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[RogueSpear]

Conference Room B,
Rainbow Stables,
International Zone,
Solaris City, Solaris VII,
June 16^th, 3031, 16:00 Hours,

Jack nodded to himself. At precisely 16:00 hours, the buzzer from the main gate sounded in the reception and he turned off the p-comm unit he and Von Bremen had been using to listen for it. A wall mounted screen showed the receptionist turning off her p-comm, smoothing down her skirt and giving her top a sharp tug to remove any wrinkles or bunching.

Jack adjusted his own clothing. He wore a specially tailored burgundy velvet blazer with a bulletproof poly-amarid lining that did an excellent job of hiding the two snubnose holdout lasers in flick rigs in his sleeves and a compact machine pistol in a shoulder rig. Thin metal-ceramic composite scales sewn into a long sleeved poly-amarid undershirt provided flexible protection against small arms and edged weapons, worn under a steel grey silk shirt with a starched high collar that hid a half inch thick composite band. A clip on tie to match the blazer contained a lump of face hardened titanium-steel alloy spalled from a battlemech, equally viable as throat protection or a makeshift flail. His suit trousers were pure Terran cotton lining, black, over a thick poly-amarid weave, held up by a black leather belt with a sheathed kukri. The kukri had an ivory handle, old and on the edge of turning from white to yellow, with a ruby pommel stone bound in white gold. It’s sheath was soft leather and bore the name Cosgarach in white gold scrollwork. An embossed silver belt buckle proudly bore the icon of the hammer Mjollnir and fully encapsulated a small hand grenade. Polished leather boots the colour of coal at midnight were laced tightly with fresh laces, steel caps burnished to a lustrous sheen and composite plating completely hidden. Black leather fingerless gloves bearing a three quarter inch thick steel plate across the back with a graven Mjollnir rounded out the ensemble.

On a smaller man, these concealed protections would have been obvious, but with Jack’s bulk it would only be noticed by those who knew how to look. Simon Hennith knew where to look, but wouldn’t need to. Jack had bought the suit, rigs, guns and boots from him almost a decade before as down payment and equipment for a job. Jack hadn’t seen Hennith since and had no doubts that the merchant would remember his wares.

The conference room they were sitting in was Room B, chosen because it had two entrances and exits with two glass walls and two walls that were windows. Two guards with laser pistols holstered stood in the hall, looking like regular corporate bodymen in formal suits with a wired earpiece and standing at ease at the door to the conference room and end of the hall respectively. A squad of Von Bremen’s best soldiers were behind the second door to the room, in full combat dress with a plethora of wargear crammed into what was usually the advertising department. In addition to the usual laser pistols and submachine guns, Jack had insisted on shotguns, flashbangs, magnetic pulse grenades, two light machine guns and a Defiance A4L small laser that had been laboriously taken apart and rebuilt on a rotating assembly with a line to a powered up Taysider. Ostensibly, the Urbanmech was going through reactor testing in the main yard, in reality Jack had chosen that the Rainbow Stables delegation sat with their backs to the window so if need be he could propel himself out it, landing on a scaffolding net hanging from the wall and be closing the cockpit of Taysider in just a few seconds.

Von Bremen had deemed these measures excessive, no doubt continuing to think so even now as he ran his fingers across his own navy pinstripe suit and adjusted his hat, touching three concealed knives Jack had been able to spot through careful study while they waited. Nevertheless, he had arranged matters as his leashed ex-pirate had dictated, watching the proceedings with an amused smirk. Briefly, it reappeared when the LOKI agent turned to see Jack checking the load on his pistol. “Quite prepare, Mr. Churchill?”

Jack grunted, reloading the weapon and tapping two extra magazines back into place on the holster. “As we can be, Mr. Bremen.” The formal manner of address was another point Jack had been insistent on. “There he is now.”

Jack nodded at the screen, where the main doors had just opened. Two men entered the reception and Jack smiled when he heard Von Bremen gasp. The first man was a giant. Standing nearly eight feet tall, Tol Ehiwe was Simon Hennith’s bodyguard. Heavy mech grade armour swathed his immense form in inch thick slabs, immaculately enamelled in a cool, deep blue. Pneumatic pistons could be seen as he walked, panels on his legs and arms sliding as they moved, the soles of his feet crushing the rich carpet flat behind him. He carried a curved longsword at his waist, large enough to be a greatsword on any other man, a wrist mounted laser rifle, and a man portable PPC was slung against the reactor dome on his back. His head was bare, showing long, flowing dreadlocks that swayed as he surveyed the room. His skin was dark, in stark contrast to the bare metal around his left eye – a cybernetic that glowed like ice at the end of a cradle of protruding sensors. His right eye was blue by nature, glowering in a tight frown. More pistons could be seen against bulging muscle under the skin of his neck.

“I…see why you wanted the laser.” Von Bremen said slowly.
“Heh, I’d have told you about him properly but…” Jack waved a hand at the screen. “Has to be seen to be believed, don’t he?”

Von Bremen narrowed his eyes slightly, tearing them from the screen. “Your accent’s gone Jack.”

Jack shrugged and rubbed a freshly trimmed beard. Gone were the greying walrus tusks and bulging neckbeard, he now sported a carefully cropped midlength beard and close trimmed moustache less than half an hour old. At ten to three, the barber had arrived and shaved him in the living room, in front of his bemused teammates while they completed their discussions. No doubt there’d be questions later, but such was the price of timing.

“Different appearances for different men, Mr. Bremen. I’m sure you have a few of your own.”

The screen swapped to a second camera to follow their guests as they moved through the facility. “Tol Ehiwe is a cyborg. If you look into it, your contacts could possibly find out for sure, but the stories always start that he nearly died protecting Mr. Hennith out in the periphery, usually saying it was Sigurd or some other world in the Oberon Confederation . This was the early days, before Hennith mad enough of a reputation for himself. The one I tend to believe is he was selling mech parts to a lieutenant of Redjack Ryan’s. Deal went south when the Rebels decided they didn’t want to pay. Cue some posturing, Hennith’s men start getting intimidated. Some of them put down their guns and leave. Now Hennith’s outnumbered, unsure if his men are gonna fight, and about to be short a few million c-bills. Hennith’s arguing, but it’s weaker now. Head rebel gets impatient and draws a weapon. Tol Ehiwe blows his hand off. Another rebel draws, he gets put down. Then there’s a bunch of shooting that ends with Simon Hennith stumbling back onto a dropship with a case of c-bills in one hand and half of Tol Ehiwe in the other, still shooting. No idea what happened, but some folk will tell you they swear they knew a guy who knew a guy who was on the dropship and he said he saw a dead battlemech when they flew off.”

He paused, watching the two wait outside an elevator while the greeter checked the weight limit before heading for the stairs. "Only, they didn’t go too far. Fifteen minutes later, they land a Trojan dropship in the parking lot of a hospital complex. Simon Hennith and two crewman hauled Ehiwe out on a stretcher, straight into the main doors. Hennith reportedly pulled a pistol and demanded immediate treatment by their best doctor and promised them the full case of c-bills. Ehiwe went in for surgery while Hennith purchased an entire surgery theatre, piled it on to the dropship and hired staff to keep him under alive. Next time they showed up, Tol Ehiwe looked like an Atlas’ baby and Hennith was selling one to the Ministry of Canopus in return for a more elegant job and continued upkeep.”

Von Bremen eyed the monitor as the juggernaut in question left the stairwell. “Half of him you say?”

Jack shrugged. “He got better. I got to see him in action once. Took a hit from a man pack PPC and barely even slowed down. Last time I saw him, he was carrying it. Claimed it was the same gun. Looks like he’s still got it. So…” Jack gestured at the door.

“The laser, yes.” Finished Von Bremen. He shifted his weight and turned to face their guests directly. The glass walls of the conference room allowed them to see them approach, Tol Ehiwe hunched over and barely avoiding the ceiling with his lurching gait. “I suspect I should have asked for them to be disarmed.”

“They would have left.” Jack cleared his throat just before the door opened and stood.
“Mr. Hennith, Tol Ehiwe, welcome to the Rainbow Stables,” Von Bremen began, extending a hand. Tol Ehiwe entered the room, looking each of them up and down as he was welcomed. Simon Henning came through second, and paused. He wore a well tailored suit of rich, sea green chanderi silk, which hung close to his thin frame with no room to carry a concealed weapon. A matching trilby covered a receding hairline and bore a cropped salt and pepper beard. Piercing green eyes gave Von Bremen a cursory once over and locked in on Jack.
“Thank you, Mr. Bremen.” Replied Simon Hennith, removing his hat. Tol Ehiwe enclosed Von Bremen’s hand up to the wrist in one massive gauntlet and shook. There was a moment’s delay before Von Bremen gestured towards the guest’s side of the table and cleared his throat.

