Chapter Text
Day 1
Balam Redguns reserved channel
"Didn't expect you to call me, Walter!" Michigan picked up in a heartbeat, "Got any good news for me?"
"Let's say so." Walter felt little need to gift wrap his deal proposal on with Michigan, "I suppose you could use one more hand with how things went down at Grid X-133..."
"Fuckin-A!" The volume of the curse cutting him off activated the automatic audio equalizer program a split second too late, "A real party over there. PCA, indies, even the commies brought a few Bashes to the fight! We just finished scraping G7 off the sidewalk, I'm glad you asked. And who brought a fucking mime to the clown war?"
FILE: hit-and-run-00.cam ... he-got-G7-05.cam
A stack of uncompressed combat footage piled up in Walter's chat window; fortunately his bandwidth was saved by a glance at their thumbnails. A C-2000 utility AC, the unloved tractor tank of Rubicon, one of the few non-Coral legacies of the Institute still on the market and keeping the lights on.
"...My Hounds opened up Belius Express for you, Michigan, and you are welcome too. You saw the scrap afterwards. Now, onto the good news."
"No hard feelings! Go on."
"C4-769 and 770. I read Balam's shareholder reports that you are 'again behind on team synergy working out issues with old-gen Coral Augmented Humans', while I have accommodating supplies and medical advice. Get them checked out, bring them closer to the level of normal you need."
Michigan wheezed, slapped the wall, then laughed until he wheezed again: "Good old organic mechanic! Let me look at this gift FCS in the long range assist. What you want, tax credits in marrying me?"
"I'm back in the game."
This time, Walter was not met with surprise nor exaggerated, imitated surprise. At the other end of the call, there were the noises of a mechanical mouse and keyboard. Then, came a still image of a burning meteorite crossing the broken skies of Rubicon.
"That's your last one, right?"
"...Yes. Blown the fuck off track, even out of remote detonator signal range." Walter allowed himself to cuss. He knew the man who built supremacy for Furlong's legally-not privateers in Jupiter's orbit would correctly tell what happened above.
I'll pay you double for the C4 supplies with anything else left in your den. You catch the next civilian airship to Austro Joint Security Area and let G12 Milwaukee buy you a ticket."
"I'm out of bodies to throw at the prize. It's time for me to take a shot. You have first right of refusal, but be warned, I'm still self employed."
[+]
Day ?
Somewhere in Rubicon, the icon of [DATA CORRUPTED]
"Control, the castaway's life signs have stabilized. An old generation Augmented Human. C3?"
Lucky day for the hairless cyborg with a Coral rebreather welded to his face, the shady party that recovered him followed the one rule of Rubicon: Anyone and everyone pulled from a wreck that passed the blockade is seen as a guest for at most 9 days. At the end of that period, some rules say the castaway should become property, others say they should be driven out, or delivered to the PCA, and there were other options in spoken or unspoken conventions.
"Interesting. I'll see what comes up in Allmind and PCA databases. You found anything interesting on the AC?"
"Nothing. Thought I gotta wipe the tags before picking for spares, though it seems to be mint before the FUBAR... Oh, you're awake!"
"Hello, world." He greeted according to the basic human communication dataset, with language automatically identified.
"Welcome to the land of blue lights. Jesus Christ is dead." The unassuming man before him replied with an incredulous expression, "Fuck, we've got a Human Lite, not a Human Plus."
"I bet the poor soul doesn't even know which year it is." Human Lite was a slur against Generation Seven and later Augmented Humans; their non-Coral enhancements were scoffed by older pilots as ineffective for their supposed superiority.
"Cache flush reset complete. Awaiting handler ID setup." The castaway attempted the most direct way he knows to offer loyalty and/or gratitude with the default COM vocal line. The data of his identity and ownership was degaussed by unforeseen, unknown outside force anyway.
The man thought for a while scratching his chin, "Handler ID, Thinker. Confirm. I'm a thinker, drastic baby, you know the song?"
"Handler designated. Augmented Human [Missing ID] at your service, Thinker."
"Welcome to Rubicon."
[+]
Day 1.x
War room, Arquebus mobile base, Eastern Belius
"Tell me about how Michigan pulled out another AC out of his hat so soon after losing G7." Snail only entered the room once he heard the proper cue over the intercom: O'Keeffe miserably breaking a slice of knackebrod into bite-sized pieces. The old chap always dips it in his coffee, complaining about hardness and bitterness all the time.
