Our Retribution

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Ascendant, Jan 8, 2015.

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  1. Colonel Hotchkiss sat in his office in Fort Hood, listening to the commotion outside. Everyone was in a hurry; the enemy lines had suddenly bulged forward, snapping what was left of the Texas Defense Line in a matter of hours. Where they got the manpower, the Colonel had no idea. All he knew now was that Fort Hood was being abandoned, and Dallas itself was under direct attack already. He sighed deeply and stood, walking over to a file cabinet and withdrawing a few folders before sitting once more. Not much else was important in his office, and it wasn't like the enemy could even read, insane monsters that they were.

    The folders mostly contained dossiers and other files pertaining to Project Gunsuit, and as the aged man flipped through them, he couldn't help but feel dissatisfied. Thirty recruits had been selected for training, and only ten had succeeded. Even then, most of those ten weren't exactly stellar pilots. He would've liked to have given them more time before their first mission, but fate is a bitch. A few would probably die. In his mind, he recalled the briefing he'd given them...

    It was a few hours earlier, minutes after the Texas Defense Line had broken, and only five pilots had been called into a simple room and instructed to sit. The Colonel was already waiting for them and started the moment the last pilot had taken their seat, "Alright, listen. The Texas Defense Line is under serious strain and the higher-ups believe it's about to snap, so I got handed orders to send all of you greenhorns out into a shitstorm, only this shitstorm has something incredibly valuable in it. Your mission is simple. You'll be escorting two full Bradleys into southern Dallas, to a warehouse where the team will extract some valuable materials.

    "After that, get the fuck out of the city anyway you can and reach a clear area, without any fires or fucked up weather ideally. A chopper will fly in, land, and extract the materials. The rest of you will have to drive your Gunsuits and escort whatever is left of the infantry west towards DFW International Airport. A couple C-130s will be waiting to pick you up there. If the enemy starts getting too close to the airport, they will leave your asses and you'll be forced to hoof it further west to another airport. Meanwhile, Fort Hood will be abandoned and our forces evacuated west.

    "You will see civilians during this mission; you are not to assist them under any circumstances. If anything takes a shot at you or comes at you, I want you to blow it to Hell. Do not trust anything that is not the people you leave this base with. Complete the mission; get the fuck out of that city; catch your ride to safety. Ignore everything else. Team leaders will receive specific maps and routes. You move out immediately." There hadn't been much time for an in-depth briefing, unfortunately. The Colonel leaned back in his chair and sighed deeply as he absentmindedly thumbed the insignia imprinted on the folders; a flame itself surrounded by a ring of fire.

    Roughly a two-hour drive away from Fort Hood, the team rocketed forward as fast as they could in the dead of night, the moonlight lighting their path. The Bradleys rumbled along at a steady clip, the skyscrapers of Dallas not far from them. They were already burning. Fires were sprouting from windows across the city and bathing it in red. Sounds of explosions and gunfire filled the air. They moved along the highways, which had been cleared of civilian cars for months to facilitate military travel. Hardly anyone was allowed to use a vehicle these days if they weren't military.

    The team leader, Alex, was positioned as the pointman of the formation, with Markus directly behind her, followed by a Bradley, after which was Beatrice, then another Bradley, then Sam and finally Trent in the rear. They moved in a linear formation as quickly as they could with Alex carefully keeping tabs on where they were on her GPS, "About two minutes until we exit the highway. We'll be in close quarters with buildings all around us at that point, so stay alert. From there, it's roughly a straight shot west assuming nothing blocks our path, probably a five minute drive."

    Sam couldn't help but keep looking around in addition to checking her sector as she quietly said on the comms, "It's weird. I don't think we've seen a single civvie this entire time. Did they already leave or something... And I've got this feeling like we're being watched..." In truth, every single one of the pilots had the nagging feeling in the back of their mind whether they acknowledged it or not, like a sixth sense telling them something was in the buildings, staring at them, watching them as they passed. Waiting.
  2. Sitting down in the briefing room with a frown, Aftov listened to the Colonel speak with a rather unhappy expression. While he knew that as one of the few pilots that had made it through the rather intense course it was inevitable that he’d see the thick of the fighting, it didn’t make it any easier on the nerves or head. The briefing didn’t really help either, since it was close enough to be a suicide mission. From what he had gathered thanks to the sharp spike in activity prior to coming in, Dallas was bracing for imminent attack. By the time the five of them were suited up and deployed, they’d be literally trying to punch through enemy forces to reach their objective, while trying to protect a convoy. With a quiet sigh that sounded more like a hiss as the Colonel finished, he steeled his expression best as he could and made to do his duty.

    Looking down at the mechanics moving about to get the Gunsuits ready for deployment, Aftov’s fingers drummed steadily on the railing. Glancing down at himself, he adjusted a few straps once more in an attempt to smooth out his uniform and equipment. It wasn’t just out of nervousness that he did it, but the fact was with how cramped the cockpits were a badly worn vest could and did cause quite a bit of discomfort. Doing so didn’t take him too much of his attention though, and he mentally ran through the maps he’d gotten Alex to show him earlier. The decision to evac at DFW International didn’t sit well with him given they’d have to cross through a good chunk of the city, but who was he to argue with command. As he finally finished with the adjustments, he raised his head and continued to watch the work below.
    As the burning city came into view to light up the night sky, Aftov tried to calm his breathing as his grip on the controls tightened. “This is it,” he muttered to himself, careful to make sure the comms were closed before doing so. Didn’t need or want to spook any of the other pilots given how this was all their first deployment after all. Scanning the surroundings as they shot towards the city, he opened the comms and mumbled a, “Roger,” at Alex’s update to their positioning. The lack of any enemy assault as they approached was somewhat unsettling though, as Aftove found it hard that a convoy such as theirs would have been missed. Maybe the Gunsuits were throwing them off; making them more cautious?

    Keeping quiet despite his agreement with Sam, Aftov shook his head to clear away some of the sweat that had formed as he panned the external cameras around. If at all possible he would have avoided travelling through the narrow, for Gunsuits at the least, streets. If the enemy were hiding in the buildings and descended on them from above the infantry would almost certainly get butchered, while even they’d be hard pressed to survive in such close-quarters. It wasn’t his call to make though, and Alex had been made team leader for a reason, so he didn’t think she wasn’t taking these things into account.
  3. "Lyons!" A voice called out over the intercom of the firing range.


    There was no response save for the sound of a pistol discharging. Trent readjusted his grip, pulled back the hammer, began a gentle squeeze and...