“Please, sit.”

“It is good to see you again, Jack Churchill.” Rumbled the bodyguard. “It has been too long since we last talked.”

“Indeed it has,” Jack replied smoothly, still standing. His accent now was rich and deep, Von Bremen shot a glance his way. If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought the voice belonged to a Lyran noble. Perhaps he stole it too, once upon a time. “I’d offer you a seat but I doubt my employer owns one you wouldn’t shatter.”

The cyborg nodded solemnly, pulling one away from the table. “Indeed, few men do. Fortunately, Mr. Hennith saw fit for me to bring my own.” The giant’s legs bent, his torso straightening, and a lever swivelled out from his armoured back to form a stand with a large skid to distribute the weight. Tol Ehiwe folded his arms, staring at Jack impassively, and sat.

“Awesome.” Jack grinned. “Would it be impertinent to ask when you had that installed?”

The giant smiled broadly, revealing pearly white teeth. “A year or two back, after a particularly lengthy set of negotiations. Mr. Hennith and the customer sat for hours, while myself and the customer’s guards stood for hours. No problem for me, but it left them somewhat uncomfortable.”

“How charitable of you, Mighty Ehiwe,” Jack smiled, seating himself across from Hennith. “I did not think you had such generosity in you. Perhaps it was added in a recent patch?”
Von Bremen smiled tightly as the armoured warrior laughed loud, Jack joining in while Hennith sat impassively. The merchant’s hands were clasped in front of him, leaning back in his seat, with the disposition of a father humouring his children.

“I have missed your humour, Jack Churchill,” Smiled Ehiwe, “Few dare to jest at my expense, still. Perhaps if I were taller?”

“Ahem,” Interrupted Hennith, leaning forward. “Perhaps not. Ehiwe has been having delusions of becoming the galaxy’s first human battlemech. Bringing him to Solaris has done nothing to curb these flights of fancy. I hope you have not wasted the trip, Mr. Churchill.”

Jack’s smile disappeared so swiftly Von Bremen felt a chill ripple up his spine. He had never seen a genuine smile vanish so swiftly or Jack look so calm and at peace.

“Might I ask why you have made this trip, Mr. Hennith?” Von Bremen asked, inserting himself into the conversation as gracefully as he could. Jack had left a wealth of information out of why they were meeting this man.

The merchant didn’t even look at him. “Does your employer need to be present?” He asked Jack.

Jack continued to meet his gaze. “I would have said no, Mr. Hennith, but as you came to him instead of me I had little choice in the matter. The nature of my contract you could say. I’m sure you understand why.”

Hennith inclined his head. “Regrettably at the time we were told you were residing on sight. Mr. Bremen’s…associates are quite adept at turning aside inquiries.” He turned to look at Von Bremen, locking eyes in a way that left him entirely sure that Simon Hennith knew well who Jack’s employers really were. “Mr. Churchill entered into my employ as a third party contractor nine years ago to aid in retrieving an item for my collection. The nature of his background afforded him certain skills and knowledge not normally available on the periphery. Over some months, Mr. Churchill was able to form connections to the owner of the item, introduce himself and enter the owner’s home.” He returned his view to Jack. “Unfortunately, something seems to have gone wrong.”

Jack had the good grace to look embarrassed. “Before entering Mr. Hennith’s employ, he required that I leave the employ of my former associates. I continued in Mr. Hennith’s employ for some months unaware that they were keeping tabs on me. When they discovered my connection and interest in meeting the owner, they became alarmed and sought to seek me out as he was considered a rival of theirs. Regrettably at the time of their arrival I had entered the home of the owner. As they made their way to join us and discuss the matter, a pirate raid struck the world. In the fighting, the owner was slain and I barely made my own escape. Fortunately for Mr. Hennith, I had acquired the item he sought and was able to escape with it in my possession.”

Von Bremen’s face remained impassive, the skin around his eyes and mouth only tightening slightly. Nevertheless, the cobalt armoured Ehiwe turned his head to observe him. A light sweat broke out on his brow.

He was under no illusions as to Jack’s past but this was the first time he’d come directly into contact with it. He didn’t miss the careful wording or their implied meaning. Nor that Mr. Hennith has contracted Jack for the endeavour.

He began to think the security measures were not enough.

“I had heard of the unfortunate events. It was some time before we were able to find you again. Almost six years in fact, at the other end of the sphere. Some men would have been suspicious.”

Jack nodded politely, “Indeed some men would have been, but I’m sure once you determined the message was from me any suspicions you had soon vanished. I’m sure you understand my circumstances.”

Mr. Hennith nodded, equally polite, “Alas, you were not able to make the proposed meeting. I understand you could not source safe passage to us.”

“Only understandable, I’m sure.” Jack demurred, “We are both such busy men. We can be so hard to locate. Indeed, I believe Solaris VII is the longest I’ve lived in one place since. A strange twist of fate.”

Ehiwe smiled widely. “This, I know. For a while, I doubted we were truly friends, you made your finding so difficult.”

Jack gave a small laugh, so seemingly natural Von Bremen decided to make the man an actor if the arenas fell through. “I do hope you did not take it personally, friend Ehiwe, I should never wish to endure your ire.”

“A most advisable hope, Mr. Churchill.” Replied Mr. Hennith. “May we to business? I wish to see the item.”

“I’m afraid it’s not one I have immediately to hand,” Replied Jack, raising both hands apologetically to his sides even as Hennith frowned and Ehiwe stood, “But fear not, I am able to fetch it for you on a moment’s notice. First however, I should quite like to ensure there will be no reprisal or restriction of payment as penalty for the delay.”

Hennith stared coldly across the table at Jack. “I’m sure we needn’t fear any reprisal, Mr. Churchill,” Von Bremen said evenly as he could, “Though perhaps your payment would be more negotiable now than in the past.

The other three men looked at him. The moment stretched out just long enough for him to recognise the look. He’d given it himself more than once, over his career. It was the look one gave someone who had no idea what they were really talking about.

Mr. Hennith tapped the table with one finger. “I feel no need to restrict Mr. Churchill’s payment if he has the item.”

Jack positively radiated malice. Von Bremen had grown to recognise that glitter in Jack’s eyes. It was like that of a child that knew their favourite toy was within their grasp.
And that they were going to use it to pull the wings off a fly.

Someone was going to have a bad day and Jack was going to enjoy it. He actually relaxed a little. Jack’s enjoyment meant that it could not possibly be anyone in this room.

“Excellent. In that case, you shall have the item before you leave the premises.” Despite the sheer, evil glee radiating from him, Jack’s face and voice was calm. “I have kept it in a sealed container.” He drew a small remote from a pocket and placed it on the table in front of Hennith. “Here is the key for it. It must be pressed to the lock to open the container. Inside that container is the original vessel for the item, which lies within and contains the item. Where may we retrieve my reward?”

Simon Hennith stood, rebuttoning his suit jacket. “An unmarked hauler two streets over contains your wares. Tol Ehiwe has already signalled for it to make its way over, I’m sure. We may make the transfer in the courtyard if you are amenable pending satisfaction with the items.”

Jack and Von Bremen rose as well, buttoning their own jackets as Tol Ehiwe retracted his stand and returned to his looming crouch. “I think that would be very amenable to us. I shall meet you in the courtyard shortly if you would be so kind as to see our guests out while I return with their wares.”

Jack Churchill bowed eloquently and left before Von Bremen could argue, letting an evil grin split his face from ear to ear as he strode down the hall, fighting the urge to run all the way.

[Thom Frankfurt]

[[Long, long, long, overdue. Super-Sorry. I've been slowly (very) working on this over the last few weeks. Had bouts of indecisiveness, and struggled with how... clunky things were.]

Sardini's Italian Bistro
Silesia, Lyran Quarter
Solaris City, Solaris VII,
June 16^th, 3031, 16:00 Hours

Located just a stone's throw distance down Ashing Street from the Commonwealth museum, and located in the heart of Silesia's Skye District, Sardini's was nestled among an orderly row of small businesses. Weathered signs dangled from patinated copper brackets that jutted out of ancient limestone walls, looking more fitting in a medieval setting than the high tech 31st century. Inside, rough hewed logs supported a lofted ceiling that mounted a series of simple ceiling fans driven by a clever rope pulley system. Soft light spilled from the fans illuminating burgundy colored table cloths, and leaving just enough shadow to provide it's customers a degree of mysteriousness. Soft mandolin music emanated from some hidden source, while fragrant aromas wafted from the kitchens. Kaylee would be loving it if it wasn't for her dining companion.

