Chuck the cyber dragon had exited the battle of the summit… there was only one place he could be going in the middle of this.

“He’s headed to our turf,” I said. “Grab Jack and Patches. Get over there… get the boys on the line and tell them. I want goop guns and electric– crap.”

I ducked another swipe of a mech arm, lost my grip, and tumbled to the floor.

“Electric crap, got it,” he replied, without a hint of sarcasm.

I would’ve laughed, or maybe clarified, except I had to roll out of the way or be crushed by a mecha-suit. An idea in mind, I darted under the swivel of its guns and scanned for an emergency fire switch, like we’d had on our Bradleys in the service.

I saw one, thanked Deus Ex for being into release, and yanked it hard.

Foamed filled the cockpit, and it popped open, a Brass Crosser, dropping out while gasping for air.

I reactivated my cards, and pounded him to lifelessness in the span of ten seconds. Then stood, looking over the motionless corpse, suddenly feeling quesy in the stomach.

What if this was a real human? Could I see who was what always? What if, in combat, it worked differently and I just didn’t know who was what?

I scanned the dining room. Blood was everywhere. I noted a pair of severed legs as well. The Brass Crosses had apparently taken out a lot of other gang members, but fighting was now scatted and broken.

It seemed to me that they were probably ready to quit, so I gave a few wild hoots and fired my plasma blaster in the air. It wasn’t fun anymore. I just wanted it done.

For a second, the mecha-suits froze, but only for a second. I couldn’t get a bead on who’d done it. Then all the Brass Crosses retreated from the conference hall, the mechs playing rearguard while a full half of their number stayed on the ground, dead.

A couple other gangs were retreating as well from battles with their own rivals. They crashed through windows in retreat, avoiding the powerful Crosses in their exit from battle — and presumably from Ringo Dango.

The battle looked done. That is until several more mecha-suits appeared from above. They were painted a different color schema, and Godfather was spray-painted on their sides. Dude’s own enforcement squad was on the scene.

That was enough. Turning, I ran for my own window as the mechs behind blasted at the retreating Crosses with teensy rockets, plasma blasts, and minigun rounds. Everybody broke off fighting and found ways to avoid the carnage, and as I crashed through glass panes, I saw Garbo the Gorilla and his men pull out of view.

Civil War had begun.

Part of me wanted to check on Flicker and Hirataka, (mostly Flicker) but I had some turf to protect. And besides, they were both higher level than me, and were much more likely to have survived the battle.

Instead, I got up and leapt into the foamy mess of the mecha-suit cockpit I’d just liberated. Though it was slick and sudsy, the controls still worked, and with the cockpit ball open, I didn’t have any trouble breathing. I worked the machine back into motion, letting my sidebar fill with the stats of my newest weapon.

 

Haruken Mk I

Battle Mech / Roboarmor

Armor: 220 physical, 150 energy

50% resistance to energy weapons

The Haruken Mk I counts as an immobile target for the purposes of targeting.

 

‘They sure used to know how to build them back then. Not very advanced, not super sturdy, but damn easy to fix back up and clean out with a hose.”

Weapons:

Haruken Mk I Plasma Blaster (x2) (Common Ranged Weapon)

DMG 3-36 (short/medium)

Spd Slow 

Damage x3 to unarmored foes

 

‘That loud thunk right before it shoots? That’s the blaster’s way of telling people they’re just a second away from Hell.’

 

It wasn’t like I imagined. I wasn’t entirely sure what, if anything, I’d imagined in the first place, but this wasn’t it. Holographic orange light glowed through the dissipating bubbles and surrounded my forearms, hands, knees, and lower legs. My normal pop ups and heads up displays went orangey neon, and settled onto the interior of the cockpit, along with likely targets, minigun ammo readouts, power levels, fleeing mecha-suit targets, and this was fun, an open channel of communications with the Brass Crosses.

I closed the cockpit ball, shut my mouth and just listened, because intel had been pretty hard to come by thus far. And as I listened, I worked on getting this mecha-suit out of the building.

A lot of cursing and snarls were rolling through the comms, but after a few moments it settled into more practical chatter: members chiming in with their call signs, updates on how many they’d killed, and who those were, that kind of thing.

The leader of Syndication had been nixed, apparently, along with both his bodyguards. The security around Syndicate had been killed, but they couldn’t confirm KIA on the leader. The West Side Warblers had also been scrubbed clean… as in dead.

However, Garbo the Gorilla was reluctant to report that Flicker Blue was not seriously injured, nor was Hirataka.

A few members did gloat that Ninetails, the fox lady, had been killed. Saved me the effort of figuring out whether she was prepared to magic me to death or unleash a hail of bullets in my direction.

A crap ton had gone down while I’d been saving my own bacon.

“We had to attack tonight, didn’t we?” one guy with half a face tattoo asked.

Garbo answered, with his face appearing in a tiny chat window on the cockpit window. “We had to accelerate plans, but we still came out of it just fine.”

“Fine?” someone shouted. A lady with one gleaming cybernetic eye took front and center in the chat window, the name Rose Bud flaring up underneath her. “Neither of The Godfather’s muscle were taken out. That girl with the hammer took out an entire gang single-handedly.”

“Not an entire gang driving powered armor mech suits,” another Brass Cross grumbled.

