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Faction History[ | ]
Season 1[ | ]
Duke's personal low tech run ruleset for RT
RP Leader: Captain Duke[ | ]
"Don't start none, won't be none."
"Attached to this holotape are crude hand-drawn blueprints of various mechs and tanks, apparently including kill tallies, but you can't be sure. There's no way any of this junk could actually be very useful in combat. And where did they even find a diesel engine this big?" ~Yang. (Attached, to the right is Duke's personal ruleset)
Duke's Militia Story[ | ]
Chapter 1: Introductions[ | ]
(WARNING: CARNAGE AND STRONG LANGUAGE)
“You sure this is it? If we do this then there’s no going back you know.” Pits voice came over the comm in a whisper. The two surviving mechs of Duke’s militia, an Icarus and a Dervish, stood in pitch darkness hiding behind a hill. Above their heads the quiet drone of a UAV buzzed. “Yes this is it. Duke’s letter was very specific. Besides, we confirmed it through that info-peddler. His daughter is in this Marian “reformation” work camp. Sentenced to 10 years for selling unregistered mech parts.” said Grease with obvious pain. His broken ribs were still healing from that fateful battle a month ago.
“Heh. You mean unTAXed mech parts.” Pits laughed. “Besides, why did she get so many years for contraband?”
“Don’t you remember the letter you idiot? I just read it to you AGAIN an hour ago. She. Aint. Marian. She’s. Adopted.” Grease said slowly with emphasis on each word. “That means she can’t be a full citizen. You know they don’t got the same rights as us.”
“Well alright. I just forgot okay?..... Hold on. Yeah. UAV isn’t picking up any mechs. Just infantry mostly. Guess it should be pretty easy busting her out.”
“Weapons hot Pits. Let's go get us a new boss.”
“Grab it all and put it in the truck.” Said the thick Irish accent. “And do it quickly now. Those toga wearing bastards will be here soon.” She said and then muttered to herself. “Damn Pits. Why’d you have to take a rocket straight to the cockpit. They’ll run your Icarus wreck through the database and see it’s registered to this town.” Sam turned the dial on a safe with one hand while holding a flashlight in the other. Click-click, click-click-clank. “I’ve my dad’s safe open!” She squeaked softly to herself. Inside there was a large stack of C-bills, some pieces of paper and a few holotapes all of which she put into her bag. A sudden crash and then a crunching of paper caught her attention. She wheeled around and shone the flashlight straight at Grease. The Dervish pilot stood there with his namesake greasy slicked back hair holding half a pile of large rolled pieces of parchment with the other half being askew on the floor. “Careful now! Those are schematics. Everything we’ve come up with over the years to keep the militia mechs running.” Just then the lights flicked on.
“Don’t you two varmints move. I’ve got a shell here that’ll blast you straight to hell.” The Texas drawl was heavy and deep. “Now why don’t you turn around. Nice. And. Slow.” As Sam turned she saw an old bald man with sideburns and a handlebar mustache standing at the doorway pointing an 8 gauge duckgun at her.
“Rusty! It’s us. It’s me. Sam.”
“Sam? What the hell? You’ve been gone for a few years. And Grease? You’re supposed to be conscripted. You gone AWOL?” Rusty sat there astonished.
“Rusty we’ve gotta get out of here. NOW! Duke’s died on me.” She paused for a few seconds. “I’ll tell you everything later. Just grab your Talos and meet us down at the spaceport ASAP. The Romans are going to be all over this place in a few hours for sure.”
“Like an Angel come down from heaven. I’ve been itchin' to get out of this place for years.” Rusty said as he spit tobacco juice on the floor.
Chapter 2: Opportunity Cost[ | ]
Spears of early morning light stabbed through opaque grey clouds, and brought welcome warmth to Planetary Governor Krask’s face. He stood staring out of the huge floor to ceiling transpex windows of his office. It was deep winter on the planet, and the windows radiated harsh cold into the lavish space. An oversight by the engineers, or perhaps it was designed that way on purpose. A reminder to every man who held the office that he shouldn’t insulate himself from the common man too much. Krask had only held the office for a few short months now. Prior to his rapid promotion he was the CEO of KUL Industries, a weapon’s factory, and only involved himself in politics for long enough to bribe the proper government officials. Of course, he wasn’t blind to politics. He just didn’t want to get involved too deeply in it. There was too much risk. "Well… look at you now..." he chuckled to himself. Somewhere underneath the laugh was fear. He hated being forced into this position. Forced to be so incredibly vulnerable.