    "Private Trent Lyons!" Called the supervisor. No answer. Three rounds later, the gun clicked. After the final round in the chamber had unloaded, the slide remained pulled back. Trent set the handgun down on the table in front of him, pulled off his ear protection and shook his head. "Ah... Nothin' like it," He said, satisfied. The private pressed the call button and his target was pulled along the line toward him. With a grin, Trent examined his grouping - 3" in diameter, no outliers... There was at least a small break between shots. It was good, but not the very best he'd ever done. Finally, he began to clean up his area, replacing his empty magazine with a fresh one. Fourteen full rounds. Right now, he didn't care to stick one in the chamber; instead, he clicked the safety to on and holstered the weapon. One by one, he reloaded the exhausted mag with .45ACP rounds and placed it back in his bag, shouldering it. However, his peaceful post-shooting bliss didn't last long as a man stormed up to him. This man was entirely hairless, it seemed. At least from the few extremities sticking out beyond his fatigues, he appeared to have no hair. It was intimidating to most, but Trent simply sneered.

    "Sorry, sir, is there something I can do?"

    "I called you three times over the intercom, private, why didn't you respond?"

    "I was in the middle of my magazine, sir. I didn't want to stop," He explained lackadaisically.

    The officer seemed about to pop a vein, but after one deep breath the man let it go. Twisting his head to either side, the cracking of every vertebrae in his neck sounded with obnoxiously high volume. The range was mostly empty at the time, thankfully. "You're being called for briefing. Vest up," He instructed, preparing to shut down the range. "And get the fuck out of my range, private."

    Trent adjusted the bag on his shoulder and nodded. "Affirmative, sir." He hustled out of the room and hit his bunk, getting his things together before high-tailing it to the briefing room. Everybody else was already seated as he pocketed his hands and looked around, "I'm on time..." He said defensively, tapping his watch. Literally, he beat the clock by three seconds. A short notice briefing still had to have a meeting time and he still managed to make it in... technically.

    The lecture seemed to drag on for far too long, but Lyons had to keep his attention on the Colonel. Don't help any civvies? That sounded almost contradictory, but then again, none of them really knew what they were up against. Fair enough, orders were orders. Once dismissed, Trent grinned widely; contrary to his almost-late arrival to the mission briefing, he was the first one geared up and ready to be in the cockpit. It wasn't long before the engineers were done checking the gunsuits and Trent clambered into his own. He comms rang from his engineer, walking him through every step of the functions-check. Everything seemed to be in order...


    Lyons watched the skies as they entered Dallas. The city was in awful shape; what the hell could these things look like? Were they swarms or was it a technology gap? Whatever it was, Trent really didn't care - it would be closing soon. These gunsuits held power that only a pilot could truly feel. Al's observation of their lack of civilian movement was a curious point... At the back of the line, Private Lyons' job was to watch everything coming at them from every side. The front of the line had to keep point, but from the back, you have to see where you're going but also keep an eye out for pursuers. Anybody trailing after them would be his job too. His cameras were constantly swiveling and adjusting their zoom.

    "Copy that, 'Lex... Break..." Trent waited while everybody else called in to share his next. "Cary, I've got eyes on the buildings and our back guard, I haven't spotted any movement yet, but I can't shake the feeling either... Out."

    The hair on the back of his neck prickled alertly. God dammit, what were they? This would be easier if they knew what the hell they were up against...
  4. BeeBee had always loved the grand and glorious state of Texas, with its vast and varied environments, its sweeping history and wide open spaces - and the whitetail hunting was killer. But she really had to admit, since her arrival at Fort Hood? She was yet to find a single redeeming quality about the nearby city of Killeen, Texas. But right about now, she began to think that maybe – just maybe now – that dank Army town dotted with tattoo shops, crappy bars and not a few “massage parlors” was starting to have its charms.

    This was just creepy and all-day-wrong, this over-exposed entrance into the city as glorified bodyguards for some bradleys. The hunter in her wanted nothing more than to head for the shadows and away from the suddenly glaring, flickering light of Dallas burning. The flames exposed their caravan’s location far too easily, and cast long moving shadows that only a blind man could possibly miss. No, the Mark models were not exactly the stealthiest behemoths ever created, but that didn't mean they had to toss all efforts for a more clandestine entry to the winds.

    But PVT Beatrice Marcos didn't get to make the calls on moving through potentially hostile terrain, and so she bit her tongue inside her suit where no one would ever see, and savored the distant heft of the S-10 cannon instead. She had precious little else to feel good about.

    There was no high ground. She definitely wanted the high ground, the best vantage point, but that had been ceded to their enemy by virtue of their arrival with the bradleys. As the buildings loomed up all around them, her skin crawled. No hunter ever wanted to become prey, and her instincts were screaming. She heard Sam’s words over the comm but felt no need to reply to the blatantly obvious, unlike that loud-mouthed show off Lyons. Nervous energy or kissing ass, BeeBee didn’t know or care, but at least Aftov had the sense to say nothing, and that was something to be grateful for.

    Her lip curled in silent disgust, she forced her focus back entirely on the array displayed in her mechanically enhanced field of vision. With infrared lenses overlaying the I2 intensifier, the Mark’s targeting and visual system routed through the simple neural implants, giving BeeBee a complete 360 degree field of vision. The implantation operation into her occipital lobe was a fairly simple and straightforward procedure, and the additional neurological processing the nanotechnology provided helped ensure her merely flesh and blood brain could process this perception without crippling vertigo. Auto-gating built into devices ensured the fires consuming Dallas – and any unexpected explosions (accidental or enemy-induced) – would not blind her with their glare or burn out any of these exquisitely precise and excruciatingly expensive sensors.

    BeeBee’s mind settled into this unnatural world of perception precious few people on this planet ever knew, and silently waited to catch that first miniscule and inevitable sign that something very bad, something that intended them a world of hurt, was about to descend on them all.
  5. The team rolled along with surprising ease, exiting the highway and turning towards the west with Alex calling out over the comms, "We're about five minutes out now. Stay al-" Here sentence was cut short as she suddenly came to a halt, the convoy barely managing to stop a pileup. Sam practically bellowed, "What's going on, Alex?! I almost slammed into..." But her words left her as she moved her Gunsuit to get a view ahead of Alex.

