That Wounded, Old World (IC; Far-PMT; Invite Only)

[New Frenco Empire]

RETCON

[New Frenco Empire]

Corporal Einan Dunlap. Exo Company.

January 4th, 2293
Atmosphere above Russia, Unidentified Village
2115 Hours

Dunlap could hear the sound barrier shatter as he entered the atmosphere. Orbital drops were a serious matter, and the smallest mistake would kill him in an instant. Not thirty seconds ago did he leap, from the exosphere, and downwards towards Earth. He had very little control over where he himself would land. That was a job best suited to the computers and satellites. They calculated and determined exactly when, where, and how he should jump. One little screw-up, and he could wind up anywhere on the Eurasian continent. Being an Exo paratrooper was a dangerous job, but hey, they weren't called "Helljumpers" for their cake-baking, were they?

The ground came in clearer and clearer with every foot he fell. "TWENTY-THOUSAND FEET. ACTIVATE BLAST SHIELD." His AI chimed. He gripped his left fist tightly, signaling his databoy. He could feel the plates shifting over his armor. After another few seconds, "TEN-THOUSAND FEET. ADJUST POSITION." He managed to switch from the head-first position to a feet-first one, just in time for the next chime. "FIVE-THOUSAND FEET. DEPLOY PARACHUTE." He gripped his right fist, which was connected to the pack. In an instant, he felt himself slow down as the thick chute deployed. "ONE-THOUSAND FEET. PREPARE FOR LANDING." As he floated downwards, he spotted both of his companions in his peripheral vision. Good. One hell of a mission to do alone.

He touched down shakily. He fumbled into a thick puddle of water, covering his left side in mud. He took the pack off, and wiped as much of the muck off of his armor as he could. His partners landed in the wetlands as well, all within close proximity. "Everyone make it okay?" Corps Sergeant Gregor Kindale transmitted. "Dunlap, check." Dunlap activated his own comm. "Yep. I see ya." He casually said. "Johnston, check." Silence. "Johnston, come in." After another moment of silence, the deep Frenkish-African voice of Sergeant Lance Johnston came in. "Remind me to transfer over to the navy. Submariners never have to deal with this shit!" Dunlap walked towards his companions, removing his AR62 SOPMOD and APR gauss sniper rifle and from their protective cases. Kindale did the same, and slung his AR62 on his back. Johnston, however, carried a K7 SOPMOD and an L19 grenade coilgun. "Alright, ruskies are going to be all over the radio disturbance. Mission parameters in check. Knock out Russian satellite support to this area, giving our little ally the valuable entrance window she needs." Kindale said, checking over his databoy. Johnston looked ahead of the group. "We're actually working with the damn pinkos now?" Kindale finished up on his databoy. "Anything to put a thorn in the lassies' sides. Either way, those satellite stations need knocking out if we want drone support and a ride out of here."

Johnston shrugged. "You're the boss. Yo, Dunlap! Let's get a move on!"

[New Frenco Empire]

Sergeant Mitchell Hampton

January 4th, 2293
Unknown; Tokyo, Japan
0630 Hours

"Shit! Open fire!" Mont yelled, just as the mysterious man landed in front of them. The dozens of soldiers around them began spraying on his position. Soon enough, even a nearby Heron began dumping 20 mils into him. It seemed to be an extreme overkill, as the figure was down within seconds. The firing stopped eventually, revealing the man to be lying face-down, his outfit heavily-ripped.

For a while, the soldiers all kept their guns pointed at his body. "Lowski, Cornwallis, Falen. Put a few bullets in his head to be sure. Considering all the crazy shit I've seen from 'em so far, it wouldn't surprise me if he's still holding on." Mont said, not taking his eyes off of the body. Hampton glanced over to Lowski. He hadn't known her for very long, but she did somewhat save his life by turning off that machine. He owed her this much. He looked to Mont. "Sir, I've been identifying corpses for almost 15 years. The skill comes with the job. Permission to approach, sir?" He said. Mont sighed. "I don't care if the entire platoon fucks the body. Just make sure he's dead!" Hampton nodded, and drew his SIG Sauer. He slowly walked over to the black-clad corpse, pistol drawn, sweat slowly dripping down his face. Lowski and the other two soldiers followed close behind.

Eventually, they were all at the body. Lowski kept her rifle pointed right at the back of his head while Hampton checked for signs of life. He couldn't find any. This man, who just flawlessly landed from the top of a building or an aircraft or whatever high vantage point he had, just died so anticlimactically. He gave the a-okay to Mont, and Hampton began to get up...

[Gigaverse]

Zero

January 4th, 2293 LC
Drone Center
0632 Hours

Suddenly, "the body" grabbed onto the rifle pointed at the back of his head. To the Frenkish's surprise, within the next second, he stood up at a pace they could not keep up with, his hands got a firm hold of the woman's rifle, who lost it without being able to react at all. Then, he proceeded to gun down the mech nearby with the bare rifle, all while his outfit seemingly healed itself in a glow of light. Whatever he did with the rifle in the short time he had, he managed to effortlessly make the mech explode. As the troops prepared to fire, rush at him, or both, he pointed his gun to their direction. And they pointed to his.

"How underhanded of you. Just when I'm ready to talk and apologize for the inconveniences."

"FIRE!", the man on the other side ordered.

The bullets flied straight at his direction. He didn't even bother to pretend he was a weakling, however. After taking a few bullets, he literally jumped on the bullets, performing waltz in the air, before landing perfectly on the ground.

Once again, the other group fired. Just then, a force field appeared, blocking the bullets where they were and freezing the shooters on the spot.

"Well, excuse me and my hospitality, I have more important things to do. That field will expire, eventually, but whether or not Hollows will surround this place in the duration of its exhaustion, I can't promise."

His charming smile switched to become a much more malevolent one-sided smirk; easily, his razor-sharp eyes looked how they were supposed to: evil. He put on his mask, as the wall beside him exploded. The morning light shined on him, as he turned to face the sun. He started speaking, his voice amplified by the mask.

"People of Japan! Look around you!

You, to the Frenkish, are but disposable people and pawns! Those who can be sacrificed in their so-called 'great causes'! An eyesore to them! Slaves, grunts, barbarians, and nothing more in the eye of the xenophobic, immoral populace of the New Frenco Empire!

Years taken away from you, all those years lost, for what? Your culture continuously raped, what little resources you never used got exploited by the enemies! Nature is ravaged, and local peaceful religions are all but discriminated against with extreme prejudice! I dare say they executed anyone secretly practicing religion! Police suppression, propaganda and the horrific likes of which we can never imagine!

But those days you were driven under the chains and flogs of either the Chinese - the true villains behind the United Dominion of Asian Peoples, also known as United Dictatorships in Asia of the Populists; or this: the New Frenco Empire, are over!

Do acknowledge this fact, both of your pathetic factions. You are no longer holding power. Japan and its allies are. Soon, the Chinese would be in a position, begging to join forces with us. The Frenkish would look at us in awe when we physically hold the world they think is theirs. Christian pilgrims, Buddhist monks, Shamans and Shrine Priests will flock to our nation as a holy site of the new world that is to be born.

So henceforth, I do hereby proclaim and crown myself EMPEROR ZERO OF THE HOLY JAPONIAN EMPIRE! VICTORY TO THE GLORIOUS EMPIRE! Shinsei Yanopia Teikoku, Banzai! NIPPON, BANZAI!"

All over the city, the sound of Banzai came up so loud, it could crack the sky. In the face of the wailing communists and self-obsessed hedonists, was the birth of a new faction by its own right: the Holy Japonian Empire. Obviously, someone learnt his Latin lesson.

[New Frenco Empire]

Sergeant Mitchell Hampton

January 4th, 2293
Unknown; Tokyo, Japan
0635 Hours

The masked man (who was dead not three minutes before) finished his speech, and leaped through the air, nothing but his legs to propel him to a high altitude. Hampton raised his pistol at him, and fired three rounds as he elevated away. This was futile, however, as the man had already set off at tremendous speeds. Hampton cursed under his breath, and looked to the others. He, Lowski, and the other two Mont send were too close to the man, and weren't hit by the field. "Everyone okay?" Hampton asked.

