In the northwestern warehouse corner of Na-Gaski, Becker crept on top of the roof of a five story sweatshop, about the same height as the watchtower on the city wall to the left. Looking over the ledge down below, next to the river with the citadel on the rock, was a ghettoed series of buildings with a rge courtyard covered in small tents and a few patrols keeping watch of the wrought fence.

  Becker: *Captain, Option One is not avaible. The perimeter is being used to house the refugees and local militia.*~

  Captain Abraham: *We'll hold position until you come back.*~

  Becker: *Magic-Man, anything?*~

  Magic-Man: *I see you just fine. No perturbing activity by the citadel. Dead silence.*~

  He kept watch at the dreary scene below; there was a wrong sensation about it. He was well high to escape the notice of those below, but a sensation of being watched crawled through his skin. It certainly was not anyone on the grounds of the enclosure, but where else?

  On the roof of the citadel, the watchmen kept at their leisurely pace while peeking over the parapets, never seeing a beacon thrown down to a roof within the compound. Perhaps someone else was up at night. The hexer could have been aroused; there were never guarantees with what they could do or not do, only an approximate guess.

  If it was him or her, its unreal gaze was not one of murdering menace, at least to what Becker was normally accustomed to.

  Curiosity? Intrigue? Sorrowful, almost...

  Perhaps it was sensing his mind, his soul. Or perhaps it was watching from the arched balcony on its side with baleful eyes that pierced his very being.

  It was just a feeling, in the end.

  All he could do is stare back into the bck, dare it to make a move; a small allowance in arrogance.

  Down the flight of unbarred and unguarded stairs, back into the oppressive night and solitary workshop park, dodging the tongues of fme hazing by and keeping out of the high moon.

  When he reached a square enclosed by three story buildings and traversed by two tight alleyways, with windows only on the st floor looking down, Becker raised his hand to signal the mercenary at watch, letting him pass by. The other mercenaries kept their weapons trained at the windows, save for those with heavy weapons.

  Becker: Status on Option Two?~

  Captain Abraham: No go. Mao reports some sort of maunfactorum or...forge. Interestingly, WAY too many women locked up in the building and guards keeping eye...~

  Becker: Beacon in pce?~

  Captain Abraham: Waiting to be retrieved.~

  Becker: That leaves us with Option Three. We take it no matter what.~

  Captain Abraham: Let's just hope the Magpie's vision was true.~

  Immediately across the citadel's entrance, divided by the river and with only a drawbridge to access its interior, was a minor compound with an empty hay warehouse on the north end and a medium structure akin to a Spanish ranch house at the west end, enclosed by a high wrought fence with a brick base. Uncomfortably, the location was in a residential area, with a thick building facing the back of the ranch house, albeit separated by the fence.

  Despite the location being next to the entrance, with the street leading directly to citadel's entrance, there were only things making this the st location to hold - due to the awkward, inward bend the path of the rock did, Magic-Man would be unable to provide cover for any enemy facing the gate itself; because of the proximity to the citadel, anyone with a genius inspiration would be liable to lob projectiles from the roof floor directly below, barely needing to aim proper and safe from repercussion.

  Cutting the chain easily, the group entered with Captain Abraham pcing a new lock on the chain. In quick succession, the group overtook the compound, with Becker going up to the third floor finding not a single person in it, neither enemy or civilian; save for the stairwell reaching up to the roof, the two floors below had plenty of wooden material stacked about, and inexplicably, the windows facing the nearby building were not boarded up, facing a seemingly evened wall on the other side.

  Passing him up, the mercenaries with the scoped L7A2 and the RL-83 went up, followed by Mao with his head encased in a moddified Gentex SPH-4 Helmet and a short barrel L1A1.

  Becker: *Raynott, what's in store?*~

  Raynott: *Wooden discs and fags...by the barrel...pin clubs and poles.*~

  Becker: *Prop what you can upstairs that can be used as cover, will you?*~

  He took it upon himself to haul some boxes up as improvised ptforms for the heavy weapons.

  Everyone else took positions wherever they could - the two Bren Guns on the third floor facing the drawbridge, the two China Lakes on the second floor facing the courtyard.

