of the armored personnel carrier. By the time the gunner realizes I'm on the roof of the vehicle, it's too late. Before he can swivel the turret, I unsheathe the knife from my chest-rig and plunge it into the gunner's neck. I twist the knife, then pull it left-to-right, carving a gaping hole in the gunner's slitted throat. His blood spurts and sprays out in front of him, painting the roof with puddles of red. The gunner reaches for his throat, choking and gasping for air. Seizing up, he goes limp and collapses forward, then falls backwards into the interior. Sheathing my knife, I draw my pistol and drop into the gunner's hatch. Taking the driver by surprise, I put a round through the back of his head before he has any time to react.
Moving back to the gunner's hatch, I load a fresh belt into the heavy machine gun's feed tray and rack the charging handle back. I watch as the remaining troopers try to close in on Corvus. He's already disabled one of the troopers. The other two try to take cover on the other side of the fiery wreckage, exposing their backs to me. I immediately open fire, shredding both of the troopers with a hail of bullets. Within seconds, they're both turned into minced meat. I breathe a sigh of relief as Corvus slowly, cautiously pokes his head from behind the wreckage.
"Thanks for the save. Let's not do this ever again." Corvus keys up.
"That's the most fun I've had all week." I key back with a wide grin, followed by a bout of uncontrolled laughter.
"You sure you're not slowly losing it?"
"Grow a pair."
I can hear Corvus snort over the radio as he makes his way towards me. I climb out of the gunner's hatch and dismount from the rooftop, bending my knees as I jump down onto the asphalt. I take a good look at the patroller before me. The APC has mostly superficial damage; stripped away paint and dents in the metal from previous firefights. Nothing that would deadline the vehicle. Perfect for the idea hatching in my head. As Corvus approaches, I look away from the patroller and towards the first immobilized trooper. Corvus turns his head and follows my gaze. We look back at each other and nod in silent agreement.
We quickly split up; I head for my chosen target, Corvus heads for the one next to the crash-site. As I approach the downed trooper, they begin to stir from their slumber. Swiftly, I remove the trooper's helmet, pistol to their head. Long, blonde hair flows out of the helmet, revealing a woman nearly my age with a strange barcode on her forehead.. I see terror in her beautiful green eyes, the sheer panic in her pretty face - but my guard doesn't waiver. I pistol-whip the back of her head with a loud crack!, knocking her unconscious once more. I strip her of the Icarus uniform, intending to use it as a disguise for the upcoming ruse. Having all that I need, I nonchalantly execute her with a bullet to the skull. Walking away, I leave her useless, half-naked body for the giant rats.
"What in bloody Hell was that for?" Corvus keys over the radio.
I walk towards the crash-site, just as he finishes stripping the other trooper of their gear. "You know how I feel about loose ends." I say, nodding at the remaining trooper.
"They're-" Corvus corrects himself. "He's still alive. Unarmed, at that."
My eyes drift to the trooper. A bald, middle-aged man, no older than forty. He's got crows feet around his eyes and more than a few wrinkles on his forehead, along with that strange barcode I saw on the woman. Probably the senior leader to the other troopers, if I were to wager a guess. No matter, he's as good as dead. As the trooper begins to stir, I draw the blade from my chest-rig once more. Corvus steps between me and the helpless bastard. I try to move around him but he grabs hold of my wrists and stops me dead in my tracks.
"Nova, this isn't right." Hearing my name snags my attention. I lock eyes with Corvus, staring him down intensely. "Come on, he's harmless. We can just leave him."
"We didn't come this far just to get narced on. I /damn sure/ didn't. I'm sorry, Corvus, but he's too great of a risk. He'll jeopardize the mission."
The trooper struggles getting to his knees, then stumbles forward. I raise an eyebrow as the trooper foolishly charges us. I realize just how wrong I am when the trooper instead goes for his rifle left lying on the ground. Holding my knife by its blade, I launch it into a spin towards the trooper, as I myself rush him in a sprint. The hilt bounces off the man's face, disorienting him. I seamlessly catch the knife mid-flight, one hand gripping the hilt as the other firmly cups the butt. I plunge the six-inch blade through the man's stunned face, forcing it down to the hilt. The blade easily cleaves through flesh and bone, poking out the back of his skull. I quickly dislodge the knife, tossing it in the air and catching it with my other hand. I flick the blood off the blade twice, then wipe off the rest of it with my hand. Satisfied, I sheathe it as I turn around to face Corvus. I brush my bloodied hair behind my shoulders, giving him a look that says I told you so.
"See? What would you have done without me?" I smirk with a smug face.
"Oh, I don't know, maybe /not/ commit a war crime?" Corvus snaps harshly, throwing his hands up in the air. Once the realization hits him, he saves face with a fake grin.