Lowski still appeared to be in shock, what with the man grabbing her rifle like that. The others were staring at the sky, trying to see if they could see the man among the zooming aircraft. "Alright, let's see if we can get the others up to speed before the Hollows show up." Hampton said as he approached Mont. Mont stood there, frozen, aiming his rifle at the spot the man stood at before, an angry frown on his face. Hampton snapped his fingers in his face, and shook his shoulder a bit. "Damn. You're really out there..." Hampton muttered as he began to walk away. "Best bet's to wait. They ain't comin' out of it anytime soon." Hampton holstered his pistol and took a look around. The entire platoon was frozen in place, the look of shock still on their faces.

Hampton eyed the body of a dead soldier in the corner, presumably killed during the assault on this position. Beside him was an unopened medical kit, indicating that an attempt was made to save his life, but there was nothing they could do. He was almost as big as he was. "I take it you're Walters?" Hampton mumbled cynically. After a few minutes, Hampton scoped himself in Walters' armor. Luckily, his death was caused by a magic of some sort, so no blood had stained the inner-suit. Hampton hooked up his own databoy to the helmet, and the visor sprang to life. The Hammerhead MkII he was always used to wearing was tough and simple. It didn't have a lot of this fancy technology integrated in, but it could take a beating. He was going to have to get used to this relatively high-tech Army gear. He located Walters' AR62, and slung it on his back. He also picked up the medical kit. Couldn't leave something so valuable behind.

Just as he was about to get situated, a JH-4 Raven appeared over them, it's primitive rotors spinning loudly. It slowly landed in the middle of the street, it's four, gigantic landing limbs extending just before it landed. Five soldiers immediately stepped out of the back hatch. Four of them had the look of medics, while the odd-man-out looked to be an officer of some breed. They slowly moved towards Hampton, staring at the frozen soldiers as they walked. The medics were visibly shocked, while the officer was very grim. He made short grunt. "I take it this was the work of those bastards?" He said nonchalantly. Hampton nodded. The officer frowned in confusion. "Who are you?" Hampton removed his helmet. "Sergeant Mitchell Hampton. Enforcer Corps. I lost my armor, so I improvised...er, sir." The officer shrugged. "In the past eight or nine hours, we've been holding our own against magic-wielding armies straight out of some cartoon. It doesn't surprise me a well-trained thug turned into a grunt so easily. Captain Lamar Kale. I've been overseeing this little rescue op."

He turned to his medics. "Yes, they're frozen. If intel's right, it should wear off before long. Get inside the facility and make sure the prisoners are taken care of!" The medics jumped at the sudden realization of their goals. They hurried inside, kits and canisters ready. Kale turned again to Hampton. "Listen, I can't be for sure, but I may have spotted a few squads headed this way. If you're going to dress like a grunt, might as well act like one. Help me get these people away until they snap out of it. Hopefully, it'll be before they're all over our asses!" Kale waved to the others. "Falen! Cornwallis! Take those five behind the dumpster! Lowski, come help us!"

[New Frenco Empire]

RETCON

[Ardavia]

ignore this it seemingly can't be deleted for some reason

[New Frenco Empire]

Corporal Einan Dunlap. Exo Company.

January 4th, 2293
Russia, Caucasus Mountians, Outside Unidentified Village
2122 Hours

The three troopers crept through the wetland, wary of potential patrols. Eventually, the trees started to thin up, and they reached the edge of the swamp. Beyond the swamp, the terrain began to get very hilly. Kindale signaled them forward. Without the cover of the trees, they had no concealment. Kindale switched on the internal stealth chip in his data boy, cloaking him in a field of invisibility. Dunlap and Johnston did the same. They began moving again, but didn't get far before Kindale stopped them. "Looks like a house up ahead. They could be innocents, but I have no doubt the government's called in the Patriot's Militia. Better check it out."

The three subtly approached the house, rifles gripped tightly. Kindale lowered his weapon, and hit his databoy again. "Thermal's picking up four of 'em, all armed. It's an outpost." He hit it again, disabling his visor. "Johnston, get a flashbang in there. Dunlap, clear 'em out." Dunlap nodded, and raised his rifle. Johnston snuck around the back of the house, his cloaking hiding him from the window view of whoever was inside. He located a window, and prepped a grenade. He swiftly punched out one of the panes, alerting the armed men inside. He lobbed it in, and it exploded instantly. Dunlap quickly turned into the doorway.

The four men were stumbling about, still disoriented by the explosion. Dunlap quickly raised his rifle, and fired off four bursts in quick succession, each aimed at a different man. The hits were accurate, and the men collapsed as they struck their midsections. Dunlap kept his rifle raised as he approached one of the bodies. Obviously members of the Patriot's Militia. They each had an old AK variant. One had a Saiga, the other an AN-94, his friend and AK-108, and the last an AK-103. All of them were very old, yet well-maintained. Those weapons probably belonged to them. They would probably need them, since the Patriot's Militia was active most of the time in the Caucasus. The mountains were infamous for being New Bolshevik territory.

Speaking of which, that reminded Dunlap that they needed to get a move on to meet their contact. "All clear, sir!" He yelled to Kindale. "Nice shootin', kid." Jonhston said as he circled back around the house. Kindale waved them forward. "There's a canyon up ahead. The contact said she'd be there. You guys aren't going to like them, but if we want to secure the subject, we'll have to work with them." Kindale said as he punched on his Databoy. Johnston sighed. "Goddamn New Bolsheviks..."

[New Frenco Empire]

Sergeant Mitchell Hampton

January 4th, 2293
Tokyo, Japan
0640 Hours

The medics rushed the last of the freed prisoners into the VTOL. Kale walked inside the VTOL, towards the cockpit. "Fly low, and towards the south. Charlie could be on us at any minute!" He stepped out, and knocked loudly on the side. The back hatch swung closed, and the limbs retracted. It turned almost 360 degrees exact, and started flying in that direction. After a minute, it disappeared behind the skyscrapers and tall buildings. "Shit, I hope I thought this through. They'll be five of us alert and ready to square off against the platoon once it gets here if the others don't come out of it. Set up!"

Hampton made sure his rifle was loaded, and squatted behind a large chunk of concrete debris. He propped his gun up, and waited. He just realized: There were only five of them capable of holding the position! Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. If the others didn't snap out of it soon, they would be overrun with them. Hah. "That field will expire" my ass. It wouldn't surprise me if they never woke up. I don't know who these bastards are, but they're certainly not very ethical. Hampton couldn't help but to smile at himself. He, a man who admits to being a borderline-sociopath who works as a thug for an autocratic regime, who, just yesterday, beat the shit out of a young girl and an old man for getting too close to him in a protest, just criticized someone over ethics. Humans. We're all so deliciously hypocritical.

Just as he left his thoughts, he heard yelling, followed by the whizzing of bullets past his head. He got it together, and returned fire with his assault rifle. He fired one burst to the left, another to the right, and several down the center. He couldn't tell where they were coming from, but he knew the enemy fire was originating from the other side of the street, down the alleys and through the thick buildings. He heard his gun click, and covered himself with the debris a bit more. He popped the magazine out, and popped in a fresh one. He also noticed that his rifle had a Gauss attachment. He poked his head out from the debris, and looked for a desirable spot to hit with it. He saw a few of the black-armored, Ranger-like soldiers come out from an alley, about 30 yards to the west. He raised from his cover-spot, and fired the attachment at the location. The high-velocity projectile slammed into the nearest figure, the kinetic force of it pushing him into two of his friends. Hampton then dumped about a fourth of the magazine into the area, finishing the other two off.

After finishing that magazine, he reached down for another. Only two more after this one. Just as he raised to return fire, a colossal shadow was cast over him. At first, he thought it was a Frenkish aircraft of some sort. His hopefulness turned to despair when he noticed it wasn't Frenkish at all. It seemed to be what the leader of these people referred to as a "helicoplane." Fuck. My. Life.

