Shadows and Stardust: A Tale of Ambition & Quest for Recognition

In cartomancy the King of Hearts is a wise and compassionate person. When reversed, he is selfish, withdrawn, and emotionally unaware – Madam Tobin’s Tarot Guide

Operation Giga Pudding (D+3 hours)

The sun's harsh rays pierced through the gaps in the weathered wooden boards that covered the double-paned tank glass windows, casting sharp slashes of light across the room. The walls shuddered with each impact from the earthquake artillery rounds slamming into the earth. Bits of paint flaked off the ceiling and walls, drifting through the air like ash.

The man in front of the screen hurriedly wiped away the layer of dust with a stained rag. He froze for a moment, realizing someone was looming over him.

A man with auburn hair stood behind him, dressed sharply in a black suit, matching tie, and crisp white shirt. After scanning the rows of flickering numbers on the screen, he adjusted his mirrored shades, his eyes unreadable.

"Print me a copy," he said, voice cold and clipped, as he tapped his colleague on the back with a clipboard. “And forward that info to the Queen Pin’s captain.”

The man obeyed, and the printer beeped to life. Then he sent the message to the Queen Pins and their support staff.

Snatching the paper from the printer, the man in the mirror shades scanned the numbers, his pulse quickening. His fingers raked through his hair as he tapped the clipboard against his palm.

“Fuck…At this rate, we won’t make it to morning,” he muttered, folding the paper in half and feeding it into the shredder. “We need reinforcements. Now.”

He stormed past rows of operators in identical black suits, their eyes glued to the flickering monitors. Four out of ten screens were static—useless.

“Get a repair team on those monitors immediately,” he barked as he moved. “We need our eyes back, no excuses.”

“At once, Captain Highwater,” replied a young man with slicked-back black hair, his voice tense.

Highwater bounded up the stairs two at a time, past armed guards with rifles and shields, and burst through the door marked “Situation Room” in gleaming gold letters. Inside, the room buzzed with people scrambling as they moved icons across a table map.

By the boarded-up windows, women in black tactical uniforms worked quickly with surveillance equipment. Patches on their arms displayed five golden bowling pins topped with a crown. They adjusted cameras, peeking through the gaps between the boards, scanning for any sign of movement.

Captain Highwater strode toward one of the women, who was intensely focused on a computer pad tethered to the wall by a cable, her eyes darting between the screen and the approaching captain.

“Frau Petra, we’ve got a situation, we lost our Siren, but still have her music,” he said, his voice low but urgent. “Did you see the memo that was just sent?”

“I’m literally reading it right now,” Frau Petra said, her eyes flicking over the email. “Ugh, no, this is not happening. We need our backup, like, now.”

She tossed her tablet onto the desk and crossed her arms.

“I’ll be damned if the Wheels or those wannabe Thornewoods think they’re snatching the Boardwalk from me. We’ve got a calendar shoot next week, and there’s no way I’m letting this ruin my moment!”

“You know those Fog of War generators are jamming our coms. I told you and that strategist of yours that this was a bad idea,” he said. “A double-edged sword that should only be used in offensive operations, not defensive.”

“Don’t you think I don’t know that? Get my security team ready—I’m handling this myself,” she said storming past him.

“At once, Petra,” he said gritting his teeth.

***

Bullets shredded the wooden fence; splinters flew. Dragana and Marko crouched low, pressing their backs against the cold limestone building. She tried to push the haunting image of Pink out of her mind—blown up, his skin turning pale and sizzling away. They’d been heading west when they stumbled into a squad of five gladiators.

“Dorks,” she thought, recalling the ridiculousness of the Playboy Mafia in their black suits and ties.

The fight had been going well, despite being outnumbered—until one of them pulled out hand grenades. He yanked the pins on three but fumbled one when Pink shattered his jaw with a brutal uppercut. The explosion obliterated the gladiators but took Pink with them, sending him to BC's version of limbo.

Gunfire continued, and Dragana couldn't tell if the shooter had them in his sights or was just keeping her pinned until reinforcements arrived.

“I’ll take them out too,” she thought, scanning the street for any possible avenues of approach from possible more enemies.

Another burst of gunfire cracked through the air, but this time it wasn’t aimed at her. The bullets clanged loudly against metal, followed by a blood-curdling scream. Then—silence.

Not wishing to stick around to find out if a friendly saved her or it was something else, Dragana decided to dash across the street towards a shop she spotted on the other side. She pointed to the door and Marko kicked it open. Once inside she pushed the door closed and hid behind the counter.

The shop was stripped bare. She recalled how the NPC owner, Mr. Hooper, was always pleasant with her or any of the Wheels that would stop by. Often, he would offer her a free sandwich, a drink, or something depending on the time of day she wandered in.

She started to wonder about his fate, and where the Queen Pins had evacuated him to, but decided not to dwell on his fate. She had her own problems.

Dragana didn’t need to check her map; she knew exactly where she was. The outskirts of the Boardwalk’s shopping center and close to the border with whatever the name of the Gold Faction gang that was helping the Queen Pins in holding formerly Blue Faction turf.

She considered going around the shopping zone, and maybe getting close to the Baby Blues territory. Though she couldn’t recall how many of Baby Blues were pulled away to defend the Old Stone Bridge but knew they would keep one or two of their people nearby to counter any raids.

“I might be able to zip along the buildings and, hopefully, avoid any snipers,” Dragana thought as she plotted points on her internal map. “500 meters from the edge, not too bad.”

Crunching on broken pavement caused Dragana to freeze.

