Seventeen thumbed the controls of the gun turret as the landing craft hummed across the skyline of suburban Tier 2. His fingers made goofy noises as he flexed the plastic-esque digits of the stormtrooper armor. Had they always made these sounds?
“We’re nearing the boundary of the CZ.” The pilot spoke into everyone’s helmets as the landing craft started to decelerate. From his bubble, Seventeen could crane his neck and see the right side of the vessel, and he knew that behind the walls were a cadre of stormtroopers ready to stomp out into the streets. Also inside the vehicle was Trixie—Captain Zulenka—and a bunch of other people with fancy titles and scow-covered expressions on their faces. The cyborg could only assume there was some politics he had missed out on during his tenure with the redheaded soldier.
“We’ll come in low and establish a forward LZ,” Trixie’s familiar voice barked through the comm line. “Once entrenched, we should be able to carry out operations in relative quick order. Whoever they are, they won’t be able to hide from us for long. We’ll find them.” The conviction in the woman’s voice was astounding—there was no hesitation or room for second-guessing in those words.
Behind his trooper helmet, Seventeen felt ambivalent toward the whole thing. Were they all convinced about how well this would be or was everyone just accustomed to the fact that something would go terribly wrong? In a couple of ways, he felt like the guy at the party who didn’t know any of the inside jokes.
“Do you spot anything on your side, Sergeant?”
It took the cybernetic warrior a moment to realize that he was the one being addressed. “Uhh,” Seventeen scoped the area once again with his eyes before taking a glance through the visual display on the gun turret. There weren’t any life forms down below, which had to mean they probably weren’t safe.
Didn’t I not have a ki signature back home?
“Nothing, but what if they’re cloaking or something? This turret display is just UV.”
Trixie’s voice rang out a moment later over the comm. “Can you sense anything?”
Seventeen scowled. “No, but what if they’re cloaking or something?”
A voice that wasn’t Captain Zulenka’s invaded the communication channel. “These are rebels operating on Tier 2, do you really think they were able to smuggle advancing cloaking tech up here under our noses, Sergeant?”
The raven-haired warrior rolled his eyes. He couldn’t remember the man’s name, but he already disliked him.
“We’re going to come in low to that park at the corner of 17th and Wabansia,” someone else barked into the comm as the transport vehicle executed a wide turn to get around a five-story office building. As it cleared the north side of the building, Seventeen saw the strange flicker of light from a nearby convenience store. Too late, he caught the dark shape silently streaking across the evening sky.
“Rocket!” Seventeen screamed as he grabbed onto the controls and mashed the trigger. Bolts of red energy stitched across the façade of the two-story storefront, but the projectile advanced uninhibited and slammed viciously into the side of the aerial transport. The machine immediately pitched sideways, one of its wings scythed about six yards through the adjacent structure before snapping apart. A scream—Nova?—over the comm told the cyborg that the gunner on that side of the ship had not found a suitable conclusion to their ‘routine’ ride into this ‘calm, containable’ Tier 2 neighborhood.
There was chatter on the comms, but Seventeen had torn off his entire helmet and let it drop down into the bottom of the gunner bubble. He didn’t need a panicked lieutenant to harp at him that the other transporters carrying Able Company to the scene had come under fire from anti-aircraft weapons stashed in far too many of the nearby homes and businesses. Three blocks away, seven energy missiles converted on one hapless transport and slaughtered everyone crammed inside of the transport.
This is overkill. Seventeen thought as another streak of yellow and orange burned across the darkening sky.
The LA-AT collapsed helplessly against the five-story structure and convulsed as one of its primary engines erupted. Bricks and masonry from the crippled building started to rain down as the transport started its freefall into the streets. Seventeen, finally free from the harness that had secured him into the gun turret, offered one last glimpse to the blackened side of the transport before he orbed his way free from the dying metal bird.
In a swirl of white and blue light particles, the cyborg rematerialized inside what had once been the focal point of his neighborhood. The structure had been a suburban headquarters for some larger company that operated out of Tier 1, and while the building was still standing, Seventeen wasn’t about to test the limits of its structural integrity. Before he had a chance to leave, he heard the spark of gunfire.
It wasn’t just in the streets below.
It was everywhere.