My smirk instantly turns into a frown, my eyes joining in with a piercing glare. I slowly shake my head in disappointment, walking away. I angrily leave him to change into his new uniform as I return to mine. It's not hard to fit into my uniform, with my being of similar build to the previous owner. It consists of a zip-up body-glove and several modular components; plated boots, arms, legs, thighs, shoulders, and torso. The armor was lightweight and provided decent protection, but could only absorb so much damage before the plates began to fail. The armor also left the body-glove exposed in key areas, such as the neck, armpits, lower abdomen, and even the groin. Weaknesses I frequently exploited.
I grab the helmet off of the ground, twisting it between my hands until the visor faces me. The visor in question is a single, thickened strip of opaque glass running down the middle of the helmet, perhaps an inch in width. On either side of the visor, the helmet is symmetrical. Smooth, featureless plating designed for functionality over aesthetics, though I do see several camera-like lenses buried within the metal. My curiosity piqued, I don the helmet. Several panels inside the helmet connect together, activating the outer cameras. A visual feed appears before me, like a one-way mirror. The field of view is so wide, it's almost as if I'm not wearing a helmet at all. A Heads-Up Display appears before my eyes, showing a built-in radar system and a compass.
"Look at all this tech!" A visualizer labeled 'SGT Ryder' appears in the HUD's corner, modulating and distorting Corvus' bewildered voice until it's almost unrecognizable.
"They've encrypted the voice channels. This'll do nicely." I key back over the local net.
We make our way back to the patroller. This time, I mount the machine gun while Corvus takes the wheel. He puts the vehicle in gear and carefully drives around both of the wrecks. As we get back to speeding down the highway, I swivel the turret in a steady scanning motion; left to right, right to left, rinse and repeat. I check the skies and the long stretch of road behind us, making sure we're in the clear and not in danger of being pursued again. After a few moments of nothing chasing us, I drop my shoulders and relax my posture, breathing a sigh of relief.
"You good back there?" Corvus asks over the comm.
"Peachy." My reply is like ice: cold, sharp, and to the point. My eyes continue scanning the area.
"Look, what I said back there was a little harsh, I'll admit. I didn't mean to snap like that." Corvus pauses in thought. "Perhaps I could have worded it differently, but my point remains the same. We're not war criminals."
"This isn't a fucking war, Corvus. This is survival." I snap back with more than enough bite behind my vicious words.
"Play by the rules all you want, but Corporate isn't going to give us quarter. They should expect none in return." I pause briefly, letting the words simmer. "I'm sorry to say it, but your pacifism is going to get you killed someday."
"So where do you draw the line?"
"I draw the line wherever I need it. Whenever I need it."
"Nova… what makes you any different from them?"
"Open your goddamn eyes!"
The rest of the ride goes by in silence. The argument has my nerves on edge. I'm no longer in the relaxed posture I was in before. Rather, I'm anxiously swiveling the turret back and forth in a slow, sweeping motion.. Whether it's for our security or my personal comfort, I'm not entirely sure. I'll admit it, I'm worried, but I'm not entirely sure why. I have a gut-wrenching feeling that refuses to subside. Am I afraid? I can't be. I don't feel fear. It's been beaten out of me day after day in the Cartel. Is it guilt? No, I don't allow myself to feel remorse, or pity. Empathy is a weakness. Fear is a weakness. Weaknesses cause mistakes, mistakes get me killed. I don't allow myself to have weaknesses. So what the hell is this feeling and why am I feeling it?
A bump in the road interrupts my thoughts. Not intending to dwell on them any further, I activate the holo-projector on my wrist. The 3-D map appears before me in a shimmering blue light. I take the time to study the rest of our route, trying to avoid any more unwanted surprises. I spot an Icarus-held checkpoint several miles ahead with no way around. With luck, the disguises would be enough to get us by without a fight. Then again, it seems that luck has barely been on our side recently. We continue pushing down the highway without incident.
"We're coming up on a checkpoint." I key up. "Should be our last stop before we hit the exit."
"You think this'll work?" Corvus asks.
"I'm willing to flip a coin over it."
It doesn't take long for us to reach the checkpoint, five minutes at most. We approach it by slowing the patroller to a crawl. The checkpoint is massive, like the wall of a castle. It stretches from one side of the highway to the other, completely blocking access except through two manned gates - one for going in, one for going out. The wall itself appears to be made of thick metal, a grayish steel shining through the darkness. It had to have been recently constructed, as there was hardly any damage or wear to it. Topping the wall on either side were two individual spotlights, both of which were now shining on us. Four automated turrets, two on either side, pointed their heavy barrels at us. I'm sure they had more than enough firepower to wipe us off the face of the city if they so pleased.
