The freshly reformed D Cell was tasked by Temple Hall to serve as an interdiction force within the tower. In short, they were to delay and disrupt attempts by hostile forces within the Tower to repel the efforts of more important personnel. Other Templar personnel had the same task. As the four traveled the Agartha ways to Kaidan, they mused about who might have been given the honor of making the ascent to the top of Orochi Tower.
In the end, they decided it was likely agents from the Nine Swords cabal. Fucking glory hounds.
A trip through the underground rail system that linked the Kaidan tenements to the tower—in which they bypassed continuing fighting between various parties that were usually mutually hostile but today were battling Orochi together—and a tense climb up several flights of stairs, and they were in.
As they navigated their way to a central spine that reinforcements would have to take to go upwards, they expected to be engaged in combat almost immediately. They expected Filth infection, piles of bodies, monsters.
What they received at first was far stranger.
“Blueprints from the defector says this door leads to an administrative floor for Manticore Industries. Given the general state of Kaidan, I expect this is going to be pretty damn grim. We can use this floor to get to 16 West. That's our area of coverage. It's near one of their security drone holding areas, so. They'll transit through there.”
The others nodded at Amita. Nigel unshrouded his Webley, opening the shoulder rig holster.
“Anything that isn't climbing bloody stairs,” he grumbled, his voice as heavy as foundry iron.
To avoid becoming stranded by intentional or accidental disruption of electrical power, they hadn't taken the elevators.
Giving him a quick, tight grin, Amita motioned for Frank to open the door that led from the landing they were on into the Orochi offices.
Frank did so, and smoothly moved inside, subcarbine at his shoulder...
...to be greeted by surprised looking men and women in smart business suits and skirts. They blinked at him like he was an alien disembarking from an UFO, and goggled even more as the rest of the team followed behind him.
“They, ah, don't look dead to me,” murmured Donnie into his throat mic.
As the wage slaves clutched their folders and cups of coffee, a female, but definitely artificial voice came over the intercom.
“Please remain calm. There is no need for alarm. Continue with your work assignments.”
Nodding as if that explained everything, several of them moved off, giving the armed and armored Templars in urban fatigues a last look.
“Th' fuck?” breathed Frank in confusion.
“I'm sorry...are you lost?”
None of the Templars responded at first as a Japanese man with a clipboard addressed them in English, eyebrows arched.
Each of them was in a full combat rig. Occultech forged battle-plate. Respirators. Helmets.
And he was looking at them as if that really wasn't that out of the ordinary.
“...lost?” He repeated, sounding out the word slowly as if to a child.
“Yeeeahhhh,” replied Amita finally. “We're, uh, looking for 16 West...?”
Clipboard Man smiled at them, seemingly happy to be able to assist.
“Hai, 16 West. If you follow this corridor...”
Several minutes later, the team was approaching a new set of doors, leaving the surreal tableau of Orochi employes at their workstations behind. Before opening them and moving on to 16 West, Amita turned back to the others.
“Was that not the fucking creepiest thing ever? Please tell me that was the fucking creepiest thing ever!”
“Certainly didn't seem that put out by us,” Donnie mused, looking over his shoulder. A woman looked up from her cubicle and waved cheerfully at him. He gave her a half-hearted wave back with an armored gauntlet.
“I was told there would be killer robots. I don't think this was what was meant,” Amita continued, glaring back as if the employees might suddenly change form or shape into something else.
“Let's jus' be movin,” uttered Frank, finger tapping on the trigger guard of his carbine. “This shit's just too weird.”
With a groan of tortured composites and sparking circuitry, Nigel Warrick yanked his sword out of a bifurcated combat drone helmet one handed, firing his family heirloom Webley at another, bursting its faceplate and sending it spinning around even as the first awkwardly fell over. Everywhere one looked in the deserted office space, Orochi drones surged towards the team with the whine of servos and the crackle of energized weapons. The cubicles and desk furniture was mostly in ruins.
D Cell had found the fight they had expected.
“Killer robots! Look, commander, we've found bloody killer robots! I heard you wanted some!” Nigel shouted over at his former subordinate, readying himself for a drone equipped with twin blades. Like all the drones, it had silver-white armor and black artificial musculature, with a blank, reflective faceplate. Five minutes ago, as they had started moving through 16 West, a veritable mechanical tide of the things had come upon them.
Amita held out a gloved hand at the razor-drone and willed. Green corpusant surrounded its left leg and suddenly bolts and other connections sprang loose. Unexpectedly hobbled, it started to turn its attention to her—just as Nigel's blade took its head from its shoulders.
