//------------------------------// // Storm the Walls // Story: Do you believe in Ghosts? // by Material Defender //------------------------------// “Oh, Jesus, Scarclaw’s really serious about this, isn’t he?” Mendoza said, tossing another piece of kindling into the campfire. All around them, wagons and crates surrounded the Ghosts as the Imperial Guard and the rest of the loyalist forces prepared for the upcoming battle. “Remind me again: why are we assaulting this guy head-on?” “Because Red Talon is there, of course,” Raymond said. “Helmguard’s our biggest obstacle into the rest of the griffon lands, and while the rest of Strongbeak’s forces are busy playing back-and-forth with the Equestrians and our distractions over at Kruvem, we get to cause some trouble in his backyard. And since Red Talon’s our intended target, why not kill two birds with one stone?” “He has a point,” Pastor agreed, slicing bits of preserved meat into the boiling pot above the fire. “And from what I hear, military might has its own culture in the griffon military. Red Talon’s a tough player, so if we can take him down, it’ll show Strongbeak that we mean serious business, and give the rest of his soldiers something to think about.” “Pff, yeah, right,” Mendoza said. “As if us killing the other generals wasn’t enough for him, huh?” “Well, he has done a pretty good job at trying to keep that under wraps so far,” Bloodfury said, sharpening his sword next to them. “Next to Kruvem, this will be our next operation. There’s no way that any sane griffon can ignore the sight of Fortress Helmguard burning on the horizon.” “Helmguard looks to be one boxed-up fortress,” Talbot said, examining the map atop of a crate in front of him. The only advantage that they held here over Kruvem was that Helmguard had only standard cannon powder instead of the magically-infused ones they’d captured at Kruvem. Charges had been fashioned from the infused powder and were set to be used to blow open an entrance at several positions around the perimeter of the fortress. “It’s going to be interesting, trying to beat this one...” “Yeah, this is the first time where you guys will be charging in alongside us.” The grinding of stone on steel subsided as Bloodfury switched to polishing his sword. “It’s going to be a battle for the ages, that’s for sure. The entire place was designed to be a deathtrap for attackers from top to bottom, and Red Talon has an even larger contingent of elites at his disposal. I guess we’ll see how this turns out, given that, as griffons, we also know the layout of the fortress.” “When you put it like that, this sounds like a lost battle already...” Mendoza chimed in, donning his balaclava and helmet. His visor clicked as it shimmered blue for several seconds before receding to darkness. “But I guess that’s why we’re here, right?” “Exactly. When we create an entrance, you’ll be moving in with me and the rest of the Imperial Guard. The loyalist army will trail behind us on our flanks, and using our knowledge of the layout, we’ll carve our way to Red Talon.” Bloodfury slammed a fist into the dirt, tossing up bits of pebble and moss. “And then we’ll corner that bastard and take him down. It should be easy—heh, easy enough, that is—with your help.” “Straightforward,” Raymond noted. “I like it.” “It’s one of those things where it’s easier said than done,” Fellwyre said, appearing behind Talbot. He passed along smaller copies of the map, inked onto scraps of cloth and marked with important objectives all around the fortress. A final ‘X’ sat right upon the keep with Red Talon’s name scrawled in near it. “There are lots of horror stories about how Red Talon’s been... tough to kill.” “Scarclaw’s the only one that’s managed to wound him, after challenging the old bird to a duel back before this whole tyranny business happened,” Bloodfury said. He shook his head as Fellwyre emulated him, both recalling memories that the Ghosts could not see. “Red Talon was defeated pretty handily, and he was nothing but indignant about his loss. He lost sight in his left eye after a damn good parry and stab from Scarclaw.” “Maybe that’ll be our trump card,” Mendoza said hopefully. “We can blind him in the other eye and finish him off from there?” “I can make sure of that,” Raymond said, gently tapping the top of the M107’s scope perched right next to him. “The only problem is making sure he stays still long enough... and if he’s prone to being overactive on his feet—claws, or whatever, then