    A woman was walking towards them, covered in flowing robes that hid all of his skin. They twisted and turned in the wind as she stepped, never failing to hide her face as she approached. The team leader suddenly had an extreme feeling that this wasn't an actual woman as she raised one of her Gunsuit's 20mm cannons and aimed it directly center mass, roaring over the Gunsuit's loudspeaker, "Move or we will shoot you!"

    That thing suddenly stopped in its tracks, seeming considering the situation before it began laughing with a high-pitched voice that seemed distorted, as if her vocal cords kept failing periodically. Alex shivered as the laughing played in her ears as she said again, "We warned you," before firing her gun. The round covered the distance in the blink of an eye, making contact the woman's body and detonating. Almost nothing was left.

    Yet in that same moment, another body leapt off a building to the convoy's right, slamming into the Sam's gunsuit with a sickening crack before it slid off. Samantha suddenly shrieked, "W-what the fuck?! What the fuck?!" Next to her gunsuit was the broken body of what looked like a male officer worker. Its limbs twitched suddenly, the hands beginning to drag it towards Sam's suit, "Fuck this! This is fucking crazy!" She almost instinctively leveled a 20mm and fired, turning the body to dust, "We ha-"

    "Shut up dammit! Everyone! Keep moving!" ordered Alex, as she returned to rocketing forward, "We still have a mission!" Another crack sounded, a body had jumped or fallen off a roof, followed by more cracks. Dozens of bodies seemed to be throwing themselves towards the convoy. What the hell is this? It has to be psychological warfare, drifted through Alex's mind before her attention and that of the convoy's was caught by a piercing scream.

    Hundreds of people suddenly rushed towards the convoy from the sides, erupting from alleyways, jumping through glass windows, many trying to jump from higher elevations onto the Gunsuits. There seemed to be no tactics in their movements, nor did they have any weapons. The Bradleys began opening fire immediately while maintaining the advance, as Alex roared, "Keep moving! We're only three minutes out! Try to conserve ammo!"

    Doubtless the people would have little effect on the armored Gunsuits, but a shadow was moving alongside the convoy, jumping from rooftop to rooftop, either biding its time or watching carefully...
  6. Skidding to a halt just scant inches from their leader’s Gunsuit, Aftov scowled for a brief moment in annoyance before he began to assess the situation, mentally berating himself for that moment’s hesitation. It would not do to be slipping up already, so early into the mission. Where the others took to examining what had caused the sudden stop, he placed his attentions elsewhere. Namely everything that wasn’t immediately ahead seeing as that already had a few pairs, minimum, looking in that direction. And when he gazed up to the surrounding buildings, he swore as he opened up the comms channel. Before he could say anything though, a pair of shots rang out and, taking the signal, the convoy started up once more.

    Relying on the scant months of training he had, Aftov reversed the Gunsuit at full speed and followed after Alex’s signature on the map. He could see the dozens, likely hundreds, of hostiles flowing towards them like a tide trying to drag them into the sea. There was little illusion to what would await them if they were caught. As the linked barrels began to spin up, he barked out into the open channel, “Stick in formation!” With that, the barrels came up to full speed and the Gunsuit spat death for barely a second. Twelve .50 HE rounds flew out in an arc away from the convoy on each side, the closest passing within a meter of the Bradleys. The fleshy bodies didn’t stand a chance and detonations roared out as the rounds impacted and sent shredded bodies flying every which way.

    Pivoting to face himself forward, he grunted in annoyance as his Gunsuit pitched to the side for a moment as he restabilized himself. With the barrels still spinning he took a moment to survey the area before firing once more. Quick bursts, not even a second at times, were sent towards the largest concentrations of enemies, be they on the ground or dropping down from above. At this point he didn’t even notice the appearance of those he shot at, what they truly were. He simply examined, evaluated, and held down the trigger; clearing a path for the Bradleys and his teammates behind.
  7. From the rear of the convoy, Trent was left mostly out of the loop. He couldn't see past or around his comrades in front of him, but the commotion of his radio made it all the more frustrating that he couldn't do much more than wait for orders and keep his eyes peeled. Alex's intercom broke out from her gunsuit, commanding somebody to move, but they obviously didn't respond. Shots fired, the noise registered before he actually processed what was happening. His readied his own weapons as a figure leapt onto Sam's gunsuit and the entire convoy was suddenly under attack. Or... something. The pilot took to Alex's orders, it wasn't his job to keep them covered and these things were only a hindrance, not a threat. Right on cue, Aftov had begun to launch his own rounds in suppression and the entire entourage began to double-time, everybody kicking into high gear.

    Thud, crack!

    The sound came from his right as a body hit his suit and caused him to stagger. Fuck! Another one hit a spot just next to it and a third hit yet another on the opposite side. Thank god these things weren't smart enough to calculate how much easier it would be to topple top-heavy armor by flanking just one side. The third strike actually helped him regain balance as they pushed forward. He chose not to fire his gun at any of the incoming 'projectile-people' simply because it would be vain at this point. In fact, it would be like hunting a mouse with a shotgun - they were just cannon fodder at this point. He let the vehicles they were escorting use their own ammunition.

    He clicked on his comms and actually laughed a little bit, "Hey, you guys ever see that old flick The Happening? Maybe it's the trees!" He sarcastically hypothesized, "We all knew this day would come, dammit..." The joke was simply meant as a way to keep his mind off of the fact that men, women, and children were all diving from the rooftops and into the only people here to protect them. He had to detach himself, if he looked at any of them God only knows what he'd actually think of it. Right now, they weren't even people, they were just things used as ammunition. That's all he had to tell himself to push past it, to keep his mind centered on the mission.

    Finally, he spoke over the radio directly to Alex rather than an open mic, "We're three minutes out, yeah, but do you think this little fucking party isn't going to follow us all the way to EVAC after? We're not getting picked up if the streets are crawling, Lex," He observed, "We're gonna need to find a way to get them the fuck away from us. Where's the intel on this shit? That's not our god damned MOS. Battlefield should have been more clear of civilians by now, no matter what the fuck got into these people, and we're running in blind." At this point, it was just frustration at what should have been done. But formerly, he had given a real point - no air pilot in their right mind would let this scene near their craft.
  8. There was absolutely nothing miniscule about the sign something strange finally revealed itself to the caravan. Inevitable? There was absolutely no way in hell she could possibly answer that - they'd never been warned, even once, that hundreds of unarmed civilians would be swarming over them. BeeBee snarled within the confines of her suit so she would't sob in horror, her occipital neural implants giving her a perfect 360 degree view of Hell on Earth.