“I’ve got something quite interesting here.” A voice brought him back to the morning briefing he had been half listening to. He turned around to the expectant face of Vice Governor Jones. Jones had been a senator before he too was promoted on short notice. “We’ve been contacted by a group of mercenaries. Well.. we haven’t been contacted specifically. They called in on the private comm channel with the proper passcodes and wanted to speak to Governor Thomas.” A grimace worked its way across Krask’s face as he was reminded of the extremely gruesome execution of his predecessor. He became acutely aware that the same sword hung over his own neck. The vice governor continued- “They’re seeking refuge. It seems they’re wanted for a laundry list of crimes.”
“Why does this concern me Jones? Just contact the garrison and have them turned over.” Krask said impatiently. “That’s the thing sir. It is WHO is leading the mercenaries. Sir. Just have a look here.” He pushed a dataslate across the wooden desk. “There. Side by side. Father and Daughter. The resemblance is uncanny isn’t it?”
“Yes, it’s uncanny but nothing surgery couldn’t achieve. How do we know that this is the real deal and not some trap to test our loyalty?” Krask asked, ever thinking of the sword.
“They’ve provided holotapes, and with your permission, sir, I’d like to get a genetic sample. On the holotapes is her father and mother together several times at several different events. Some of it is pretty graphic. It seems like it was meant as blackmail material. Look, you know how much he had a taste for women. A new beautiful woman on his arm every month.”
Krask’s brow furrowed. “This is an opportunity. If the genetic sample checks out then I want you to smuggle her and the mercs planetside. Put them in contact with the rebels. That’ll stir something up for sure. The people need a leader and they’ll gravitate around her.” He said, and then thought to himself ‘The people need a leader that’s not me. Let someone else have the sword over their heads.’
Chapter 3: Queen of Hearts[ | ]
The incessant drone of chainsaws and industrial equipment had become a new constant in Sam’s life. Twenty-four hours a day the mill ran raw lumber into boards and blocks. The noise was deep and powerful. She often found her teeth chattering together from it. Her crew had taken to wearing the noise dampening headsets of the lumberjacks, communicating only through the attached mics. The only refuge from the noise was a mostly-sound dampened building that served as office/living quarters/cafeteria for the workers. “What the hell are we doing here Sam?” Rusty asked between mouthfuls of eggs and bacon. “I was expectin' that we would be doing merc work. Not sitting in this god awful place leading a rebellion.”
“Oh come on. It’s hardly a rebellion. When we got here it was just two mech jockeys that were lucky enough to be on vacation when the invasion happened…. Besides, this is my birthright.” Sam didn’t sound too confident as she stirred the contents of her sparse plate. She didn’t eat very much these days.
“Birthright? Sweetheart, you’re startin' to sound like that damned vice-governor.” Rusty pointed at her with a half eaten piece of toast. “That man is playing you like a fiddle. He is taking a huge risk putting us here, and letting us full use of this place. You think he’s doing it out of the kindness of his heart?” When they had arrived 26 days ago the Vice-governor had personally escorted them to the lumber mill. He introduced Sam to the two rebel mech jockeys. As soon as they heard her last name they had instantly transferred leadership to her. It was strange and uncomfortable for Sam to have this sort of respect. Word had somehow spread among the tradesmen of the camp, and they too had asked for her guidance. She hadn’t really known what to tell them. So she retreated into the only thing she felt comfortable with: Mechtech and Mech Jockeying.
There was a simple mechbay here at the lumber camp used for maintaining nearly a dozen crosscuts and loading industrial mechs. The workshop included a lathe and other simple tools for manufacturing replacement parts. Sam had eagerly commandeered these. With the help of the all-too-helpful local mechanics, Duke’s Bushwacker was up and running again. The replacement cockpit had been ripped from a wrecked crosscut. It was cramped, but worked just fine. Sam had dubbed the assembled Bushwacker as the “Red Queen” in an impromptu ceremony.