“Relax,” Garbo said. “We’ve still got lots of juice rolling through the cooker. Half the leadership is toast and they’ll be scrambling to make sure they keep power… they won’t have time to throw any muscle our way. Anybody who’s worried about having their scalps taken, you know where the door is. If we’ve got cowards in the ranks, I want you to hang up your boots, skin over your tats, and piss off.”

Silence reigned after this. Clearly nobody wanted to admit to being weak.

“By the way, that new asshole,” Garbo said. “We know who he is?”

“He ruined everything!” Rose Bud shouted. “He’s the guy who slipped in and got a look-see last night.”

I got the mech over to the edge of the building, engaged the thrusters and blasted off towards East Gojira-X. Holographic versions of the flames appeared out of my hands and feet, so I angled my hands back along my body and picked up a lot of speed. Soon I was ducking and weaving through the buildings.

“He’s the Loony Toon guy,” someone else said. “I seen him on the arena channel the other day.”

“You see him smear pie on that mech?” someone else said with a touch of respect. “Food as a weapon. Blinded the pilot!”

“Well he’s an obstacle,” Garbo said. “His whole outfit’s gotta go. We’ve gotta move fast if we’re gonna capitalize on the power vacuum. Fuschia, you pick six guys, everybody get mechs, and make sure he’s jelly ASAP. Everybody else pair off and hit the Warblers, The Syndicate, and Syndication. Blow their hideouts to hell, accept prisoners and defectors. Shock and awe.”

“What about the Boss?”

“After what happened in there, the Boss is kaput. He and his have enough to worry about now that the dominoes are falling. People are gonna learn real quick, either they line up under us, or they get dropped into a six foot hole in the ground. This time tomorrow half the city belongs to the Brass Crosses.”

I almost swore, but held my tongue for the second time. My rating with the Brass Crosses had tanked, down to -1000 in one momentous drop. My rating with Garbo was also in the toilet. That shouldn’t have mattered because I theoretically had the weight of the Ringo-Dango behind me.

 

Quest Complete! Disrupt the RIngo-Dango.

Tetsuko’s faith in you was well-placed. The Ringo-Dango had no chance to attend to matters of security.

Reward: 50,000 Credits, one random rare card draw

 

I didn’t even get a chance to check out the card in question. I also spied a level up (WELCOME TO LEVEL NINE) and some other rewards, but the second quest popup appeared.

After all of the dodging and running and sliding I’d had to do in the last fight, I knew what I was going for. I slapped 2 points into Finesse, watching it rise to a solid 20. Then I gave the character sheet a quick glance over to see where things stood.

 

 

Side Quest Complete! The Serpent Bites Its Tail.

The Brass Crosses have broken ranks with the Ringo-Dango and it’s a full-on civil war! You have exceeded expectations.

Additional Reward: 10,000 additional Credits, +200 Reputation with Tetsuko and his associates.

 

Sixty… thousand… Credits. Easily the biggest haul yet. Nice. “Finally,” I deadpanned, “I can afford the finest dog chow for my doggo.”

A thought flitted through, my people working at base to keep us all supplied and alive, and I amended it.

“When all of this settles down, I’m going to see what everybody needs. And I going to buy it. Least I can do.”

I found an autopilot function and let it propel me forward, then scrolled through my notifications.

And I found that I had another card.

 

Half the Battle

Level 1 Very Rare

3 Card Points

Activate up to 3 times a day. For the next 3 minutes, all allies within range (100 meters) gain +2 Perception, +2 Intelligence, +2 Agility, and +10% dodge chance.

 

“Knowing is half the battle. The other half is extreme violence.”

 

  

Well, that was something fierce-looking. It was 3 card points, but it would pay out immensely during any army on army field actions. I’d have to learn the card and then think about what to drop to slot it in.

Or maybe even hanging onto it and seeing what the higher level version of this might look like.

The heads up display in the cockpit window showed I was three minutes out, so I shut off the Brass Cross comms. Then, I sent a quick call to Eric, discovered I could lump other people into a mass call, and included Dragon, Nolan, and Doug into the mix.

In thirty seconds I had them on the line, along with Beer Pong and Chad.

“Eric has already informed you, we have six mecha-suits full of cross on the way. You know what to do?”

“That’s affirmative,” Dragon said, and hefted a large futuristic gun.

“I need Phil to pilot this contraption I’ve got. Sug, I need you to have Patches battle ready in his own contraption.”

“Roger that, Poombah.”

“Sorted. Right. Nolan?”

“Healing items to battle stations?” he ventured.

That earned him a chuckle. “Keep ammo flowing to security forces. Supply lines win battles and wars, okay? Designate runners, designate a couple of healers, and keep the rest holed up making more ammos and heals.”

“Okay, Cap.”

“Doug?”

“Boss?”

“Call me Dirk, or Poombah.”

“Just not late for dinner?” he chuckled.

“They’ll be on you in maybe ten seconds. Can you shield the main building?”

“I got one even better,” he said cryptically.

Wizards. If I didn’t need one so much, he’d be taking a dive out of the top floor of my high rise.

“Beer Pong, I want you and Chad stuck on Dragon’s ass like a tick. You don’t shoot, don’t speak, don’t sneeze unless he tells you what to do.”

“Hey, Poombah?” Ice asked.

“Yeah?”

“They’re here… and they’ve got backup.”

“You all know what to do,” I said. “See you in a minute.” With that, I shut the call down.

A few seconds later, my East Gojira X building came out of the fog, complete with distant explosions.

The battle had been joined.