"Cut the c-rap, Kaylee. You didn't drag my sorry ash all the way over from the Blackhills to this snazzy place out of the kindness of your heart. You obviously want something. So for funk's sake, get to the point." Kaylee had hoped that the rustic charm of Sardini's would have partly smoothed things over with her old roommate, Barbara, and put her at ease, but it didn't look like she was being too successful. Kay took another bite of her brown-buttered mizithra cheesed spaghetti and slowly chewed while gathering her thoughts.

"Well... I'm waiting." Barb added impatiently, dragging a crust of fresh baked bread through some peppered olive oil.

Kaylee gave the other patrons a cautionary glance before leaning in. "I... kind of need a favor," she offered meekly.

"A favor?" the brunette tossed the bread down onto her own dish, a Solarian scallop pasta in disgust. "The balls on this bit-h." Barbara offered to the room before crossing her arms across her chest and sitting back to skewer the tech with an icy glare. "First you get walloped by some ash-hole tech, and fall head over heels for some kindly white knight mechwarrior rescuer. Then you disappear one night shortly later to go shack up with said white-knight-mechwarrior."

Kaylee tried to cut in, "It's not like that,-" Barb wasn't having it, cutting her off. "I'm not done. You also left my fine ash out in the wind with the rent, so you're gonna have to do a whole Hell of a lot better than some," she glanced at her plate, still steaming. "Actually, not that bad food, before I even consider listening to whatever sob story bullshrimp this is," she added while snatching up the crust of bread. She then glanced up as the waiter neared and guffawed as he thought twice about coming to their table and retreated back the way he came.

The auburn haired tech patted the air in what she hoped was a gesture of 'whoa' she then leaned in and in a soft voice tried to reason with her old friend. "Calm your ta-tas, girl. Look, I funked ya, sorry about that. I feel real bad about that, and I really want to make it up to you,-" Barb cut her off, again. "You want something," she echoed while itching some fresh scar tissue on her forearm.

"I'm sorry," the technician offered again. "I can pay you back what is owed, and then some. And before you cut me off again." she added lofting up her fork dangling gooey-melted-cheesy-goodness. "We both know, I can do some decent fab work, but what I need is someone with skills like your's. Not just fabrication work, but with some pyrotechnic skills too. Interested?" Kaylee finished by clamping her teeth down on her fork and awarding the fabricator with a smile.

"I'm listening, keep going." Barbara added while leaning in conspiratorially.

Edited by Thom Frankfurt, 20 March 2019 - 06:17 AM.

[Thom Frankfurt]

[Personally not a fan of this as I lost the original right when I got done. Liked it WAY better. Figured with this one D and Heather are all alone in the stable with Jack doing his thing, Kaylee out with Barb, and Bertie doing... whatever. Maybe he's pounding out details to get that Warhammer?]

Rainbow Stables,
International Zone,
Solaris City, Solaris VII,
June 16^th, 3031, 16:00 Hours

Gazing out the fourth story window of his shared common space, DeMarkus wrapped his fingers around the coffee mug, letting it's warmth slowly spread through his fingers and hands. Kurita's Kobe districts waterfront was positively stunning at this time of day on the too few sunny Solaris days. Shrines mingled with painstakingly manicured gardens while a statuary line held a silent vigil as white helmeted Kobe Security guards patrolled the area. The former Capellan smiled as two kimono wearing ladies strolled down a pathway. It was truly a beautiful day, and it was a shame that the stable was on lock down.

The details of the reason why were sketchy, or at least from the small bit he was able to pull from Larold, who got pulled in for extra protection. 'Some important VIP' was all that the security man was willing to share, so the mechwarrior from time to time wondered about who this individual could possibly be. Nobility? Considering the ownership of the stable it was very plausible that some of her family would be visiting, but wouldn't they be using their own guards in that case? Other possibilities that he'd come up with were members of the Solaris Stable Owners Association, but he thought that was unlikely due to the SSOA only seeming to meet monthly at over the top establishments. Maybe a big time investor or fight promoter paying a visit to check on this 'up-and-coming' stable? DeMarkus wasn't sure what was amiss but he had an uncomfortable feeling about it that he couldn't shake, kind of like an itch between his shoulders that he couldn't quite reach.

"Contrary to popular opinion, Polish resistance when the German army invaded in 1939 was a lot stronger and more determined than you might think. In this segment, we explore the Battle of Wizna."

DeMarkus' ears perked up at the beginning of another old war documentary as Heather slowly spun around in some office chair that she must have dragged out of her father's room. Leaning back she rolled her eyes into the back of her head. "I am so bored." She slowly sat up and glancing at the vidplayer then looked at the Capellan. "Like why are we watching all these old docs at all? They didn't have mechs, and Victorious Victor Mansfield is taking on Gustov Candar tonight in the factory, there's bound to be more interesting fights on the under card than these stories of these long dead guys." Heather whined as DeMarkus chuckled pulling a tray laden with corn dogs and tots from the oven.

"...how a small detachment of around 720 Polish infantrymen held off more than 40,000 German soldiers for more than three days. A story that has even entered Polish folklore as the Polish Thermopylae."

"Whoa... how they hold off for so long?" Heather asked, her interest perked.

"We's gotta watch'n finds out." The mechwarrior smiled fetching out a couple of plates from the pantry and bringing them into the common area.

"I guess we can watch this until the fight in the factory starts."

[RogueSpear]

Central courtyard,
Rainbow Stables,
International Zone,
Solaris City, Solaris VII,
June 16th, 3031, 16:23 Hours,

Rudolph von Bremen resisted the urge to pace nervously as Jack crossed the courtyard to where a large J-27 Ordnance Transport had been parked. Extensively modified, he'd swear blind the vehicle weighed at least half again it's stated twenty tonnes with a fully enclosed rear cabin, armour skirts over the treads and cabins, reinforced ceramite slats on the windows and a second Sperry-Browning machine gun on the rear cabin in a remote turret.

Tol Ehiwe stood by the ramp, arms crossed and a slight smile on his face; watching him Von Bremen decided he'd be a fool to assume the borderline tank had only the weapons he could see. Just what the hell is that mad pirate being paid to demand all this? He wondered, not for the first time. His eyes settled on the heavy case that Jack was wheeling out on a two-wheel dolley. Two and a half feet tall, a foot and a half thick and a further two wide, it was polished to a sheen, dark and burnished like gunmetal. A faint hexagon pattern revealed it's surface for what it was - face hardened titanium steel alloy. No doubt with a cubic boron nitride ceramic on a diamond fibre webbing for a backing,” he thought bitterly, All on top of at titanium-alloyed honeycomb lattice. That’s mech-grade armour plating, for crying out loud! Von Bremen caught the gleaming cobalt cyborg looking at him again. Despite his best efforts he felt the blood drain from his face and sink through his body, collecting his heart and stomach along the way to congeal all the way down at his toes. Merciful Lord, what is Jack trading?!

As Tol Ehiwe lifted the heavy crate into the J-27 one handed, the Loki agent made a mental note to stop assuming he knew more than anyone else in the room. Something very dangerous was taking place right in front of him and he was clueless as to what. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his P-comm and as naturally as he could sent a message to DeMarkus Frankfurt.

*********************************************************************************************************

Kneeling the back of his transport, Simon Hennith touched the remote to the container with a trembling hand. A blank LED flickered to life, green light signalling a successful unlock and with a hiss the case released it’s seals and opened. Lifting the lid to one side revealed a bundle of bubblewrapping. Carefully he peeled away packing tape to unravel the simple wooden box within. Unlatching it revealed an ornate, bejewelled laser pistol on a bed of velvet. Releasing a shuddering breath, he wrapped it again carefully and interred it once more within it’s armoured safe.
“I believe we have a deal.” He said, pushing himself to his feet. “Do you need to see your wares?”
The missing mercenary he’d hired so long ago was standing against the huge container that took up most of the room aboard the transport. Coming up to nearly his shoulder, the trimmed and groomed mechwarrior was stroking the emblem on the case with his thumb, gazing into it and clearly far away. After a moment he replied, “No, no I don’t think so Mr. Hennith. I’ll choose to trust you.”
Surprised, the illegal arms dealer raised an eyebrow. “Trust me? How unlike you.”
“Either you have been honest, which suits your reputation, or you have not.” The old pirate finally looked up to meet his gaze. “I’ve been carrying that weapon around for nine years, Mr. Hennith. I’ve kept a hold of it when it was damn hard to even hold onto my own skin.” He sighed and looked off to his left, still leaning against his reward. “Frankly, I’m tired. I have been tired a long time. I’m finally somewhere I might be able to change my course and that blighted thing is an anchor around my neck. If anyone ever knew what it was...”
A moment of uneasy silence followed, broken only by the sounds of the city outside the transport. “You’re a strange man,” Simon Hennith said slowly. “The very worst sort of periphery pirate by all accounts, but a man with an understanding of honour. I do believe I’m aware of just about every event you’ve been involved in as a pirate and that understanding is there, if twisted near beyond all recognition. So I’ll offer this advice. I can find you what you need to use that to it’s full capability,” He nodded at the crate, “But not in significant quantities and at an exorbitant cost to myself and thus to you as well. If you truly are attempting to change course, then there is one source of the relevant consumables and possibly even parts you might access.”
He gestured for Churchill to leave the vehicle stood to one side. “Fetch whomever you need to fetch to retrieve the artefact, then I suggest you consider contacting your father Mr. Bracken-Steiner.”

