Skirmish. (4)

As they started going at the newly identified gaggle of goons, the other mercenaries went on the attack as well, which swung the momentum in their favour. The guards and resident thugs were all being systematically taken down, all while the manager and his personal guards seemed content to observe for the time being.

"Yo, D." Cory called as he slammed a guard's face into the hard concrete floor with enough force, it was any wonder his head didn't explode like a watermelon.

"What?" Drake replied whilst evading a flurry of blows.

"I've been thinking…"

"Oh no…."

"With this shiny dude coming, we're being made to go above and beyond on preparation of the Condomation."

"ConVOcation." Drake corrected as he thrust the mace into the midriff of the goon attacking him.

"So, if we're already going this far just before this dude even glistens in our faces, how hectic will it be when he's here?"

"Pretty hectic, but I don't know where you're going with this."

"Don't you think being selected as being part of his security detail would be the perfect gig?"

"Absolutely not!"

"Come on, man. They're probably gonna have most of the legit War Priests on call to be part of his immediate circle of security, but considering how important shiny dude is, I'm sure they'll try to make a dog and pony show of the whole thing."

"What do you know about dog and pony shows?"

"I got kids, bruh." Cory stated as he sent someone flying, before ducking behind cover.

"Yeah, well I still say that the best place to be when this all happens is in T.D. Leave the pageantry to the actual War Priests."

"Just imagine how much money we'd get if we were assigned to that detail? Do you think it would work on a contribution based system, like when we do this shit?"

"Stop talking about this." Drake dismissed, having previously joined Cory behind cover. "Let's just focus on our current situation."

"You know what would be best?" Cory continued, not even listening to Drake at this point. "If we got assigned to the detail, the Anti-Theists kicked up some shit, and then we were on hand to help save the day. Recognition, contribution AND money, all at once!"

"No!" Drake said before looking around. "You loose lipped bastard, don't you know just how powerful your words are, you stupid Shaman! Every time you say stuff like this, it always comes to pass! Always!"

"Oh, come on man, that's not true. It would be cool if that actually happened this time, because with all the money we'd get, I'd definitely be able to get my kids an apartment up here. Shit, I'd even convert, and start worshiping Dihena, or whatever if that happened."

"What kind of Spirit Shaman plays with fire like this?! Just thinking like this could be disastrous!"

"Ay man, you don't even believe in this shit."

"I don't have to; I've seen your work. Now shut up."

"Okay, okay… it's getting awfully quiet in here."

Drake and Cory looked at each other for a bit, before nodding and peaking over their cover, to find that most of the regular goons and guards were laid out. The man in the white suit was seated on a chair that wasn't behind any kind of cover or protection. He was smoking an actual cigarette, made with real tobacco – something that was a rarity in this synthetic city. His guards were all standing with their arms crossed, and this lull in action caused everybody to regroup and catch their breaths.

"This is a little different from how things usually go." The manager said, the cigarette smoking away as he spoke. "Normally, you guys would come in here, issue warning, and have us promise not to cause any trouble during your Holy Conference or whatever it's called before things get to this point. Why are you attacking first without warning us this time around? What's so special about this upcoming conference?"

Nobody from the mercenary side said anything, as they often competed against each other in these things, so there never the need to appoint, or even consider appointing a leader or a spokesperson. The manager, whose cigarette had puffed its last bit of smoke, stood up and spat the bud out on to the floor before fishing in his jacket pocket for something.

"You there – Merc whose friends with that Lionkin – you seem to be strong, so maybe you have answers. The name is Maqhawe, but my friends call me Qhawe. Why are things different this time."

Drake took a deep breath whilst still crouched behind cover, before responding.

"Drake. I can't tell you why they're different, but they're different enough that this extreme approach will likely only get more extreme as the Convocation draws closer. For our sakes, don't take what I'm about to say seriously, because the more of you lot we take down, the more we get paid. But if you make it out of here, shut up shop and lay low for a few weeks."

"I see. I appreciate the tip."

Maqhawe had finished rummaging around in his pockets, and pulled out a set of brass knuckles, that he equipped with a deep breath. His fists started glowing, and a nova of Mana, which was being converted into Psychic Energy in real time pulsed out from his feet. His personal guards had also equipped their knuckles, and it was a rather impressive display. Cory stood right up and looked at what was happening with a massive grin, before clenching and bringing his fists together. He mumbled a few words, and bright orange energy enveloped his arms in their entirety, shaping up to look like flames dancing along his furry arms. The other mercs ended up standing as well, and charging their own powers, converting as much Mana as they could as quickly as they possibly could, and as they were all shaping up to squabble, the sound of drilling could be heard. It was approaching them incredibly quickly, and before they could all do much, the ceiling above them suddenly crumbled as a few figures burst through the recently created hole in the ceiling and landed with heavy thuds on the ground. Dwarves, Half-Orcs, Humans and Half-Ogres all landed in the gap between the mercs and the gambling den folks, and their crude tech based metal armour suits glowed and pulsed with lights. Supplementary arms with drills and guns were rigidly attached to the backs of the Dwarves, the Half-Orcs held guns with multiple nozzles, mechanised Axes and Swords, and along with the Half-Ogres, some of them had limbs which had been completely replaced with bionic limbs which were little more that guns or blunt weapons attached to their torsos. Mana was being fed into batteries that were mounted in plated boxes which had been crudely fused and bolted directly to the flesh of the Bionic Mercs.

"I hope we weren't interrupting anything." One of the most grizzled, scarred looking Dwarf Mercs said with a shit-eating grin, exposing just how few teeth he had left.

Meanwhile, Drake had been staring daggers into the side of Cori's head, with the Lionkin doing his best not to look at his partner.

"…I'm going to fucking kill you, Cory."