    Aftov... God, she didn't know how Aftov was doing this, mowing down these bodies with .50 caliber burst that cut men and women in half, and disintegrated children in a crimson spray of blood and bone. BeeBee heard Alex, did the equivalent of ducking her head and wading through waist-high river waters in her suit through the path Aftov was trying to clear. She tried not to think too hard as the suit's arms swung, knocking soft human bodies right and left like a scythe.

    And then for one brief, bright and almost surreal moment, she could almost forgive Trent for being such a completely self-absorbed moron, hearing his nervous laughter and some crap about a movie she sure the hell hadn't seen, something about trees or whatever. The particulars didn't matter - she wasn't alone, and they weren't panicking -


    BeeBee groaned, her gorge rising up in the back of her throat as her vision turned crimson just behind her right ear. A middle-aged woman slid off the top 'helm' of her suit, a little on the plump side in her frumpy pantsuit, and leaving a smear of red as she dropped to the ground. Instinct spun her attentions up to the rooftops, calculating the trajectory this body had taken, and then she saw... Something...

    Whatever the hell it was, it wasn't human. It was simply darkness too deep to be the night, and it moved with a breathtaking, preternatural speed along the rooftops - and then leapt to the next. BeeBee gasped, lifting the S-10 in that exact same instant. And though the suit obviously had no need for breath or heartbeat, the squad's marksman still did. In that space between breaths, that eternally still moment between inhalation and exhalation, she fired.
  9. Alex simply replied to Trent over the comms, "We'll deal with how we're getting out of here later." Strangely, the swarms of people suddenly came to a stop, the bodies standing motionless in the streets and on the rooftops. A round from BeeBee's gun had made contact with and apparently obliterated something as it leapt between buildings just moments before, but Alex had no knowledge of that. Instead, she merely muttered to herself, "They stopped?"

    Almost immediately after Alex whispered to herself, they emerged into an area where the buildings became noticeably more industrial and aged in nature, she ordered, "There, on the right, it's the warehouse. We're going to secure this block, make a tight net. At least one of us in every cardinal direction." The streets here were empty, the civilians having been left behind back in the ambush.

    As she took up a position around the surprisingly open ground surrounding the warehouse, the soldiers dismounted and made their way inside through a large hangar-like door that was slightly open, disappearing into the darkness within. They seemed to have been briefed on exactly where the objective was supposed to be, Alex guessed based on their speed.

    For a few moments, the squad leader could catch her breath as the enemy seemed to have backed off. Alex reclined against the seat and let her muscles relax while remaining aware of her surroundings. The buildings around them were generally not as tall as the ones from before, as most of them were places of industry or storage buildings. At least it was unlikely they'd have civilians jumping onto them from above.

    Somewhere nearby, the report of some kind of cannon could be heard, followed shortly by the sound of an explosion. Sam had decided to take the same direction as BeeBee, since there were five gunsuits and four directions, and because BeeBee simply couldn't fire as fast as she could. She wanted to talk to BeeBee but only found her hands shaking uncontrollably, Shit... Shit, I've got to get a hold of myself... Finally, she opened a channel to the woman, but just as she was about to speak, she screamed in pain. In the span of what must have been a second, a dark flash leapt from a roof onto her gunsuit and slammed its fist into the metal, sending something piercing down inside.

    Sam looked in horror at her abdomen which had been pierced by what looked like a long, red bone shaped like a blade. It was suddenly withdraw from her body harshly, pulled out by a humanoid creature that seemed to be a human male with the skin removed. The weapon itself was essentially an organic sword, one clutched in its skinless hands. It looked over at BeeBee's gunsuit and seemed to stare at it, waiting for something.

    In every direction, numerous skinless warriors appeared in the streets and on the rooftops, leaping with incredible speed as they approached the pilots, bone-blades at the ready. Alex roared to everyone, "Another ambush!" Inside the warehouse, gunfire could still be heard. Sam suddenly coughed blood onto her shaking hands and looked at it, the shock having paralyzed her.
  10. Gritting his teeth as he continued to fire burst after burst to prevent them from being cut off, Aftov glanced at the ammunition counter at the corner of his HUD. It was by no means dropping fast, but each time he saw the counter drop to break apart the horde he felt his stomach drop just a bit. That was one less bullet for the real enemy that was lurking behind all of this, hiding in the darkness and shadows. A rather callous line of thought, but ultimately one that helped him not think of what those bullets were doing. Yet even amidst the sharp cracks of his Gunsuit’s M-720s it wasn’t hard to pick out the fire of Beatrice’s S-10.

    It was with an unbroadcasted sigh of relief that Aftov finally let the barrels wind down to a full stop when the surrounding infected, that was what he was going to call them, suddenly ceased movement. Whatever their squad Marksman had done had seemed to work, and he didn’t question what happened; only pushing his Gunsuit forward behind Alex’s. He did bother to open up a channel to Beatrice and say, "Nice shot."

    Spreading out once they’d reached the destination as the squad leader had ordered, he spared a glance to the Bardleys to check on the soldiers, but quickly noted they had already disappeared into the warehouse. With that done, he turned his attention back to surveying the area. Swapping idly between the various display modes the outside cameras had, there wasn’t much to report and he began to spin up the Gunsuit’s weaponry idly.

    So when the contacts popped out in front of him, there was no time wasted waiting for the barrels to spin up. Bringing the linked machineguns up towards the skinless creatures making a beeline for him, he didn’t hesitate to send a short burst of fire towards them before he kicked the Gunsuit into motion, reversing away from the, judging by their weaponry, close-quarter combatants. Keeping his eyes on the contacts closest to him, he took a deep breath to stabilize himself before opening the comm channels and saying, “Covering Beatrice!”
  11. 'Oh Christ... It went right through her. Right through Sam's suit... '

    And whatever was looking her up and down right now, it was... It was flayed. A flayed man. A flayed man with bone swords in his fleshy too-red hands who was staring at her now, expectantly. Sam's blood dripped off the ivory blades to the pavement. Sam's blood...

    One drop. A single, perfect round drop. Then two...

    Something snapped. There was no audible sound - at least not outside Beatrice Marcos' head. But just as Aftov laid down suppressive fire, shouting his intent through the coms, BeeBee screamed, a howl of mad rage reverberating through her gunsuit helm as the army of flayed men converged on the convoy. The muzzle of the S-10 lifted - there was no thought of distance or aiming or breath. She couldn't miss this shot if she tried, and let loose a round into the monstrosity that skewered Sam.