*********************************************************************************************************

DeMarkus Frankfurt was powering up his Catapult, maintenance hatches still open to expose it’s internals, when Jack exited the transport. For a moment he looked almost unrecognisably self-conscious, but it disappeared in a heartbeat. Tugging his blazer down to smooth out the crinkles, he turned a magnanimous smile towards the mechbay. “Guid sar Abnett!” He bellowed, accent returning, “Wid y’be sae kind as tae bring a wee crane ower here and take yon big box oot the van?”
Von Bremen eyed him carefully as he exchanged shouts with his crew, approaching the spy as he did so.
“Are we...pleased, Mr. Churchill?”
“Aye, we are.” The grinning pirate replied. “G’wan and let the nice arms smuggler oot, there’s a good lad, an’ drap the pleasantries.”
Von Bremen nearly choked, “Th-The arms smuggler? Jack, just what the hell did you just buy?”
The fat pirate made a show of stroking his manicured beard for a moment. “Why don’t ye tell Mr. DeMarkus t’power doon that half built monstrosity an come hae a gander, we’ll see if you can tell.” With that, he strode off towards Taysider, leaving Von Bremen standing there aghast.

[Thom Frankfurt]

Rainbow Stables,
International Zone,
Solaris City, Solaris VII,
June 16th, 3031, 16:23 Hours

Seweryn Biegański, who was the last to leave the shelter, describes the moment; "The captain looked at me warmly and softly urged me to leave. When I was at the exit, I was hit on my back with a strong gust and I heard an explosion."

Just as the war-doc was reaching it's climax with Captain Raginis' vow of dying defending his homeland from it's aggressive neighbor, (by clutching a grenade to his chest.) DeMarkus' personal communication unit, his P-Com chimed, drawing yet another annoyed glance from Heather who was surprisingly entertained with the documentary. Justifiably so, as his unit had been quite active with frequent updates from Kaylee who was slowly arranging a deal with whom she refereed to as a rather reputable fabricator to build the mechanism to be engaged during the upcoming free-for-all match.

The Capellan still wasn't comfortable with the idea, thinking it somewhat underhanded, but if it gave him a leg up on the competition...

To his surprise though it was Von Bremen messaging him instead. With an excusing gesture offered to Heather, the mechwarrior left the common space and paced over to the kitchenette where he looked out again over the Kobe district's waterfront. While staring at the lengthening shadows stretching from the trees and statuary lines, he engaged the connection with the Stables PR man.

"Ja, Randolph?" DeMarkus offered as a greeting.

"No time to talk, Mr. Frankfur- err sorry, De'Markus. We have a bit of a situation down here in the courtyard. I need to to mount up in the Catapult, just in case things get out of control. Uh, Larold will fill you in when you get down. Please hurry. Von Bremen out." The line died suddenly, leaving him staring at the unit is shock. Just what was it that was going on? And that tone in Von Bremen's voice, he never heard his voice like that. Was it fear?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few minutes later

He left Heather alone on the sofa, watching the opening matches of the night as he slipped out the door. Stalking the empty halls of the stable the mechwarrior's mind raced over the possibilities of what was unfolding down below. As his plasteel boots echoed he became aware of how empty the halls were, almost abandoned. He thought it eerie and searched his memory on a time when they'd ever been this empty and drew up a blank.

Drawing up to the elevators he sighed and switched his battered neuralhelm to his other hand and stabbed out a bony finger to engage the call button. He then forced himself to wait, doing last minute checks. Making sure that his needler pistol was not only secured in it's shoulder holster, but that it had a fresh block of plastic charged and ready.

"Wat is going on?" He offered to the empty hall as he watched the numbers above the elevator ascend. He wiped a clammy palm across his jumpsuit as the car arrived with a chime and yawning open swaggered in. Immediately thumbing his desired floor's number. He rode in silence, the blood pulsing in his ears as he watched the floor number decent towards the bottom floor.

The elevator arrived and doors opened revealing Larold, clad in black riot gear, with his helmet's face shield tilted up. "Man, D, we got a situation," his handler offered as way of greeting.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A few minutes later...

DeMarkus rubbed a calloused hand across the arm rest of the partially reconstructed Catapult. He couldn't help but be impressed, the techs had been slaving away at a breakneck pace to not only repair, but customize the heavy mech accordingly to Kaylee's specifications.

Leave it to Kaylee to take a Catapult and try to turn it into a Thunderbolt... He smiled at the thought then mentally chastised himself and forced himself to focus on the task at hand. The Catabolt? stood idling by in a low power mode, it's body partially reconstructed, but it's lasers fully charged and ready to go, in case things got out of hand between Jack, Randolph, or any stable personnel for that matter, and what from Larold's description, one of the Chancellors Death Commandos.

For the umpteenth time since mounting up, he looked over his sensors feedback on the immediate target, the heavily modified J-27 transport, just to reassure himself that things were on the up and up. It was a pity that his sensors couldn't pick up any of the conversation between the men chatting among themselves, he'd like to eavesdrop [Note: I was tempted to do that Mr. Steiner] Again he looked over the transport calculating the additional armored plate in his head and whistled low.

I bet that's murder on the transmission and drive system, of course, that's probably been altered too. Who the Hell are these guys?

Motion below caught his attention, a reassured looking Jack from appearances saying something smugly to Von Bremen who had the look of a child being told not to interrupt the grown ups when they were talking.

"-psst- Hey D, it looks like things are all good now. Jack says you can power down now, and is inviting you over. It sounds like he wants to make introductions." Larold's voice sounded on over his neuralhelm's earpiece. Frowning the Hangman undid his 5 point harness and rising pressed a series of buttons upon his console, initiating a shutdown sequence. Within seconds he was back in his jumpsuit and descending down a rope ladder. Moments latter he was strolling on up to the small gathering of men and realizing for the first time, just how big the man-no, cyborg [it pains me to write that] was.

Blakes Blood! He does look like one of the Chancellors Death Commandos, but bigger. It was an unsettling thought. Despite that he embraced the persona that the Solarian Tabloids and media were spinning about him and for a moment embraced the Dreaded Hangman of Tikonov.

"Yo, wat up, Jack?" He glanced at the uncharacteristically immaculately dressed Jack Churchill and arched an eyebrow while eying the strangers casually.

[Edit: Spelling and rewording things.]

Edited by Thom Frankfurt, 16 July 2019 - 11:30 PM.

[RogueSpear]

Rainbow Stables,
International Zone,
Solaris City, Solaris VII,
June 16th, 3031, 16:48 Hours

Jack managed to maintain the smooth facade while Hennith and his crew unpacked his prize and prepared to leave, demurring Von Bremen and DeMarkus' insistent and very casual requests for information. Dan directed two other techs through loading the crate onto a mobile crane and drove it into Taysider's bay as instructed. Tol Ehiwe saluted him as the enormous bodyguard levered himself onto the transport and Jack returned the courtesy.