The steady rapport of energized sidearms tore into the darkening sky with a fury that the machine-hybrid hadn’t heard since the days he had spent defending an alien city from invasion. From the third floor of the office, he could see as far as his cybernetically augmented eyes would allow him, and on every city block, the stromtoopers were under siege from all angles. They tried to fight back, but in the dark and the noise, their discipline had faltered passed the breaking point.
Bravo Company wouldn’t last the night. Hell, at this rate, they wouldn’t last the hours. Those soldiers that survived the ambushes against the transports found themselves being swarmed as they tried to shake off the confusion and defend themselves.
Seventeen stepped up to the ledge of what had once been a wall-length window. He craned his neck and hoped to see the faint glow of more approaching LA-ATs. Trixie had called in more response teams prior to their arrival, so where was the cavalry?
Through the din, the cyborg heard something that nearly froze the blood in his veins. “H-help!”
His eyes dropped down, and he immediately spotted the movement amid the flaming wreckage of the transport.
Dropping down from the window, the cyborg landed with a dull, cement-splintering thud and rushed forward to where part of their transport lay smoldering on the street. Up ahead, the street was littered with the remaining pieces of the machine. For now, Seventeen was focused on the figure pinned beneath a twisted wing. A fist of broken and scorched trooper fingers clenched around the warped steel. With a surgical precision, the raven-haired warrior sliced apart the metal and pushed the pieces off of the imprisoned woman.
“Nova,” Seventeen muttered as he dropped to his knees and helped to gently pull the woman away from the remains of the LA-AT. Although she still wore her helmet, a chunk of it near the bottom right had been sheared off in the catastrophe. If not for that, he would have never been able to hear her cries for help.
The gunfire was growing louder and closer to their position—the remnants of Able who had survived the initial ambush were being forced back toward what should have been their leadership’s LZ. Instead of a landing zone, the area was a smoldering pyre for the stormtroopers to throw themselves into. Once he was closer to the office building, Seventeen propped the injured woman against a decorative fountain and lifted her chin to meet her glossed, half-focused eyes. “Nova.”
She blinked a few times and tried to press a hand against her blood-matted hair. The cybernetic warrior wasn’t a doctor or a field medic, but he figured it wasn’t that hard to diagnose a concussion when the person in question barely seemed aware of their own name.
“Be… Beatrix?” Nova muttered, her words a bit of a slur as she winced once before squeezing her eyes shut entirely.
“Where? Was she in the ship?” Seventeen asked softly as he glanced over his shoulder. He hadn’t spotted any corpses littering the small square in front of the office, but that didn’t mean there couldn’t be bodies pinned inside the flaming wreckage strewn about the scene.
“Eve… evacuated. They juh-jumped. I got out… but the maga…”
“Rest,” Seventeen whispered as he helped the woman around to the other side of the fountain. She’d been lucky to escape with all her body parts still attached if the turret she had been manning had blown up that close to her. “I’ll get everyone, and we’ll sort this situation out.”
Nova nodded slowly before pulling her knees up into her chest and letting her head sag down. She would live, but she wasn’t going to be ordering any air strikes or tactical assaults anytime soon.
Lifting his gaze from his wounded friend, Seventeen could spot the armored figures just a few yards outside the square. Enemy fire was still falling on them from several various vantage points. Although broken, the rout had stopped. The stormtroopers were lucky that any of them were still alive, let along the two or three dozen still trying to retreat in an orderly fashion. Seventeen reached for his belt and swore at the lack of the comm device. His was likely a half-melted heap of steel and plastic somewhere on the side of the office.
“Why did I never become telepathic?” Seventeen lamented as he recalled old companions who could converse across vast distances. “Stupid computer parts making me reliant on technology,” he murmured as he grabbed his sidearm and moved away from the fountain.
“C’mon and fight, you dogs! For the Empire!” Someone roared from a nearby street.
Seventeen turned and saw that it was one of the ‘guests’ sent to accompany them on this ‘standard operation.’ Having never bothered to acquaint himself with the scowling, Imperial bureaucrats, Seventeen didn’t know if it was the Crusader or Inquisitor who was trying to rally the broken remains of a platoon.
“Looks like they’ve got that under control.”
The cyborg moved slowly and cautiously as he crept across to the side of the square. His eyes scanned the twisted remains of their LA-AT, but he saw no clues to indicate the fate of his commanding office. By the time he reached the far end of the gradually shrinking perimeter, he finally saw the familiar paint job on one of the stormtroopers. With a few surviving troopers on her flanks, the figure was backing up slowly even as the invisible mass of rebels crushed down against them with incessant small arms fire.
