"Long time no see, Walter." said a female voice, "Looking good for a change. I see you got a new augmented human. What happened to 617 and the rest?"

"Their jobs." Walter replied.

He still couldn't help but remember how he'd said the same thing to the doctor, as though that explained what he'd done. Maybe, in a way, it explained it better than anything else could.

"They did what it took to get us here."

"... Huh. So how's the newcomer doing?" asked the voice again, "And to what do I owe the pleasure of a call after so long?"

Carla never did like to beat around the bush. She knew what had happened, there was no need for either of them to say it.

"Adequately. Only had one big job so far, other stuff has been to get its name out there." Walter had finally answered, "Gen 4 augmentation can be unstable. We need to choose our battles."

Walter took a moment to consider what he was asking:

"I need a favor. The license we acquired was from an AC using RaD scout parts, 2000 series. With a different head module, one I don't think I've ever seen available for purchase. The hound wants me to get a hold of it."

He could hear when Carla sucked in a breath at that. "You found this license on an AC with the SHADE EYE? You do realize that design was contracted by mercenaries I don't even know the name of, right."

"Look, if you can't get me one, just say so Carla." said Walter bluntly.

The line went silent. "Eh, why the hell not. After all, your hound is an independent mercenary too. Sending you the coordinates, I'll have a container with it on the loading dock."

...

The idea of sitting in an outpost far from the latest conflict, looking over reports and sending orders still didn't sit right with Flatwell.

He knew his knowledge and experience were better put to use helping direct the ragtag forces the RLF could muster in their war against the invading corporations and the PCA, but it didn't always feel that way. He wanted to be back in TSUBASA, to feel the rush of adrenaline, not order others to fight and die in his place.

He grimaced at the report that had just been brought to him. With the mounting pressure from Arquebus and Balam, they'd directed the STRIDER to the open terrain of the Bona Dea Dunes, where it should have been safe. A lack of concealing terrain and poor weather conditions for AC operation meant it should have easily been able to dispatch any enemy forces that approached, and it had been.

For months, the Eye had been evaporating the MT squads, helicopter units, and unmanned drones the corps had been sending after it, along with a few corporate and independent ACs, until one day it didn't.

And then this damn report ended up on his desk, an account from the supply choppers that had managed to escape about how a lone independent mercenary, callsign "Raven," had single-handedly crippled and then destroyed the STRIDER.

It was good that it was an independent mercenary though. They usually had no loyalty beyond who could fill their pockets, so he could work with that.

All he had to do was make sure the officers of important installations knew to contact him if they spotted the merc, and to be quick with a suitable counteroffer. With a little luck, he could prevent this new development from becoming another awful thorn in the side of the Liberation Front.

...

"621, I obtained the head module you were asking for." Walter informed, "Go ahead and install it, have a look. And make sure your loadout is to your liking, I think I'll have another big job for you in the next few days."

It made its way over to the control station to preview what Walter had brought for it. The schematics were already pulled up on the screen, along with a model of the part. HC-2000/BC SHADE EYE.

Twin sensors on the left, more armor plating than the standard scout head, a visor system that would deploy during combat situations to protect the more delicate optics. And still well within the tolerable weight and power draw limits for this machine.

621 turned its focus away from the frame and back to the rest of the machine. Walter had told it to purchase what weapons it needed, that the funds from the previous jobs were available.

Why had Walter given it unrestricted access?

It put that oddity out of mind as it began to peruse the list of weaponry and internals the corporations on Rubicon were selling. Two heavy shotguns, one for each hand, was a good start. A pile bunker in a weapon bay on the left shoulder, and to complete the setup, a six tube missile launcher on the right.

A glance over the power distribution revealed the issue, but 621 knew it could be corrected. The combustion generators offered by BAWS and Dafeng were far too heavy for the energy output it needed. A circulating current generator like the VP-20C produced by Arquebus would fit nicely though.

The booster system was anemic and needed to be replaced; the newer Furlong BST-G2/P06SPD would give it excellent sustained travel speeds and perform well for combat maneuvering and overboost travel alike. The FC-006 ABBOT from Balam rounded out the loadout and complemented the shotguns nicely. With a confirmation, it placed the order and sent off a message to Walter to let him know.