[Ardavia]

January 4th 2293
Precinct 9, Central District, Ardavia
above the Old Ardavian Ruins, Alaska
1323 Hours

Lieutenant Thomas Johnson, Imperial Peacekeeper Corps

The Peacekeepers assembled; clad in their Mark X combat suits and about half of them armed with the heavy Sluggers of the Peacekeeper Corps, massive blasters firing paralyser shots. The first layer was skintight and rather… invasive, but the second layer could provide protection against any weapons these rioters were likely to have and together with the massive wall of assault shields, the rioters would have hell overcoming the Peacekeepers. Behind them, the 1st Peacekeeper Division, which to Thomas’ amazement had been mobilized, were forming up out of sight of the rioting hordes. All the Peacekeeper divisions were civilians trained in riot control and outfitted with modified military equipment and mostly non-lethal weapons… except the first.

The first division was not Peacekeepers at all. It was 1500 ex-Spartans in full power armour and heavy weapons. Johnson could not figure out why on earth they’d deploy the single deadliest military unit they had in order to suppress a few rioters when a single Peacekeeper division could have handled it. And there were five Peacekeeper divisions there. And to top it all off, even Lord Hisar and four unknown figures in cloaks had appeared and were leading the Spartans. Literally cloaks, old-fashioned cloaks concealing their bodies and faces.

That fucking TV broadcast should have been blocked out, but for reasons unknown it wasn’t. Now we have a large-scale riot going on during a city-wide lockdown and what will we do about that? I can tell you what we’re going to do. We’re going to put this half-ass rebellion down on international TV and that will discourage any other idiots from rebelling against us.

Thomas heard the voice in his comms unit and was horrified. The voice was none other than Lord Hisar in person. Then an order blipped into view on his helmet screen, reading:

All Peacekeepers, prepare for holding the line. Do not, under any circumstances, intervene; just keep any rioters inside the confines of our shield wall. Ready at my command, GO

And Thomas obliged, moving into the first line in a haze and placing his assault shield on another shield, forming a 6 foot wall keeping the rioters in, with the exception of a small alley to the west and a few designated gates only one shield high. The rioters wouldn’t see anything except for the gates, and the Spartans were keeping well out of the sight of those. All in all, the large plaza probably held over 50 000 rioters by now, but then the Peacekeepers moved in and sealed the only remaining entrance, keeping other rioters from entering with the help of some heavily armed anti-riot Peacekeepers.

Then the plan went rather awry. The rioting hordes suddenly began trying to scale the shield walls and Thomas jumped back, startled, as a woman jumped down in front of him and he immediately tried to get his Shocker electric pistol up as he saw a short knife in her hand. The Peacekeeper next to him was knocked over by several rioters, and then the Spartans got to work. Thomas saw Lord Hisar himself crush the head of the woman with his gloved hand, turning her beautiful face into red mush and bone splinters. None of the rioters who had jumped across came back. Most were dead, others were gravely injured and some were dying and now Thomas was sure that this was something much larger than a simple riot. After the first wave, the Peacekeepers had flipped on the electric “discouragement system”, and that meant that anyone who tried to climb onto the shields got a free sample of high-voltage electricity, courtesy of the small hydrogen cell.

Lord Commander Jack Raven, Jetstream

Jetstream smiled as the rioters entered the Peacekeeper ranks. One woman had drawn a knife and tried to stab a Peacekeeper fumbling for his Shocker when he intervened. Her knife bounced off his chest plate and the short woman looked up, shocked, as he stood there smiling. Then his hand came down on her head, going against her forehead and pressing inwards. She screamed as he continued to push his fingers together and then she slumped down, dead, as he let go.

He flipped his HF blade out from hammer space, which it had been dubbed by some video game fan in the research bureau, and jumped to the next rioter, turning the man’s head into two halves with one slice. Damn, this new dimensional storage thing was useful. He flipped the sword away again and took out a massive sledgehammer. It wasn’t effective in actual combat, or practical, but why worry about practicality when you can have fun smashing people with a ridiculously oversized hammer? He clenched his teeth together twice, signalling the Spartans to form on him, and then jumped the shield barrier.

The Peacekeepers looked shocked as the Spartans flew over the barrier and landed amongst the rioters in growing numbers. Already, before all the Spartans had landed, there were already heaps of bodies forming where the first Spartans had landed. Hell, 1500 Spartans is overkill against just 50 000 rioters, just 1000 could have done this. But, no kill like overkill, eh, Jetstream thought to himself as he swung the hammer again, reducing a man to a headless body and splattering his brains all over the other rioters.

Jetstream flipped away the large hammer and flipped out his main weapon. A large tri-barreled 20mm autocannon capable of 800+ RPM called… Fluffles. He laughed as the rioters tried to escape the spinning up weapon and then Fluffles got to firing. Jetstream looked at the rioters as the 20mm fire literally ripped them apart, spreading pieces of brain matter with headshots, washing other rioters in blood, guts and bone splinters, turning running people into bloody heaps of meat and just generally fucking them up severely. Other Spartans joined him in the turkey shoot, laying down thousands upon thousands of 12.7mm and 7.62x51mm rounds from miniguns and machineguns. Only 1200 Spartans were firing on the rioters, the rest had followed protocol and left the area after fulfilling their tasks.

The riot was over and this plaza had turned into a bloodbath. The Peacekeepers rolled into the area with their Cleaner IFV’s, prepared to turn the gut, flesh and corpse-strewn kill zone into the plaza it had been five hours earlier, before the riots had built up in force.

Jetstream was alone; after all, the other Winds had left the area when only the heavy gunners stayed. He looked into a camera and removed his already half-open helmet entirely, revealing his silver-blonde hair and his yellow eyes, staring blankly into the camera. “That’s what happens when rioters try to overthrow me. Anyone else but that idiot Zero want to try and start another uprising, feel free. By the way, he could probably have another go as well, if he wants. Just be warned. The force you saw is much less than a percent of the forces I can mobilize, and trust me, I won’t be as forgiving next time. I could probably have a little more fun”, he said, staring as blankly as before.

One of the Spartans came up to him, carrying a woman by the neck. “This bitch killed a Peacekeeper” the Spartan said, calmly, holding her up. Jetstream just nodded, and then grabbed her by the neck. The Spartan left and Jetstream stated “And this, dear citizens, will be a documentary showing what happens when you kill a Peacekeeper” as he started to push his gloved fingers together. The woman struggled to get loose of the grip, to no avail. Her face started to turn blue and she soon stopped resisting, too exhausted to continue. Then he dropped her, and she started gasping for air. Jetstream snapped his fingers and a large 12 gauge shotgun appeared out of hammer space.

He lifted the woman by the hair and then pulled the trigger, turning her knee into a bloody mess. She screamed and screamed, and then he shot again, at the other knee. Then he called a medic, who came up with a pack of MedFoam. It was the Frenkish variant, which meant that it hurt when applied. A lot.

The medic, following his direct order, sprayed on the woman’s knees. Soon, the wounds sealed up and stopped bleeding, but were far from healed. “Alright, that’s enough. She won’t need more where she’s going” he said, waving the medic away.

“ALRIGHT, PEACEKEEPERS, HERE’S SOMETHING FOR YOU. MAKE THIS BITCH FEEL LIKE THE BITCH SHE IS” he shouted, holding her by the neck and bending her forward, then ripping off her clothes. “And this, dear rebels, is what happens when you kill one of my Peacekeepers” he said as the woman squealed in pain of standing on her knees. Then the first Peacekeeper arrived, pants lowered.

The rest doesn’t fit here for the sake of decency, but when Jetstream finally shot her, she was begging for death.

[Ardavia]

January 6th 2293
The Ardavian Protectorate of Vladivostok, Eastern Siberia
0834 Hours

Major Aeron Stahl, Imperial Shock Infantry 64th Platoon, “Hell on Earth”

The last dropships flew out, carrying the last of the Imperial army stationed in Vladivostok. With the 1.8 million men stationed in the city gone, the Vladivostok citizens were out joyfully celebrating their freedom in the street. After all, they had been fiercely loyal to the TSNR for some reason, but after putting a brutal end to some uprisings, the Ardavian presence had calmed them down.