it’s going to be a tall order.” “You leave that up to me and my soldiers,” Bloodfury said. “You guys can get yourselves set up somewhere nice and high, and we’ll work on trying to get him into your sights.” “Someone’s going to have to be on the ground, though,” Talbot said. “We need to coordinate our plan of attack, and waving swords around and yelling over the sounds of battle isn’t going to work. Raymond, you and Pastor will be taking up the high ground. His D-kit will be useful in keeping watch over the entire area. Mendoza and I will take the ground.” “Right up in their face, huh, sir?” Mendoza said, letting out a low whistle. “This is going to get a bit dicey, in a very literal sense. I’m no Speedy Gonzales, though, so don’t expect my footwork to be the best if we ended up getting hounded by griffons.” “It’s fine. We’re just down there to maintain line of sight to the target and keep our sniper team apprised of the situation. Sensor grenades placed around the chokepoints of the courtyard will let us know if unwanted reinforcements are coming in, and we can notify the Imperial Guard before they reach us.” “Well, I hope you guys are all ready for this,” Fellwyre said. He tossed several bombs in front of them, roughly larger than the size of their fists. “Don’t be fooled by the size... we packed that infused powder in pretty tight. It’ll blow a gate right off its hinges if you place them right, and right now, we need the Ghosts to set them up.” “Fantastic,” Talbot said. The bombs were encased in a simple metal shell, with a hefty weight to its feel, but nothing that they couldn’t carry with them. “We’re going to be sneaking across the field with these?” “That’s right. In fact, we’ll probably have you set up and light a number of them along a line underneath the walls. We already had teams that have managed to place stockpiles of extra bombs underneath foliage when we launched a night mission a couple of nights ago. The combined explosion from the blast should be more than enough to blow a clear entrance through their walls.” “The more I hear about this plan, the more I’m liking it,” Mendoza said. “But if we’re going to be at ground zero for the explosion, where the hell are we going to hide?” He picked up one of the bombs, peering at the fuse before noticing that it stretched longer than his arm. “Oh... well, I think that’ll give us enough time to sneak away from the blast.” “There’ll be lots of fog in the early morning, which is when our attack will start,” Bloodfury said. “That should be more than enough to cover all of our approaches, and when the bombs go off, we’ll be sure to charge in swords swinging.” “Great,” Pastor said, bringing out wooden bowls to pour their stew into. “Now who’s up for some chow?” “Talon, I am sinking into the ground. I repeat, I am sinking into the ground.” Mendoza groaned as his boots sunk further into the mud as they stood waiting at the hilltop a klick away from their campsite, and only a stone’s throw away from the wall. “I would like to humbly request that we get a move on... sir.” He idly moved a hand to the rucksack hanging behind his belt to ensure that his explosive ordnance was still with him. “The air patrols have moved on now,” Talbot said, scanning the cloudy skies for signs of griffon formations. “Alright, let’s go.” They sludged through the field towards the towering walls of Helmguard, letting the darkness of the mud and the cover of fog mask their advance. The lack of high grass in this particular region of the field made it hugely more easier to stay hidden, as they learned when griffons rediverted their attention to the presence of several wild hogs stomping around through grass on the other side of the fortress. Water buildup at the base of the walls produced a laughable facsimile of a moat. They slipped in, letting the line of water trail up to their ankles as they began to search around for the stockpiles of bombs. The tall brush produced a canopy over their movements, and their nightvision proved to be useful under the low visibility conditions. Pastor withdrew his map—not the battle map copy handed out by Fellwyre, but one that he had drawn detailing the positions of the stockpiles through careful collaboration. Firestarters of simple flint and steel were assigned to them, so all that was left now was to mark off the bomb stashes, light them up, and then run—or sneak very quickly—like hell. “A fortress without a moat seems a bit strange,” Mendoza said. “Griffons can fly, you