“I’m tellin you.” Rusty continued. “You remember those work camps we drove by on the way here? I looked at the maps of this area. That was a detour Sam. There wasn’t any need for us to head by that way. Then he goes on yammerin' about how poorly everyone's been treated, and how so many people lost family. This smells rotten. You mark my words. Duke would’ve…”
“I don’t give a fuck, about what Duke would’ve done.” Sam slammed her fist on the table. “I’m going out. Gonna take Red Queen for another test drive.” She pushed her barely touched plate away from the table edge and walked to the door. Rusty called after her
“You can’t run away from this one Sam.” The door slammed. “I don’t think any of us will be able to run away from the mess you’ve dragged us into.” At 11pm the door to the sound-dampened building crashed open and Sam stumbled through drunkenly laughing to herself. She held a fuel-sample bottle in one hand that had the sampling nipple replaced with a straw. “Don’t know nothin.” She said nonsensically to herself as she pushed through a second door towards the barracks. Rusty sat in the dark, unnoticed, and watched her go. He waited a few minutes and then went to bed himself.
Chapter 4: Flashback[ | ]
three Months ago
Dour faced men and women huddled close around the viewscreen watching their lives change forever. FNN, the local news station, had been broadcasting the defensive battle taking place in the capital against invading forces. The coverage was sporadic. By this point all of the news choppers had been shot down. The only video coming in was from cameramen on the ground, and the occasional UAV. The last three hours had been a running battle by the last defending mech. A King Crab named Long Legs piloted by Lt. Col O’Malley. The Crab was fast, hence its namesake. Faster than even some mechs half its size. O’Malley had used his personal saving to import some advanced tech from the Inner Sphere. Over the last three hours it had seemed invincible. Seven times it had engaged the enemy, seven times it shrugged off hails of missiles, autocannons, and ppcs, and seven times it had left burning wreckage in its wake. The thud, thud, thud of its dual one-of-a-kind RAC 10s was something the audience would remember for the rest of their lives. Invading forces had learned from their mistakes in the last few hours. They’d tried to cast a wide net to catch the King Crab, but this had stretched their forces thin. The small groups had been easy prey for the heavily armed Assault mech. Now they had consolidated their remaining forces into a single knot and had been waiting. FNN news crews were swarming the area waiting for the next engagement.
The News station had an infographic on screen of enemy mechs remaining on the field, how many were downed by each defender. The planetary defense force had accounted well for themselves, but that was expected from a company of all assault mechs. O’Malley had the highest kill count by far: A whopping 15 kills. That was also to be expected. The invaders fielded mostly light and medium mechs because they were cheap. To the side of the infographic an “expert” news panel was arguing obnoxiously about how much ammunition the King Crab had left when the lead anchor put a hand up to his ear. “It looks like Long Legs has been sighted again. We’re going live down to James Desmond.”
“Hurry up with that UAV!” came the voice over hotmic, assuming to be the cameraman.
“This is James Desmond on the ground. You can feel it in your chest when Long Legs is near. The rhythmic pounding of its 100 tons is unmistakable.” A view came on screen. It seemed a cameraman was shooting from a third story window of some apartment complex. The camera shook every 3 seconds. “There it is! It’s Col O’Malley back for more blood!” Long Legs came into view at an intersection 300m away. It leaned to the right like a skier and turned at nearly full speed towards the camera. The force of turning scrunched up the concrete road like carpet wherever it stepped. The monster’s gait was so long that both legs left the ground like a professional sprinter as it ran. The twang of snapping rebar could be heard every time its massive feet touched the ground and sank 2 feet down into crushed concrete. Long Legs headed towards the end of a street, a T-intersection, without slowing. It looked like it would crash head on into a Comstar bank when it went into a slight crouch, and then miraculously jumped. Red hydraulic fluid sprayed into a mist as it sailed over the bank.
Colonel O’Malley saw the world in slow motion thanks to the cocktail of stimulants, painkillers, and adrenaline that kept him alive. He looked down at a sea of red warning indicators. A new one flared to life “MJJ pressure low.” He hardly registered it. The man’s focus had become narrow. His sensor suite pinged as Long Legs cleared the building: someone had locked onto him with a streak system. As the King Crab began it’s descent a cool wind rolled across the Colonel’s pale face. He momentarily glanced towards the source: A dish sized hole in the floor of his cockpit, and just there next to the hole his severed left leg. Suddenly he became aware of the throbbing stump, and the auto-tourniquet holding tight. ‘It doesn’t matter. Focus. One lance at a time.’ He muttered to himself. A fresh cocktail of medication flowed into his veins just miliseconds before his King Crab touched down.