Now that they were gone, however, the situation had gone from calm on the surface to full out rebellion in the streets. And Major Stahl was happy for it. He and his platoon of 24 men were the last of the Ardavians in Vladivostok and they were going out with a bang when the Russians arrived. Couldn’t let them have everything for free, now could they?

Anyway, they were going to push their way through streets full of celebrating citizens. Clad in the new experimental power armour. And equipped with heavy weapons. This would be fun. After all, this was to be field testing, the Russian citizens were well armed, and they would be testing exactly how much abuse the power armour could take. And, praise to the Emperor, they would have exactly no boundaries regarding how much violence they could dish out.

With the recent events turning into some kind of world war, apparently, Lord Hisar had ordered the field testing of the new experimental Mark VII power armour. Well, technically, it was a cyborg suit. It required a surgical procedure to operate, which installed a connection port for the armour into the user’s spine, and you couldn’t even notice it on you when worn. And the best part was, you could customize it however you wanted, but then again it had no form of camouflage. Not even a stealth chip, as apparently it interfered with the suit.

It was practically an extension of the user’s body, an 800kg extension, and they even got to carry the little fun toys Research Department had titled Fluffles cannons. It was a minigun firing 20mm shells and the only thing allowing them to handle it without being thrown backwards was the massive weight of the armour. He was going to enjoy this. A lot. Aeron spun up Fluffles, and then clenched his teeth together twice.

The others formed up in a cone shape behind him, guns spinning as well, then went through the gate from the base and around a corner where a horde of citizens were shooting guns into the air. There were hundreds, if not thousands, of them and they all turned against the sound of heavy footsteps and the electric buzz of the engines. He carried a massive ammo pack on his back with a few hundred rounds, but once it was empty, he’d self-destruct Fluffles and take out the new Bolter rifle they also got to test.

The citizens opened fire at them, smiling at first, then the smiles turned into unsure grins as the bullets bounced off, then into gaping mouths, and then the soldiers opened fire in return.

It was a massacre.

Soon Stahl and his men walked over the wounded and dying Russians and a few who were untouched except for the copious amounts of blood and guts spread around. Of course, there were a lot of corpses too, but Aeron didn’t even notice, just stomping the heads of wounded Russians into bloody pulp as he went by.

The Mark VII was a regular combat version of the Minuteman, but vastly different in application and purpose, as well as technology. The Minuteman-grade power armour was heavy, rapid and could carry a lot of firepower, designed for extreme combat and destruction, but was also VERY expensive, whereas the Mk 7 was heavy, not capable of the rapid movement of the Minuteman, but brutal and powerful, and relatively cheap.

It was rumoured amongst some of Aeron’s “friends” in the Research Department that it was planned for the Mk 7 to replace all kinds of power armour, while the Hyperion would be more of a multi-role thing designed for assisting Mk 7 Infantry and fighting naval vehicles. So far, no one had a better version of an aerial combat vehicle, but the new Stalker project showed promise according to Aeron’s opinion.

The Stalker project was an idea for developing a rapid, powerful aerial and ground combat vehicle capable of challenging and overtaking both conventional ground vehicles as well as fighter aircraft.

It was, in short, an exosuit, built around some kind of top-secret core, that was protected by energy shielding that could absorb energy attacks, use the new dimensional hammer space technology to store weapons and fly at over Mach 1 with ease, as well as manoeuvre like nothing else. For some reason though, only women could operate it according to preliminary testing of core prototypes built into testing suits.

Hell, that thing could probably overtake everything in the field of weapons if it actually worked. And especially since it was Division X, a part of the Research Department that officially didn’t exist, that developed the weapons for it. Aeron had a close friend at Division X and he actually had been chosen to be the official weapons tester. Even if the suit itself isn’t a viable project, the weapons are fucking great, he thought, smiling as he stepped forward over the bodies. The Revive assault rifle was just awesome, and that ridiculously oversized energy sword was just over the top as well. Hell, an assault rifle chambered for .50BMG, who wouldn’t be impressed?

Aeron had been testing inside his suit which evidently absorbed the recoil of repeated 20mm fire, and the recoil of the Revive was still nearly too much for him to keep his fire on target. Judging by that, he feared that it was indeed to over the top to be viable at all. But then again, Fluffles was supported by some kind of spring-on-some-kind-of-machine attached to a ring going all around his waist, which was supposed to absorb recoil. Maybe that was why he was able to control it at all.

Then he turned around a corner and saw the rioting civilians fleeing on the other end of the boulevard, but he just growled an order to hold fire. They were too far away to have any kind of acceptable shots-fired-to-shots-hit ratio, and they had to preserve ammo. It was still a few more streets to go along until they reached their destination. They continued forward.

---

The 25 men entered the bunker complex after going into the building, opening the hidden door, going down the stairs and crossing the underground hallway. He saw the HUD in his helmet change to display the correct code on top of the keypad, and then entered it. The wall split open with a wheeze from the hydraulics, and inside was the large laboratories. Military Bunker Complex Number 28 was a top secret location and no one on Earth except for the scientists who worked there, Lord Hisar and his closest underlings and the Major’s platoon knew of it even existing, and only two of those three parties knew of it’s purpose.

Aeron and his troops were only there to fulfil their mission, and then use the escape shuttle to get out. The room where they were supposed to go was number 1A, and it was the main control room for the ZTYX supercomputer in the complex. Aeron’s Datapad was programmed with the access codes he was to use once the Russian forces coming to Vladivostok arrived, which would then open a direct gate to the escape shuttle and do whatever it was supposed to do with the complex.

Aeron, frankly, wasn’t interested in what it would do, just that he would do his mission. The control room had a number of screens and one of those showed a plethora of pictures, live camera feeds from everywhere in the city, but mostly focused on the outer edges. Aeron sighed, then sat down and waited. His men were free to do what they wanted with the bunker provisions while they waited, and they all simultaneously removed their helmets. Aeron, however, didn’t. He was keeping his on, for a number of reasons.

[New Frenco Empire]

RETCON

[Dictatura of Ork]

Warrant Officer Mormor Mormorkus

January 5th, 2293
North American Outlands, Frenco Empire
1205 Hours

It has been two days since his beloved Pod crashed. Mormorkus wandered the desert lands, barely having anything new. Within two days, his company grew to include two Squigs, three other Orks made more intelligent by his injection, and five slave (human) girls. At this pace, this puny Humie homeworld will be ravaged by our invasions in no time.

One of the human girls fell behind, being too hungry and with not much cloth on her but a little rag to keep her somewhat warm. She fell to the ground, and was dragged away. Mormorkus looked back, yanking her collar with the steel chain he was holding.

"KEEP MOVING, SLAVE!", Mormorkus said, reminding her just what her position was. He wanted her to be able to walk.

"... bu... but I can't... walk anymore!", she said, weeping to him.

"WHEN I SAY YOU MOVE, YOU MOVE! NOW MOVE, OR I SHALL TELL ALL OF YOUR BOSSES TO IMMEDIATELY START RAPING YOU, RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW!!!"

Mormorkus' shouting scared the rest of the girls. And the other Orks. The poor girl, to whom Mormorkus was spilling his saliva to speak at, got up to her frail, weak feet, and started moving like the fragile girl she was.

"THAT'S A GOOD PET... WHO'S A GOOD PET?"

The Squigs immediately surrounded Mormorkus upon his words. The company got moving once again.

"Err... Boss? What are we doing in the desert lands?", asked the silly Red Ork, named Mormorkus Juniorus by Mormorkus.

"WE LOOK FOR THE OPPORTUNITY. ONCE THERE, SUBVERT THE FILTHY PUNY LOCAL HUMIES!", Mormorkus said, crushing a skull in his hand.

[New Frenco Empire]

Corporal Einan Dunlap. Exo Company.