All the while Simon Hennith's voice echoed, ricocheted and spun around his skull.
I suggest you consider contacting your father Mr. Bracken-Steiner.
He supposed he shouldn't be surprised Hennith and his network of contacts, dealers, soldiers and brokers had managed to dreg up his origins. After tracking him down for nine years, it would be more surprising really if Hennith hadn't found out. If he'd even remotely thought about it.
I suggest you consider contacting your father Mr. Bracken-Steiner.
Hans James von Bracken-Steiner hadn't existed for almost a quarter century. Since Mad Jack Churchill's 'birth' the Third Succession War had ended, the Fourth begun and ended itself. The Wolf's Dragoons were making interstellar news for the first time with their sudden entrance to the 'Sphere when Hans James disappeared into the periphery.
I suggest you consider contacting your father Mr. Bracken-Steiner.
One drunken comment had led to all this. One drunken insistence that he meet the dealer who really had what he'd just been given.
I suggest you consider contacting your father Mr. Bracken-Steiner.
Mad Jack shook his head and let the act drop as the J-27 ground it's way out the gates and out of sight. Growling, he glanced up at Von Bremen and forced himself to keep eye contact. “Why don’t we see whit ah’ve bought taegether, aye?” He gestured at the crate being lowered onto the deck by Taysider, a small crowd gathering. “Get rid o’ the crowd, but.”
I suggest you consider contacting your father Mr. Bracken-Steiner.
He didn’t hear the Lyran’s reply, or DeMarkus’ rejoinder over the blood pounding in his ears. His chest was tight, his vision blurring at the edges. He balled fists to quiet trembling hands, lurched forwards with his vision locked on the worn company logo on the side of the box. Reaching it, he slammed his palms against the flat side of the container, rested his head against the cool ceramic. Dimly he was aware he was having a panic attack.
I suggest you consider contacting your father Mr. Bracken-Steiner.
Fumbling fingers fished out a small hip flask from a breast pocket and opened it. He grinned too widely at something Dan said and took a long swig, then another. He leaned back against the crate, eyes closed until the noise level lessened as the crowd was shooed away. Blinking in the too bright light of the mech bay, he took another pull on the flask and drained the rest of it. ****. This is why I never go sober.
“Richt, crack her open then, Mester Abnett.” He croaked and suppressed a wince. Hopefully they’d put it down to whatever moonshine he’d just been drinking. “That man, Mr. Von Bremen, is one of the most dangerous individuals ah’ve ever met. Found him in the periphery once upon a time when ah heard he’d gotten his mitts oan this richt here.” He motioned towards it. “Noo, this sort of thing is a very rare beastie at the best o’ times, but this wan is a bit mair still.” He trailed off while Dan began cracking it open gently, one seal at a time.
There was a pregnant pause while Von Bremen exchanged looks with DeMarkus. “That’s...well that’s deeply concerning Jack but what the hell is it?!” The Lyran spook hissed the last few words, eyes bulging slightly.
“Why don’t the pair of ye have a look? See if ye can guess.” Jack did his best to look his usual evil self and struggled to control his breathing through a throat still far too tight, blinking moisture from his eyes.

*************************************************************************************************

"I's can take a look if you's want." DeMarkus asked the smug looking Jack, who reminded the Capellan of the cat that not only ate the canary, but it's young as well. The Lyran nodded, a twinkle in his eye and the Hangman began a walk around the now open crate, appraising the weapon system within. It looked different, advanced, and judging by a section of discoloring, was buried or submerged for a lengthy time at some point. The mechwarrior stopped at the maw of the muzzle and gazed in.
"Der's no rifling, and it'a looks like'a hundred milly. Looks like it'a been buried at some point," he added pointed at the discolored section before continuing his walk. Towards the back of the autocannon he stopped and peered fiercely at a section.
"I's found da serial numbers. Look a'like it was produced on Dun Eideann, wherever dat is." The mechwarrior stopped his inspection and rejoined the other stable warrior. "I's tink I'a seen someting like dis once, but'a when an where..." DeMarkus trailed off and shrugged. He turned and gave the device a considering look. and shrugged. "Puzzling."

**************************************************************************************************

Jack looked skywards while DeMarkus was talking, letting the technical talk roll over him. “Dun Eideann is where I’m from.” He said, his accent slipping. “It’s no much of a place. A fortified dome more than it’s anything else, right on the Draconis side of the Isle of Skye. Every century or so some ******* rolls in and tells us the owner’s changed, but it’s too small and worthless to even be worth garrisoning. Steel Lady was the only mech stationed there for three hundred years, when she was Eisenheiß. Not even a garrison really, jist the local lord’s personal mech. He had ideas...” He shook his head. “They didn’t come t’much though. Dun Eideann’s awfy small, just about enough to hold an atmosphere with Star League terraforming kit. Lot’s of asteroid belts in the system though, plenty of resources and low gravity. So he started his own manufacturing center, building all the LosTech the Star League loved that needed low grav to make. Bankrupted himself but it started turning a tidy profit pretty quick. Ran for twelve years, then the First Succession War started up. A warship called the Kaiten jumped in and spent two days obliterating the whole set up. Three factories, a mining station, what was left of the terraforming gear holding the atmosphere together. Every dropship. Then they left the place for dead. Took six years for anyone to notice, if ah remember mah schooling right.”

I suggest you consider contacting your father Mr. Bracken-Steiner.
He shook his head. “The important bit is the short lived Bracken Industries built this,” Pointing to a string of foreign words half faded below the image of castle on a hill. “Which if y’could read the Gaelic there, says it’s a Mark Two Claymore pattern LBX-10, 90 millimetre repeating cannon. Aye,” This time the grin wasn’t remotely forced. “That’s one of no-very-many LBX-10s left in the Sphere and so far’s ah ken the only wan of it’s type. Theres about two tonnes of ammunition in there and just a few spare parts.” He revelled in the three men’s shock, his chest and throat loosening. “An ah’m gonnae use et.”

[Thom Frankfurt]

Rainbow Stables,
International Zone,
Solaris City, Solaris VII,
June 16th, 3031, 16:48 Hours

DeMarkus stood still while Jack monologued while eyeing the mechbays rafters with their steel beams and crises-crossing crane rails. The Lyran droned on, with what he eventually admitted to lessons from his schooling, a brief history of his home planet's brief heyday. The Capellan listened onward trying intently to pierce the veil on the big mechwarrior's face. Something was obviously eating at the man, and DeMarkus stared a glance with Von Bremen before glancing in the direction of the open roll up door, where just moments ago what Jack confessed as one of the most dangerous individuals he ever met left.

That look, is it the look of one who's past has come back to haunt him?

He snapped his attention back to Jack as the mechjock focused on the details of the mysterious weapon system.

Lostech!

Such a rare and priceless piece of equipment, the mechwarrior dared to interrupt and pry to find out just what was exchanged in trade for such a thing, but held back. He had the feeling that he rather not know, he had the feeling that in this case ignorance was bliss.

“That’s one of no-very-many LBX-10s left in the Sphere and so far’s ah ken the only wan of it’s type. Theres about two tonnes of ammunition in there and just a few spare parts.” He revelled in the three men’s shock, his chest and throat loosening. “An ah’m gonnae use et.”

The shock must have been plain as day on his face and glanced towards a blanch faced Von Bremen. The mechwarrior tried in vain to find something to say, coming up empty. He opted to hold up his P-Com like it would explain everything. "Uh.. say, umm pardon, uh me. Kay is'a sealing da deal wit dat fabric's'cator." He patted the Lyran mechwarrior on his shoulder.

"Wheels, atalk'a mores later, when I'ms more drunk er ya sober." He smiled a lopsided grin to the three other men before strolling off a ways before turning around abruptly and with a devilish look on his face poked out a finger at the small group of men with a tapping gesture.

"Hey yo's Jack, da Emperor has'a weapon like dat, twos of dem!" he blurted out in excitement. "I's remembered," he offered with a grin before turning about and heading off on his way.

Edited by Thom Frankfurt, 25 August 2019 - 09:59 AM.

[RogueSpear]

Cityfight!™ Arena ,
Calippo City, Solaris VII,
June 19th, 3031, 15:52 Hours,

The days had passed in a blur for Mad Jack, who daily grew to resemble his moniker more and more. Without the steady stream of drugs in the hospital and after his all too brief indulgence after getting out the withdrawal was hitting him hard. His ‘planning sessions’ with Walker and DeMarkus had primarily consisted of him nodding distractedly before rushing for the bathroom. Two showers a day and several changes of clothes didn’t do much to hide his sweating and no amount of teethbrushing or mints could keep vomit off his breath. His recently trimmed and cared for beard had grown stiff and spiky, somehow dried out despite the constant sweat and his thinning black hair was forever limp and greasy. He’d had to swap to an electric razor to shave around it after his hands had grown too shaky for a wet razor. His goddamn shaky hands.

They were steady now, loosely gripping the control sticks of Steel Lady as he edged her into place. She hummed beautifully, a gentle breeze sucked the heat out of the cockpit and goosebumps lined dry arms that stuck out from his cooling vest. A masterful barber had massaged and pampered his hair into a semblance of respectability before the match. He looked the part to a tee, visually resembling a reformed mechwarrior. There’d been a meeting with a PR rep from the stable about his new image but he couldn’t remember a single thing about it through the gray haze of the past few days, just Simon Hennith’s advice playing on a tortured loop. Hell, he didn’t even remember the long journey from Solaris CIty to Calippo. His memory from the day started at trembling fingers in a bathroom cubicle at the arena.

