Collapse Chapter 1.1

[F-Reaver]

Collapse: A 21XX Fanfiction

(PG-13, AA)


Prologue

Two dark-skinned reploids, nearly identical in form stood atop the impressive facility of the Kiev Radio Station, speaking in hushed tones. One, clad in armor of light blues, grays and white that reminded of arctic fatigue wore a stern and thoughtful expression. The other, similarly patterned though adorned in yellow hues was grinning a lopsided grin in contrast. The latter’s hands were placed upon the former’s back, a pale glow flowing from his finger tips into the two large turbine-like devices mounted there.

After a moment, he was waved off by the other, and the glow ceased. He took a step back and surveyed his handiwork as the objects came to life, loud whirring noises coming from within them.

“That should be enough of an overcharge for a localized ice-storm. Now, Ikazuchi, disable their electronics and assist the others in the facility. Understood?” his fellow ordered without hesitation. The smile did not leave Ikazuchi’s lips, but he saluted appeasingly.

“Sure thing Toukan. Besides, do you really think I’d let Washime and our little brothers have all the fun? Feh, you must be out of your mind.” He laughed, walking over to the radio tower near him and stretching out his hand. First there was a crackle, then a sizzling as the reploid seemed to collapse into the transmitter. Soon he was little more than a surge of electricity flowing through the wires. Toukan waited for a moment to see that his ‘brother’ had departed, then turned to scan the frigid landscape in front of him.

“I suppose this should be a convincing enough ruse.” He murmured to no one in particular. The turbines were no longer turning out a low grumble, it had become a loud whine that suddenly took on the sound of a hurricane. The air outside took on an unnatural chill, and water drops in the cloudy sky above froze and condensed almost immediately. The unnatural disaster Toukan was forming was one of his more dramatic covers, and he searched for something to do it justice. Finally, a book title came to his mind.

“Ah yes…The Sound and the Fury.” He said, smiling in exaltation of his meteorological craftsmanship.

* * *

Within the station there were three others—all sharing the same basic shape as their compatriots elsewhere—waiting in the shadows, creeping through the entry-way halls as the leader of the group assessed the situation. His body, had it been visible through normal means, would have borne the pattern of traditional jungle camouflage, but instead his brethren saw him in hues of purple. All of them were cloaked, and even the soles of their metal boots were modified for silent movement.

The mission objectives were simple enough: first they would break in, eliminate the guards, then find and kill the mavericks who had taken over the station to broadcast to their fellow criminals. A routine mission, the lead reploid thought, until he stopped to inspect a fallen reploid at the end of the hall

“Hmm…he has a Maverick Hunter ID chip.” He said, the hidden form removing a small, fragmented microchip from the hole in the reploid’s metal skull. He stood up and cast it aside, he and his brothers staring at each other through ultraviolet sensors. The synthetic blood that softened the click of the metal hitting the ground was still fresh.

“This means that Hunters tried and failed to capture this building only a few hours ago. So they have upped their security and are most likely waiting for another approach. Toukan and Ikazuchi may fool them briefly, but as soon as they lose contact with a guard they’ll try to flee.” He then turned to the slightly bulkier of his teammates and pointed to the doorway where they had first entered

“Since it seems their guard is focused on the broadcast floor, you should have little difficulty moving around the building’s exterior undetected. Make a hazard out of the second floor fire-escape, would you Kanetsu?” he suggested. The reploid nodded and ran off to accomplish his assigned task.

“Jishin, our initial tactic of having you perform the assassinations solo is no longer viable. If they are expecting enemies, they have no doubt dispersed themselves about the broadcast floor. Position yourself in the center of the floor and wait for a few explosions. Then you should have no problem hunting them all down.” The leader ordered once again. The smaller, spike-ridden form saluted dutifully.

“Sure thing Washime.” He said confidently, marching off to the stairwell. Washime was alone in the lobby, but alone is how he’d always preferred to operate. His CPU found and pulled up the files on the building’s design that he had downloaded before leaving for the mission and deactivated his cloaking. It was no longer a useful expenditure of his energy, he decided while grabbing four devices magnetically bound to his left leg.

They were mines, and he attached one to the ceiling in four spots, one near each elevator up to the broadcast floor. He then walked to the center of the lobby, sitting himself down at the security desk and accessing the long unused network. It was one thing to his favor, he thought, that the mavericks were not so cautious or wise as to use all the resources at their disposal in a fairly advanced facility such as this. He tapped his ear-hub and activated his communicator.

“Ikazuchi, have you cut off the electronics?” he queried.