The hangar bay had finished installing the head module, so 621 ascended the gantry to stand in front of the machine. The visage of Raven stared back, red optical sensors gleaming in the low light.

...

Walter grimaced at the price of the order his hound had placed. They had precious little left after that, but it would be worth it for 621 to pilot an AC it felt comfortable in. Good thing he'd paid back those debts he accrued to get to Rubicon before giving it free reign.

Arquebus wasn't offering any new public contracts, and he hadn't received anything from their mercenary liaison, so maybe he could find some work from Balam. It had been a while since he last talked to Michigan, but he'd seemed receptive to bringing the hound along for "ass-wiping duty" as he'd put it. And speaking of, there was an incoming comms request from the Redguns commander.

"Michigan." he said.

"Handler Walter! Forgot to mention something." said the man, sounding smug as hell, "The Liberation Front's changing their strategy. Been cozying up to independent mercs."

Walter raises an eyebrow at that. After what 621 did to their precious STRIDER, he doesn't know if there's any way to make that work for them, but it's another avenue to explore.

"Great news, if it means more work for 621." he said.

"They can try whatever tricks they want." said Michigan"The Redguns are ready to smash some heads. We'll be moving on the Gallia Dam soon, have your hound ready."

The southern perimeter watchpost had spotted a trio of transport choppers inbound and radioed it in, followed by another report when they got close enough to identify the logo of the Balam Redguns on the sides of the lead chopper.

Dunham cursed his luck as he watched the feed; He'd called for reinforcements to help hold the dam as soon as possible, but Balam had dropped a trio of ACs. He'd expected maybe two at most. They wouldn't be able to divert enough forces to stop this attack without leaving other key areas far too vulnerable.

The middle AC had been dropped a bit further back, and he watched as it assault boosted fearlessly toward the first gate, a barrage of missiles launching toward the guard forces. The analysis program finally finished gathering data.

CANNON HEAD, belonging to G4 Volta, and HEAD BRINGER, belonging to G5 Iguazu, members of Balam's Redguns. The last one was LOADER 4, piloted by an independent mercenary. Raven.

Dunham knew the Gallia Dam was doomed already with three enemy ACs assaulting it, but now there was no chance. He'd contact Flatwell like ordered, but he didn't see what good it would do.

Flatwell immediately opened the priority communications channel with Index Dunham after the message arrived. The Gallia Dam was a critical piece of infrastructure to the Liberation Front, and to have Raven show up there was going to make it nearly impossible to hold on to. He'd just have to hope that his gambit worked.

"Dunham, patch me through," he said, "I need to access the local comms equipment."

The man acknowledged, and a moment later Flatwell had access to the local net at the dam. He quickly selected the signal for the AC identifying itself as LOADER 4, making sure the transmission would be encrypted using the public key it broadcast ed.

Taking a second to compose himself, he pulled the computer's microphone toward himself. He couldn't afford to lowball here and have Raven decline his offer, so this one would need to be significant. Perhaps he could discuss what Raven viewed as appropriate compensation later, but not now. He hit the button to begin the transmission.

"Raven. I represent the Rubicon Liberation Front." said Flatwell, "Our request is simple. We want you to take out the two Redguns. Our compensation will be double Balam's offer. Awaiting your response."

With the transmission sent, all they could do now was wait.

"Dunham, what's the situation over there?" he asked.

"The independent mercenary is sitting near the second generator, Uncle." answered Dunham, "Wait, receiving a transmission, decoding... Raven sent an acknowledgement! Transmitting friendly IFF codes. I'm in my AC, I can step in if the merc is overwhelmed."

"Patch me your AC camera feed." Flatwell instructed. "I need to see what they're like for myself."

The feed stabilized a second after the link was established, showing the third generator station. The two Redgun ACs were nearby, trying to fight their way through the defending MT forces to reach the substation.

The friendly IFF tag of Raven was visible in the distance before it began to close rapidly on the bipedal Redgun AC, HEAD BRINGER, who clearly wasn't aware of what happened, though they certainly took notice when a flight of missiles slammed into their back.