Seventeen had opened his mouth to scream for her attention, but the words froze in his mouth when he caught the movement further down the street. His eyes couldn’t spot the shape, but his extra-sensory powers picked up on all the familiar shapes and angles. Even if he couldn’t see what was coming, he could sense the treads as they rolled down the pavement. He could sense the gears grinding in the turret as it lined up for the shot.
“Run!” He barked as he rushed forward and hurtled himself like a missile into the side of the unsuspecting woman. Even under the helmet, Seventeen heard a mixture of obscenities as the pair rolled and tumbled from the scene, but any fury or scorn Trixie may have felt was washed away when the tank shell slammed into the mouth of the square and slaughtered the collection of troopers who had stood with her.
Lifting her helmeted head, Trixie remained silent as she watched the burning chunks of the massacred troopers litter down from the sky. When the initial horror subsided, she turned her plastic face to her companion. “Where’s your helmet? I’ve been trying to hail you on the comm.”
“I lost it,” Seventeen embellished. He knew she wouldn’t give him shit for it, but he didn’t feel like explaining how much he disliked having several dozen voices in his head. “Where’s everyone else? Who survived?”
“We escaped through the opposite side hatch door before the ship tore apart,” Trixie muttered as the two rose to their feet and fell back behind nearby cover. “The Inquisitor was injured, and the Captain may be dealing with some serious bone fractures.” Trixie paused, her muffled voice failing to hide any of the emotion that had been seeping into her words. “Did you find Nova… she was in the other gun turret.”
Seventeen nodded his head, and he didn’t need extra-sensory powers to know that Trixie breathed a massive sigh of relief behind her helmet. “She’s okay. A little shaken. Needs to rest. I have her back near that office complex.”
Trixie nodded her head, even if he was certain she wanted nothing more than to check on her partner. “The situation…” She muttered.
“SNAFU,” Seventeen interjected as a shell screamed through the square and reduced a building to flaming rubble. “Please tell me the cavalry is coming soon, Trixie.”
“Three companies of troopers,” she spoke as she glanced up at the purple sky. In less than thirty minutes, it’d be nighttime, and she wasn’t sure if that would make the situation better or worse for them. “They’re landing a few miles south of here, and they’re coming on foot. Skies are a killing field… even more than this was,” she muttered behind the helmet.
“So we keep retreating?”
Trixie stood silent for a few moments before answering. “We have no choice. Able and Bravo are broken. There are some troopers who broke rank during the initial ambushes spread about the surrounding streets, but this neighborhood was one giant trap that the Empire played right into.”
“When’s the air strike?” Seventeen asked, only half-joking two tanks started to fire into the square.
“They’re scrambling now,” Trixie answered. “Controlled bombardment. Five square miles. Hammer fall in t-minus thirty-five minutes.”
“Don’t people live here?”
Silence again. Seventeen hated the silence. He never liked what came after the silence.
“Command said ‘rebel sympathizers are collateral damage’.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Seventeen whispered.
Trixie nodded her head but didn’t answer. She knew too well that the comm line could easily be tapped. “Standard protocol. Fire bomb it all, and then sweep through the debris.”
Seventeen shook his head. “So we just fall back? Hope to escape the bombs before they start falling? What about the others? Captain Rex?”
“We’re not abandoning anyone,” Trixie reassured the cyborg as she held a hand up to the side of her helmet. She fell silent for a few moments as she sent a missive over the comm line. Once that was done, she checked her weapon and looked over to her ally. “We’re routed. They all have orders to break rank and retreat in an orderly fashion. That office complex with provide cover for a period of time.”
“I feel like you have more to say,” Seventeen spoke as a tank shell tore apart a nearby structure and sprinkled the pair with shards of brick and wood.
“These people want to fight the Empire,” Trixie growled. “They want to target my people. I’m going to give them a taste of what they want.” A fire burned in the woman’s eyes—the same fire she’d had when she was organizing this op. “They think they’ve won, but I will orient them to the error in their judgment.”
Seventeen nodded his head as he unlocked his gauntlets and discarded them. He’d yet to find a suitable piece of tech that would let him channel ki through the armor. The last few prototypes had exploded in spectacular fashion, and that was the last thing he wanted to deal with. “Let’s give ‘em hell, Cap’n.”