Fresh off the bus they’d been led into the compound while their mechs were prepped for demounting from the trucks and shown to a changing room where they could freshen up. After a long enough shower he was sure DeMarkus and Walker had left, he’d gotten out and wrapped a towel round himself, ducked into his locker and gone straight for the cubicle. Fingers that wouldn’t quite work had fumbled with a small ziploc bag and poured the white powder along the top of the cistern. While he was still searching for a card to chop the drug into lines, crisp footsteps rang out across the tiles. He froze, as much as he was able, as they drew closer, squeaking as shiny black shoes pivoted in place outside the door.
“Come out, Jack. Now.” Von Bremen had ordered.

When he finally emerged from the stall, glaring angrily and balling fists at his side, drawing breath to roar the immaculate Lyran had shocked him by pulling out a syringe of a clear liquid. There’d been some sort of lecture about recognising when one was making a mistake or had made one or something and he’d been given a choice. Remain an addict, weak and dependant simply swapping one addiction for another; or change. Gain strength, be his own man, the Lyran had droned on. The syringe was a LOKI blend, a horrific cocktail of chemicals which would steady him, keep him focused and offset his DTs for long enough to fight.
“Tomorrow,” Von Bremen had said meaningfully, “our real work will begin. You will not enjoy it. You will hate me, assuming you don’t already. You will be cleaned up and ready to return to action, sooner than you could manage through conventional means I assure you. Then we will have an honest conversation about your past and future.”
After a moment of locking eyes with Jack, not burning now with impotent rage but downcast and almost submissive. Jack extended his arm and Von Bremen had taken it, applied an alcohol swab, and applied the dose.
The relief had not been immediate but the effect was. Jack had whirled back into the cubicle and hurled up every last particle capable of leaving his stomach in three powerful expellations. The expected post-puke quivering arms did not emerge however. He’d stood and looked at his fingers, steady and unmoving, with a clear gaze. When he’d turned Von Bremen had been gone.

He’d enjoyed a proper shave, self administered, shaping his new look, dressed and left the changing room only to be pulled into the barber’s anyway. His prematch interview had gone off without a hitch, to the clear surprise of his lance mates. Walker looked openly suspicious after but had kept his peace, DeMarkus had simply clapped his shoulder and let him be. The simple gesture had triggered an unexpected rush of gratitude Jack didn’t quite understand, he’d said nothing and simply cleared his strangely tight throat. They’d done one last runthrough of the plan before entering the shared mechbays and parted to their individual mechs.

Steel Lady stepped up neatly to her starting position, as indicated by a scrawny teen in a reflective PPE vest and helmet, enthusiastically pumping orange director lights around his head. “Must be the kid’s first day.” Jack couldn’t help but grin back at the goofball. Was today a good day? Not for him, personally so far it had to be admitted. Von Bremen confronting his addiction after his weakness made him clearly too unreliable wasn’t going down on a list of favourite moments and being back in the cockpit of his ancestral mech just felt weird even with the oddities of the rebuild. Still, the kid’s innocent enthusiasm was strangely infectious.

The Jagermech gleamed in the spotlights. Unmarked armour slabs, technical markings and scribbles had been obliterated by a paint job of a rich, deep red. Highlights of yellow, blue and green had been applied along Steel Lady’s graceful lines and crossed each other strategically around her ‘waist’ to evoke the impression of a kilt. The PR department had leaned heavily into his supposed Isle of Skye origin to associate him firmly with the Lyran Commonwealth, he supposed DeMarkus’ Catapult and Walker’s Warhammer had likely been done up in their own nationalities. The result had been varnished heavily and polished to a sheen. None his usual attempts to blend in with the surroundings today but a blind opponent can’t see you either, Jack mused as he saw her glistening on one of the large vidscreens around the arena.
Steel gun barrels gleamed from the protruding autocannon mounts, no mute gunmetal or carbon scoring but polished, stainless steel. They’d been electroplated for the effect for some reason, part of the ‘bright future of cooperation’ they were supposed to be heralding. His flare idea had been expanded, and modified smoke launchers bracketed his cockpit, ready to send a barrage of fireworks to produce a multicoloured rainbow at the starting horn.
Unlike the sophistication and high tech of the refurbished mech, these would be triggered by a crude drawstring. Officially there’d been no space in the cockpit for a remote but frankly, the three pilots had simply quietly agreed to the excuse before the PR department decided to make the fireworks a regular thing.

Cheering fans lined the stands, camera drones buzzed from every angle, and speakers blared generic heavy rock music. To his right stood the Dragon in tactless blue and gold and to his left, he could see an orange and white Catapult. Per regulations, his targetting computer was currently slaved to the arena control center and he narrowed his eyes to be sure. The laser mounts didn’t look right...He spared another look at the Dragon, decided it looked conventional enough, and began trying to count barrels on the catapult’s launchers. Lips moving for a moment with the effort, he gave up as the angle just wasn’t good enough to be sure. He keyed his comms, “Heids up, ah’m thinking that other Cat’s a C4. Can’t put mah back tae him, might need tae change tactics here.”
Walker crackled back quickly. “Steady up Jack, we’re 200 metres apart. If he is a C4 you should be able to just get under his missiles and put fire on the Dragon. Small lasers can’t range you at that distance.”
Jack mulled over the thought as DeMarkus crackled back an agreement. “Ye might be right there…” He replied, eyeing the lanes of ruined buildings that marked his area of the arena. “He’ll jet away fae me anyhow ef he’s smart, might get me the time ah need tae get intae the cityscape. Ye twa’ near the railyard?”
DeMarkus beat Walker to the punch. “Almost der, I’msa ‘tween da railyard anda Bertie.”
“Mechwarriors, 5 minute warning. Please cease all communications.” The arena control master interrupted on an open channel to the assembled fighters. Around the stadium speakers broke off the current tune to play the Cityfight!™ theme.
“Good luck.” Firestorm said as a pair of commentators started up over the speakers.
“Good’s luck.” Replied the Hangman.

“F*ck ‘em up,” Replied Vicious, ever eloquent. He waited out the various introductions from the commentators, only really taking note of the Dragon and Catapult’s callsigns - something so unpronouncably germanic he couldn’t hazard the slightest guess if the commentator had mangled it or not and ‘Shank.’ With one last word from our sponsors…
Jack raised his left hand to the drawstring and stuck his thumb through the plastic ring before returning it to the throttle, pulled tight where it rested. The countdown began…
The horn blared, the crowd let out a deafening roar, Jack flung the throttle forward with his left hand and the string came loose, twisting his right hand counter-clockwise and pulling hard to the right. The charges exploded out from Steel Lady and blew with spectacular results. A rainbow of multi-coloured sparks rained down around her perfectly, obscuring her flanks from their two nearest opponents and bracketing the mech in a rainbow from the front and back. Jack’s eyes were on his targeting computer as the HUD light up and his thumb flicked the key for the nearest target. Steel Lady was picking up speed, legs turning to the left and her turret swinging rapidly to the right. Autoloaders rattled as her weapons were returned to her control, shells clanging into the breach, dirt and rubble kicking up beneath her huge flat feet. The Garrett D2j beeped as it found the Catapult, quickly pinging again a heartbeat later, matching it’s configuration in it’s warbook. It’s outline flickered up on the HUD and the relevant specs appeared under the ID. CPLT-C4, four small lasers and 2 LRM20 racks.