FNN’s UAV came online a few seconds later. Long Legs stood a few meters from a downed swordsman that was crushed into the road with a pair of crab footprints on its chest. Casings the size of a man ejected from spinning RACS as two unaware Centurions were caught in the back and cut down. An early variant Wasp swung its Vibroblade instinctively at the giant. It agilely cut between the claws and halfway through the barrel of the RAC before the next round fired, impacted the blade, and exploded in the chamber. Shrapnel flew as the claw was blown apart in a brilliant smoky explosion. The next thing the Wasp saw was the other Claw reaching through the black smoke and grabbing it around the waist. Hydraulic actuators whined as the Wasp was snipped into two pieces. LRMs hit the Crab in its left side. It turned slowly, like a man underwater, towards the new threat. There, 400 meters away in the next intersection, stood two Catapults, a Bushwacker, and a Centurion holding a massive shield. Damaged Triple Strength Moymer flared, and several strands snapped, as the King Crab came up to full speed. A rain of weapons fire fell upon Long Legs as it charged. Its single RAC’s barrels glowed red as they spewed death towards the offending mechs. Thud, Thud, Thud. A catapult exploded. Thud, Thud, Thud. The Centurion went limp as its shield was pierced. Thud, Thud, click. Clickclickclick. Jam.
A cloud of vaporized ferro fibrous steamed off Long Legs as it neared the end of its charge. It raised its one good claw level with the Bushwacker’s cockpit. The Bushwacker stood its ground defiantly and trained its weapons on the crab. Then came the whine of capacitors followed by the banshee’s scream of PPCs firing. Two brilliant blue shots tunneled deep into the Crab’s side torso. CASE was a system of one-way valves, strategically weakened bulkheads, and armored sections that would redirect an ammo explosion out the front and back of a mech simultaneously to cancel out any force. In this case, the PPCs had flash welded the front sections and proceeded to cook off the remaining 4 tons of RAC rounds. Fire vented out of the King Crab’s back torso like a giant rocket. The sudden force twisted the torso to its 180 degree limit and threw Long Legs off balance. It stumbled mid stride, fell to the right, and plowed into a three story apartment complex. The building collapsed around the crab. A triumphant bushwacker stood over the felled giant and fired two PPCs straight into its engine.
Chapter 5: Flashback, PT2[ | ]
Tanazuki Mizamori was a true master of his art. At an early age in the Draconis Combine his father had instilled in him the discipline and drive to strive for success in everything he did. There was nothing more dishonorable than being mediocre. He joined in the family business of processing the monstrous Zyphous whales using a modified crosscut with large blades for cutting the massive creatures to size. That was until a Kurita visited the planet on business, fell in love with the taste of the whale, and set off a new craze among the rich. Seemingly overnight the price skyrocketed. The Yakuza descended on the scene just as fast seeking to extort this new found wealth. Many of the dock workers resisted. Tanazuki was 23 years old when the Yakuza set off a bomb in his family’s ancestral home killing his wife, two children, and the rest of his family. He fled the planet a broken man. Decades later he had found peace on a moderately populated periphery planet. He worked there as a crosscut pilot felling redwood trees to be exported to the major powers as furniture wood. It was hard work, but he was a master at it. He was one of the few who piloted an X4X with its two chainsaws. Somehow he had even fallen in love again. He had a wife and a newborn son. On the day of the invasion he sat with his coworkers helplessly watching it all unfold on a viewscreen in the rec room. His wife and son had taken refuge in the fortified basement of their apartment complex. He watched in horror as Long Legs smashed face first into his apartment building, but felt relieved when he saw that the armored basement held the weight of the 100 ton Crab. Then the Bushwacker fired its ppcs into the King Crab’s engine block, cracked the containment shield, and sent a gout of superheated plasma straight into the bunker. No one survived.
Today, Tanazuki was no longer a master, but a butcher. Every tree he felled was the Bushwacker. The spraying splinters were its hydraulic fluid. The crack as they fell was its structure snapping. His coworkers were surprised when he joined the Rebellion on the first day they asked for volunteers. They were horrified when they learned he had used his life savings to buy an 18 wheeled cargo truck and 40 tons of fertilizer. The Rebellion on the other hand was happy to have the supplies. Unlike the other rebels, Tanazuki didn’t care that the red haired woman smelled like liquor all the time. All he cared about was the practice sessions she led after his shift where he learned how to aim the rotary rifle strapped to his mech’s arm. It had been more than a month now that he had kept the weapon bolted onto his crosscut during his shifts. He wanted to learn the weight of it. He needed to master it for the task that was at hand. In the last month things had rapidly changed. New pilots had come to the logging camp with various industrial mechs and even a few combat mechs from the personal collection of rich patrons. Weapons had been arriving at the camp almost daily. Military vehicles and their crews had shown up, and were practicing with the budding mech pilots. Several politicians and men dressed in military uniforms had come and left. All in all there were seventeen mech pilots, two dozen light vehicles, twelve tanks, and even two news choppers that had been retrofitted with rotary rifles and rocket pods. Nearly a thousand infantry dressed in civilian clothes had bivouac under the cover of the redwoods. It seemed that things were almost all in place.