idiot, moats would be useless,” Raymond shot back. “Found the first stash,” Pastor interrupted, brushing aside a cluster of dry grass. The reflective shells of the bombs lighted his eyes, and he dropped a waypoint on the crosscom for reference. “That’s one so far. You guys find anything yet?” “I’ve got one here,” Talbot said, further up the stream towards the gates. “I’m going to need a reference to see if this is the farthest one in the line. Two down, five more to to go.” Mendoza’s swishes of moment stopped farther down the other direction, ending just right where the grass began to grow unhindered again. He caught a glint from the edge of his sight, and he waved a hand to push aside an unusually placed rock, revealing the cache behind it. “Got one here. How many between us?” “Four more from yours to Shell’s,” Raymond said. “I ran through and counted them myself. Everything’s here.” “We light every odd one and then make a run for it.” Talbot withdrew a lighter from his pouches, preferring the device’s simple flame than the unruly flint. “Seven here. Fuse will light the last one. Everyone else, we take two.” Anvil echoed their acknowledgement as they began to set up their up their line of explosives. Cries carried on the air alerted them that the moment of attack was drawing near. The air patrols must have seen the advance loyalist forces and moved to intercept. “One hot!” Talbot said, calling out the numbered waypoint on his HUD. “Three hot!” Pastor said. “Five hot,” Raymond responded. “Seven hot, I’ll see you guys on the flipside!” Mendoza said lastly, pulling himself out of the mire and hastening his retreat. The remainder of Anvil abandoned their careful movements, dancing with their fingers to light the fuses as fast as they could manage. They scrambled out across the incline, maintaining their cover as they followed their trail back. “Seven seconds. Get a move on!” Talbot said. Mendoza watched as his squad transitioned into a fervent sprint across the field once they’d reached halfway through, their exoskeletons thankfully taking the brunt of the physical work for them. The blotches of griffons in the sky began to grow as the time of detonation drew near. Bodies rolled right over the apex of the hill with one second left, and they braced themselves for dear life. Gravity itself was tossed to the winds for that sheer moment, tumbling their bodies about as if they were nothing more than bounce toys. Their crosscoms hazed with static as the quaking did its due on their systems, only subsiding once they felt the comforting grasp of terra firma on their backs once again. Truly an explosion for the ages. “That... was one hell of an explosion,” Mendoza gasped out, feebly attempting to right himself through the shellshock. “It’s not over yet!” Bloodfury appeared as his soldiers charged past him as the assault commenced, extending a claw to help him out. Mendoza was caught unaware as Bloodfury tossed him upon his back, and Leret and another pair of Imperial Guards arrived to provide them with transportation. “We’re going in!” The cracks of thunderous explosions failed to cease, as Helmguard fell under siege on all sides. Cool morning mist now coalesced into fog on their visors as they returned to the wall. A massive hole was left in the lower half, but the walls above still stood, conjoined by an arch of crumbling stone. War cries were let out as they charged through the entrance, and both sides met in battle. A sudden obstruction in the form of a wall of steel soon met them, with Bloodfury altering his course for an ignored side alley for the Ghosts to disembark in. “Meet us at the designated point,” he said. “And try not to get yourselves killed!” And with that, the griffons disappeared back into the charging mass, complete with screams and metal ringing against itself. “Consolidating information...” Pastor said, pulling out the battle map. Only the primary buildings like the barracks, mess hall, and keep were properly drawn out, with the rest of the fortress’ buildings lumped together into blocks. The entire southern side of Helmguard, where they were now, was such a block, with a clear line towards the keep through the alleyways. “We use the alleys to get to the keep. Go east-northeast.” They navigated through the maze of alleys, narrowly avoiding several skirmishes as the griffons began to extend their range of combat into the constricted passages. The soothing tinge of mist in the air was soon replaced with the acrid stink of