As the crackle grew louder, she heard a deep and husky voice say, “We are still within the boundaries of that cursed Fog of War Generator, Frau Petra.”

“King of Hearts,” thought Dragana as she strained to listen.

Multiple footsteps pounded the pavement as she tried to detect the difference and how many of them were there. She stared at her deck of cards in her side jacket pocket but didn’t want to risk being overheard, so she waited.

“I’m so stupid for letting that Icepick talk me into using those things,” Petra said as her voice grew louder.

Waiting for the footsteps to hit the gravel, Dragana inched out her mirror and used it to peek out the window. She counted two guards wearing heavy canvas coats, Frau Petra, and three more behind her.

“TWA,” thought Dragana.

She pulled out a blue bandana and wrapped it around her fist. As her heart began to race, she slowed down her breathing. The last fight didn’t go as planned, but knowing more about Petra she had a better chance. Dragana checked her map. They were heard towards the open terrain of the market square.

“More room to move around,” Dragana thought.

Once the first two guards turned the corner, she got up from her hidden position. Petra turned the corner Dragana pushed open the door and attacked the last man in the retinue. She grabbed his head with her gauntlet and squeezed. The gap between the metal plates glowed green as the guy turned pale and disappeared as she closed her hand.

Marko ran past her and punched the next target in the back of the head and twice in the kidney. He then kicked the back of the guy’s knee, and when he fell backwards Marko hammer punched his target in the neck. He disappeared before he hit the ground.

“I got this!” Dragana’s inner voice screamed.

Marko grabbed the next target by the back of his jacket, pulling him off balance and locking him in a choke hold. Dragana pulled her fist back, but the guy struck Marko's elbow, creating a brief gap. The guy ducked down, his hands coming up to protect his face, fingers curled like claws.

“Arma mea, ad me veni!” he shouted.

His clothes vanished and were replaced by thick black plate steel armor. A tower shield appeared in one arm, and he stood up and drew his sword.

The earthshaker gauntlet crashed into his shield pushing him back as his feet gouged out marks in the sidewalk.

Frau Petra let out a shriek. Dragana and Marko stepped out from around the corner and saw Petra standing behind the two remaining guards.

"Uh, like, did you get an upgrade or something?" Frau Petra asked, leaning around her bodyguard with a curious tilt, her gaze practically sparkling with judgment.

Dragana slammed her fist into the ground, causing a massive crack to open beneath Petra and her crew. They shrieked and scrambled out of the way as the hole widened.

Marko wasted no time, grabbing one of the fallen guards and tossing him into the pit. With a quick motion, Dragana closed her hand, sealing the ground shut.

"Okay, a cute little trick or whatever," Petra huffed, rolling her eyes as she drew her sword.

Her thin blade shimmered, a streak of light dancing along its edge. With a swift flourish, Frau Petra slashed through the air, and the light detached itself, hanging there with an electric sizzle.

Dragana and Marko split, rolling in opposite directions as the energy pulsed violently between them.

A flash of light tore through the space where Dragana had been standing, scorching the ground and blackening the pavement beneath it.

Dragana sprinted forward, dragging her hand along the earth. Cobblestones lifted into the air, launching themselves toward Petra. The ironclad bodyguard stepped in, deflecting each stone effortlessly with his shield.

Frau Petra straightened; a smug smile graced her ruby-painted lips as she traced a five-pointed star in the air. The sliver of light detached once more, cutting through the atmosphere with a sharp sizzle. It shot forward with a fierce hiss, the air around it warped in a heat haze that shimmered and burned away. Dragana tumbled aside, but not before the intense heat seared through, singeing part of her hair.

The bodyguard repositioned himself, preventing a direct line of sight to the target. Dragana retreated, dragging her hand behind her and creating a wall behind her.

Frau Petra slashed at the air creating slivers of light and aimed it towards the wall. With every hit, she laughed and waved her hand dismissively.

“Well, girlfriend you are slightly better,” Petra said. “Little Moe, swat that pest.”

Her second bodyguard activated Bull Rush and jetted towards Dragana. Marko intercepted him and knocked him away. He summoned a war hammer and brought the weapon above his head. The hammerhead expanded to the size of a small car, covering Marko and Dragana in the weapon’s shadow. Marko brought his fist up and in a furry of attacks landed each one on Little Moe’s ribs, chest, and face. Little Moe struggled to keep his weapon in the air.

Frau Petra sneered and drew a circle of light with her sword, aimed at Marko and Little Moe.

“You’ll hit your own,” Dragana yelled back.

“Oh my God, like, the chef literally can’t make an omelet without cracking some eggs, right? Sacrifices have to happen if I’m gonna make it to my appointment,” Frau Petra said.

The ring of light shot through the air, vaporizing Little Moe and Marko in an instant. Dust and debris shot into the air creating a thick cloud.

When the dust from the blast settled, Dragana stood at the center of the crater she had created. With a swift punch to the crater's edge, she sent a shockwave that rippled through the ground and shook the earth beneath Petra’s feet. Both Petra and her bodyguard tumbled into the hole.

Through the swirling dust, a streak of light flashed toward Dragana. She had a fraction of a second to raise her hand to shield herself. The light struck with explosive force, shattering her gauntlet into a shower of smoking scrap.

A second beam of light fired at Dragana who dove into the dirt. The light grazed her leather jacket, disintegrating it in a flash.

“You took a risk by attacking me, too bad you failed…again,” Frau Petra said emerging from the dust cloud.

A single vertical line of light appeared on the sword, and Frau Petra stood over her. Dragana lowered her head and closed her eyes.

***