Slower off the starting line, it wasn’t yet moving, clearly having expected a moment while it’s neighbours IDed each other and chose targets. Jack grinned, evilly this time, and switched targets to the Dragon. He’d soon be under Shank’s missiles and with his turret rear facing the Davion pilot his intentions would be clear. Through the smoky haze left by the fireworks, he saw the Dragon lumbering forward and turning his way. He corrected Steel Lady’s twist, elevated…

The Dragon abruptly became a black cloud, bright shrapnel flying from the flak rounds and muted red flares marking contact from the standard HEAP rounds. Jack thumbed the firing stud for just half a second and checked the HUD. Standard 1N, AC5, LRM10, 2 Mediums. It’s outline rippled as the D2j registered hits, the standardized frame dipping to ‘yellow’ across the CT, LT, LA and LL. A return volley from the Dragon’s cannon went high and wide and he fired again when it emerged from the smoke. It’s nose puffed a snort and the bright flares of LRMs corkscrewed towards him but didn’t correct course as the flak blocked the Dragon from locking. Feeling positively malicious now, Jack’s grin had nearly split his face in two when everything went wrong.
Alarms sounded and the generic alarm voice announced ‘Rear armour low.’ He gaped at the horrified realisation that his great-grandmother’s voice had been removed or reset in the rebuild, fired another half second burst at the Dragon and wrenched the throttle into reverse. Steel Lady stomping feet wound down, already starting to turn her legs so she’d back towards the city. Jack swung the turret to the left just in time to see a column of smoke, Shank’s Catapult launching a barrage of missiles at the Dragon from the apex of it’s jump.
“F*CKER.” Shank had decided to earn his moniker, closing the distance and firing into his back instead of engaging the opponent on his other flank as Jack had expected. The Catapult fell out of view before he could bring his guns to bear and he barely had time to twist his exposed rear away when the Dragon’s AC5 and medium lasers opened up. Armour spalled away from Lady’s left arm and torso, and he buried the Dragon in a cloud of flak. The mixed proximity fuses left the cloud billowing in front of the onrushing heavy and Jack took the time to throw the throttle forward, turning to get into the cityscape as fast as possible. Before he’d fully built up speed, Shank appeared in front of him, stalking out from behind the nearest ruin with his missile bays open. Jack growled and loosed another half second volley, retargeting Shank just in time to see the red target brackets launching upward out the flak before losing the lock behind another building. Swivelling back to face the Dragon, Jack saw the scarred and pitted paintwork of the blunt nosed mech slowly reversing while it studied him. A bitter smirk twisted his face, dry skin stretching uncomfortably. He got it now, expecting a stock JM6-S and it’s 6 tonnes of armour his neighbours had decided to go for the quick kill. His increased armour & mixed ammo types had the Dragon rethinking his strategy, aware now that Jack would not be swiftly or easily brought down.

He reversed back towards the intersection Shank had tried to potshot him from, oriented so he’d be able to spot the Catapult and checked his ammo levels. With 4 AC2s and just a single tonne of ammunition, he had enough for just under 6 seconds of sustained fire and he’d used 1.5s worth so far. Still quietly facing off with the Dragon as they evaluated each other, keeping an eye out for Shank, Jack decided to simply back round the corner and make for the railyard. He’d watch his flanks for ambushes, keep an eye out for Shank on the rooftops, any opportunities to even the scores but with his rear armour low and currently on the receiving end of a double team with the edge in mobility and firepower, it was past time to try and join his stablemates. Still tracking the Dragon, he moved into the intersection, reversing to the right, and had barely enough time to register the radar ping to his rear before the autocannon ripped through his left torso.

The volley caught Steel Lady midstep and pivoting and the force of it reversed her movement and sent the mech crashing to the ground. The crash harness dug painfully into him as Jack was thrown forwards, whipping his head painfully to the side. Alerts blared through the cockpit, red warning lights so bright and plentiful the shattered asphalt in front of him reflected it dully back at his bleary eyes. Shaking his head in a futile attempt to clear the ringing in his ears, Jack reached for the controls and began attempting to stand.
“Weapon 6 destroyed.” Steel Lady’s generic voice listed impassively. She shook as the Dragon took the opportunity to add it’s AC5 to the hurt, armour fragments spalling from the right shoulder. “Weapon feed 2 and 4 destroyed, systems inoperable. Rear armour left destroyed. Structure compromised. Rear armour centre des-” Just as he got the mech’s left leg under him, bracing the turret against the ground Jack was knocked flat again as SRMs rippled over the battered mech. “WARNING! REACTOR CRITICALLY DAMAGED!” Steel Lady interrupted herself. “EJECT! EJECT!”

Jack’s HUD was covered in warnings now, the crippled Jagermech’s wireframe entirely blacked out on the left side, rear armour nonexistent, engine damaged and lying flat on its face with a building right in front of him he couldn’t eject. He struggled to think of something, anything that would allow him to recover while his opponent’s weapons cycled, rolling Steel Lady onto her side just in time to see Shank’s catapult land on a building 300m away and turn to face him. It’s missile bay hatches popped open.

There was only one choice to make. He let loose a tortured roar and slammed a gloved fist onto a glass box mounted onto the wall beside him, crushing it and pressing the stiff red button.
A flare fired, trailing thick green smoke; a horn blared through the arena; Steel Lady’s tortured reactor began emergency shutdown procedures; and Jack was out the match.

Edited by RogueSpear, 31 March 2020 - 07:43 AM.

[Thom Frankfurt]

Lynch Stables
Solaris City, Solaris VII,
June 19th, 3031, 10:00 Hours

Lucian Lynch's stable was on the far fringes of Silesia, the Lyran sector of Solaris City. The stable was built in the style of an old plantation house, with a white columned facade, well manicured grounds, and willow trees framing a crushed gravel driveway like something right out of a mid 18th century holodrama. A light breeze brought a whisper through the willows with the faint hint of jasmine from the stable gardens. A weak summer sun shone down on the gazebo where Erin sat having brunch with her fellow stable owner, Lucian Lynch.

"Such a pleasant day, eh, Countess?" Lynch offered while pouring himself some tea. "Yes, very. "Erin replied not lying, eyes taking in the facade of the manor/stable, trying not to act like she was paying special attention to the large hanger located on the back of the grounds. "You have such a lovely manor out here in the country," she offered a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

Lynch came from old money, one of the first mining firms to settle a permanent colony on the Solaris 7's little airless brother, Solaris IV. Considering that the man's father bought himself a planetary wasn't something to consider as well. "Ah yes. Close enough to the venues, yet far enough away from the mucky-muck of the city," he smiled predatory, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief.

That's right, laugh it up b*stard. The countess thought while fiddling with a diamond bracelet.

"And speaking of the, uh, mucky-mucky, my stable needs access to the tunnels... which is why I sought out this audience."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Climbing into the back seat of her armored sedan a bit later, the countess sighed heavily, and flexed her fingers like she was ready to claw out Lynch's mischievous eyes.

She thought while casting a withering look upon the gazebo where the stable owner stood offering his tea cup up in a toast with a smug smile. Trying to sway the other members of the SSOA into expediting the proper permits to allow the breaking of ground to give access to the tunnels was proving difficult. She was frustrated with the whole situation and being told that her stable needed to get more renown before anything could get into motion. Her warriors needed to get more publicity. That would lead to the better venues, enough of the dumps and mud pits... away from the mucky-muck.

"Any word from Von Bremen?" She asked of her bodyguard as he took up the seat across from her.

"The mechs and personnel are loaded up and ready to roll out, Countess," the guard replied. To which she checked her noteputer and the time. "Good,"she offered as the sedan lifted up on a cushion of air and began to head out on the gravel drive, twisting in her seat she happened to glance and just make out the stable's hanger, it's door opened enough for her to see the sun reflecting off the hulk of a Zeus.

If I had the resources and means...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Cityfight!™ Arena ,
Calippo City, Solaris VII,
June 19th, 3031, 15:52 Hours

While Randy was administrating the LOKI special anti-toxin-cocktail to Jack, the Countess was sipping idling away on a light wine in the Arena's luxury box. Erin wanted to laugh at the name, the arena's luxury and press boxes were more like underground bunkers, massive sensor and relay stations, with wall mounted monitors displaying camera and drone footage of the arena floor. As she watched the a drone pass by beige and cream colored Archer, she saw a glimpse of her pet Capellan's Catapult. The thing was an eyesore, the camo pattern hard to look at, a randomized block pattern of greys, black, and blues that made it hard to identify any specific location on the mech. "Dazzle" is what she thought Randy had called it.

"Oh my, I LOVE your dress! Who is it?" The wife of the grease-ball arena proprietor asked in an annoying nasal tone. Erin took an immediate dislike for the woman, and smoothed down the front of her silver spun dress.

"Oh this? It's Andri-" She was cut off by Elliot Runington, the owner of Gun Runner stables barging into their little circle. "That murderer is done tonight." He stated mater-of-factually as greeting in a rich burgundy Armani suit. "Oh, I'm sorry, do I know you?" The Countess replied bringing a glower that turned the Leaguer redder than his suit. "Excuse me," Erin offered grease-balls's wife, and headed over to a different bank of monitors. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kaylee looked upon her handiwork and gave an exhausted sigh. "If only we had another week or so, D could have got some more time in stomping around the proving grounds." She offered a weak smile to the Nixon brothers, her assistants, for the last few months or so. Though being some newfound shade of green, they were coming around. Well... maybe not goofing off their entire shift anymore. "You two go, get an arena dog and enjoy the show. We'll have plenty of work in a little bit." With that she strolled over to where DeMarkus was chatting with Bertie, no doubt offering up some sort of last second stratagems. "Alright, I'll leave you to it," Berite said when he saw her drawing near. "Give em Hell, Cappie." DeMarkus chuckled at that, "You'sa too, Davey." The mechwarrior turned to regard Kaylee and offered her a calloused hand. "You's dida good work. You's keep dis up, anda you's might have steady werk." He smiled warmly, his scared face twisting up and bringing a smile to her own face. "Now you don't be going and getting my girl all shot up, Mar," she squeezed his had and delighted when he squeezed back. "Be safe out there, and watch out for that Orion. That jock said he's going after you." She offered suddenly, giving his hand another squeeze and turning to go join the Nixon boys before DeMarkus could notice the tears forming.

