Deep within the labyrinthine sewers of Centari-IV, Marcus Crassus sat on his medical bed, the dim lighting casting eerie shadows on the damp walls. The steady hum of the dialysis machine was a constant reminder of his frail body, a stark contrast to his indomitable spirit.
The sewer base was a hive of activity. His squadron bots moved efficiently, preparing for their next big operation. Marcus took a deep draw from his wakeleaf pipe, the pungent smoke curling around his disheveled hair and pale face.
Reports were flooding in from all over the city, via both bots and informants.
"System," Marcus commanded, his voice a measured whisper, "Status report on the city's unrest."
[Multiple firefights have erupted between Mr. Black's forces and the Black Hoods across Centari-IV. Key city sectors are in turmoil. Civilians have been advised to remain indoors. Optimal conditions for your objectives.]
Marcus's thin lips curved into a sly smile. Everything was proceeding as planned. The two titans of the underworld were now tearing each other apart, creating the perfect smokescreen for his own ambitions.
"Time to strike," he declared, his voice dripping with anticipation.
He slowly rose from his bed, the cushioned mattress shifting beneath his slight weight. His cane, a sleek, black piece of carved metal, clicked against the concrete as he made his way to the central control room.
"You," he hissed at a nearby Captain Bot, "Prepare the squadrons. We are moving out."
***
Outside the sewer base, the city was ablaze with chaos. The sounds of gunfire and explosions echoed through the streets, a testament to the fierce firefights between Mr. Black's men and the Black Hoods. It was the perfect cover for Marcus to enact his theft operations.
Marcus's convoy of bots moved silently through the shadows, avoiding the main conflict zones. They targeted the supply depots and resource stashes of both Mr. Black and the Black Hoods.
First on the list was a Black Hood armory, heavily guarded but distracted due to the ongoing skirmishes. As they reached the perimeter, Marcus signaled the Grabber bot to deploy its gas. Thick, noxious fumes filled the room, incapacitating the guards almost instantly.
Workhorses moved in, efficiently gathering crates of weapons and armor, there wasn't much of high quality left considering how most was currently in use but it would be enough to arm new legions.
"Quick and efficient, as always," Marcus muttered, a twinge of satisfaction in his voice.
Next was one of Mr. Black's warehouses, filled with high-end electronics and rare materials he used to build his futuristic pachinko machines. Stabber and Grabber bots took the lead, neutralizing any resistance with practiced precision.
Workhorses followed, stacking the stolen goods onto transport skiffs.
***
Each hit was executed with military-like precision, and everything seemed to be going according to plan. But just as they were finishing the last haul, disaster struck.
Marcus's convoy moved towards the outskirts of the city, skirting the edges of fiery battles raging within. His thin, frail figure was a stark contrast to the towering ruins left in the wake of the conflict. He knew their next target well—an old industrial warehouse converted into a Black Hood outpost and storage facility.
It contained the last main item he needed, titanium plates.
This was likely to be the most heavily guarded of all Black Hood operations but he hoped the chaos would leave an opening.
"System," he whispered, his voice steady despite the surrounding chaos, "What's our tactical advantage here?"
[The outpost's defenses are currently weakened due to resource diversion for the ongoing conflict. Utilize Grabber and Stabber bots for a swift incursion.]
"Excellent," Marcus muttered, puffing his wakeleaf pipe. "Activate the tactical sequence."
The convoy halted a safe distance from the warehouse. Marcus adjusted his grip on his cane, feeling the tension in the air. The bots moved silently, their footsteps muffled against the concrete.
"Deploy," Marcus commanded, his voice a blend of authority and anticipation.
The Grabber bot moved first, releasing a cloud of incapacitating gas into the warehouse, quickly followed by the Stabber bots. Workhorses brought up the rear, designed to bear the weight of the stolen goods. All squadrons were guided and adjusted by their Captains who reviewed new incoming information in real time.
The occupants of the warehouse—the dwindling remnants of the Black Hoods—had no time to react. Within moments, they were subdued, coughing and hacking in the noxious fumes before collapsing into unconsciousness.
Marcus limped forward, entering the warehouse behind his efficient squadron. His hazel eyes scanned the shelves filled with invaluable supplies—medical kits, weapon components, and stacks of titanium ingots.
"System, assess the value of these materials," he spoke, his tone laden with greed.
[Estimated value: 850,000 credits. Suitable for further automation development.]
The corners of Marcus's mouth twitched upwards. "Begin extraction."
The Workhorses busied themselves, each mechanical movement contributing to the methodical transfer of goods. For a moment, everything went smoothly, and Marcus felt a rare sense of triumph. Until—
CRASH!
The door to the warehouse burst open, steel bolts flying off their hinges.
Standing there, framed by the twisted remains of the entryway, was an imposing figure—Brick, the enforcer of the Black Hoods. His massive frame seemed to fill the room, and his scarred face twisted in rage as his eyes settled on Marcus.
"Who dares invade the Black Hoods?" Brick roared, his voice booming through the warehouse.