“Dagestan, Nigel! Fucking Dagestan! Do you remember—Frank, three at your ten—do you remember blundering into four other occult teams, humping hills and being chased by the God damned Russians and their pet witch, Nigel? Whose command was that? Jog my memory!” As she called out the contact, Frank centered the red pip of his holosight on the trio of oncoming drones, providing each one a generous supply of anima infused lead.
While the backwoods Templars carbine chattered by her ear, Amita directed her attention to another drone. This time the Chaos magics took control of its arm mounted shock-cannon—which then jerked wildly to the side of its own accord to fire into the back of a different automaton, blasting it off its feet. She managed to force it to destroy two other drones before its fellows dismantled it.
The third of Frank's targets got back up, and loped forward, the force-bludgeon attached to its arm still formidable even with its connection to the drones central power system disabled by one of Frank's shots.
“I've got you, Frank!” Feeling Donnie's blood magic coursing through his veins, hardening his flesh and bones to the composition of tank armor, Frank stepped forward to meet the drones assault and raised his left arm. The heavy armored bracer on its arm, normally strengthened further by an energy field landed on his limb—and rebounded. Frank would have the bruises later, but Donnie's blood magic had prevented his bones from being shattered. In response, he fired the G36 into the drones chest at point blank range. The drones occultech cuirass caved in, and Frank was able to plant a boot there and kick it over.
Turning slightly to give the round-faced blood mage a thumbs up, Frank dumped the empty magazine and rammed a new one home. A gorelance from Donnie went over his shoulder, spearing an Orochi drone that had started to aim its bracer cannon at them from across the room. For a comical half second, the drones faceplate tilted down to examine the hole left by the lance, and then it collapsed in on itself.
“You know, Frank, I was thinking,” said Donnie loudly over the din of the battle, moving his hands in warding gestures as he alternated between offensive magics and healing amidst the team. “I was thinking perhaps it's better we only see each other every three years!”
Barking a quick laugh, Frank transitioned to a new target, lashing it with rounds until it fell over, the carbine juddering against his shoulder.
“I dunno, Nigel an' Amita seem t' be getting along famously...”
Hands continuing to shift through the motions that helped to center and focus his spellcasting, the healer sent anima flowing into the bloodstreams of the two mentioned agents. Minor wounds quickly closed thanks to his work, then he sent another magic lance of crimson exploding through a pair of drones that had the misfortune to be perfectly lined up for such a shot.
“Well, yes. That's one thing that hasn't changed over the years,” Donnie said in agreement without looking at Frank. He wasn't really looking at anything in particular—thanks to his mastery of his powers, Donnie Mitchell felt rather than saw where his friends and foes were. It was something many healers learned to do—it was hard to protect and sustain a full team in combat relying only on your eyes.
“Another thing that hasn't changed is that we seem to only get together is so that something horrible can try to kill us. Can we maybe skip the murder next time and catch a football match instead?”
Wrecking a drones knee actuator with a tight burst, then placing a round squarely through the upper portion of its faceplate, Frank snorted.
“Y'mean soccer. Football is an American thing; soccer's a Euro thing,” he snarked as the drone went down hissing and sparking.
“Regardless of history, Frank, I'm blaming the whole 'soccer' thing on you Yanks. How could it be called anything other than football? It involves a ball that you kick with your foot.”
Scavengers. That's what they were. Not soldiers, not warriors, not even daring thieves.
Just scavengers. Vultures come to pick the Tower clean because they thought it was undefended.
Jakob Mueller, nicknamed Über by his teammates (for Übersoldat) jogged lightly down the starkly lit hallway, fourth generation assault rifle clutched across his chest. His silver-white occultech armored bodysuit shifted easily with his movements, deceptively thin and pliable. Magic and technology both worked together to make it as durable as the metal plates used in the mundane infantryman's protective gear.
A red visor covered his eyes. There, augur spells, data daemons and holographic displays combined to show him the real time positions of his squad, the rapidly dwindling number of Effigy drones on 16 West—and their assailants. Even though walls and corridors separated them, Jakob knew where they were, and he ran unerringly towards them.
He'd been recalled after the fracas in Eunice. Thanks to Orochi technology, he'd been able to circumvent the quarantine via a portable anima well, manifesting his imbued body inside the Tower once he was in Tokyo. Through some contrivance or artifice that he did not understand, the forces of the Societies were on the move within the hallways that housed the ideas and innovations that helped the Group better the world.
Scavengers.
“Almost there. Time to kick their mercenary asses right out of Kaidan,” he growled to those that ran with him.
He knew that others like them were deploying throughout the tower to thwart these modern day barbarians.
This quartet they were closing in on thought the towers defenders gone.
Jakob smiled grimly as he armed his rifle with a thought-command.
The Mitsubachi would show them otherwise.