smoke as the battle began to shift in earnest. Fortress Helmguard now burned, and Strongbeak would no longer be able to play off the loyalists to the public when the Empire’s bastion fell to their ‘unorganized’ force. The sight of the keep’s crenellations became visible with each alley they entered in the direction of their objective. All seemed well, until the their breakneck pace was brought to a standstill by a new revelation: the sound of discharge from a weapon of war they were all too acquainted with. “Um... am I the only one who heard that?” Mendoza whispered. “Who else has a gun around here?” “No idea... but I’m going to find out,” Talbot said, shifting his left hand down towards his belt and thumbing the button on the sensor grenade. A trio of red diamonds flashed above them, standing in a line on the rooftops directly above them. “Elites... with rifles.” “Aw, shit, they’re using guns now?” Mendoza bemoaned. “Forget about the hows—this is bad. We need to off them before they can do more damage.” “That would be the best course of action,” Talbot said. Finding a way up would be no problem, given how there were easily at least ten different ladders, all leading to the flattened rooftops of Helmguard. “We need them out as soon as possible. Everyone, up the ladders.” They ascended, and fanned out as they drifted closer to the elites, whose rifles continuously popped off puffs of smokes as they fired down into the fray below. Talbot aimed, waiting for the lines of his comrades to follow as Pastor and Raymond followed. No words were needed as he took the first shot, piercing through the elites’ unprotected heads—their helmets were at their claws, no doubt showing that gunplay was a difficult business for them. Raymond snatched one of the rifles as they dragged the bodies away, tossing them into the alley they’d come from to avoid detection. He cracked it open, staring down the rifle’s break-action barrel and ejecting the spent casing within. “This isn’t good... they’ve got the cartridge here: casing, powder, and even a rifled barrel... how the hell did they make this?” he said. He locked it back in and pulled the trigger, and nearly jumped back when the gun actually responded. “Pretty sure our guns don’t do that when they’re not loaded...” Mendoza said, watching as a trail of smoke rose from the barrel. He picked up the spent casing and examined it closer, flipping it upside down and narrowed his eyes. “There’s no primer for this thing.” “Probably magic,” Raymond said, unlocking it and pulling the trigger again. The visible hammer on the rifle struck a plate in front of it, and for the most fleeting of seconds, the plate flashed blue and produced sparks on the side opposite where the hammer had hit. “Yeah, take a look at that. It’s a magical primer.” “Leave it here,” Talbot ordered. “The sensor doesn’t read any more of these guys around, so we move on. Let the griffons deal with the others as they come along.” “If they’re elites, chances are the keep’s garrison might all be armed with these rifles,” Pastor warned. “What’ll we do if that’s the case?” “Then we warn Bloodfury, and attempt to clear them out of the keep before we move onto Red Talon. The griffons can level the playing field if we can catch them off guard, force them into close combat, where they’ll at least have the advantage.” Raymond placed the weapon back onto the ground, following the rest of Anvil as they returned to the alley. The armor of the elites was toned down, their burdensome shoulder plating now replaced with bandoleers to carry their rudimentary, but effective, bullets. Lack of a proper uniform meant this development was... recent. “Their rounds look dangerous enough. I think they’re around a .308,” Raymond noted. “Might even be armor-piercing. Can never know how this magical stuff works...” A clatter of noise in the distance caught their attention, and they saw to see formations of griffons pouring from the keep’s tower through opening gates, flying for the walls. Even at range, the bulk of their armor was easily discernible: elites, and from the looks of it, the greatest number that they’d ever fought against, now standing in their way. “Looks like Red Talon’s finally getting started,” Mendoza said. Bloodfury spat aside another globule of blood. He let his helmet take the brunt of his next blow, the blade glancing off of its surface as he retaliated with a decisive stab to the gut. The griffon soldier caught in his weapon’s embrace fell slack as he