Chapter 64: Route 66 Gas Station
Within a virtual command center, built from cold data and blue light, several holographic figures of high-level Militech operations commanders and a single, stone-faced female observer from Biotechnica hovered before a massive, wrap-around display. The screen was fractured into multiple feeds, showing real-time drone reconnaissance and satellite overviews of the Route 66 gas station.
"Target vehicle has entered the designated area," a monitoring tech reported, his voice flat. On his screen, the icon representing Maine's crew had stopped in the station's lot.
"Confirm identities," the lead Ops Commander, a bald man with a jagged scar across his face, ordered. His holo-avatar was clad in black combat gear, his eyes sharp as a hawk's.
"Confirmed. All core members of Maine's crew are present: Leader Maine, driver Falco, assault-specialist Rebecca, and techie Pilar. Close-combat specialist Dorio is also confirmed. Additionally, intel reports their new netrunner, 'Kiwi,' is in a remote support position and not on-site."
"All strike teams are in position," a tactical officer reported. "Two 'Manticore' gunships are on station, ready to provide aerial suppression and containment. Ground forces consist of two standard infantry squads with full armor and ordnance, and two 'Minotaur' light-attack mechs deployed on the flanks as heavy fire support. Furthermore, 'Scalpel' team is assembled at the rear rally point, on standby."
The "Scalpel" team he mentioned was the special operations unit, composed entirely of soldiers augmented with experimental, high-risk cybernetics, all of them teetering on the edge of cyberpsychosis.
The female Biotechnica observer crossed her arms, her holo-face impassive. "Remember our primary objective: capture, if viable. Especially the 'runner, Maine, and Rebecca. Their brains may hold the intel we need on their mysterious benefactor. A corpse is of no value to us."
The scarred commander nodded, a cold smirk on his lips. "Don't worry. This package is enough to crush them ten times over. Besides, it gives us a chance to gather some live-fire data on 'Scalpel's' expensive new toys. See if they're worth the price tag."
His gaze returned to the main screen, at the lone, unsuspecting icon in the gas station, like a predator watching prey walk into a snare.
Route 66 Gas Station
Maine's vehicle rolled to a stop in the derelict lot. The dust settled, revealing a dead-silent scene, broken only by the squeak of a wind-blasted sign and the low moan of the desert wind.
"We're here," Falco killed the engine, his hands still on the wheel, his eyes scanning every potential hiding spot.
Maine tried contacting "Stray" on the number Faraday had provided. The only response was a flat, continuous busy signal, a deeply ominous sign. He tried again, and again. Nothing.
"Something's wrong," Maine's brow tightened, a chill running up his spine. "No contact with the client..."
Rebecca had already silently gripped her plasma pistol, her knuckles white. "Scrap. Don't tell me we've been set up."
"Contact!" Kiwi's voice suddenly exploded in their encrypted comms, sharp with panic. "Multiple high-velocity signatures closing fast! Energy readings are off the charts! Mil-spec!"
The words were barely out of her mouth when the roar of engines tore the desert quiet apart!
"Go! Go! Go!" Maine's roar filled the cabin.
Falco reacted instantly, slamming the ignition, but it was too late.
The high-pitched shriek of armor-piercing rounds lanced in from the distance, flawlessly punching through the engine block and tires!
A deafening explosion ripped the vehicle apart, sending a shockwave of heat and shrapnel in all directions. Their ride, their lifeline, was instantly transformed into a twisted, burning wreck.
"Fuck!" Falco had thrown the door open a millisecond before impact, rolling onto the sand, the wave of heat scorching his back.
"Cover! Find cover!" Maine bellowed, using his own massive body as a shield while the crew bailed out, scrambling for the gas station's crumbling brick walls.
Rebecca's reaction was pure instinct. In the instant of the explosion, she was already turning, aiming, and firing. The plasma pistol in her hand let out a low, dangerous thrum. She didn't have time to aim for a specific target; she aimed at the Militech APC that had just screeched to a halt, its doors opening to deploy troops.
A condensed, almost liquid, orb of shimmering, unholy blue light shot out. It didn't just explode; it melted its way clean through the APC's thick side-armor like a hot knife through butter. The internal components and secondary ammunition cooked off, and the vehicle erupted in a secondary fireball that engulfed the surrounding soldiers.
"Ha! See that! Boss's gear is preem!" Rebecca yelled, before Dorio grabbed her and yanked her behind the relative safety of a ruined wall.
"Conserve your shots! That thing needs to recharge!" Maine barked over the gunfire, laying down suppressive fire with his own pistol, bullets kicking up dust to slow the enemy's advance.
The return fire was overwhelming, a relentless, sustained storm of heavy-caliber rounds that chewed the ruins to pieces. Two massive mechs, like mobile fortresses, advanced with a heavy, rhythmic thud, their multi-barreled cannons spitting a web of lead that pinned the crew down, making it impossible to even look.
Pilar was huddled behind a shattered concrete divider, fumbling to connect a power pack to his smart-gun, cursing a blue streak. "Scrap! That son-of-a-bitch Faraday! He sold us out! I'll rip his chrome spine out, I swear!"
Maine glanced at the burning wrecks—his own, and the Militech APC. "Shame about the ride," he spat, tasting grit.
Rebecca, nervously watching the heat-indicator on her plasma pistol, shot back, "Screw the ride! When we're done here, we'll just take one of theirs! We've jacked corpo-shit before!"
Just as the ground battle settled into a suffocating stalemate, with the crew hopelessly outgunned, the true threat descended.
A deep, oppressive, resonant engine-thrum pounded down from above. Two Militech "Manticore" gunships, like massive steel vultures, slid into view, their shadows blanketing the battlefield. The missile pods and rotary cannons under their bellies swiveled, cold, digital targeting-reticles sweeping across the ruins, locking onto their cover.