January 4th, 2293
Russia, Caucasus Mountians, Outside Unidentified Village
2130 Hours

The three eventually reached a valley, resting between a few steep hills. This particular spot was shrouded by the cliffs and trees. Perfect for a secretive meeting. The three eventually reached the center. "2130, on the dot. Johnston, Dunlap, you smell that?" Kindale transmitted in a whisper. Johnston gave a half-laugh through the comms. "Yeah. I smell it...communists..." Just as Johnston said that, the hill directly in front of them (which actually had a trail leading up) sprang to life. Dozens and dozens of people emerged from the rocks, trees, and shadows as soon as the Vanguards got situated. Dunlap kept his hands gripped tightly on his rifle. He didn't trust these people.

After the seemingly endless amount of men and women drew their AK-variants and put their eyes on the Frenks, a tall, lean, middle-aged woman emerged from the main group. Her hair was jet black, yet it was noticeably graying in some areas. Her clothing was a basic pair of brown pants and green shirt, with ammo belts and equipment pouches at places. The most decorated part of her uniform was a golden sickle and hammer on one of her larger packs. This was the outfit all of the soldiers around them were wearing. Like most of the soldiers around her, she had an AKR-7, which was standard issue in the Russian national armies. Compare this to the simple mountain folk, who were still using relatively ancient AK variations.

"Ah yes! Our Frenkish friends! The bourgeoisie of the world!" The woman said loudly, in a thick, yet legible Russian accent. Kindale approached her. "You're this 'Comrade' woman from the New Bolsheviks?" She nodded. "And you're the pigdog oppressors they sent to help me with my affairs in exchange for a location. Why? Come to take Russia from us? Come to turn the family farms into brothels and amusement parks? Turn innocent boys and girls into sex slaves, soldiers, and consumerist drones? Tur-" She was interrupted by Johnston. "Yo, loud pinko bitch who talks too much, are we going to do this, or...?" Comrade looked at them. "Very well. Marx help us that we're working with such classists, but the global proletariat revolution has to start somewhere. Come. The village is over here." She waved towards the soldiers all around the valley. They began moving back on the trail, up the hill. The three Vanguards followed.

Eventually, the trail split into two. One kept going up the mountain, while the other went down, cutting off at the treeline. All of the Bolshevik troops took the lower one, while Comrade signaled for the Vanguards to follow her up the higher one. The mountainside trail eventually curved right. When they turned, they could see the lights and buildings of the village. It was quite large, and it seemed to be more appropriate to call it a town. "Krivoshchekovskaya. Largest village around. The people toil all day, farming for the capitalist machine. No longer. Today, we liberate!" Comrade said, seemingly to herself. She looked to the Vanguards. "We'll give support to my comrades in the village from up here. Krivo is very isolated, and relies on a satellite station to keep in touch with the outside world. The station is about a klick that way, on the mountain." She pointed in the distance. To the northeast, the large, silver outline of a satellite dish could be seen. Dunlap zoomed his visor in on it, and marked it, leaving a faint yellow box in his vision. "We knock out the station, and my comrades charge in. Your sniper will provide support, while we keep on the look out for Tsarist nationals. After the Patriots are dead, and the town is under control of the proletariat, I'll tell you what you need to know." Comrade swung her rifle from her back, and followed the trail, signaling for the Vanguards to do the same.

[New Frenco Empire]

Sergeant Mitchell Hampton

January 4th, 2293
Tokyo, Japan
0650 Hours

Hampton ran in a zig-zag, trying to avoid the bullets zooming towards him, back to the small building. That helicoplane was hovering a few dozen feet above his position. What I wouldn't do for a MANPAD just about now. He eventually reached one of the Scorpion MRAPs the team drove here. He dove behind it, and let the highly resistant nano-composite armor soak up the heated rounds meant for him. He pumped the gauss weapon. He could at least try to bring that thing down before it's deadly autocannons and ATS missiles killed someone. He gave a little peak over the hood, and determined that it was clear enough to pop out just long enough to take a pot shot at it.

He put his finger on the underslung trigger, and raised. He fired the high velocity, magnetically-propelled slug at the cockpit area of the thing. He lowered again, and peeked at the low-flying aircraft. His gauss-powered slug didn't seem to do anything potent enough to disturb it, but the windshield-like apparatus was badly cracked, and the aircraft seemed to raise another dozen yards or so to avoid further attacks. That damn gunship's going to be the death of us!

He looked to his right. Lowski was pinned behind a thick wall of concrete debris, which was just big enough to cover her relatively small frame. She was crouched awkwardly, careful not to move single muscle, else the gunfire would hit any exposed part of her. They had obviously pinpointed her position, and it would only be a matter of time before they lobbed a grenade or something to flush her out or finish her off. Hampton dropped the medikit, and unzipped the top. He reached around inside. He finally grabbed the handle of what he was looking for. A flare gun. He pointed it towards the air, and squeezed the trigger. Hopefully, it would divert the heat away from her, and onto his bigger, more resistant piece of cover. It seemed to work, as most of the rounds audibly began riddling the side of the MRAP. He looked over to Lowski, who was visibly relieved. She took a look around, and moved backwards.

After a moment of gripping the rifle, watching the helicoplane fire blindly into the concrete-riddled site, and hearing the bullets smack the armored car, he was surprised to see Lowski fall in right next to him...with a TAAWS cannon in her arms. She sighed deeply. "When the gunship came, I tried to move back to the place we put Smithsonian's body. She was the one who had this. Unfortunately, they hit me off. You saved my ass." Hampton shrugged. "No big deal, but we really need to down that fucking gunship before it causes some real damage." She took the cannon, and pushed it towards him. "I'm not built for heavy weapons. I'm a field medic, not some minigun-wielding Vanguard. Do the honors?" Hampton grabbed the heavy, electrical rifle. He made sure the thing was fully energized. He set it on his shoulder, and peeked from cover. In one swoop, he brought up the cannon, pulled the trigger, and unleashed a heavy, bright, blue beam of electrical power onto the helicoplane. It was quite clear the beam literally cut through it, as the front and back part of the aircraft fell apart from each other. The helicoplane violently exploded before it hit the ground, sending even more debris all around the battleground.

"Fuck yeah." Lowski calmly said, as she unholstered her rifle. "I think they're pulling out. Give us a bit of downtime, at least."

[New Frenco Empire]

Lieutenant Vares Antilles

January 4th, 2293
Kantō Plain, Japan
0600 Hours

"Arnie, patch me through," Antilles said to the Greatsword MBT's personal AI. After a light "beep" indicated his comms were active, he spoke. "Ironclad 3-1 to Ironclad Actual, beginning our run," Antilles transmitted to the battalion's command vehicle, some miles back. He looked down towards his crew. Sergeant Nate Elridge, the driver, and Sergeant First Class Catherine Klyne, the gunner. A damn good crew if he'd ever seen one. He personally asked for them to stay with his tank when he transferred to Japan, just six months back. Of course, he had no idea he would actually see action here. Japan was a peaceful colony. The most docile. Insurrections were common enough, but the MBTs hardly ever needed to be brought out. The Ironclad battalion was only ever used for shows of intimidation.

Antilles climbed to the top of the turret, and grabbed the 12.7mm minigun turret. He looked around. The Kanto region was strangely peaceful. The landscape was barren, it's grass browned due to the years of war, be it a nuclear between the world powers of the 21st century or the (barely) conventional one with the superstates of the 23rd century. Though, it had that aura about it. The three other MBTs that made up Ironclad 3 were speeding along, in relative closeness to 3-1. They were also accompanied by a platoon of Fritzammers. He knew by the briefing that they would be engaging heavy enemy opposition outside Tokyo Bay, and among that force would be armor. Aside from blowing away a few primitive rebel tanks back home, Antilles hadn't seen such heavy action. Nonetheless action from an enemy so mysterious, advanced...and dangerous.

"Ironclad Actual to Ironclad 3, reading you now. Objective is about two and a half klicks out. Good luck out there." Antilles grinned behind his power helmet. Hopefully, I won't need it.