“Yeah, Washy, they’re blind and mute in there. We won’t have to worry about any reinforcements.”

“Good. Toukan, unfortunately I’m going to have to blow our ploy now due to some mission complications that arose.” He said, his voice slightly less confident when speaking to his superior.

“Yes well, that is unfortunate, but do what must be done for the mission. I’ll be waiting on the rooftop in case any mavericks elude the rest of you.” He replied arrogantly. Washime tried to ignore the last remark.

“Kanetsu, Jishin, are you prepared?”

“Yes, brother.” Came the mutual reply. He nodded, cut off the comm. link and closed his eyes, his CPU triggering the mines.

* * *

Vortz, the poorly constructed leader of the Maverick movement called The Channel sat before a microphone in the close comforts of the broadcast booth, crooning his propaganda to any eager criminal who had their radios on. He knew he was respected and loved by his fellows, and the mention of his name brought a grimace to many authorities. He loved it. He loved this, what he did. The silence, followed by words that flowed from his own mouth, sounding like the rush of pure rivers to his own ears.

“And in other hot news, those crazy cats over there at The Raging Knife managed to fight off an attack by the Maverick Hunter Unit 166. I had the privilege to see the unit commander’s head cut of, while his body was strapped to his second in command and made to self-destruct. That’s quite the cremation, for sure. And now, to get those fighting juices flowing, some of the latest thrash metal fresh from the underground of Kiev…” only then did he realize the microphone had died off minutes ago. He stepped outside the booth, confused.

Other broadcasters looked at him with similar curiosity, until one looked out the window.

“Damn! That blizzard set in quick…it must be what’s messing with our equipment. Probably froze the generators and knocked out the transmitter by now. Well, dammit…guess we should turn in for the night and start shoveling tomorrow morning.” He said. The guards and other broadcasters nodded as they closed the booth doors.

And then it happened. The entire building shook as terrible explosions tore through the floor beneath their feet. The mavericks scrambled away from the detonations, though those nearest the elevators had been blown away completely. Vortz crawled away on hands and knees, yelping in dismay as a struggling guard grabbed his leg for help. He was ravaged, falling down one of the newly formed holes, and his body was hideously melted all over.

“AH! Get the Hell off me!” he shouted, kicking his ally in the face until he let go, slipping down through the superheated smoke to Lord-knows-what fate. Shaking his head to clear his mind, he clambered alongside, even over the other broadcasters, his cool, confident demeanor fleeing him faster than the color fled his face. He slowly rose to his feet, another horror filling his field of view.

“Maverick scum!” a reploid declared, an earth-tone blur as he swung his spiked whip through the dumbfounded guards and maverick leaders, tearing them to shreds in a bloody spray that soon drenched the center of the broadcast floor. Vortz saw the stairs were no longer viable, and he turned and stumbled off to the emergency fire escape.

“Gotta…get…outta…here…” he panted, swinging open the door to find the metal stairwell was melted, impossible to descend without breaking it off and crashing in a heap of metal scraps. He looked around with panic, the form of the whip-bearer turning the corner and staring him down. His eyes widening, he took his only alternative, leaping from the window, over the fire-escape towards the snow.

“I figured one would escape.” A heartless voice whispered into the winds, followed by a wave of cold that ended Vortz’s fear and his life instantly. His frozen form hit the ground with a crash, splintering into chunks that tumbled across the now thick blanket of white. Toukan held his hand down for a moment, watching the mission come to a successful end from the roof. Jishin peaked his head from the window, Toukan raising his brow as the brown-armored reploid swung his whip up, the spikes digging into the roof and giving him purchase to climb.

“This was a rather tactless way to go about it all. Washime knows I abhor explosives. There is no elegance in them.” Toukan grumbled. Jishin jokingly slapped him across the shoulders, barely minding his turbines.

“Don’t be such a girl. Let’s get down to the lobby and meet up with the others.” He suggested. Toukan silently walked to the stairwell door, his younger brother shrugging and following after him.

Meanwhile, Kanetsu and Ikazuchi peered over their eldest brother’s shoulder, Washime looking over the security grid readings slowly. Ikazuchi had been kind enough to boot the electronics back up, despite disagreeing with the reason for the request.

“All I’m saying is the double check is stupid and freakish, Washy. I heard the booms, and after some screams along the lines of ‘argh’ ‘hughraahh’ and ‘dear God my face’, everyone was dead. That’s good enough for me.” He protested. Washime ignored him, however, slowly rising from the computer.

