[x] Hand Hilia your glassgun and have her distract the Armstrong robots. Meanwhile, go after the Regular with Chidorigatan, with your beam saber hidden.
The pistol spins on your finger, and you grasp the barrel, pressing it into Hilia hands. You can see her cheeks puff out as she looks at it held limply, before she firms her grip. It's not a powerful weapon. It can comfortably decapitate an unarmored target at a kilometre or so. You'd tell her to shoot one of the officers, but the Armstrongs can probably catch the bullets and the Regular can definitely intercept.
"You don't need to do anything fancy," you say, "Just distract the robots so I can focus on the Redcoat."
She nods, "Make sure to keep them distracted too. I can deal with 110s."
You bump fists. This is a matter of trust, not skill. You make final checks of your helmet, your beam katana, and your resonance blade. As you do so you can hear speaking:
"So this is the result of the experiment," says one of the scientific officers with a particularly imperious accent, "It seems you weren't wasting our time with that Efreeti box, Selkirk."
"Thank you, Surgeon-General."
"Well, let's see what was fascinating her so much. Sergeant, if you please."
The Regular takes one step forward, and their falling heel rings through the hangar. You pop the canopy and fling yourself out onto the deck at a sprint. Sparks fly from your feet and the regular almost casually flips their glassgun up and opens fire. Your flick your blade around and splinter the rounds, the edge a smear of red light. The verniers on your hips flash as you dart back and forth. There's the keening sound of more glassguns: Hilia is doing an admirable job of distracting the robots. You grit your teeth, hit the ceiling and dash across it, a line of fire chewing at your heels.
You stab the Chidorigatana upwards, swing around it and launch yourself at the Regular. Your verniers spin you about, your sword lashing about. You can feel rounds skimming your shoulders and thighs, but your defense is good. The Regular snaps out their tomahawk and catches your blow. They deflect you, but as your knee sinks into the deck plating you make a deft movement and stab through the glassgun's ammo feed.
Hooking you with the rear spike on their axe, they pull you off balance and hammer you down to the floor with the butt of their rifle. The tomahawk arcs up and you roll away, spring to your feet. The sergeant stomps forward, gets their toe in your gut and punts you across the hangar. you fly back into the far wall, a hundred metres away, before your verniers can respond. You dig yourself out of the crater before the rifle's bayonet pierces your main heart.
The Regular is sprint forward without pausing from their throw. You have a sense of deja vu about that, but you thrust unnecessary thoughts aside. They're strong. They're really strong! You bring your sword up low and hit the tomahawk square on, electricity arcing into the floor and then fling their guard wide open. You spin the blade so the edge faces the Regular and swing back in a single movement, but there's a short knife there. The two of you are locked for a moment, before their knee hits you in the side of your head and sends you skidding away.
They roll one shoulder and toss their tomahawk up. They catch it and fling it towards you - you catch the spinning black blade on the edge of your sword but before you can knock it away the Regular is there, their hand tight on the handle and they send you skidding back again.
Mechanisms at their hips smoothly unlatch. Verniers. You almost swallow your tongue. You hadn't realised that they weren't using-
They're on you. It's everything you can do to deflect their flurry of attacks and you're pushed back towards the Swordfish. They hammer away on your guard for a moment, peel it open then scoop your helmet off with your knife. A veteran of the war with the Commonwealth ... you'd like to be impressed but you're getting your ass soundly kicked. There's only one thing for it.
You fumble your next counterattack and the tomahawk smoothly hooks your sword from your hand, sending it behind them. You trip backwards, falling away from the knife. At this speed you'll hit the ground before they can stab you. The blade is just too short. There's a flash of violet as you snake your beam katana out from its hiding place. You'll miss the arm but take the head. There's a weird, bitter smile forming on your face. Figures that your first real kill will be a lobster.
The Sergeant places their heel in your elbow and presses down. You hit the floor, pinned.
"Nice try," says the Regular, male voice, Elysian working class. He lifts his left hand, the one with the knife. His vambrace is bubbled and running from wrist to elbow, glowing orange. It'll need to be replaced. "I'd rate your defense better than 70 points, but less than 80. Attack ... better than 40."
You're in a bad position and you can taste blood in your mouth. "I got your rifle, didn't I?"
"You failed to capitalise on it."
You click your tongue. He sounds like one of your teachers. Your pointed ears twitch. There's something not quite right but before you can work it out, Chidorigatana emerges through the Regular's chest. You can see Hilia, her toes barely touching the ground, putting her whole weight into it.