“We’re nearing the boundary of the CZ.” The pilot spoke into everyone’s helmets as the landing craft started to decelerate. From his bubble, Seventeen could crane his neck and see the right side of the vessel, and he knew that behind the walls were a cadre of stormtroopers ready to stomp out into the streets. Also inside the vehicle was Trixie—Captain Zulenka—and a bunch of other people with fancy titles and scow-covered expressions on their faces. The cyborg could only assume there was some politics he had missed out on during his tenure with the redheaded soldier.
“We’ll come in low and establish a forward LZ,” Trixie’s familiar voice barked through the comm line. “Once entrenched, we should be able to carry out operations in relative quick order. Whoever they are, they won’t be able to hide from us for long. We’ll find them.” The conviction in the woman’s voice was astounding—there was no hesitation or room for second-guessing in those words.
Behind his trooper helmet, Seventeen felt ambivalent toward the whole thing. Were they all convinced about how well this would be or was everyone just accustomed to the fact that something would go terribly wrong? In a couple of ways, he felt like the guy at the party who didn’t know any of the inside jokes.
“Do you spot anything on your side, Sergeant?”
It took the cybernetic warrior a moment to realize that he was the one being addressed. “Uhh,” Seventeen scoped the area once again with his eyes before taking a glance through the visual display on the gun turret. There weren’t any life forms down below, which had to mean they probably weren’t safe.
Didn’t I not have a ki signature back home?
“Nothing, but what if they’re cloaking or something? This turret display is just UV.”
Trixie’s voice rang out a moment later over the comm. “Can you sense anything?”
Seventeen scowled. “No, but what if they’re cloaking or something?”
A voice that wasn’t Captain Zulenka’s invaded the communication channel. “These are rebels operating on Tier 2, do you really think they were able to smuggle advancing cloaking tech up here under our noses, Sergeant?”
The raven-haired warrior rolled his eyes. He couldn’t remember the man’s name, but he already disliked him.
“We’re going to come in low to that park at the corner of 17th and Wabansia,” someone else barked into the comm as the transport vehicle executed a wide turn to get around a five-story office building. As it cleared the north side of the building, Seventeen saw the strange flicker of light from a nearby convenience store. Too late, he caught the dark shape silently streaking across the evening sky.
“Rocket!” Seventeen screamed as he grabbed onto the controls and mashed the trigger. Bolts of red energy stitched across the façade of the two-story storefront, but the projectile advanced uninhibited and slammed viciously into the side of the aerial transport. The machine immediately pitched sideways, one of its wings scythed about six yards through the adjacent structure before snapping apart. A scream—Nova?—over the comm told the cyborg that the gunner on that side of the ship had not found a suitable conclusion to their ‘routine’ ride into this ‘calm, containable’ Tier 2 neighborhood.
There was chatter on the comms, but Seventeen had torn off his entire helmet and let it drop down into the bottom of the gunner bubble. He didn’t need a panicked lieutenant to harp at him that the other transporters carrying Able Company to the scene had come under fire from anti-aircraft weapons stashed in far too many of the nearby homes and businesses. Three blocks away, seven energy missiles converted on one hapless transport and slaughtered everyone crammed inside of the transport.
This is overkill. Seventeen thought as another streak of yellow and orange burned across the darkening sky.
The LA-AT collapsed helplessly against the five-story structure and convulsed as one of its primary engines erupted. Bricks and masonry from the crippled building started to rain down as the transport started its freefall into the streets. Seventeen, finally free from the harness that had secured him into the gun turret, offered one last glimpse to the blackened side of the transport before he orbed his way free from the dying metal bird.
In a swirl of white and blue light particles, the cyborg rematerialized inside what had once been the focal point of his neighborhood. The structure had been a suburban headquarters for some larger company that operated out of Tier 1, and while the building was still standing, Seventeen wasn’t about to test the limits of its structural integrity. Before he had a chance to leave, he heard the spark of gunfire.
It wasn’t just in the streets below.
It was everywhere.
The steady rapport of energized sidearms tore into the darkening sky with a fury that the machine-hybrid hadn’t heard since the days he had spent defending an alien city from invasion. From the third floor of the office, he could see as far as his cybernetically augmented eyes would allow him, and on every city block, the stromtoopers were under siege from all angles. They tried to fight back, but in the dark and the noise, their discipline had faltered passed the breaking point.