  With everyone in pce, they could do nothing but wait until the enemy exited.

  Taking advantage of the momentary reprieve, Becker sat on a box by the wall, closed his eyes and bit on the tip of his pipe, clearing his mind and listening to everything around.

  The night passed on, and nothing else was out of pce. Torches skimmed over the streets, night critters sang, and the distant sound of the shore crashed by the waves hung in the air, coming and going in a low, soothing hum.

  Mao: *Arm - a cow running towards our direction, southwest of our position.*~

  Captain Abraham: *Halt, everyone. Observe but do not fire.*~

  Peering over the roof, Becker observed down onto the street with his MP5SD6 trained at the middle-aged woman in peasant garb. Despite suffering obvious exhaustion, she did not not stopped until she was close to the adjacent building. Though out of sight, Becker approached the ledge to see if he could listen to anything else.

  *IDENTIFY YOURSELF!*

  *Please...do...something...enemy!...ENE...!*

  *Hold on. Take a breath. What enemy? Where?*

  Becker: *Everyone - we're compromised. Someone knows of our presence. Safeties off, now, if you haven't already.*~

  Captain Abraham: *This soon? No arms are ringing.*~

  Becker: *This would have happened sooner or ter...*~

  *BOOM!* *BOOM!*

  Selkirk: *Enemy on the opposite building!* *Windows open, windows open!*

  The mercenaries immediately took position by the windows facing the building adjacent. Sure enough, some of the windows opened on the second and third floors, and inside several young men were jolted to attention by the Benelli M4's buckshots and the dead mara-mara on the floor having just opened a pair of shutters heavily caked with dirt. The men rushed to get out of the way, and a few reached for small pocket knives under their person.

  Captain Abraham: Fuck 'em up!

  Without hesitation, a hail of 7.62x51mm NATO ripped into the building like hot pokes on a block of cheese, 9mm and 12-gauge peppering through any opened window or anywhere suspected to be a window, all minding their shots to not hit the fence. The L7A2 operator shifted his weapon's position and pointed down, opening fire at where the building's support beams would be and making sure to dispense some of the fire into the middle of the area.

  Without warning, a portion of the roof colpsed down, crashing half of the building in a cloud of dust, the mercenaries popping a few more shots as they observed humanoid figures moving about, limbs trapped under the rubble. To the surprise of Becker, the three on the street had gotten up from the ground and started to bolt.

  One of the mara-mara headed south, throwing his helmet and ripping out his suit armor. The other one made it for the west, keeping himself between the middle-aged woman and his muzzle.

  Becker waited for the mara-mara to take an extra action...all he had to do was one st thing...

  But he did not. Even if he pnned to do so out of sight...

  Reflectively, Becker switched to single shot, pcing two armor piercing bullets in the back of the neck of the warrior, shoving the woman and drenching her backside in gurgled blood.

  Becker: Everyone, re-adjust your positions and keep under cover!

  Gongs and conchs blew away the st peace of the night.

  Magic-Man: *Civilians are being mobilized towards your location. Great work, guys.*~

  Captain Abraham: *Can you pop out the leadership?*~

  Magic-Man: *I nixed the obvious ones, but the true ones pushing them on are mixed in with the civilians.*~

  Captain Abraham: *How can you tell?*~

  Magic-Man: *You don't think there's such a thing as "grassroots," now do you?*~

  Under the chaos, with only whistles serving as the means to identify, the rooftop drenched in a hail of bolts and arrows. The propped-up covers barely served their function, as the men had to almost hug them to not get scrapped by the sharp retaliation. Indiscriminate matchlocks pop with a few having enough force to pierce the barricades, sinking into the .

  Once the st matchlock fired, another volley flew at them.

  Becker: No one fire yet, let them think they 'ave us got.

  Captain Abraham: *Selkirk, Berkowitz - get the gas ready.*

  As the matchlocks popped again, pricking the grounds and the houses around, the drawbridge slowly lowered down. Braving the random shots, Mao peered above to the citadel's top line. It was impossible to observe where the arrows where showered from, but there was something else worse looming at the edge of the parapets.