Even this doesn't work. The Regular has turned his body just so and The blade has missed the spine. His knife locks the sword in place before she can cut across his body. They thrash about, he steps away from you, then the axe goes up, over his shoulder, the spike passing through Hilia's skullsuit, into her body. It comes out. It goes back in. He heaves her around and throws her, flings her like a doll, the tomahawk still stuck in her back. She hits the Swordfish at a weird angle, then hits the floor and doesn't get up.
"Hi ... Hilia ...?"
The Regular staggers backwards, pulls your sword out of his body and holds it limply. He keeps stepping backwards, stumbling away from you. The lumpy Armstrong robots float in front of him.
"Hilia? Hey, hey, Hilia?" you push yourself up and stare at the blood pooling around her. He only stabbed her twice. Medichines can handle that but she isn't answering. "Stop ... don't mess around. Not right, not now. Hilia please."
"What a farce," says that imperious voice. There's a sharp fingersnap and you glance away from Hilia for just a moment and see a line of tall, humanoid machines discard their stealth mantles. "Secure the boy."
"Hilia, Hilia, you have to get up," you get to your feet, loosely holding your beam sword, "You have to get up. Please. Please get up."
"She's dead, boy."
You clench your teeth and whirl around. A lined, weathered face. Gray eyes, a different shade to yours. The Surgeon-General. He's in charge. This is his fault. Between him and you, two 110 Armstrong robots, one Elysian Regular, five 818 Armstrong robots. One of the 818s puts its huge hand on the Regular's shoulder, pushes him back towards the scientists. Your hand tightens on the hilt of the beam katana.
"Ridiculous. Take him."
You try to say something but it's just a strangled, aching noise. Your foot splits the deck plating and you swings your weapon. The violet blade flares out into something vast and unstable and rips through the line of machines. Chunks of them just disappear into clouds of ash. You take another step, fling yourself towards the Surgeon-General. The Regular steps across, the red strips on his armour fluttering. He raises your other blade to cut you down.
You draw your weapon back with one hand and thrust it forward. The blade lengthens and there's a flash, a billowing wind, arcs of thick violet lightning snapping across the deck. The two of you are screaming. His chest is on fire, his armour rippling open in loops of white. You feel your feet hit the floor and you tear the blade out of him, digging your heels in. He skids back, comes to halt, slumps. Steam rises from his body. Blood leaks through the gaps in his armour and boils away on the floor. There's an ugly hole melted through him. You gasp for air. He's dead.
The floor rings as you stride forward, the tip of your blade swings back and forth. The scientists are stepping back slowly. They know they can't outrun you.
That's not right. The Surgeon-General hasn't moved. He tilts his face slightly as you pass the dead Regular. He looks back at you and smiles thinly. Everything goes out of your head and you thrust your sword forward again.
An open hand presses into the beam blade, stops it. Your brain starts processing again. There's a figure standing between you and the Surgeon-General, tall, slim, glowing. The hand thrusts forward and drives the blade back into the hilt. You scream in shock and let go, watch as hilt distends like blown glass and pops. The figure discards the ruined weapon, grasps you with both hands and skins the skullsuit off your body. You fall in a heap.
"Very good Lieutenant," the Surgeon-General says, turning away, "You were always most reliable. Bring the boy."
The glow around the figure disappears, leaving a young man in something like a skullsuit. He picks you up by the hair, his handsome face impassive. There are tears streaming down your face. One of the scientists walks past, into the carnage.
"Surgeon-General, the girl is still alive," she says, somewhere behind you.
"Excuse me?"
"I think being stabbed through the Sergeant off. He didn't kill her. Do you ..."
"Let her bleed out, kill her yourself. I don't care, Surgeon-Lieutenant."
He walks away. The Lieutenant holding you is about to follow, but the other scientists calls for him to stop. He releases you lets you stumble about. A hand closes around your chin.
"Pretty little boy. The Christ Pharos teaches that those that sow the wind should be prepared to reap the storm," her gloved fingers squeeze your jaw, haul you up on your toes. There is nothing cruel in her face, just curiousity. "I can save your friend. Not for free. The cost will be very steep."
[ ] "Please ... please don't let her ... I don't want her to die!" (10.0x)
[ ] "Pirates ... pirates live and and and pirates ... pirates die on their ... on their ... on their ..." (0.1x)
