Ten-man teams of mechas converged on the hangar, blowing apart anything in their path. The wholly unprepared ships were quickly dealt with. They also had plenty of explosives to get the job done. The Bartender and the Coffee Master had done their parts.
It was all too fast, too furious. They didn’t even have time to respond before their lives were snuffed out, mounting no measure of defense.
The Gourmet was suspended in air, five hundred meters above the hangar below. It shed the darkness thanks to a host of flickering lamps. The Paragons face was calm as a lake surface. The hangar he was responsible for was the largest one.
His communicator vibrated. It was a sign – his eyes narrowed, and he pressed his hands together in front of his chest.