    BeeBee didn't really stop to think - there was no need. Gunfire roaring from inside the warehouses promised their mission had been screwed from the get-go - she didn't give a damn. There was nothing she could do to save a single one of the poor bastards inside, but Sam... Sam was staring in numb horror at the blood on her hands, and BeeBee let the muzzle of the S-10 drop. Her gunsuit twisted, syncing exquisitely with the lean lines of her oh-so-human body as the powerful metal arms hooked up beneath Sam's suit, dragging her back - back down the thin corridor of safety Aftov was carving out of impossibly flayed flesh.

    A mental command opened a single com to Sam, her breathless voice coming through the mic to the bleeding woman in her gunsuit arms. "I got you Sam," she groaned, straining with the effort of dragging the unwieldy gunsuit. "Not gonna... Not gonna let you go... Gotta move... Gotta move Sam... "
  12. Play it by ear? Trent grinned: that was his favorite strategy. Then everything stopped... Oddly, it was far more chilling than when they were being used as ammunition. They were all just standing there, watching. He carefully waded through the sea of people, keeping his weapons ready as the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. They fanned out as they reached the objective, making sure to keep control over the entire area. It was fairly natural to them, tactically, to all find their own niche in the team, eyes peeled. Keep it steady... Nothing up, nothing down, nothing left, nothing right, nothing beh- The fuck is that? Was the only short thought that could make it through his head in the split second that it went from being on the hnt to having something shoved through the thick hull of a gunsuit. Was that Sam's? Oh shit. Oh SHIT. What the fuck was that thing?

    Trent's camera lens zoomed on the attack, blood sliding down the blade and falling to the ground, dripping onto the gunsuit below it. His gun was ablaze instantly as his focus swiveled around at the torrents of flayed man-monsters bounding over the rooftops. Their support took after Sam and Beatrice, so Trent began to step backward toward Alex, his gun spinning hotly as it spewed lead into the approaching enemies. Don't think about it... Don't even think about it. That wasn't Sam's blood - it didn't come from her... It was just some disgusting fluid on the blade from the thing that tried to kill her. Of course it missed though; there's no way that it could even know she was in there, right? Let alone know how to hit her. Exactly, that's what it is... Sam's in there cursing up a storm because Colonel Hotchkiss is going to go ballistic when he sees the suit's wound.

    Trent clicked his comms to directly address Sam, but hesitated... No, better not try, she's gotta focus, anyway. Blood splattered the walls as he moved from one target to the next. His voice addressed the team in the warehouse as he clicked the comms to their helmet, "You guys need to get the hell out of there; we were sent into a shitstorm without enough intel. We can't get to you, we need the Bradleys," He said stiffly, keeping small tabs in his mind on the massive doors to the building. How desperately he wanted to get his suit in there... He should be one of those guys, after all; they shouldn't have been sent in there without more backup. Not when they knew so little about the enemy, at least. He wanted to help, but abandoning his suit would leave him in a world of trouble. It was in his voice, that innate desire to stand in front of his comrades, but he couldn't say or do anything for the operatives in the warehouse at this point.

    He turned his voice over to Alex, "Beatrice has Sam, Aftov's on her twelve... She needs to get somebody on her fucking six or we're gonna be down a sharpshooter," He observed, "Mission was FUBAR from the start..." he muttered as he shut off his microphone, making sure that each and every round flying from the end of his suit's rifle counted. He couldn't leave Alex without cover either, though... He kept one tab on the warehouse door, one on Sam and co., and one on Lex.

    "Marcos," he finally called over to the marksman, "Where the fuck are you going? We aren't going to get anywhere with you dragging Sam before we have a moment of quiet. We need your gun or we're never going to get her out of her safely... She's fine," he promised, his voice quivering. Holy shit, he didn't even believe his own words... She had to be alright though... It was just their first mission - they'd spent so much time together, she couldn't just be gone. Not just like... Not just like that.
  13. Explosive rounds were flying everywhere along with the body parts of 'men'. Most of the swordsmen seemed to spend their time trying to evade rounds, keeping their distance for some odd reason as the trio of Aftov, Trent, and Alex immediately opened up on the monsters. Sam's attacker stood carefully on her gunsuit as Beatrice breathlessly threw a round at it. Two halves of the creature fell to the ground, the round having overpenetrated without detonating in its belly. Its mouth was wide open as if it were smiling, the revealed teeth glistening in the light of the fires.

    Inside the warehouse, the gunfire ceased. The pilots had no knowledge of whether that meant the soldiers were all dead, things had fallen into a stalemate, or that they'd succeeded. Alex furrowed her brow but continued firing, scratching swordsman after swordsman alongside Trent and Aftov. They at least had their flanks relatively well covered, as the beasts attacked from everywhere.

    Sam, meanwhile, heard Beatrice's voice break through her shock, "I got you Sam. Not gonna... Not gonna let you go... Gotta move... Gotta move Sam..." Tears streamed down her face as she replied in a whisper, "I-I don't want to die, BeeBee..." Her voice strengthened suddenly until it was practically a roar, "I don't want to fucking die!!" Samantha took control of her gunsuit once more and ripped away from Beatrice, beginning to unload rounds at the enemy, "Fuck you!" A swordsman exploded. "Fuck you too! You goddamned freaks!" Two more exploded. The sound of inhuman laughter began to fill Sam's ear and she cried out, "Shut up! Shut up!" She refused to listen and continued firing, her gunsuit rocking backwards slightly from the force of the recoil.

    The tactics of the flayed men changed suddenly as the witnessed Sam's fury, and they shifted heavily into evasion mode. One in particular seemed to dodge volley after volley of Aftov's .50 caliber rounds, leaping and bending with incredible grace. It danced with the man's lead, approaching him and then retreating, before once more approaching.

    Both Trent and Alex had their own versions of the 'dancer', creatures which even used the other swordsmen as decoys or simply cannon fodder. Yet their appearances were no different from the others, something that concerned Alex, Are they just toying with us? Or are these leaders or something? Suddenly, their movements all changed at the same moment in mid-air. All three bodies twisted violently, their sword arms lagging slightly behind them before tossing the weapons like high-velocity darts.

    A sword crashed through the metal of Alex's gunsuit and she saw with her own eyes as it cut into her left shoulder. The usually quiet woman cried out in intense pain but kept her senses about herself long enough to witness her dancer explode from one of her rounds, You bastards... She gripped the sword with her right arm but failed to move it. The thing was completely lodged in the metal, pinning her body in place. Her left arm even refused to work, Fuck, must've hit a nerve...