"Balam frugality." The answer prompted a wave of dismissive nods and hums, but O'Keeffe must elaborate despite it, "Identifying the AC is simple. The head came from G7, everything else is reprogrammed from Balam Normals disassembled at Austro JSA. Consider it functionally a standard Melander, with a bargain bin power package."
Hawkins and Swinburne exchanged some hushed calculations about the shipping. A Balam Normal was a Melander series AC with a cut rate head and hardcoded to disable core pulse functions. But logistics wise, it was still as expensive to move around.
"And the pilot?" Freud asked, "Rifle and missile could be Normal spares, but he's manually controlling that pulse blade."
"Good eye, sir." O'Keeffe straightened himself with a disheartened smile, "The pilot is newly registered on Allmind, supposedly unaligned for now. Now, I will report on a man named Walter Keyser, active in the Jupiter War."
"Handler Walter, a middleman! Wait, the Jupiter War? Oh, pardon, that's before my time."
New money, Snail thought. He looked around at everyone else realizing what V.I truly lacked - not experience, time. The commander on paper was in the same generation as Swinburne, age-wise. Then, he switched on his personal tablet as the other proceeded with their character study.
There was one implication for such a man to place his bet at this point in the rising stakes, no matter how far along he goes with Balam. Another step to the prize was uncovered.
"V.IV." He interrupted whatever the conversation was, to call out the designated hunter-killer of the Vespers, "You are now on aggressor training duty until further notice, in physical. I will assign you a S-series from the non-numbered and access to the salvage yard. If V.III updates his assembly, you follow it as closely as possible."
"Understood." The newcomer was exceptionally aware for today's meeting. Good.
"V.VI, you are now moved to my wingman as default. V.VIII, send word to Austro, tell Laurel and Hardy their publicity mission is over."
"Acknowledged, commander."
"Sir? We don't have any code names Laurel and Hardy."
"V.IX Bataille and V.X Miro, boy." Snail returned a look of determination to Swinburne's financially-induced frown, "The funny brothers. You'll hate them as much as I do once you see them fight, but they bring firepower."
"Distaste will be applied, sir.
[+]
Day 1.7
Redguns tactical channel, Redguns entry point, Gallia Dam Complex
G1 Michigan
Attention G4, G5! Your field trip is shadowing this actual professional. I hope you can watch and learn, because finally it's not me teaching you!
G4 Volta
A basic ass 011! Could have thought it's Red trying out a new style.
To be honest, and to be blunt, Volta told everyone he wanted to apply his newly learned trigonometry skills and drop some devastating indirect fire on the gravity dams. However, the mission was to destroy its transformers, erroneously labeled as generators as Wu Huahai pointed out, and the stationary phased array radar built on top of it by the RLF.
G5 Iguazu
Why are we covering a freelancer? This is ass-wiping station. Michigan, you collecting another stray?
Iguazu wanted to forget the plans and just get the job done fast. No frills, his cutting edge Melander C3 HEAD BRINGER was more than enough. Hell, even that solo basic unpainted Melander could do it.
G13 Unknown
Approaching AO. Clear channel advised.
G5 Iguazu
He's a fucking geezer? Fuck this shit, I can't even -
G1 Michigan
Say hello to Gun 13 Superior, and his AC NINEBALL!
G4 Volta
Heh, Superior.
G5 Iguazu
Nice joke, you go sit on Volta's wheelchair and I'll handle them.
He abandoned the inverse-V formation and began using the enemy BAWS half-track technicals and MTs as anger management. No, stress relief, barely enough. The Ludlow submachine gun was doing all the shouting match for him while his railgun was ready for the theoretical real threat.
G1 Michigan
Gun 5! Is that how you talk to your superiors? Ha!
G5 Iguazu
I've had enough, I've had enough...
Above him, NINEBALL crashed full speed into the first transformer. The shower of sparks nearly blinded his AC-connected cyber eyes. Then, the unpainted machine blasted off towards the next target.
G1 Michigan
Follow Gun 13! You said it yourself Gun 5, wipe his old geezer ass!
G4 Volta
*fake dry heaving noises*
G13 Superior
Redgun actual, intel did not specify the location of the third transformer. Requesting help in searching sub-area at 3 o'clock.
G5 Iguazu
No shit, recon was chicken. I'm going up, old man.