[New Frenco Empire]

Corporal Einan Dunlap. Exo Company.

January 4th, 2293
Russia, Caucasus Mountains, Krivoshchekovskaya
2150 Hours

"I still don't trust this bitch..." Johnston whispered through his comms to his team, careful to make sure the tall Russian woman a few yards ahead didn't hear. "Three of us, about a hundred of them. What makes us think she won't just kill our asses off after this is over with?" Dunlap's heart skipped a beat. His comrade had a good point. These communists had nothing to lose and no reason to not open fire on them when the job was done. "Relax. The IIA's done it's homework. The dossier was quite brief, but it at least showed me that the IIA had been working with this Comrade cunt and the New Bolshis for years. I doubt she would want to lose the only competent ally willing to lend a helping hand."

Johnston shrugged. "Whatever you say, boss. Just, please forgive me for being on edge. We are working with fanatical commies after all..." Before Kindale could respond, Comrade fell to a knee, and raised her hand, signaling for the group to stop. The station was directly ahead of them. The small metal building was surrounded with both elders and teenagers armed with old Kalashnikovs. On the far end, however, an ancient BMP-3 combat vehicle rested, with a few of the Militiamen surrounded around it, tools in their hands. Comrade immediately noticed it. "They have tank. Looks like it's in pretty good shape. We could use tank when we take village. I think my brief said one of you have armored vehicle experience?" Dunlap and Kindale looked to Johnston. Although his helmet was expressionless, Dunlap could only guess the awkward face he was making under it. "Uhh...yeah. I used to operate the guns in Fritzammers back before they thought I'd make a good helljumper." Johnston sighed. "...fine. I'll help with the fuckin' tank, but you'll need to get your own driver."

Comrade smiled devilishly. "Alright...now, all we need do is kill these capitalist tools quietly." She holstered her AKR, and pulled out a short pistol with a long silencer on it. Kindale began tapping on his databoy. "Visor reads two to the left, four to the right, three by the tank, a sniper on that tower over there, and about five inside. Pinkie, I think I can trust you to get those two on the left. Johnston, get that sniper, and then quickly nail the tank crew. Dunlap and I will pounce on that four man patrol towards the right. Make sure the inside guys don't hear you or suspect anything. When you're done with your targets, pick a window by the station, and wait for me to lob a flashbang inside before you start firing. Am I clear? Great. Move it." Kindale the nodded for Dunlap to follow him. He snuck a glance at Comrade, who was crouched behind the brush, pistol in hand, headed for the west guards. Johnston kept his K7 DMR trained on the sniper as he looked for a suitable position.

Kindale stopped him behind a tree. He motioned for him to stay there, as he moved to another tree farther ahead. He also gave the hand motion for him to activate his cloaking. Dunlap let himself be shrouded in the invisibility, and waited for the patrol to fall in their trap.

[Ardavia]

January 4th 2293
Frenkish Network
0700 hours

James Hathaway

“See, Hightower, we’re going to take care of Tokyo now. This ‘Japonian Empire’” Hathaway said, mockingly emphasising the “Japonian Empire” part, as if insinuating it was Hightower’s fault for not dealing with it, “is simply too much of a threat to us. You might as well warn your remaining troops that they should be careful of our impending attack about an hour from now. We’re going to entirely skip the whole boots on the ground part and turn the entire country into a fucking necropolis, so I hope you have any important scientists evacuated by now”.

Hathaway turned around and left the room, leaving Hightower there, then turned around in the door and said “Oh, and if you for some reason would want to contact Raven, you could probably invade him. I’m not supposed to be telling you that, but it’s possible, I’ve done so myself”.

This time, he had chosen an avatar that was a digital version of his body after three weeks of torture by the Ardavians, just to mock Hightower’s words about the ‘civilized act’ last time they had met. It wasn’t exactly pretty, as this avatar was wearing nothing but underwear and a ripped T-shirt, had patches of skin hanging loose from his face, severe whipping wounds on his back, burn marks on almost all of his body and was practically washed in blood. Not to mention, he lacked three fingers, a nose and one eye.

Back when he had still lived, that kind of treatment was standard interrogation procedure for the Ardavians when handling spies. He still remembered the beyond-describing pain that had held him in a tight grip all that time. Once out of the tower, he spirited away, back to his home network.

January 4th 2293
Aboard the Imperium-class cruiser Hammer of the Empire, high orbit above Japan
0754 hours

[DATA EXPUNGED]

The cruiser soared slowly ahead at slowest possible speed for maximum cloaking efficiency. Their cloaking was top of the line, but it still wasn’t very effective at high speeds and for this task, they needed stealth. Inside the engine room, mechanics were scurrying about, hard at work adjusting the engines continually to keep it from breaking under the pressure lowest available speed put on it.

The gravital engines of the Imperium-class cruisers (of which only one existed, and was heavily kept secret) were the best technology fielded by the Empire in the field of space faring and could take a ship from Earth to Mars in less than an hour, but they weren’t built to go at slow speeds, and could take severe damage from long distances at low speed. Inside the weapons compartment, dozens and dozens of small vehicles were being loaded with what looked like normal storage capsules. Not even the engineers loading the pods onto the orbital entry vehicles were aware what they were loading, in fact, only two people aboard the ship knew. The Imperium-class cruisers were meant to be transport ships shipping ore back from the forges of Mars, but the only existing one had been drafted into military service.

One was on the bridge commanding the ship and the other was holding his hand over the launch button, waiting for arrival at the ship’s destination, while the ship’s captain was busy adjusting the trajectory of firing the orbital entry vehicles.

At precisely 0700 hours, the ship would launch all the guided orbital vehicles against its target, uncloak and get the fuck out. That was the exact wording of their instructions, instructions signed by the Autarch himself. It was 0658 now as the ship slowly approached its target. The engineers stowed the final capsules into the orbital drop vehicles, sealed them together and then evacuated the loading room. Once they prepared to fire, the loading room would depressurize quickly as the firing barrels opened and the vehicles were loaded for launch.

Then, at precisely 0700 hours, the first of the pods was launched out into space with the click of a button. On the radar screen in front of the captain, he could see hundreds of other pods falling.

Then the radar echoes multiplied a hundredfold as the pods broke up, releasing their payload of capsules. Thousands upon thousands of capsules fell towards Japan, carrying their payload against the “Japonian Empire”, the captain thought as the pods scattered all over the mainland island.

Meanwhile, the capsules landed all over Tokyo, releasing the incredibly lethal nerve gas all over the city. Hydra gas was a horrible weapon, as a single drop of it could kill hundreds, if not thousands, of people and these Japanese had no form of gas protection, and it did not only blanket the city, it spread all over the country.

The entire country was soon clouded in a mist of ultra-lethal nerve gas that could kill anything by simply touching the skin of a victim and by the time the cloud dissolved, nothing except power armoured troops would be alive there, well, those and anyone inside a gas shelter and it would take months, if not years, to clean up all the toxic residue from the gas.

Raven, standing inside a submarine a few hundred miles off the coast, smiled as he saw the live feed from the surveillance satellites focusing on civilians trying to escape the cloud of lethal mist spreading throughout the city. Then he started laughing out loud, making the crew look at him wondering what the hell was wrong with their leader, taking joy in such an inhumane event.

[Gigaverse]

January 4th 2293 LC
All across Japan
0756 Hours

Nerve gas. Underhanded strategy.

"Zero-sama! Do something! There are people dying here!"

Not just yet, Iza.

A voice echoed in Zero's mind.

I see the plan is prepared... a whole hour is a little bit late to proceed. Nontheless... it's time.

Zero looked down on the nerve gas below.

"Raven... now's the time to know the consequences of antagonizing the wrong people."

Zero snapped his fingers once. In the mist of nerve gas, everything suddenly disappeared all too quickly - units were set to suck the nerve gas.

Zero snapped his fingers once more. The people without gas protection then felt it easy to breath once again.

"Now..."

A Lifewave screen appeared in front of him.