pushed him aside, marking another casualty, and another step towards victory. As he took the time to rest, moving to lean against a wall and letting his comrades push further, he heard it: the roar of challenge, from Red Talon himself. The pace of combat came to a lull that lasted only for a moment, and then all were at each other’s throats again. “Looks like the good general’s warming up to us,” Leret said, kneeling next to Bloodfury. A stream of blood trailed down the side of his face, and he wore an exuberant grin. “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Bloodfury warned. “Fearsome is the general that can stand proudly on the battlefield with his griffons. We sometimes have craven fools like Whisper, but Red Talon is no Whisper, and you can bet that Scarclaw would be here leading us, if he wasn’t so busy at keeping us all organized.” Leret laughed in return. “We have more than a few hardy veterans in our ranks,” he said, slamming Bloodfury’s shoulder lightly. “Like yourself.” He nodded, and looked past Leret to see an elite upon the rooftops behind him, leveling something—a crossbow, he assumed—towards their position. “Get down!” he shouted, diving aside as the crack of the rifle split his ears. Sharp pain tore across his cheek, but he held his beak, the only trace of his pain a sharp exhalation as he looked back. Leret had moved aside, shouting orders to his subordinates, but it wasn’t needed; the loyalist air units flanking their approach had already taken notice, and dived down to remove the sniper from his perch. A tussle of wing and feather ensued, and victory presented itself when a griffon descended to him with curious items in his claws. “What is this...?” he wondered aloud. He took the weapon from the griffon, giving him a cursory nod as he returned to the skies. “It’s a... gun.” “Griffon-made?” Leret said, his eyes taking in every detail of the rifle. “How’s that possible. We didn’t have anything like this a decade ago...” “And I thought only the Ghosts had this sort of weaponry...” Bloodfury added, wiping the blood from his cheek. He handed the rifle over to Leret and began digging through the sack he was given. The casing of the bullet he withdrew was odd in appearance, but in the rare allowances he’d seen with the Ghosts maintaining their weapons, the similarities to theirs were shocking. “Where did Strongbeak get this sort of hardware?” “Scarclaw told us that the Ghosts ended up here in Equestria through a portal. It might have been possible that there were more of them, and Strongbeak captured them?” Leret asked. “No, it wouldn’t be... if they had more numbers with them, they would have tried to bring them onboard, or at least told us,” Bloodfury said. “I trust the Ghosts. They’ve been through many battles with us so far, but these signs aren’t good, for any of us.” “They did take the alleyways. We can try to catch up to them through there.” “Then we’ll do it. Leave the rest of our units to comb through Helmguard. We have some humans to find.” “Snipers are all over the keep walls,” Pastor said, zooming in on the fortifications through his D-kit. Raymond was prone beside him, finally able to deploy his M107 in a particularly advantageous location over the entire bailey. “The entire ground floor is empty,” Talbot said. He and Mendoza were on the ground, taking shelter behind a line of empty market stalls. “It’s clear they intend to ambush the loyalists here. Red Talon is in that keep, and he wants them to pay the price for trying to get in.” “So what do we do, boss?” Mendoza asked. Diamonds blipped into existence as more soldiers began to exit from the keep’s towers to bolster their defense. “There’s easily got to be at least... fifty of those guys there. I don’t think the gates being closed is supposed to help, either.” “The D-kit can’t see anything beyond the gate,” Pastor whispered. “They’re probably keeping it closed to prevent a ground assault and force a battle on the walls. Sensor grenades aren’t reading anything past it, though...” His observations were driven askew as he was forcefully rolled over, instinctually grabbing his MR8 and prepared to drive lead into the face of whoever had done so. But he had been too slow, though he realized that, as his round seared through empty air, that it was fortunate that he’d done so. “You guys are an absolute pain to find,” Bloodfury panted, releasing his grasp as he moved to conceal himself behind a chimney stack next to their post. “We’ve run into griffons