    Another improvised dart penetrated through Trent's gunsuit, slamming into his right lower chest. It too would not budge, the metal of the gunsuit being used against the pilots. Meanwhile, Aftov found himself staring at what would've been his death. The weapon tossed at him had penetrated and come to stop directly to the left of his skull. The other two dancers that had been attacking Aftov and Trent retreated immediately after discharging their weapons, yet the other swordsmen remained.

    Round casings littered the ground and blood was everywhere as four soldiers emerged from the warehouse. Two were carrying a heavy barrel of something between them, and the other two guarded them. Their clothes were practically dyed red from the battle that had occurred inside. The men carrying the barrels quickly moved to get the thing inside a Bradley as the other pair stood guard outside, witnessing the squad taking on the demons. No sooner than they took up their positions, a sword flew through the night and impaled one of the soldiers on the side of the Bradley.

    His rifle was thrown from him by the force of the projectile as he brought hands down around the bony weapon, "Fuck.... Fuck... Fuck me, man..." Blood seeped out around the wound, and as he tried to move, he both failed and received intense pain. The other guard came around the armour, "Shit, not you too!" The impaled man coughed as he removed his helmet and tossed it onto the ground, "You know... what you have to do..." A shot rang out from the man's rifle, blowing away his friend's head. The remaining soldier pulled his friend's corpse off the sword and left it lying on the concrete before scrambling inside the Bradley, carefully making sure to duck under the weapon which had penetrated into the machine.

    The offending swordsmen who killed the infantryman was none other than the smiling top half of the first demon. Its jaw moved up and down as if it were laughing, the half suspending itself in the air with its arms before it shredded by a round from one of the pilots. The creatures backed off suddenly, their mission apparently complete for now. Alex handed out orders, "What's left of the infantry is in the Bradleys, they have the objective. We're moving west, same formation as last time." She completely ignored the sword in her left shoulder, refusing to let herself think about what had happened to the soldier.

    Sam calmed down and got into formation before opening a channel to Beatrice, "BeeBee... Thanks..." A coughing fit overtook her for a moment with a bit more blood spilling out of her mouth as she continued, "I'm not sure... I might've died... Might still..." As she kept up with the others, she attempted to bandage her wound as best she could, I don't want to die... but that man... they killed that soldier because he was hit? Am I going to be killed? What about the others?
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  14. It was complete chaos and Aftov found himself basically cursing up a storm as a mantra to try and keep focus. It helped a bit amidst the gunfire and occasional comm chatter, but every glance at his ammunition level only served to make the pilot slightly more antsy. The kill to ammunition spent ratio did not bode well, but against the agile enemies he couldn’t afford to do much more than aim in their general direction and keep them from closing to close quarters.

    The roar of another weapon firing gave Aftov a surge of confidence as he recognized that Sam was back on her feet and had added her Gunsuit into the fight. Fighting to control his breathing as the situation looked slightly up, the attempt was broken as he cursed up another storm at the enemies switched up their tactics. “The fuck is this?”

    Trying to keep a bead on the flayed men went from hard to simply bullshit as they darted around with newfound speed. To add to that there was one amongst the enemy that seemed to move with even more precision, darting in close before dancing away as if taunting him; and even worse was that it looked no different from any of the others making it impossible to distinguish once it retreated back into the ranks. “Ok then...” Giving up any attempt to actually aim at individuals, Aftov leaned back into his seat as he held down the triggers and began to sweep the mounts side to side; focusing on simply sending rounds in their general direction.

    The sickening screech of shearing metal and the dull impact jerked Aftov in his seat and his headd smacked against the sword-turned-projectile that had punched its way into his cockpit. The barrels mounted to his Gunsuit wound down and stilled as he realized just how close he’d come to nearly dying; his breaths coming unsteadily as he stared at the bone-like material seated next to his skull. Yet a glance that showed one of the swordsman simply standing, as if admiring the throw, caused a rush of anger to boil up. The arms were raised, barrels were spun up, and several rounds were fired in its direction as Aftov focused on the still “alive” bastard rather than its weapon.

    He panted for breath as the creatures finally backed away, letting go of the controls as his hands shook. Without any way to act on it, he ignored the urge to try and remove the offending blade from his cockpit and simply rubbed at his face, wiped the sweat from his brow, and took a drink from his canteen. He fought the urge to puke as he water settled before muttering, “This is shit…” A shake of the head to clear his thoughts though and then he moved his Gunsuit back behind Alex.
  15. One, two, three... He lost count after a handful of flayed men exploded in front of him, round after round burying themselves into their targets before detonating. His suit held its ground as his eyes darted from one of the monsters to another. One continuously dodged every attempt he made to to hit it. He snarled locking in on it, "You son of a bitch, you're mine..." He was so concentrated on hitting it, that he didn't notice the shift in movement until he watched it run away, still evading every single sho-

    "GAAAHHHH," He shouted out just as the blade pierced his suit. "Motherfucking bastard, I'm going to tear your fucking jaw off and use it to smile at you, so help me god!!" The man screamed, not caring that his comms were on. He only felt the white hot pain as the weapon lodged into his chest. He let the thing get to him, it distracted his eyes, just like it planned, and now he had a sword, a fucking sword, through his chest. The hell were these things doing? Trent released his controls, his eyes darting around, fuck fuck fuck... He swore - one day, he couldn't have just this one day, this one mission? Half of his breath was a wheeze as he shut off his comms, squeezing his eyes shut as he started to apply pressure to his chest, regrouping with himself as he tried to focus his breathing into his opposite lung. "Oh god... Please... Please tell me it missed..." He muttered to himself, hoping the blade had only obstructed his lung. Even if he could remove it, he knew that doing so wouldn't be beneficial yet.

    His radio clicked over to Sam, and despite the heavy breathing, his own relief could be heard, "Hey, way to get back on your feet out there... Hang with us... just a few more minutes, okay? We'll get you home, Sam." His mic opened to the entire team again, now that his nerves were being numbed by adrenaline. Breathing was still labored, but at least he could pull himself together. All he needed to do was ignore the white spots in his vision. The private wiped his hands on his uniform, getting the blood off of them so that he could grip the controls. "Alright, let's g-"


    One of the soldiers on the ground blew his comrade away, taking a round to the head. "What the fuck? What the actual fuck?!" He asked, enfuriated... How many of them had taken a blade now? Three? Four? That was half of them, not to mention there were so few pilots that had even made it through the training at all... From the sounds of it, it was necessary, but... why? And why in the fuck weren't they briefed on it? Trent's lip curled back in contempt - grunts or not, they all deserved to know everything they were facing. He'd make it back to HQ, even if he only had the time to chew out whoever it was that led them into battle without properly informing them of the situation. His arms trembled, but he eventually found the control sticks and tightened his hands around them again.