“The cameras show no activity, the buildings internal sensors aren’t picking up any life-signs but the five of us.” He said, nodding to Toukan and Jishin as they emerged from the shadows.

“Shall we?” Toukan offered as he looked to Washime. The elder reploid nodded, and just like that, the five assassins were gone, leaving with as little fanfare as they had arrived.

[F-Reaver]

Chapter 1.1

In the waning days of the twenty-second century, so many powers had risen and fallen that it was felt by even the most optimistic souls that perhaps peace would never come again to Earth. New maverick groups emerged every day, and between their jockeying for underworld influence and their assaults on civilians, the damage done was becoming too great for the badly stretched Maverick Hunters to contain.

There seemed to be one ray of hope left, however. During a crisis in the Ivory Coast when a small reploid terrorist cell took U.N. dignitaries visiting the country hostage, something unexpected happened. Before the group even finished explaining their demands, their transmission was cut for slightly less than a minute. When the feed returned, the terrorists were dead and the dignitaries were unharmed.

The dignitaries swore they never saw their saviors, but the one clue left on the scene sparked a hurricane of controversy and investigations. The wall in front of which the leader had stood when making his threats had a small word precisely etched into it. ‘TALON’.

Immediately the press was abuzz, speculation running rampant. Many said that they were a vigilante group dispensing covert justice in a manner far different from the usual attention-seeking bounty hunters of the day. Others contested they were a rival maverick faction out to make a point by completely crushing another group’s ambitions. Still others whispered in the dark that TALON was a Black Ops unit within the Maverick Hunters, one meant to make the long decaying 0 Unit obsolete.

When these theories came to light, the Maverick Hunter administration denied all ties to TALON, but seeing that this only galvanized those theorists, Signas ordered a massive investigation into the identity of this ‘TALON’. The Marshal’s detectives turned up surprisingly little, even as TALON left its mark on several other explosive situations. After diverting half of a year’s budget to looking into the group, Signas did not know any names of the members, whether they were reploid or human, maverick or vigilante, where they came from or even how many there were.

The mystery surrounding the group became so all-encompassing that people could scarcely remember a time when TALON wasn’t around. Toukan rolled this over in his mind as he stood surveying the headline article in the Kiev Daily.

“Last night’s success did not go unnoticed.” He observed with a nod. Ikazuchi flicked his brother’s shoulder with the back of his hand and grinned, the somewhat larger reploid snatching the newspaper from his brother.

“Good stuff. I guess this is how you two wanted it?” he asked, looking first to Toukan, and then to Washime who stood at the opposite end of the room, both nodding silently. Washime spoke while Toukan still drew in the breath.

“We need this degree of publicity. Enough to be feared, but too little to reveal our methods. So long as we keep that balance in mind, we shall remain effective.” He said plainly. Ikazuchi blinked at the droned-out mission statement and at the concurring nod Toukan gave it.

“You guys need lives.” With that, the second-made of the TALON brothers walked out of the room and into the wide open hall beyond the door. Silence. Finally, Toukan’s eyes met Washime’s. The stare-down that resulted was common between them, as both of them re-asserted their authority. Though Washime was the eldest brother and Toukan only the third, it was the latter who’d been given command of TALON for his impressive tactical mind. Washime did not take second place well, even if he kept the resentment to himself most times.

Eventually Washime closed his eyes, staring down at the floor when he opened them to avoid Toukan’s smirk. The supremacy of the middle brother was intact. Further silence returned. Finally, the door opened and the red-armored Kanetsu entered, not waiting for his brothers’ eyes to turn to him to speak.

“Father has announced that he has finally completed construction of our sixth and final brother. He requests that we visit him in his manor to see the activation.” He said simply, walking out abruptly. Toukan followed, stopping at the door to look at Washime.

“I wonder, my lieutenant, if this reploid will take your place. I admit I wouldn’t mind having a more artful second-in-command who doesn’t make sloppy improvisations.” The sneer on his face was disgusting. Washime’s eyes shot daggers at his younger brother as the nerve was struck.

“Your plan was no longer viable. I did what I needed to.” He replied. Toukan’s eyes narrowed and he stormed away from the door to stand before his green-armored comrade. His forceful personality made the situation more claustrophobic for Washime than if his brother had been twice his size.

“What you needed to do was make my plan work. My methods are flawless so long as I can trust you and the others to carry them out, regardless of the circumstances. Is that understood?” he whispered, hatred thick in his voice. Washime did not answer.

“Is that understood?” he repeated, more insistently this time.

“Yes, Toukan.” came the reply

“Yes, sir.” his commander corrected

“Yes, sir.”