Chapter 6: Into The Breach[ | ]
Snowflakes fell lazily onto the city of Clayborne Remembered as the first rays of morning light glimmered off a fresh blanket of snow. Due to curfew, no man dared to walk the streets at this time of day except for members of the Marian Occupation force. The city had been under martial law ever since the Marian Crusade had conquered it three months ago, and enslaved a quarter of the population. Captain Kyle Rayburn stirred from another night of peaceful sleep. When he got up he made sure to not disturb last night’s conquest, who still lay naked under thick blankets. As his coffee brewed he did his morning stretches and calisthenics in the living room. On cold mornings like this he felt all of his 47 years. After his stretches he settled into a comfortable chair with a view that overlooked the walled military compound that he was responsible for. He watched sentries make their rounds as he sipped his coffee. He was genuinely happy for the first time in years. Here he was getting paid a large salary to sit around and babysit this subdued planet. Of course, he wasn’t a real Captain or a real Marian. Not a single bone in his body was leadership material. All he had was a Bushwacker equipped with advanced Inner Sphere tech. He’d taken it with him when he went AWOL from his Lyran post after surviving Tukayyid. That mech alone was enough leverage to get him a full commission within the Marian Legions. Three months ago he had disobeyed a direct order when he fired those PPCs into Long Leg’s engine housing, and it was the best thing he’d ever done for himself. Marian Command wanted the King Crab in one piece and salvageable for the coming crusade. As punishment he had been forced to quit the crusade and garrison this planet until further notice. He hoped it would be years.
The woman in his bed was beautiful, kind, and successful as a doctor. He had been seeing her now for a few weeks. One day he hoped to marry her and have some children…. BOOOM! A blinding light followed by the groan of his transpex window flexing under pressure. Concrete rubble slammed against the building noisily. He looked out on the compound. The southern wall was missing a 45m section and two guard towers had collapsed. He looked through the gap and saw the unmistakable black exhaust plumes of Industrial mechs being pushed to their limits. He didn’t bother to put any clothes on. He just grabbed his cooling vest and sprinted down the two flights of stairs to the mechbay below.
Chapter 7: Forward Unto Dawn[ | ]
Several hundred infantry had streamed through the breach in the wall and taken cover in the explosion’s crater. At first they seemed to be armed only with rifles, but once a Marian Firestarter moved forward with flamers it was met with more than 80 rockets filled with incendiary fluid. The Firestarter pilot was forced to eject to avoid being cooked alive. The fight had raged for more than fifteen minutes, and two additional Marian mechs were down. One from a damaged leg actuator, and another when the clumsy pilot slipped on some black ice which was met with a barrage of rockets. Caesar hadn’t left his best pilots to garrison this planet.
Tanazuki was strapped into his crosscut crowded around the northern gates of the military compound along with sixteen other mechs. He watched as a spaceport industrial mech used its crane to lift the massive 30 ton gates off its hinges and then quietly place it on the ground. As soon as it was out of the way tanks and light vehicles flooded through the gap followed by Samantha McIntyre’s Bushwacker. As she cleared the threshold Canopian Pop music began blaring over every single comm frequency. Rebel mechs had already turned off their comms. They had their instructions ahead of time. Infantry followed the mechs through the gate and then began breaching the closest guard towers to gain access to the walls.