with rifles. Do any of you know something about this?” He held up the rifle he held in his claws. “Maybe,” Raymond said, his body remaining motionless as he continued to bear down the sight of his sniper rifle. “If this is new tech for griffons to be running around with, it’s a hell of a lot more advanced than anything they should be able to make. We had to take out a few of them on our way here.” “So you don’t know anything about these, then?” he repeated. “Unfortunately not,” Pastor whispered back. “We were hoping that you guys would be able to explain after this whole mess was over. The whole keep’s crawling with guys wielding those guns.” “An ambush,” Leret said, crouching behind an upward protrusion of stone and shingles. “The rest of the forces are still fighting through Helmguard, and have only just reached the parade grounds. What’ll we do?” “Since we haven’t been detected yet, maybe we can push an attack on the walls. Try to thin them out before the main force arrives, you know?” Bloodfury said, groaning under his breath. “That’s the hope, anyway... we’ll stand a better chance if the forces from the west and east get here and put them in a bind.” Pastor leaned down to his comm. “What do you think, sir?” “I think anything we can try here is crazy, but if we’re to see this through without taking the hit in numbers, we have to take our chances before the main force shows up,” Talbot said. “You and Scope will stay up there and provide sniper support for us while we move in to take them out.” “And Bloodfury and Leret?” “They’ll be seen as soon as they try to get anywhere near close, and I think it’s in our best interest that they stay alive.” Talbot’s signature began to move with Mendoza’s towards the keep’s side walls, where a narrow stairway sat barricaded at the top. “Fuse, do you still have your C4s?” “Yes, sir, I thought you’d never ask. It’s only three blocks... might as well make the best of it, right?” Mendoza said. They slowly inched their way up the steps, avoiding the barricades but instead using their exoskeletons to simply hop over the parapet. “Area’s clear. I don’t think they’re watching this area... would probably be too easy to notice anyone getting in, anyway.” “...Hello?” Bloodfury whispered to Pastor. “You’ve been quiet for a while. What’s going on?” “We’re placing explosives on the wall to knock down some of their numbers,” Pastor replied. The griffons on the walls were preoccupied with anticipating the attack to check their rears for the interlopers placing explosives just behind them. Such an oversight would prove to be their downfall. “It should take out a good amount of them, and maim the rest.” “Helpful.” Bloodfury’s sword was on his back, and he held the rifle, now loaded, in his claws now. It felt sturdy, light, built to griffonic contours, but he had no such experience firing a weapon before, only cannons. A portable cannon would hopefully prove easier to manage. “It looks like our forces have Helmguard engulfed in battle now,” Leret said. Red Talon’s own air units flew by them unaware, the shadows of their hiding spots proving to be a boon in maintaining their cover. “I wonder where Fellwyre is.” “He’s supposed to be with our reinforcements coming in from the east,” Bloodfury said, arching his head to watch the empty street below. “He must have gotten caught up in battles... or encountered rifle-griffons.” “Shell, I think you need to check to see if there’s more of those snipers hanging up on the keep itself,” Raymond suggested. “We saw how those griffons came out of there earlier. There might be more of them in there.” “Priorities first: we have to roll out the red carpet for our loyalist boys,” Pastor said. “Ready, sir?” “Just dropped our last present,” Mendoza said. “We’re in cover behind the gatehouse further in. We can pop these babies and then open the gates.” “Good. Do it,” Talbot ordered. With Mendoza’s approval, the explosives detonated in a chain of three along the wall, throwing up a sudden wall of dust and stone chunks as the defenses were blown apart. What griffons that weren’t caught in the blast were thrown aside, sustaining crippling injuries that left only a few standing; a few that were finished off by quiet hisses from the barrels of a pair of suppressed MR8s. “Walls are clear,” Talbot said, his and Mendoza’s floating names entering the shack “Opening the gates now.” “Gates are coming open,” Pastor told Bloodfury. The griffon nodded in acknowledgement, watching as the entrance