A pulse shield flared into being as Raven brought its shotguns to bear, absorbing most of the fire while the Redgun tried desperately to evade.

Its linear rifle delivered a solid punch to LOADER 4's left shoulder, spinning it around partially and damaging the shoulder armor as it tried to compensate for the impact. A second later it was boosting toward the Redgun, the shotguns unloading at close range before it lashed out with a kick, knocking the other machine back into the rocks behind it.

Flatwell noticed the second Redgun trying to fight their way past the MT force to assist, barely visible at the edge of the camera feed. The left arm of Raven's AC moved, swapping to the weapon on its back as it dashed toward the staggered G5. A pile bunker.

A second later a flash lit the monitor as the brutal weapon discharged, the massive steel spike piercing through the torso of the enemy machine and goring it.

A parachute was visible above the rocky outcropping; the pilot had managed to eject before it happened, likely knowing they wouldn't recover in time to avoid dying.

The back of their AC below them erupted in a gout of fire, the pile bunker must have breached the generator. The massive spike retracted as Raven stepped back, watching the empty machine it had just destroyed crumple to the ground.

Dunham audibly breathed a sigh of relief, bringing Flatwell out of his focus.

"I'm glad I didn't have to fight that merc, Uncle." he admitted.

He doesn't respond, too engrossed with watching Raven on the screen. It appeared to be having a bit more trouble with the massively armored G4, CANNON HEAD more like a supersized tank than a proper AC with those massive treads Balam made.

It took longer against the sturdier machine, and when Raven finally overloaded the enemy ACS, it wasn't able to get close in time before it recovered, instead lunging forward with the pile to land a glancing hit.

Flatwell grimaced as CANNON HEAD rammed into the much smaller frame of LOADER 4 in retaliation, sending the lighter AC reeling.

A blast from the shotgun compounded the damage and the grenade launchers it carried almost wiped the independent away before it dodged, the shockwave sending it skidding over the snow and ice.

The two closed on each other again, G4 clearly hoping to overload Raven's ACS with another ram, only for it to dodge out of the way, letting its opponent waste energy as its overboost system deployed and rapidly charged, a massive surge of energy enveloping the area before it fired both shotguns, overloading the heavier machine.

G4 Volta must have known the same thing would happen to them as their squadmate because they ejected just a second before Raven buried the pile bunker in their machine's back, fatally wounding CANNON HEAD.

"Dunham, see if you can capture the Balam pilots or their ACs, we could use any advantage we can get." he ordered, "I'm heading that way as well, I can spare some time to help get everything back in order."

...

"Rgh! I'm losing control of my machine." said G5, "No choice but to withdraw."

621 watched as CANNON HEAD went up in flames, standing back from the machine. It didn't care about the enemy pilots in the slightest. All it had to do was destroy the attacking ACs.

"Confirmed. G4 and G5 eliminated." said Walter, "You can bill me for the AC repair fees, Michigan."

His voice was a constant companion by now, and it listened as it made its way past the Liberation Front MTs to wait for transport.

"You've ruined our little field trip, Walter." the man complained, "I'll be billing you for tuition fees too."

And with that, the man disconnected the Redgun pilots from the comm channel.

"The chopper is inbound, wait there." Walter instructed.

So it waited. As the chopper arrived and it was preparing to enter the hangar, the sensor systems detected an AC displaying a friendly tag. BURN PICKAXE, pilot callsign Index Dunham. It turned the optics to focus on this new arrival as the bay doors began to shut.

Dunham had descended from the final Dam substation as the chopper approached, broadcasting the same IFF tag they'd provided for the independent mercenary. Must have been their mobile base of operations.

The mercenary noticed him approaching and looked over at him, the red optics glowing as it seemed to stare straight through his armor plating. Dunham prided himself on being able to feel the personality of pilots by their AC. This one, with its unpainted frame and weird name, felt as though it were empty.

It moved and fought like it had a pilot, but all Dunham saw as he gazed back through the optics was a machine.

https://youtu.be/WEsibVKPNA0

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