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Captain Rayburn’s ears were still ringing from the bubbly pop music that had assaulted his comm until he toggled off the system. His mech’s gyro suddenly compensated. He was being hit from behind. As he turned his mech, he Instinctively yelled into his mic “They’re behind us. All units engage!” to no one. His mech wheeled around and he saw them, the odd assortment of tanks, Industrial mechs and antiques were less than 200 meters away. “How the fuck?” His Bushwacker had been designed to fight against clans who preferred long range combat. It was not designed for this. He flicked his PPCs FION to off, and threw him LRMs into hotload mode. He pushed his throttle to full power to run perpendicular to the horde and towards the cover of a nearby barracks building. His alpha strike left two crosscuts smoldering, but gained him the full attention of the horde. A hundred rockets streaked wildly in his direction while primitive cannon shells pinged off his armor. There were even two large laser in the mix mounted to a Hector that looked to be straight out of some museum. He looked up at the compressed 360 degree view in his cockpit and saw that only two of his mechs had realized they were under attack from behind. The other six were still concentrating on rooting out entrenched infantry. “God damnit.” Rayburn was thrown against his harness as his mech was jostled by the mass of incoming fire. His Bushwacker’s 275 sized engine easily outpaced the slow industrial mechs. Finally he reached the safety of cover.
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Samantha McIntyre’s horde of mechs had done exactly what she thought they would. They killed and died easily. Their armor was meant to absorb industrial impacts not missiles or laser fire. The few real combat mechs under her command were sporting primitive armor, that is to say thick steel plates. It too wasn’t able to stand up to modern weaponry. What they had to their advantage was numbers and surprise. Just two minutes into her attack and three enemy mechs were down in exchange for the burning wrecks of two tanks and five industrial mechs. That enemy Bushwacker kept poking out of cover behind the barracks to launch alpha strikes. It would need to be dealt with soon. In moments the ranged firefight became an all out melee brawl. Samantha charged a Flea near the wall breach. Its medium lasers fired, but they weren’t strong enough to punch through her armor. At the last moment, Sam torso twisted and ducked her mech a bit so that the impact would be taken to her mechs shoulder. CLANG! The Flea became momentarily airborne as it was punted backwards into the perimeter wall. Just then the Bushwacker unloaded a salvo of 20 rockets into the center torso. She hit something good. It instantly crumpled to the ground.
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Mayor Mack Indahar was piloting his antique Hector into battle. Two months ago it had indeed been in a museum downtown, but he had it refurbished and readied for battle. The only engine they could salvage big enough to power it was a 210. It moved painfully slow. He was engaged in a brawl with that damned sneaky Bushwacker. Every time it popped out to alpha strike he fired his arm mounted large lasers and medium rifles. Every time he took ppcs to the chest and watched as his armor bubbled away. He wasn’t a very good mech pilot, or a very good shot. Most of his went wide of the target. He was sure that the Bushwacker was getting the better of their trades. Suddenly the Bushwacker walked out of cover backwards firing towards some unseen opponent. Mack saw his chance. He sent his machine to full speed intending to alpha point blank into the damned machine.
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Tanks had flanked around the barracks and fired into Rayburn’s rear armor. His cockpit display was flashing red around the borders with a blinking message “Rear Armor Critical”. He had turned around to engage the new target. The Hector he had been dueling couldn’t hit the side of a barn. He’d rather his back be exposed to that than these tanks. His PPCs shrieked as another one of the tanks exploded, then another. His compressed 360 degree visual told him that the Hector was rapidly approaching for some close range brawl. “Fuck it all.” When the hector seemed to take up a quarter of his 360 visual he went into action. Captain Rayburn flicked his LRMs to deadfire missiles. He torso twisted towards the 70 ton behemoth. Explosions rocked his mech as the tanks continued firing rockets and rifles. Rayburn opened up with his chaff launcher followed by 30 deadfire lrms at 30 meters. His advanced cockpit viewscreen instantly darkened around the bright chaff explosions enough for him to see his deadfires blow completely through the center torso of the Hector. More explosions this time on his right torso. He quickly took in the scene. The battle was over. His battlemechs all lay dead, some eviscerated into several pieces by chainsaws and agricultural ripsaws. It seemed the remaining 5 rebel mechs had now turned their attention on his Bushwacker. Rockets, chem lasers, and cannon shells burned away at his armor. He could feel the heat of his cockpit raising. Infantry on the walls were firing incendiary rockets down on him. It was all too much. He hit the override and ejected.
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Tanazuki Mizamori followed the parachute like a puppy follows food. He saw the nearly naked man dangling from it. As it approached the ground he revved his dual chainsaws eagerly. At this range he could see the man’s face contort with fear. It made Tanazuki smile.
Credit:[ | ]
Duke was a character played by RogueWar Discord user Rhea's Knights#5483 in season one, using primitive tech only. Above is a short story written about a major conflict relevant to building their company. All credit goes to "Duke" for this story.