in the far distance clunked to life, chains pulling its weight up into the wall. “And there you have it.” “That’s some impressive work,” Bloodfury said, turning as a slowly-retreating block of griffon soldiers back into the bailey from the east. Their shields were locked together, soldiers standing shoulder to shoulder, as they attempted to fend off the ever-growing wave of loyalist forces. Thanks to the widened space given by the area, however, they were promptly encircled and overwhelmed as the loyalists graciously took advantage of their newfound ability to maneuver. Fellwyre could be seen among them, giving orders as the soldiers began to pour into the keep. Bloodfury stepped out from cover, meeting eyes with him and exchanging a wave. “There they are,” Raymond said. “Now all that’s left is to lure the general out, take him out, and we can call it a day.” “This whole battle has been resoundingly successful so far,” Leret said. “Almost worryingly so. I would not be surprised if Red Talon has a contingency force stationed within the keep that’s as great as his garrison, if not greater. Force and numbers are his favored methods of war. Direct, honorable, and unfortunately predictable, but... difficult to contend with when guided under the right leadership.” Griffon soldiers retreating from the other fronts, scattered and disorganized, funneled into the space below them, shrinking in the presence of the loyalists as they attempted to escape through the open gates. Many frantically looked around, repelling loyalists as they fought tooth-and-nail for control of passage through the gates. “The trap! Spring the trap!” one of them shouted, in the hopes that their snipers would take heed and rain down fury upon their opponents. “There’s been a change of plans,” Talbot said. “Let the loyalists deal with them. Shell, I need you to scan the keep’s upper towers for any more armed elites.” “Yes, sir.” Pastor wheeled his D-kit further up the towering keep’s columns and hovered over the windows, looking for Red Talon. The fortress had an understandable lack of true windows, but did have the occasional balcony from which leaders could look down proudly upon their soldiers. He found himself drifting towards one, near the top of the tower. And he found the unmistakable Red Talon, monstrous in his size, staring back down at him. “Uh... I think I found Red Talon, guys,” Pastor said. “And he’s staring right at me.” “The fuck? How does he even know we’re here?” Raymond said. “I... oh, shit...” Pastor zoomed in on Red Talon’s face, ignoring what he believed to be the griffon equivalent to a sneer, and focused on the device attached to general’s helmet. The system of wires and boxes hanging off of the side was unmistakable, as was the visor bolted onto the front of his helmet. “The general has... magnetics...?” he said disbelievingly. “How the hell did he get his grubby claws on those things?” Raymond asked. “Check again and confirm.” Pastor closed in his camera on the side of the helmet. Model numbers and wires hung precariously from its seat, and as Red Talon wheeled his head around, a symbol flashed past his eyes: the lightning-and-star emblem of the European Federation Enforcer Corps. “I see you, puny two-legged worms!” Red Talon shouted. He jumped from her perch, diving through the air and towards the wall, where Talbot and Mendoza sat. The two barely noticed their assailant, and were promptly thrown aside when he landed with a crunching thud, Talbot snatched up in his gargantuan claws and staring straight into furious eyes. “Aw, shit, he’s got the boss!” Mendoza coughed out, broken out of his cloak and sprinting to grab the MR8 he dropped as he went flying. “Shoot that asshole!” “I know who you are, human,” Red Talon said to Talbot, as the Ghost captain slowly drifted his hand towards his secondary holster. The claws were like a vise, and Talbot had to grit his teeth as they squeezed his form. “You and the rest of your kind will die here, just like this upstart cause you fight for.” On the other side of the bailey, Raymond peered his eyes through the scope, aiming straight for Red Talon’s head. “I’ve got him in my sights. Ready to fire.” Talbot tightened the grip on his revolver. “Raymond...” he whispered, voice barely a mumble, caught only by the attuned microphone on his comms. “Take the shot.” “Yes, sir.” Raymond, at the last second, flicked his sights from Red Talon’s head to his arms, and without even thinking twice, squeezed the trigger.