His newfound sense of camaraderie based upon frustration against military intelligence was shattered by the sight of a Heavy Tetrapod MT - or colloquially known as a Fatboy. Any one of these could easily scrap a Balam Normal back home, and even gave Red a harrowing fight the first time he saw one; rumor has it, Michigan was immensely impressed by the performance of those, so much that he wanted to formally replace his AC with one. That AC, LIGER TAIL, was a hangar queen.
INTRUDER DETECTED
Little Ziyi // MT-J-048D
What kind of amateur rigged a public broadcast ID on it?
G4 Volta
Let me at the Fatboy, you two keep looking for the... Thing!
The semi-tank AC propelled itself across the imposing height, seemingly powered only by testosterone. With a thunderous crash, it landed in front of the oversized MT.
Little Ziyi
Make way! I'm looking for payback!
The ungainly mass of steel gracelessly leaped over him, then activated its laser blade. It was going towards NINEBALL.
G1 Michigan
Huh, was that the same MT that crashed into RLF's supply choppers on your run, Gun 13?
Gun 13 Superior
Target No.3 verified, C4-769, you take it... Pull back, 770!
Why was this old man calling him and Volta by their merchandise numbers? Fuck, Volta was supposed to be the later augmented one by a few hours, but he got promoted faster.
Little Ziyi
Coral, devour that tank AC!
At a first glance, the handful of RLF MTs supporting their Heavy Tetra were ducking behind cover at the top of the rightmost dam and exchanging barely aimed potshots with Volta. Then, their purpose became more obvious. As they bombed and he skated around, mulched ice formed a crater, surrounding the indent melted by his thrusters. Worse, he was also using thrust to counteract his recoil.
INTRUDER DETECTED
Index Dunham // BURN PICKAXE
Index Dunham
Burial in ice suits you well, corporate vulture!
G5 Iguazu
Finally, something different!
Having kicked the third transformer like NINEBALL did, he took a quick break to see the rest of the battlefield: The newcomer RLF AC was still catching up with range, the suspiciously young MT pilot was screaming in rage from missing the old fuck with yet another wild swipe with the laser blade. Melee weapons should not be on any humanoid weapon that big! ...And Volta was being himself. He won't sink, but tunnel vision was preventing him from disengaging like a normal person with self preservation instincts before his tracks digs to hell.
G13 Superior
C4-769, we still have a job to finish. You got range to take care of the radar.
Bull fuckin-shit. Nobody's that charitable when it's clear who was Michigan's favorite. There was some moral of the field trip out there, and Iguazu knew to play dumb. Wait, was Michigan still watching?
G5 Iguazu
I'll handle the Fatboy then help Volta, you're closer anyway.
G1 Michigan
Listen to the substitute teacher! I'm busy!
Almost lazily, Iguazu let his HEAD BRINGER glide onto the frozen reservoir, ignoring Dunham halfway and zigzagging a path between the RLF grunts.
Index Dunham
Corporate rat, I'll sink your armored coffin!
Then, just half an assault boost, he was at eye level with the massive radar. He was even close enough to feel its hostile buzz course through the C3's armor.
G5 Iguazu
Well, fuck you too!
The radar imploded at the railgun impact, and became an amazing display of sparks, flammable coolant and metallic debris.
Index Dunham
Father, I've failed you...
G13 Superior
Calling RLF AC pilot. You still have more to lose.
At its corner of the battlefield, NINEBALL has discarded its right hand Turner assault rifle to catch a physical grip onto the Heavy Tetra MT. Its boosters were at full burn, pivoting the heavier machine, while the pulse blade on its left hand was visibly charged with energy. At such a point blank range, once it activates, the MT's armor and structural steel would be instantly melted all the way to its cockpit.
Index Dunham
Maggot!
Little Ziyi
This MT has Assault Armor, you wanna find out? A detonator!
G13 Superior
The Redguns will disengage now. Be civil and make a deal with me.
Iguazu kept his sights on BURN PICKAXE. It would be difficult to circle around and relieve Volta now, so he felt the only option was to observe the old man do some fucking magic.
Index Dunham
...Let them run, Coral Warriors.
Watching drone coverage and datalink report the trio remove themselves from the premise without further incident, Michigan left the situation room to his staff team and reconnected his call with Nile:
"You sure Arquebus is calling in two tail-end Vespers? No, we don't move the Normals when PCA is on high alert. Put on a show with Tiber and Shibuya... Make them think we're just matching their numbers, and then? Boom!"