    "Fuck it. I'm on your six, guys. Mission was FUBAR from the god damned start," He snarled with more than a little disgust, getting into formation.
  16. Trent made her absolutely fucking nuts, irritated her and rubbed her fur the wrong direction, in most every single way humanly imaginable. Always going off and doing whatever the hell he wanted, whenever he wanted while they were in garrison, like he wasn't just another Private like the rest of them, but all special and golden and shiny. But he was her pain in the ass teammate, a member of her squad just like Aftov and Sam, who didn't make her near so damned crazy.

    She didn't want him dead.

    And seeing Trent now with a giant bone sword still sticking out of the chest of his suit, witnessing one soldier almost nonchalantly blow his buddy's head off for much the same reason? She could only assume the sword through Aftov's suit helmet didn't actually hit anything vital - anything that big through the head and neck, was never conducive to life. BeeBee felt sick, but she'd be good and damned if she was going to do it in her suit. Sam was still somehow upright in her suit, and BeeBee nodded her 'welcome,' her own face pale and coated with a thin sheen of sweat that had nothing to do with exertion behind her own metal mask. Trent was still moving in his too, somehow - the thing went right through his chest for heaven's sake...

    BeeBee did what she could, trotted back into formation without another word and fell back in. Even the juicy retort she'd saved for Trent for when he'd tried telling her how to do her job with Sam, or to lay down suppressive fire with a weapon that was the equivalent of a sniper rifle? It all just faded away as she let her mind settle back into the 360 degree optical illusion that was her newfound vision inside her suit.

    She had bigger worries now, and they just wouldn't let her be.

    Her 'eyes' never left the rooftops around them, nor the dark alleyways and doorways as the team and the Bradleys began to move out again with whatever they hell they had gotten from the warehouse. BeeBee knew she'd hit - or at least gotten the notice of - that flayed man demon thing that was jumping from rooftop to rooftop before the 'regular people zombies' dispersed. What she did not understand, was why in the hell it did not try to run her through with the bone sword? It just stood there, moving its jaw like it was... Speaking? Laughing? Hell if she knew, but with Sam impaled through the gut by a bone sword, bleeding in her metal arms, damned if BeeBee was up for a little light conversation with a monster at the time.

    She didn't regret blowing it in half... Well, mostly. If she were going to be honest, there were only two things BeeBee regretted from those moments: she would never know if the flayed demon monster thing really did have anything to say, or why it was acting so damned weird; and paradoxically, that she hadn't obliterated it sufficiently to keep it from impaling that soldier to a Bradley, just to be finished off by his buddy.

    'Mercy killing... ' The words rang through BeeBee's head, and the frown grew as intent as her marksman's gaze over the darkened environs all around her people. She knew all about mercy killing, and had forfeited not a few mornings in the stands with her father to put down a passing doe, or maybe a yearling buck, as it limped beneath them. Scarred and trembling and starving as the beast made its hapless way through the underbrush, all because some incompetent hunter's bullet didn't quite do the job and no one had bothered to track the hapless beast... Yes, a quick and instantaneous death was a blessing, long before coyotes or wild dogs could rip it apart; or the long, cruel toll of starvation would finally have its way.

    BeeBee's vision let her take in Sam and Trent both as they moved through the ghost town that Dallas had become, and she worried, and she wondered.
  17. "Hey, way to get back on your feet out there... Hang with us... just a few more minutes, okay? We'll get you home, Sam." Sam heard Trent's words slowly pierce her consciousness as they returned to formation, her hands shaking on the controls. She felt herself flitting between light and darkness as her anger faded, her voice weak as she finally replied as they rolled along, "Thanks... I... I forgot what... I wanted... to sa-" Her gunsuit rolled to a stop suddenly, its pilot having passed out.

    Alex noticed her stopped gunsuit almost immediately, "Fuck. Sam? Sam?! Spare Bradley in the rear, your crew is going to haul her out of the suit, it'll take all three of you. Everyone else stay alert, we have no idea when those bastards will be back!" The team leader immediately began scanning back and forth. The convoy was stuck in a street with buildings on both sides of them, each at least four stories tall. There were a huge number of angles of attack. Sweat rolled down Alex's face as she tried her best to ignore the throbbing pain in her shoulder, We're sitting ducks.

    With the convoy stopped, the rear Bradley seemed not to move for a few seconds, until the commander replied to the squad, "Fuck that, she's gone! If you die from a sword wound you become one of those fucking zombie people! Fuck all this, making us listen to goddamned Privates! Fuck this mission!" It suddenly turned harshly and accelerated quickly down another road.

    "You fucking what?!" screamed Alex through the comms, "Get your fucking deserter asses back here now!! She isn't fucking dead yet!!" The commander's reply came simply, "Fuck you." Alex turned off her comms and screamed in the gunsuit, kicking some of the metal in her cockpit repeatedly before she finally calmed down, "Remaining Bradley, we will not hesitate to shoot you if you run. Send your commander, gunner, and the remaining soldier to pull her out of that thing. If you do not follow orders, you will die." Her gunsuit turned about and aimed its cannon at the Bradley. In truth it was probably an empty threat; they didn't have the ammunition to handle armored targets.

    But they weren't given the opportunity to get out of the Bradley. A sword slammed into the side of the vehicle from the gloom of an alleyway, penetrating the metal but failing to kill anyone inside. In that same instant, a sword pierced the side of BeeBee's gunsuit with incredible force, penetrating cleanly through the entire suit. She suddenly found her left thigh had been sliced along the front. Another sword, thrown with the same force, slammed through Aftov's suit, cleanly slicing through his right shoulder as the weapon cut through the armored vehicle.

    The remaining Bradley seemed to panic and kicked into gear, swerving around the gunsuits meant to protect it and rocketing down the street in an attempt to reach the airport as fast as possible. Even speeding so quickly, it would take at least twenty minutes to make it there. Alex seemed paralyzed for a moment as she analyzed the situation. Nothing else attacked them besides the sudden sword strikes. Finally, she tried to order the Bradley to stop, but it refused to listen. Looking back with frustration, she told the squad, "We have to leave Sam. Follow the Bradley as fast as you can. Our gunsuits can't haul another suit that far... I'm sorry, Sam." Her gunsuit quickly swung around and slammed on the gas after the Bradley.
  18. 'Fuck you Alex... '

    She didn't snarl the words into the coms - the sudden, shocking pain slicing across her thigh stole all her breath away as her suit was penetrated by one of those damned bone sword things. BeeBee wouldn't cry out though - not much more than a groan and a hissing intake of breath. It was her leg - just her leg - and Sam had one of these things through her gut, Trent, through his chest...