Bravo Company wouldn’t last the night. Hell, at this rate, they wouldn’t last the hours. Those soldiers that survived the ambushes against the transports found themselves being swarmed as they tried to shake off the confusion and defend themselves.
Seventeen stepped up to the ledge of what had once been a wall-length window. He craned his neck and hoped to see the faint glow of more approaching LA-ATs. Trixie had called in more response teams prior to their arrival, so where was the cavalry?
Through the din, the cyborg heard something that nearly froze the blood in his veins. “H-help!”
His eyes dropped down, and he immediately spotted the movement amid the flaming wreckage of the transport.
Dropping down from the window, the cyborg landed with a dull, cement-splintering thud and rushed forward to where part of their transport lay smoldering on the street. Up ahead, the street was littered with the remaining pieces of the machine. For now, Seventeen was focused on the figure pinned beneath a twisted wing. A fist of broken and scorched trooper fingers clenched around the warped steel. With a surgical precision, the raven-haired warrior sliced apart the metal and pushed the pieces off of the imprisoned woman.
“Nova,” Seventeen muttered as he dropped to his knees and helped to gently pull the woman away from the remains of the LA-AT. Although she still wore her helmet, a chunk of it near the bottom right had been sheared off in the catastrophe. If not for that, he would have never been able to hear her cries for help.
The gunfire was growing louder and closer to their position—the remnants of Able who had survived the initial ambush were being forced back toward what should have been their leadership’s LZ. Instead of a landing zone, the area was a smoldering pyre for the stormtroopers to throw themselves into. Once he was closer to the office building, Seventeen propped the injured woman against a decorative fountain and lifted her chin to meet her glossed, half-focused eyes. “Nova.”
She blinked a few times and tried to press a hand against her blood-matted hair. The cybernetic warrior wasn’t a doctor or a field medic, but he figured it wasn’t that hard to diagnose a concussion when the person in question barely seemed aware of their own name.
“Be… Beatrix?” Nova muttered, her words a bit of a slur as she winced once before squeezing her eyes shut entirely.
“Where? Was she in the ship?” Seventeen asked softly as he glanced over his shoulder. He hadn’t spotted any corpses littering the small square in front of the office, but that didn’t mean there couldn’t be bodies pinned inside the flaming wreckage strewn about the scene.
“Eve… evacuated. They juh-jumped. I got out… but the maga…”
“Rest,” Seventeen whispered as he helped the woman around to the other side of the fountain. She’d been lucky to escape with all her body parts still attached if the turret she had been manning had blown up that close to her. “I’ll get everyone, and we’ll sort this situation out.”
Nova nodded slowly before pulling her knees up into her chest and letting her head sag down. She would live, but she wasn’t going to be ordering any air strikes or tactical assaults anytime soon.
Lifting his gaze from his wounded friend, Seventeen could spot the armored figures just a few yards outside the square. Enemy fire was still falling on them from several various vantage points. Although broken, the rout had stopped. The stormtroopers were lucky that any of them were still alive, let along the two or three dozen still trying to retreat in an orderly fashion. Seventeen reached for his belt and swore at the lack of the comm device. His was likely a half-melted heap of steel and plastic somewhere on the side of the office.
“Why did I never become telepathic?” Seventeen lamented as he recalled old companions who could converse across vast distances. “Stupid computer parts making me reliant on technology,” he murmured as he grabbed his sidearm and moved away from the fountain.
“C’mon and fight, you dogs! For the Empire!” Someone roared from a nearby street.
Seventeen turned and saw that it was one of the ‘guests’ sent to accompany them on this ‘standard operation.’ Having never bothered to acquaint himself with the scowling, Imperial bureaucrats, Seventeen didn’t know if it was the Crusader or Inquisitor who was trying to rally the broken remains of a platoon.
“Looks like they’ve got that under control.”
The cyborg moved slowly and cautiously as he crept across to the side of the square. His eyes scanned the twisted remains of their LA-AT, but he saw no clues to indicate the fate of his commanding office. By the time he reached the far end of the gradually shrinking perimeter, he finally saw the familiar paint job on one of the stormtroopers. With a few surviving troopers on her flanks, the figure was backing up slowly even as the invisible mass of rebels crushed down against them with incessant small arms fire.
