In a virtual space constructed of cold data and blue light lines, several figures solidified—senior Militech operations supervisors in crisp uniforms, plus one stern-faced female Biotechnica observer—hovered before massive circular screens.
The screens divided into multiple feeds, real-time transmitting drone reconnaissance footage and satellite overviews from around Route 66 Gas Station.
"Target vehicle has entered designated zone." A monitoring operator reported in an emotionless voice. On his screen, the signal dot representing Maine's crew vehicle had stopped at the gas station's clearing.
"Confirm identities." The operations supervisor—a bald man with a vicious scar across his face—spoke gravely. His virtual avatar wore black combat gear, eyes sharp as a hawk's.
"Confirmed. Maine crew core members all in vehicle: leader Maine, driver Falco, assault specialist Rebecca, tech expert Pilar. Close-combat specialist Dorio also present. Additionally, according to signal tracking and facial recognition comparisons, their newly recruited netrunner 'Kiwi' is currently in remote support status, not accompanying vehicle." Another analyst rapidly supplemented.
"Operation squads all in position." The operations commander—a broad-shouldered, serious-faced colonel—reported. "Two 'Manticore' attack AVs standing by in designated airspace, ready to provide aerial fire suppression and blockade anytime.
Ground forces include two standard infantry squads equipped with standard armor and weapons. Two 'Minotaur' light assault mechs deployed on flanks, forming heavy firepower points.
Additionally, 'Switchblade' squad has completed assembly at rear concealment points, on standby."
The "Switchblade" squad he mentioned was precisely that special unit composed entirely of soldiers with experimental cyberware, teetering on the edge of cyberpsychosis with ultra-high modification rates.
The Biotechnica female observer crossed her arms. Her virtual image's face showed zero expression. She spoke coldly, voice like ice: "Remember our priority objective—capture alive if possible.
Especially that netrunner Kiwi, plus Maine and Rebecca. Their brains might contain all intel we need, plus information about that mysterious supporter behind them. Dead bodies have no value to us."
The scarred operations supervisor nodded, mouth twisting into a humorless arc: "Relax. This configuration's enough crushing them a dozen times over.
Perfect timing—lets us field-test 'Switchblade's' expensive toys' combat data, see if they're actually worth the price tag."
His gaze returned to the main screen, looking at that lone signal dot stopped at the gas station clearing, as if viewing prey already fallen into traps.
——
Route 66 Gas Station.
Maine crew's vehicle steadily stopped at the abandoned gas station's clearing.
Kicked-up dust slowly settled. Deathly silence all around. Only wind blowing through broken signage's monotonous creaking, plus distant desert's sigh-like moaning.
"We're here." Falco killed the engine, fingers still resting on the steering wheel, sharp gaze sweeping every possible hiding spot around them.
Maine contacted "Old Cat" using the number Faraday provided. However, the response was only monotonous, continuous busy tones—like some ominous omen.
He tried repeatedly. Same results.
"Something's wrong." Maine's brow furrowed tight. Chills climbed his spine. "Can't reach the contact."
Rebecca had already silently gripped her plasma pistol tight, knuckles slightly whitening: "Fuck, are we getting played?"
"Incoming!" Kiwi's voice suddenly exploded over the crew's encrypted channel, carrying unprecedented urgency. "Detecting multiple high-speed signal sources approaching! Energy readings off the charts! Military-grade specs!"
Almost the same second her words dropped, piercing engine roars like beast bellows—far to near—instantly tore through desert silence!
"Pull out!" Maine's roar echoed inside the vehicle.
Falco reacted lightning-fast, keys turning, attempting engine restart. But too late!
Multiple precision armor-piercing rounds arrived with air-tearing shrieks from distance, ruthlessly punching through vehicle hood and tires!
Deafening explosions erupted violently! Scorching shockwaves mixed with metal fragments sprayed in all directions!
Their survival-lifeline ride transformed into twisted, burning scrap metal in an instant. Dense black smoke roiled skyward.
"Shit!" Falco kicked the door open at the critical moment, tumbling awkwardly onto sand. Scorching shockwave grazed his back, bringing searing pain.
"Find cover! Move!" Maine roared while using his massive frame as temporary shield, covering others as they staggered toward the gas station's few still-standing broken brick walls.
Rebecca's reaction was even more direct. Almost the instant explosions occurred, she completed turning, aiming, trigger-pulling sequences.
Her plasma pistol emitted low, dangerous charging hums.
She had no time for precise targeting but aimed the barrel toward those distant just-stopped Militech armored vehicles—hatches opening, soldiers pouring out!
A condensed near-liquid, ominously blue-glowing high-energy plasma bolt shot forth!
It didn't trigger violent explosions but in a far more terrifying manner instantly melted through the first armored vehicle's thick side armor—like hot knife through butter.
Inside the melted position, circuits and backup ammunition instantly detonated. Secondary explosion fireballs violently expanded, engulfing surrounding soldiers! Fragments flying!
"Ha! See that?! Boss's gear fucking delivers!" Rebecca excitedly roared before Dorio, reacting quickly, yanked her behind relatively safer broken walls.
"Conserve it! That thing needs recharge time!" Maine reminded amid intense firefight sounds while using his pistol for suppressive point-firing. Bullets kicked up dust clouds on hard ground, temporarily delaying approaching soldiers.
Enemy firepower was abnormally fierce and sustained. Automatic weapon barrages poured water-like onto ruins, hammering brick debris flying everywhere, dust choking thick.
Two massive-framed mechs advanced with heavy, rhythmically tremoring steps—like mobile fortresses slowly closing in. Their mounted multi-barreled machineguns continuously spat lethal fire tongues, forming suppression barrages keeping Maine's crew barely able to lift heads.
Pilar huddled behind a half-collapsed concrete barrier, fumbling connecting charging cables to his smart weapon, cursing nonstop: "Fuck! Faraday that dog bastard! Actually sold us out! Next time I see him I'm tearing him apart! Bones and all!"
Maine glanced at still-burning vehicle wreckage outside plus those equally destroyed, sleek-lined Chevillon Emperors, couldn't help spitting sandy saliva: "What a waste of those Emperors!"
Rebecca—tensely watching her plasma pistol's heat indicator—replied without turning, tone full of all-in attitude: "Waste my ass! After we finish this shit, we'll just jack another one! Corp stuff—ain't like we haven't hit them before!"
Just as ground combat sank into suffocating stalemate, Maine's crew pinned down by overwhelming firepower inside gas station ruins, greater threats descended from above.
Low, oppressively resonant engine roars transmitted from overhead. Two Militech "Manticore" AVs like giant steel vultures—massive shadows slowly blanketing the battlefield below. Their underbelly-mounted missile pods and rotating autocannons adjusted angles, cold death crosshairs sweeping across cover positions below one by one.
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