    She didn't move, didn't try to stanch the blood, only praying that the blade hadn't nicked the femoral artery. If it had, she was dead anyway - there was no way for her to continue moving without a tourniquet. And so outwardly she was still, listening incredulously as the Bradley crew turned tail and ran, throwing out crazy talk on top of crazy talk - except maybe it wasn't crazy talk? Maybe if they were all hit by these bone sword... Blades... And died? They would be doomed to become infected zombie things like the ones they first saw. It was crazy, insane talk, but nothing about this crap sandwich of a mission had been sane or right anyway, from the start...

    Inside, the panic in BeeBee's gut ratcheted up to jaw-clenching, teeth-shattering heights.

    BeeBee wasn't thinking about trying to be a hero. She was scared - so scared, she thought she might puke inside her suit. She wanted nothing more than to run after Alex, and then sprint right the hell past her, all the way back to post, strip the suit and haul ass back home and never look back. But her father's face flashed in her mind's eye, and she thought about the conversation they'd have one day - and they would. Yes, if she lived through this, she absolutely would tell her Dad everything, every last detail. And then? Then she imagined telling him how Sam, for all her bravery, for all her fight and all her strength, had been abandoned for dead while they ran...

    She had absolutely zero authorization to do what she was thinking, much less ask her teammates for help. This wasn't her squad, this was Alex', and BeeBee couldn't do a thing without them, but commit virtual suicide. Hell, even if they did agree, this was probably suicide anyway.

    "Aftov, Trent - I'm not leaving Sam," she said over the intercoms, half-surprised that her voice in her own ears sounded even, calm. "I'll get out. I'll get her out of her suit." Her gaze fell on an abandoned car nearby, and she knew she could blow a door off, cut out the seat belts, tie Sam's body down to it and then strap the makeshift travois to her own suit...

    Heh. All this, while not getting impaled on a bone sword. Brilliant...

    "But I can't do it without you, without cover... "
    #18 Muirgen, Feb 12, 2015
    Last edited: Feb 12, 2015
  19. "Get a hold of yourself, Sam! You didn't forget anything, just... Come on!" He ordered as his comrade's voice faded out.

    Trent's palm forcefully met the ceiling of his cramped suit in frustration. God dammit! He snarled in his mind, gritting his teeth as pain seared from his chest and into all of his joints. The Bradleys were gone, they were all alone out here without the vehicles to cover them, they would never catch up to keep the guard operational... Trent's breath grew ragged as he regathered his ability to mentally numb the pain. The private held his breath for one heartbeat... two heartbeats... Alex was heading out, but BeeBee stopped.

    "Ugh... fuck it. Didn't you learn anything in basic, Alex? Either we all get back, or none of us do. I'm not going anywhere until we've some way to get her home," His suit turned to BeeBee's as a blade penetrated her armour. "Where the fuck are they coming from?" He growled angrily, Are they just territorial? Come in, take it, and then defend anything that doesn't instantly turn tail and run away? Something else came to his mind... What one of the deserters said. Turn into one of them? But that would mean they weren't aliens... they were human. And he'd torn them apart one by one... Blasted them away... What the hell was going on?

    "I'm with you, Marcos. We can't leave without her..." He said, readying his own weapons to cover her, "Be careful, these wounds are rough." Taking a deep breath, he looked around for their attackers, "I can't get out, this thing's right through my fuckin' chest. Otherwise I'd be right there with you..." Fuck, to think that he was actually a more versatile fighter out of his suit and he couldn't even get his feet on the ground with his injury. He wondered how they were going to get him out at HQ; the blade passed through him entirely, and the suit was likely in a very bad way from it too.

    "I've got eyes on the area... Be quick, whatever you gotta do, let me know how I can help," He said defiantly, keeping his eyes peeled.
  20. He couldn’t help but wince when the Sam trailed off before cutting out completely and the sickening sound of her Gunsuit coming to a halt. Aftov bit his lower lip nervously as he twisted his Gunsuit slightly off to the side to avoid a crash with Alex as he came to a halt and began to scan their surroundings. This mission was just death trap after death trap it seemed, every position the squad paused at unfavourable at best. He tried not to think about what was happening with his teammate, but the argument on the comms forced him to pay attention to not only their surroundings, but also what was happening between those on the mission.

    “Are you fucking serious?!?” He raged inside the cockpit with his comms turned off as he watched the Bradely roar off by its lonesome. Despite his outrage, it was not the sole emotion he felt and they conflicted with one another. Fear for what would happen to Sam, the creeping despair at the impossibility of their task, and fear that any of them would leave this city alive. He was idly aware of Alex’s threats to the remaining Bradley, but he ignored it for the moment to scan the surroundings; a task he’d been lax on during that distracted moment.

    It didn’t do him much good, as Aftov noticed the incoming projectile as quickly as he had the first; that is not at all until it had punched clean through his Gunsuit. A pained, but muffled scream leaked past grit teeth as he fought to keep himself from thrashing at the pain and worsening the wound. His head slammed against the impaled blade next to it several times and he blinked woozily as the pain was slightly dulled. His right hand spasmed uncontrollably and it was only the audible spin-up of his unit’s barrels that cut through the pain and forced him to relax his grip. As the barrels wound down and the shock seemed to pass, he tried to calm his breathing. Alex’s order following the second Bradley abandoning them ruined that though and he glanced between his two teammates who refused to abandon their third, and the squad leader’s speeding Gunsuit.

    As much as he hated it, he turned his Gunsuit about and made to follow after Alex. “Sorry you two.” The situation was completely out of their hands at the moment, and even if they had some semblance of control over the outcome the situation didn’t look good for Sam. His right arm was barely responding, twitches more than controlled, precise movements. And “excuses” aside… he really didn’t want to die damn it. He knew that it made no difference to his chances of survival whether he stayed or left, the two blades embedded in his cockpit made that quite clear, but while on the move there was just that much more hope. So with an arm on his Gunsuit slowly falling to the ground as he struggle to control that side, Aftov sped after the squad’s leader.
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