Seventeen had opened his mouth to scream for her attention, but the words froze in his mouth when he caught the movement further down the street. His eyes couldn’t spot the shape, but his extra-sensory powers picked up on all the familiar shapes and angles. Even if he couldn’t see what was coming, he could sense the treads as they rolled down the pavement. He could sense the gears grinding in the turret as it lined up for the shot.
“Run!” He barked as he rushed forward and hurtled himself like a missile into the side of the unsuspecting woman. Even under the helmet, Seventeen heard a mixture of obscenities as the pair rolled and tumbled from the scene, but any fury or scorn Trixie may have felt was washed away when the tank shell slammed into the mouth of the square and slaughtered the collection of troopers who had stood with her.
Lifting her helmeted head, Trixie remained silent as she watched the burning chunks of the massacred troopers litter down from the sky. When the initial horror subsided, she turned her plastic face to her companion. “Where’s your helmet? I’ve been trying to hail you on the comm.”
“I lost it,” Seventeen embellished. He knew she wouldn’t give him shit for it, but he didn’t feel like explaining how much he disliked having several dozen voices in his head. “Where’s everyone else? Who survived?”
“We escaped through the opposite side hatch door before the ship tore apart,” Trixie muttered as the two rose to their feet and fell back behind nearby cover. “The Inquisitor was injured, and the Captain may be dealing with some serious bone fractures.” Trixie paused, her muffled voice failing to hide any of the emotion that had been seeping into her words. “Did you find Nova… she was in the other gun turret.”
Seventeen nodded his head, and he didn’t need extra-sensory powers to know that Trixie breathed a massive sigh of relief behind her helmet. “She’s okay. A little shaken. Needs to rest. I have her back near that office complex.”
Trixie nodded her head, even if he was certain she wanted nothing more than to check on her partner. “The situation…” She muttered.
“SNAFU,” Seventeen interjected as a shell screamed through the square and reduced a building to flaming rubble. “Please tell me the cavalry is coming soon, Trixie.”
“Three companies of troopers,” she spoke as she glanced up at the purple sky. In less than thirty minutes, it’d be nighttime, and she wasn’t sure if that would make the situation better or worse for them. “They’re landing a few miles south of here, and they’re coming on foot. Skies are a killing field… even more than this was,” she muttered behind the helmet.
“So we keep retreating?”
Trixie stood silent for a few moments before answering. “We have no choice. Able and Bravo are broken. There are some troopers who broke rank during the initial ambushes spread about the surrounding streets, but this neighborhood was one giant trap that the Empire played right into.”
“When’s the air strike?” Seventeen asked, only half-joking two tanks started to fire into the square.
“They’re scrambling now,” Trixie answered. “Controlled bombardment. Five square miles. Hammer fall in t-minus thirty-five minutes.”
“Don’t people live here?”
Silence again. Seventeen hated the silence. He never liked what came after the silence.
“Command said ‘rebel sympathizers are collateral damage’.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Seventeen whispered.
Trixie nodded her head but didn’t answer. She knew too well that the comm line could easily be tapped. “Standard protocol. Fire bomb it all, and then sweep through the debris.”
Seventeen shook his head. “So we just fall back? Hope to escape the bombs before they start falling? What about the others? Captain Rex?”
“We’re not abandoning anyone,” Trixie reassured the cyborg as she held a hand up to the side of her helmet. She fell silent for a few moments as she sent a missive over the comm line. Once that was done, she checked her weapon and looked over to her ally. “We’re routed. They all have orders to break rank and retreat in an orderly fashion. That office complex with provide cover for a period of time.”
“I feel like you have more to say,” Seventeen spoke as a tank shell tore apart a nearby structure and sprinkled the pair with shards of brick and wood.
“These people want to fight the Empire,” Trixie growled. “They want to target my people. I’m going to give them a taste of what they want.” A fire burned in the woman’s eyes—the same fire she’d had when she was organizing this op. “They think they’ve won, but I will orient them to the error in their judgment.”
Seventeen nodded his head as he unlocked his gauntlets and discarded them. He’d yet to find a suitable piece of tech that would let him channel ki through the armor. The last few prototypes had exploded in spectacular fashion, and that was the last thing he wanted to deal with. “Let’s give ‘em hell, Cap’n.”
Quote:My word count - 7560
![[Image: 17.jpg]](http://omniverse-rpg.com/images/17.jpg)