A squad of troopers guard the front of the gate, the leader motioning us forward. Corvus steers us towards them, slow and methodical, before stopping directly in front of the gate. The squad leader approaches us, waving his fist with his thumb pointed down. I hear the driver's window loudly roll down, grinding with what sounds like a broken actuator. I cringe at the borderline annoying noise. Even through the helmet, I can tell the trooper isn't amused by it.
"ID's." The squad leader says. I notice the trooper's armor has red stripes from the shoulders down to the bracers.
'/Shit./' I think to myself. Corvus taps a button on his similarly red-striped bracer, opening what appears to be a small compartment. I watch him retrieve a small metal puck, then activate a holographic display of the soldier he stole the uniform from, one 'SGT Ryder'. Along with the rotating 3D portrait, a slew of identifiable information appears beside it.
"Thanks for the heads-up." I snark over our internal comm, the troopers none-the-wiser.
Corvus ignores my comment, putting away his puck after being confirmed. The trooper turns to look at me, nodding. I oblige, grabbing the same ID puck from the hidden compartment and tossing it to the trooper. He activates it, showing a portrait of the woman I disposed of earlier. I can't read any of the ID information here. I never did bother learning that woman's name, something that could have come in handy. Once he finishes reading the information beside it, he tosses the puck back to me. I immediately return it to its socket, as movement grabs my attention. The trooper looks back and forth between the both of us, then cocks his head. Even through his helmet, I can see that the look means trouble.
"Where's your squad?" The red-striped trooper asks Corvus.
"Uh?" Corvus lets out.
"You got rocks in your ears, Sergeant? Where's the rest of your squad?"
"Wasted." I call out from the gunner's hatch.
"I don't remember asking you, Private Coleman." The trooper snaps, turning his attention back to Corvus. "You weren't due back for another hour. What happened, Sergeant?"
"We were ambushed. Outnumbered, three-to-one. The rest of our squad didn't make it."
The trooper continues to look us over. It doesn't seem like he's at all convinced by our cover story. He motions for a blue-striped trooper to come over. They step away from the truck and talk for a few moments, but I can't hear what they're saying. Before I can ask Corvus if he can hear anything, the blue-striped trooper abruptly ends the conversation and walks over. He addresses Corvus like a subordinate.
"Sergeant, my reports indicate there was heavy resistance, but something isn't adding up. Scouts reported that the entire platoon was wiped out. On top of that, they aren't reporting anywhere near the ratio of resistance that you claim. If anything, we outnumbered them." The trooper prattles on, not giving Corvus a chance to speak.
"Why did you not report when you fled the scene? Not only did you flee and leave your comrades behind, you failed to mention you were even coming. Now we're behind schedule. We may have the reinforcements to replace you, but this is very irresponsible on your part."
"It was a tactical withdrawal, our radio was damaged in the fighting - and if we outnumbered them, how did the entire platoon get wiped out?"
"Watch your tone, Sergeant. That is no way to address your superior."
"Forgive me, Sir."
"Obviously these vagrants are more capable than we've realized." The officer pauses, letting his acute choice of words sink in. I catch myself holding my breath, a bead of sweat running down the side of my face.
The officer steps away for just a moment, his hand to the side of his helmet. He speaks to himself - no, he's speaking to a radio. I see him nod his head once. Twice. Three times. I tune my internal radio to the vehicle's frequency, letting me tap into Icarus' battlenet.
"/Sir, we've routed the entire force of rebels, but we have a problem./" I hear a voice over the net.
"/Get on with it, then./" The officer's familiar voice chimes back.
"/Our patrollers and a Veetle gave chase to one of their vehicles. The Veetle and one of the patrollers were destroyed, along with the rebels' truck, but one of the patrollers remain unaccounted for. Sir./"
"/What about bodies?/"
"/Everyone was dead at the scene. A rebel burned to death in the crash, the body unrecognizable. We could only account for our men. Two of the casualties were stripped of their uniforms and gear. I can only assume whoever survived the wreck is still at large./"
Shit. Shit. Shit.
"/Is that so? Keep up the good work. Gatekeeper, out./"
The officer makes his way back towards us, once again looking between me and Corvus. He chambers a round into his rifle, but keeps it at the low ready. Behind him, the red-striped trooper motions his men forward, chambering his own round. The entire squad mimics the movement as one, shouldering their weapons and keeping them aimed at us. Overhead, I see that the turrets are likewise keeping their barrels pointed at us. We're trapped and surrounded.
"I'm going to say this once. Nice and slow." The officer threatens us with a calm demeanor and a smooth tongue. In melodramatic fashion, he grants a brief pause before continuing.
"Remove your helmets."