Code: Select all

Project Paradox Omega

PSIONIC PACIFIER READY
GENETIC MUTATION READY
MASS TELE READY

IZANAGI'S CELL READY
IZANAGI'S WILL READY
KP-GS READY

PARADOX, PREPARED FOR ACTIVATION
H / I
H

The seas surrounding the islands began to create waves after waves of water, each fiercer than the last as they built up towers of water, curling around where Zero was.

All conditions clear; Kp-Gs, LAUNCH

From the skies, minor meteorites crashed into Japanese plains with massive velocity, drilling into the soil massive craters, where red crystalline objects began spawning.

"Men fighting for Japan... THIS IS THE TIME FOR THE EVOLUTION OF MANKIND!"

At Zero's call, the male Japanese and some soldiers looked at his direction. The next moment, their eyes changed to red, as all distinctions between the irises and the white parts disappeared. They all then grew into monstrous creatures of all kinds, ranging from werewolf-like creatures to winged humanoids looking no less than human bats.

"Let's see how you would counter the evolved human, Hightower... Well then. Let our official encounter begin, Bladewolf."

[New Frenco Empire]

Chairman Joseph Hightower

January 4th 2293
Frenkish Network
0655 hours


Hightower sat on the fine silk sofa, cigar in one hand, glass of wine in another. Directly in front of him were the holographic displays of the many battles scattered across the planet. UDAP and NTSR forces were mindlessly throwing themselves at each other. He also kept tabs on the Ardavian peacekeeping force remaining idle over Old Ardavia. The whole city was beginning to erupt in riots. Hightower, however, kept his eyes glued to his own conflict: Japan. Although these "Japonian Empire" people were making progress in taking the country, his forces were holding steady. He looked at another holoscreen. Africa. He saw the ruined Hollow structures, with the CLAWS mechs he lent Mao stomping through, searching for survivors. The sack of Hollow Africa was a huge, ongoing effort, but it was already apparent that it was a success. The Hollows lost their major foothold on Earth. Hightower was about to look at one of the Japanese screens whenever the young, unenthused face of Mao appeared right on the screen.

"Yo, Joe..." He said, while finishing a yawn and tapping on the camera feed. "So, these little camera bird things let you see anything and everything? I knew this little bird was flying around an active warzone for a reason. Anyways...Sakahara isn't here. Hell, it seemed half of the Hollows that were here just...left. I saw him when I started this little raid, and almost stopped him. No idea where he went..." Hightower snapped his fingers, instantly forcing Mao's databoy's comms to forge a link to him. "Yes, yes. I know exactly where he is. Going by the name of Zero out in Japan. Being quite a nuisance, I must say. Raze the place to the ground, and return to me." Before Mao could respond, he snapped his fingers, closing the screen. He took a long sip of his wine as he watched a Frenkish Fritzammer blow away a Hollow tank-like vehicle.

He sensed him before he even entered...

"Why do you people always come to me?" Hightower asked, the annoyance apparent in his tone. "Lord Marshal Turner is quite available. Zane as well." He said, keeping his back to Hathaway. Hathaway shrugged. "Might as well talk to the man on top. Anyways, we need to talk." Hightower winced at the statement. He knew Hathaway wouldn't be stupid enough to try anything here, but he kept a squad of Black Guards he could instantly materialize on his mind just in case. "See, Hightower, we're going to take care of Tokyo now..." Hathaway ranted. Some of the news, such as dropping nerve gas on the entire country, disturbed him. You insolent fool, the Japonian Empire is of no concern to you. What right do you have to attack the people of my territory?

Before Hightower could get a word in, Hathaway stormed off. Though, before he left, he gave Hightower some interesting information. Invading Raven. As Hathaway left, he sent a brief text comm to Turner. "The psychopath is at it again. Nerve gas. Put anyone not fighting on the second lines. Get as many gas masks towards the loyal citizens of Japan as possible." He sent it, and put out his cigar. He then set to work on breaching Raven's firewall. Hopefully, before this plan of his went into action...

[New Frenco Empire]

Chairman Joseph Hightower

January 4th 2293
Ardavian Network
0755 hours


It took a good hour or so to do, but he finally managed to shatter the firewall, and get in. Hightower located Raven's beacon among the various uplinks in the world. He transferred his life data towards it, and waited. When he finally felt himself inside Raven, he took a look around. He was on a submarine, chuckling for some reason. It then struck Hightower. He was too late. The gas had been dropped.

Without hesitation, Hightower immediately cut off Raven's brain to the rest of his body. After ensuring the body was under Hightower's control, he drew Raven's HF blade, and held it to his own neck. The Ardavian crewmen around him stared at their leader, horrified at the sight of their own Autarch holding his own sword to his neck. Hightower then spoke to Raven, who, actually, was himself. "Raven. I've put up with with this density since day one. One blatantly destructive move after another, I've tolerated. Gassing an entire Frenkish protectorate because of fear? I have to draw the line somewhere. You're a psychopath. You need to be put down." Hightower could sense the mix of fear and anger in Raven. Mostly anger. Hightower (or, to the men around him, Raven) removed the blade from his throat, and placed it back in the sheath. "I'm a rational man, Raven. I don't need bloodshed to make my point. I will not dispose of you quite yet. I will return your body to you, however..." Hightower paused. "I need you to do something for me. This little stunt of yours is going to make me and the rest of my Empire quite busy for the months to come. Since this was basically your fault, I think it's fair that I encourage you to help me out a bit. Run an errand or two for me. Complete this task, and I'll let you go. Pardoned from the genocide of the Japanese. Pardoned from all past crimes against the New Frenco Empire and the Coalition of Civilized Powers. Might as well tell Hathaway he's running the show for a bit."

Hightower released his grip on Raven. His datacore was deeply integrated into Raven's body, and he could see all he could. Raven looked at his hands, and moved them around aimlessly, seeing if he really had control of his own body back. He still hadn't had control of his vocal system, though, Hightower kept that. He began speaking to Raven (to himself) again. "I want you to gather a platoon of the best soldiers you can get to Japan in an hour or less. I also want you to arm yourself for battle. Something basic. Power-armor-and-assault-rifle-basic. Then, take this submarine, dock it at the nearest, most secure port, and leave it. Organize a rendezvous point with your troops, and I'll go on from there. Remember, Raven. I'm still here. Your Empire, and even your life, is riding on this. Do not disappoint me." With that, he returned full-control to Raven. Vocals and everything. Hightower witnessed Raven do a quick look around the command bridge. The crew around him were staring at their leader, who basically, just pulled his own sword on himself and threatened himself until he assigned himself a task. Raven, without a word, stormed out of the bridge.

[Ardavia]

January 6th, 2293
0804 Hours
Aboard the Monarch II-class submarine Jormungandr

Raven

I’m the psychopath? And that comes from you, the businessman who initiated World War Three in order to build his own empire?, Raven thought, knowing that Hightower would catch it. He was now inside his small room on board the ship, trying to find Hathaway somewhere on the network.

There he was. “Hathaway. Listen closely. You’re in command of the Empire now, keep the city under wraps and otherwise hold to yourself. Mobilize the infantry branches, also, gather up these soldiers, then send them on a cloaked dropship to this abandoned harbour”, he said rapidly, loading rounds into magazines for an assault rifle he kept on the wall.

He listed the 24 soldiers, and then finished up the loading, thrusting a magazine into the gun and cocking it. “If I don’t return, you’re officially in charge. Also, if that happens, tell the surviving Rangers that they are free to leave. I owe them that after what happened to Kingston”, he continued.

The submarine was equipped with one suit of power armour, and it wasn’t exactly the greatest in terms of combat value, since it was equipped for deep-sea diving, but at least it offered protection. Agility, not so much. After quick consideration, Raven made a decision. He wasn’t taking that. “Hathaway, one more thing. Send a suit of Aquila armour with the platoon, and have four of them equipped with Terminator armour. We’ll need the firepower, I believe”, he said, holstering the two handed Bolter at his hip. Technically, it was an assault rifle, inasmuch as it was an automatic combat rifle, thought it was only issued to elite power armoured troops. Whether a .75 gyrojet automatic rifle could be called an assault rifle was another issue.