  Mao: *Cannons being set in pce - Mark two gunpowder cannons, possible breech loaders up above from our sight.*~

  Captain Abraham: *Lysander - assess the targets.*~

  Becker switched pces with him as the cracks slowed down, joining Mao in the middle. As Lysander mouthed off the height and distance, the crowd at st reached the gates pressing upon the fence and trying to yank it out of pce.

  The drawbridge at st leveled with the road with the conch bellowing for war and men charging forth and the cannons lowering their aim.

  With proper measure, the mercenaries responded in kind.

  In one bst of a 100mm shell, the RL-83 Blindicide flung the two canons on high to the left of the gatehouse, cooking off the charges in the barrels and turning the firing position in an inferno as whatever powder was in the vicinity ruptured. As the firey mushroom rose and lit the sky those not wrecked by the explosion threw themselves into the void, no longer men but balls of fire.

  As the mara-mara charged across the bridge the tracers shot from the L7A2 GPMG lit the running column in a hot shower of death, leaving a steamy, pulpy sagna of metal and flesh. Those few that reacted quickly smmed themselves upon the water and filling their lungs with water, or bottled up the entrance in a feeble attempt to flee; all the operator saw was a target rich blob in the area of operations. Not even the few that survived the hail and attempted their luck with raised shields made it out, as the force of the machine gun did away with the random chance of impenetrability, a quirk of the metal found on this world.

  For his part, Becker gave quick gnces on the street to his right before briefly scanning the battlements on high, every so often dispensing 9mm in opportunistic shots.

  Down below the L4A3s discriminated neither helmed faces or waving patches of hair. The gatehouse and any slit in their sights recieved a dissuasive message to anyone still there by way of fast moving metal zipping through the heads and chests of anyone caught unawares.

  On the second floor the China Lakes unleashed their payload of tear gas - inside the grounds but just within distance of the fence, and on the other side of the rubble as a precautionary measure.

  Those on the first floor had to keep their impulses in check - shooting above the heads of the crowd might cause them to stampeed, but their fgging morale might drive them into the bdes of the ones pushing them on in the first pce.

  Magic-Man: *Doesn't seem like crowd is scared of you.*~

  Mao: *Captain, the crowd is chocking on the but they are not moving away. The more brave are yanking at the fence.*~

  Captain Abraham: *I can't see any leadership targets from here. First floor - get ready for this to go non-linear.*~

  Becker: *Not so. Ikard, Carlile - concussion grenades at the ready. I'm heading to the grounds.*~

  Carlile: *Sir, they're all calibrated for offense.*~

  Becker: *Aim above or close enough.*~

  Tapping Mao on the shoulder as he left, he rushed out to find a few braves climbing up the fence, all the while coughing their lungs out in a teary, mucus mess. Stumbling out of the gas and attempting to reach for the house, Becker intercepted their path with a vicious kick to the gut or shoving himself onto would-be attackers and smming them to the dirt.

  One particur man-of-action lunged at Becker with a dagger pointing downward. Catching the arm in mid-air Becker bended the elbow inside and folded the wrist enough to almost pop the joints out of pce, complimenting it with a nick at the throat and a trip down to the ground. Kicking the long bde away, Becker readied himself for the others reaching the top of the fence by the gate and close to the house.

  Captain Abraham: *Concussion grenades, now, now!*~

  Carlile and Ikard rushed out fnking Becker walking backwards and pcing his finger on the ring of his own grenade. Cooking them for a second, all three threw them as high as they could, continuing to back off with thier eyes closed as the grenades fshed so briefly before the darkness engulfed the area again.

  Carlile and Ikard fixed bayonets on their L1A1s in anticipation of what may come as more gas lobbed towards the crowd directly.

  Through the night visions, Becker and the other two observed a smudgy colge of desperate, rabid, and scared faces. Some resumed to climb up, others continued to pull down the fence, but it was clear that the rest had enough of this, their senses assaulted coupled with the risk of the unyielding barking weaponry turning against them.

  Those still on the fence colpsed down with bones cracking and joints dislocating as their grip slipped.