"Give 'em Hell, mechwarrior." She whispered echoing Bertie's earlier words.

Edited by Thom Frankfurt, 26 April 2020 - 09:52 AM.

[Thom Frankfurt]

Cityfight!™ Arena ,
Calippo City, Solaris VII,
June 19th, 3031, 15:54 Hours

Kaylee and crew had done wonders. DeMarkus marveled at the amount of progress that they managed to do just in the short time since that Hennith fellow visited the stables. The cockpit smelt new, an odd scent if there ever was one. with new buttons and toggles installed, and crude Russian characters stenciled in upon his console's dash.

Cheering fans lined the stands, while generic rock music played to kill the time for the arena goers before the 'sparks' really began to fly. He took the opportunity to survey his nearest opponents. To his left sitting low on it's birdlike legs a black gold 'blood striped' Marauder 3R sat. sandwiching him with a barrel-chested Archer 2R with an urban camouflage pattern. It was unsettling being caught between two mechs that outweighed him, but they were predominately geared up for long range combat, while he was situated for close range combat.

Suddenly his coms crackled. “Heids up, ah’m thinking that other Cat’s a C4. Can’t put mah back tae him, might need tae change tactics here.”

Walker crackled back quickly. “Steady up Jack, we’re 200 metres apart. If he is a C4 you should be able to just get under his missiles and put fire on the Dragon. Small lasers can’t range you at that distance.”

He crackled back an agreement. “Ye might be right there…” Jack replied, eyeing the lanes of ruined buildings that marked his area of the arena. “He’ll jet away fae me anyhow ef he’s smart, might get me the time ah need tae get intae the cityscape. Ye twa’ near the railyard?”

DeMarkus beat Walker to the punch. “Almost der, I’msa ‘tween da railyard anda Bertie.”

“Mechwarriors, 5 minute warning. Please cease all communications.” The arena control master interrupted on an open channel to the assembled fighters. Around the stadium speakers broke off the current tune to play the Cityfight!™ theme.

“Good luck.” Firestorm said as a pair of commentators started up over the speakers.
“Good’s luck.” Replied the Hangman.
“F*ck ‘em up,” Replied Vicious, ever eloquent.

The Capellan ran the plan back through his head, they were all going to meet up and take on all comers. He glanced back at the Archer and noticed for the first time the Orion more distant and thought about how plans rarely ever went to plan. Things would be so much simpler if they weren't so scattered out, as is it seemed like they had a bunch of the new comers from Rasalhague Region to contend with.

"I's don't know about dis." He offered to the empty cockpit sitting back and wiping a suddenly sweaty palm across his coolant vest.

He waited out the various introductions from the commentators, only really taking note of the Archer and Marauder's callsigns - something in Swedenese he couldn’t hazard the slightest guess if the commentator had mangled it or not and ‘Viper’ With one last word from our sponsors... D raised his left hand up to the drawstring and hooked his index finger through the plastic ring before returning it to the throttle. The countdown began… At zero the Hangman threw the throttle full forward, explosive repercussions shook the Catapult as multicolored rockets shot out from the mech with steamers and chaff forming into multi-hued rainbow as the mechwarrior stomped onto the pedal to cut to the right and straight at the Archer.

The crowd let out a deafening roar as the first shots of the evening began to fly. The boom of an autocannon sounded somewhere near as lightning streaked by to crash into a dilapidated ruin of a building. He darted an eye to his sensors checking the distance between him and the Archer which was starting to loom huge in front of him. DeMarkus held his fire despite keeping his fingers near the triggers.

Just a little closer...

Something slammed into his mech's leg jarring it for a few steps, he glanced to his wire frame seeing that he took fire to the leg. Marauder's Autocannon. At 100 meters the Archer's torso lauchers yawned open and vomited out a double score of missiles they flew beyond him to something unseen behind him (haha) through the smoky contrails gem colored light stabbed out slashing across the Catapult's torso. In reply the Hangman stomped down on the petals triggering his Anderson Propulsion 21 jump jets. Inertia suddenly slammed the mechwarrior deep into his couch as 65 tons of mech took to the sky.
With his sensors screaming proximity alerts at him, he pirouetted in his mech coming down behind the Archer which scrambled to turn about, stabbing out with laser fire from it's antennae like lasers. Scarlet beams crisscrossed over the still glowing scarred armor, dripping to smolder upon the ferrocrete below. Snarling, DeMarkus finally mashed down on the triggers. Lasers hummed to life, an angry scarlet beam, followed by emerald green and a whoosh of short ranged missiles. Armored plate slagged under the lasers touch glowing red in the weak afternoon light a split second later a savage drumming from several missiles. Globs of molten steel flew in lazily directions from the explosives, the mech staggered forward a half step, the Archer's reactor spiking as it dropped like a marionette with it's strings cut.

Gyro hit!

Smiling viciously, the Hangman eyed where the Maraduer began to scramble backwards on it's birdlike legs.
"That's right, I'm not stuck in here with you, you're stuck in here with me!" He roared out in Russian on an open channel. A wave of heat washed over DeMarkus and he shook off a bead of sweat from his brow while slamming the throttle forward full. Trampling over the Archer, the Catapult's birdlike foot stomped down on the mech's elbow crushing the joint as the Capellan thundered off towards the backtracking Marauder. Firing it's own guns at him, one blast of particle cannon fire shot over his shoulder while the other slammed into his leg armor followed by autocannon rounds drilling into his mech from the Rasalhagian mech.

At 300 meters DeMarkus chanced a shot with his large laser connecting with the emerald beam to slag armor away from the Marauder's left torso, leaving an angry scar but failing to breach the armored plate there. In reply the Viper let the Hangman have it all, man-made lightning streaked out crashing into the Catapult's arm twisting the mech slightly to the side as 50mm shells exploded against his mech's left leg. The other particle cannon, exploded suddenly a deadly mass of charged particles, the offending appendage disintegrating at the elbow. The Marauder staggered away from the explosion.

PPC Flashback!

It seemed that the field inhibitor was removed from the Marauder's particle cannons. While it did away with the pesky minimum range, it raised the issue with the cannons possibly suffering a catastrophic failure. No doubt at this point the gladiator was rather wishing he had stayed at home today. If anything the pilot's misfortune served to only spur the Hangman on.

At 240 Meters the Marauder steadied itself firing away with all it's remaining guns, missing mostly but savaging armor off the Catapults other arm. Holding his fire, and desperate to keep his heat levels down, DeMarkus charged onward, waiting for that perfect shot. At 180 meters it came, the Marauder slowly backing away, keeping it's wounded left torso planted against some ruins and away from him and his attacks. Gem colored laser cut through, scything through ruin and armor diffing furrows, missiles corkscrewed in seconds later drumming all over the hapless war machine. What little of the damaged arm whittled away under the destruction and as orange and black explosions bloomed all over the mech.

When the explosions dissipated the Marauder stood wavering, pockmarked armor smoldering with it's cockpit canopy spiderwebbed with cracks. DeMarkus shouldered the Catapult through the space the Rasalhagian mech occupied throwing it to the side and sending it sprawling into the ruined building.

The Cat's sensors screamed the shrill warning of a hard lock a split second before missiles began raining down. Blasted ferrocrete and fragmented armor flew away in crazy random directions as the Hangman's mech staggered forward drunkenly trailing broken armored plates. Slamming his feet down, D triggered his mech's jump jets sending the Catapult skimming along the ferrorcrete pavement at two meters to land at the yawning entrance of an alleyway. Glancing at his wire frame and seeing the grim picture of how much damage he'd already received, he let out a curse.

To reinforce that, the corner of the building before him exploded outward as a stream of autocannon rounds punched through it and slammed into the ruin on the other side of the alley. Shattered masonry crumbled down, causing the mechwarrior to back his mech down the alley way. Glancing at his sensors, it seemed that Kaylee was right, that Orion was headhunting him. The mech thundered down the roadway he just jetted in from, ignoring the still down Marauder, bricks slowly tumbling to the ground with each armored footfall. He focused on the crumbling masonry. "Heh, good idea."