Stepping out on the bridge, they stared at him. “What are you staring at? Get this ship moving, now. We’re going here”, he said, barely suppressing the anger in his voice and pointing out a harbour on the main screen map. The crew looked at him. This was the same man who had gone from laughing at mass murder to holding a blade to his own neck, and now he was equipped for combat, and he was again completely calm, in a dissonant way, since all of the crew knew what he was capable of doing after seeing footage of the riots a while earlier, and his voice shook with rage.

Two hours later…

The submarine rose to the surface. By now, this city was dead, like every other major city except for Tokyo, where the Hollows had managed to suck up the gas. It was a pointless effort, since the toxic residue had covered everything and anything not completely sealed off was lethal to even touch, but it showed what they were capable of, since cleaning out the lingering gas in the air over an entire city was one hell of a task. They were forty-five miles from Tokyo right now, in a small port town that had used to hold a Frenkish military base. I think it was an armour depot, Raven thought.

Raven exited the submarine, leaving through the airlock. Normally, they would just have opened a hatch, but the gas was lingering in the air, so they had to keep it closed and pump the gas out of the airlock before opening it on the inside. On a pier a few hundred feet away stood twenty-four power armoured soldiers, all of them clad in Mark VII Aquila Power Armour, able to survive the extremely toxic environment, and a single empty suit. Well, there were four Terminators as well, and those towered over the others at about fifteen feet, while the average Mark VII-wearing soldier was about 7-8 feet. He stormed across the concrete pier, ignoring the toxic gas, his gun bouncing on his hip. There really was no camouflage option for the Aquila, since hiding an eight foot tall soldier weighing 700-800 pounds was hard to the point where it was pointless to even try. Then again, even with camouflage, the 15 feet tall Terminators were... hard... er to hide.

Raven himself had no organs able to be affected by the gas, since he didn’t have anything but some skin left of his original body, the rest replaced by cybernetics. This small patch of skin covered most of his face, making it seem human. If you squinted, in weak light, at a distance, while he moved. Well, he had artificial hair attached to his head as well.

As he approached, the soldiers stood at attention, and the suit opened itself. He equipped it, having a soldier hold his gun, and then grabbed it again after sealing the helmet. The HUD activated, giving him infrared vision, targeting GUI’s and some other assorted programs, while the armour hooked up to his cybernetics.

He had handpicked these 24 for one reason. They were the best the Empire could offer in the terms of soldiers. The Winds of Destruction were overspecialized and their melee-only skills would not match up against Hollow soldiers with firepower and numbers, while the Autarch’s Guard was pretty much ceremonial.

For all their training and equipment, the Guard only excelled at one thing. Guarding and defending against ambushes, and were pretty useless in open combat, while these 24 were part of a regular army unit, more often known as the Helix Platoon. Well, to the three or four who knew they existed and of which Raven was the only one left alive.

Helix platoon had been born after the Ardavia-Frenco conflict, formed from a group of elite soldiers. While the first Helix had consisted of veteran Spartans, the successor of it was hand-picked from elite groups of the regular army by Raven himself. The Helix platoon was going to be equipped with its namesake, the Helix-II armour, once those went in production, but now they wore Mark VII Aquila Pattern Power Armour, which also happened to be standard for Shock Marines. They were all nameless grunts who had excelled in training and combat, and been reassigned to Helix platoon, which didn’t really exist. It just meant there was a file that listed them in order to call them in during situations like this.

He waved his hand, signalling them to start moving, and held his rifle ready. They had quite a bit to go. “Well, Hightower, is this enough?” he said, again knowing Hightower would catch it.

[New Frenco Empire]

Chairman Joseph Hightower

January 4th 2293
Manifesting the body of Raven; Japan
1010 hours

"Did you finally make it? You're currently at the Port of Nagoya, if my positioning satellites are correct. Good. Not too displaced from the objective. The navy maintained a small outpost here. Mostly to service the automated logistics vessels. These vessels typically brought in armor, for use in the 10 Years War. Nagoya was evacuated about six hours ago. The nearby processing depot was cleared out of the invaluable Greatswords, Fritzammers, and Centurions...however, I still read the data-signals of several vehicles, including two Marksmen artillery tanks. Luck is on our side, it seems. I don't have to secure any artillery. You'll need the support and distraction for the mission."

Raven sighed. "Artillery? I was under the impression this job would be small time. Not calling for shell barrages." Hightower began transmitting to his braincore once again. "Believe me, this job is not a big one. The artillery is just a necessity. A bare one at that. Take your soldiers in there, and secure the vehicles. They're in the south warehouse. They're unmanned, so just activate them, and they will do the rest once I can relay my orders to them." Raven waved forward his soldiers, and they moved towards the depot. "And Raven? Watch out in there. I'm picking up a few lifesigns. Certainly not anything human. Best make sure your weapons are functioning. The things these Hollows come up with are not to be taken lightly, if this is indeed the case."

[Ardavia]

January 4th 2293
Nagoya, Japan
1015 hours

Raven

"Alright, move up. Terminators, stay behind. Alright, here's the plan. You two and you two, you take those two doors. The rest of you, on me", he said, turning the safety off as he walked. Stepping up next to the door, he checked his rifle again. "Alright, Terminators, here we go. Come up here, one to each door. On my go, the Terminators blast the doors in and we clear it. Be careful, if there's something in there, it survived the gas, and anything that did that is a threat. ALRIGHT, GO, GO GO" he shouted, waiting a few feet away as the Terminator blew the door and part of the wall off its hinges.

As they charged inside, Raven saw the Marksmen tanks. And something else. He fired, and saw the Bolts rip... whatever the fuck that was to pieces. Everyone else also fired, careful not to hit the Marksmen and anything else that might be vulnerable to bullets.When they finally stopped firing, there was basically nothing left. Raven stepped over, walking on the bullet-riddled ground, and tried to scan the remains.

"Archive search... no results. Target is of unknown origin and composition, recommend sampling for later testing", the AI rang. "Well, fuck it. Johnson, grab a sample. The rest of you, go wait outside. The structural integrity of this place is probably damaged. I'll get the Marksmen online and then get out. Now, go", he said, waving his hand. He stepped up to the machine, then opened his glove.

Out from his cybernetic hand, a bunch of cables came floating out. Going in through an open hatch and into the control board, he forcibly started up the on-board computers. Then he let go, and began to leave. Activating one Marksman tank would activate them all, the way he had done it. "Alright, they'll be online any moment now", he said, leaving the warehouse.

[New Frenco Empire]

Chairman Joseph Hightower

January 4th 2293
Manifesting the body of Raven; Japan
1020 hours

"Vehicles online...AI checks out...I'm done. They have been programmed to follow your group about ten miles to the Northeast, just outside the city. Satellite imaging reads the Hollows have some kind of field headquarters set up there. I want you to dispose of the eyesore. Protect the tanks as they make their way through the city, and make sure the Hollows are kept in ignorance. I will contact you again, once the tanks are within range." He transmitted.

Hightower could sense Raven's disillusionment. He could tell he found it hard to believe that Hightower dragged him all this way to blow up a minor Hollow outpost. Hightower couldn't care less about the headquarters. His actual motives were much more nonchalant. Much more insidious. Raven just happened to be his tool in this plan. He wouldn't see the deception, though. Even Hightower thought this idea was a bit far-fetched and irrational, but he had to make a point to Zero. One way or another.

Hightower then sense more lifesigns. Much more. "Your firing attracted about a dozen of those savages to your positions. Nonsense, Raven. I should have requested more specific gear. Seventy-five caliber gyrojet weapons. Loud, obnoxious, clunky...if it weren't for the raw power and intimidation you Ardavians seem to be fond of, you'd see those firearms as the impractical tools they are. Nevermind my ramblings. Deal with the beasts, make sure those tanks don't get anymore than a scratch to them, and head out. You'll be hearing from me again soon."