  Captain Abraham: *They're fleeing, at st. And just as expected...*~

  Paths were being carved through the crowd in blood and metal. The instigators struck any fleeing civilian with proper form and calcuted hacks, gutting them from chest to belly or gashing them in the most vulnerable of pces.

  Anyone they got their hands on were shoved back to the fray with no restriction to age or sex.

  Mao and Captain Abraham took potshots at these handful of men dressed in simple clothes with thick broad bdes, the bullets bursting away at their limbs or splitting their heads in half in rge spshes of blood that coated any unfortunate too close within range. Not even the few that jumped from the top of the fence could do more than have their faces cracked by the butts of the three men's weapons before having their weapons taken. The recoilless rifle fired once more on high to the right of the gatehouse, the munition kicking blocks backward and dispcing two more canons away.

  Captain Abraham: *Looks like they're pulling the bridge back.*~

  The machine guns continued their cacophonous tune at a slower pace, if only to discourage anyone else from trying something else.

  Raynott and Selkirk, and an extra came outside and threw smoke grenades on the roof of the warehouse, quickly training their weapons at the writhing men on the ground.

  Becker: Start with the ones still moving, Carlil and Ikard keep watch over the others. Do not hesitate.

  With that, the zip ties came out as the three remainder barked at the more conscious to kiss the ground and extend their arms. When they did not comply, all that was needed was a fast tap with the boot on their pained flesh or, with the ones with a vicious streak still in their blood, their most vulnerable spot.

  Once everyone was tied and ced by the neck with a rope, they were corralled into the warehouse, bayonets ready to sink into the fifteen men that managed to jump over.

  *Down on the ground, there's a good d.*

  *Please, my family!*

  *I want nothing to do with this, I just want to...*

  *KEEP YOUR CUNT MOUTHS SHUT, YOU FANNIES!*

  *YOU'LL FUCKIN' DO AS YO'E TOLD, YEH FUCKING SLAGS!*

  Those bound that dared to speak had their faces bashed in by the rifle butts.

  Captain Abraham: *Colonel, I need a consult.*

  Reaching the third floor, Becker consulted the captain who was looking through the windows on the southern half.

  Captain Abraham: Colonel, it seems we have the jump on them as pnned. I can see the torches from afar, but I don't know, I expect there to be more fire and screams for something like this.

  Becker took a moment to look over over where the Captain had looked.

  Becker: No...our work is cut for the rest of the night. There's enough blood shedding right now.

  Captain Abraham: It looks too calm for what I've been through.

  Becker: Not used to having such advantage?

  Captain Abraham: Trick question, sir. You know this isn't a standard scenario.

  Becker: Sure it is. Normalization here or wherever is the same - they can't argue with thousands of action men on the streets when they're outcssed. It's only a matter of dispensing logic and reason now, innit?

  Magic-Man: *Oxley's men are approaching the tower next to the one I am. Also, a detachment of our employer's is approaching from the south. They'll be by the gate soon.*~

  Becker: You heard him all - get ready to move out.

  Through aching eyes and soaring muscles, the squad reloaded and proceeded to leave floor by floor. Becker went up to cover the three atop as they unplugged themselves from their empcements. Taking off his goggles, the cool air soothed his stary eyes, taking in the sight of the dust and smoke floating in the air and the burning roof slowly dying down as steam repced the smoke.

  Gncing over to the right, he heard the dim echo of firearms cracking, along with a few kicks of pulverized construction material produced from quick impacts from high above.

  Closer still, he saw that throughout this entire time, the woman had not left the dead man. She wailed and tore at herself in mad anguish, almost digging her nails into her own flesh.

  He wanted to imagine it to be a brother, a father, a best friend - thinking the dead man was the woman's husband or lover was just..contemptuous.

  All the more so that he had to picture his brother and other phantoms from long ago make ughable reactions and snide cracks in accurate dialogue and inflection.

  But he was not at a pub with wood so old the scent of burnt fags and dusty grime permeated in a discrete aroma. There were no novices in need to be disabused of any thing that takes away of their focus.

  Becker: Daft...

  That's all the luxury he allowed himself to think of.

  A detestable indulgence in disgust, soon to be forgotten in the wake of the work needing to be done as the host overwhelmed whatever resistance mustered helter-skelter.