The World's Calling

The beep that plagued Shoa so turned out to be the alert sent out by the Notary to inform the Mechanoid units about their assignment. They had 3 days to prepare and so the duo took that time both to arm themselves and celebrate their new employment. Separately, of course. The opinions of both parties were that the Tin Can had a Lightning Rod up his ass and the human assistant was irresponsible and prone to rash decisions. If it wasn’t for the fact that Vig had put her on body strengthening with a rock, she would’ve burned down their temporary living quarters. However, the two had to get along for the sake of the mission and if there was one thing they both understood, it was that they weren’t going to screw up their first day on the job.

Rhy’s preparation came down to paying off and buying back some things for her shack, including a very nice recliner. As she stood over her cabin with a recliner, a mattress flat on the board, and the window’s sunlight peering in, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of sentimentality for her former home. But now, she was at the start of something bigger. With that thought in mind, the walls seemed to feel just a bit smaller.

Shoa’s preparation was more in the sense of figuring out where the hell they were going. As the details streamed into his head, the more he felt dread at the answer. Straight into an encampment of Vegas men. Within the stream of information, a document began to play out in his head.

General Threat Assessment: Vegas Brigade

Written by Raphael Aslo.

I would like to put in the foreword that if I am found hanged in the street, I blame the Union in its entirety.

The Vegas Brigade is composed of several entities at its head. Mostly Patriarchs and the like. They’ve taken their roots from Old World people. Earthen people. As a whole, they haven’t separated from the usual trading networks with the major towns and cities, but they seem to be getting closer and closer to some sort of self-sufficiency. From what I was able to gather, their main goal is the propagation of the human race. Single-minded propagation. Their mentality can best be described as a mixture of defensive assault, as paradoxical as that sounds, and a commitment to the idea that a government separate from the traditions of the old is doomed to fall into societal and moral degradation. As such, their main method of recruitment comes from criminals, those on the fringe of society, and those who seek an answer to a streak of misfortune. There has been some… similarity in the people they recruit but this attitude has died out for the most part as their need for higher numbers continues.

In terms of the actual threat they pose, the Vegas Brigade is organized and dangerous. Several of their assaults on less human-oriented villages have proved that at least. We can attribute about 5% of assaults and raids outside the Human Sphere to them. Unfortunately, this number appears to be on the rise as of late. Such assaults have also strained trade relations between the Human Sphere and the Animala Sphere as well. Some of this comes from the fact that a non-zero amount of people within the Union are Vegas sympathizers. The main threat comes from the fact that many of their important members have military experience in several of the city-state militias around the human sphere. This is not helped through smaller cultural actions that may lead to more ways for them to take advantage of the situation. The current aggression seen by the Animalia Sphere is certainly not helping issues in the slightest. The prevailing view amongst them is that one side is machines, the other are overgrown mongrels, and the Mirepods are some sort of parasitic slime. It is advised to stay away from them at all times for any non-human member. Humans should kindly reject any advances. Not explicitly but keep them off their lectures as best you can.

My personal opinions on the Vegas Brigade only come on the whim of the Notary, as they have included it as necessary when submitting my assessment. These people are Fascists who lost the first war back on Earth and now are trying to take advantage of a disadvantaged populace. Their lean towards people of a similar complexion is blatant and their use of tradition in lieu of any actual solution is a crime. The fact that we have allowed them to fester in our ranks due to the loss of numbers since Operation Trailblaze and the incident in the Hernandez Ocean is no excuse. We deal with them now or we become them.

As the document reached its end, all Shoa could think was that this was absolute madness! They were going to send him into the throes of people who would rip him apart for scrap metal for the thrill of it! His first assignment had all the potential for him to wind up without his outer shell or worse at the hands of barbarians! This was a situation that would call for self-defense. A power that graced the disadvantaged and the weak with the ability to stand up against their oppressors.

There was only one thing he could do.

“I would like to buy a gun.”

Derek Heinzman had run his store for years. He had seen all types walk in and out with firearms of various purposes. Mostly simply to defend their homestead. Some bulk orders for city militias. The man at the counter looked up and down at the CRT television with legs. “For what purpose?”

“As a newly instated member of the Runner’s Union, I feel as though defending myself is key. Therefore I would like to purchase your most recommended firearm!”

Once more, the man looked up and down at his potential customer. “Mechs don’t buy guns.”

“I am in need of protection that my natural abilities cannot afford me.”

“What’re you trading?”

“Union sponsored funds.” Shoa put his sack on the table and took out the engraved coins. Each of the different figures, fresh from another man’s pockets.

“Oh? Big spender? Don’t worry then, I’ll give you something worthwhile.”

A smile came from the man behind the counter, a smile that said whatever he had planned was somehow, not well thought out and an obsessive project at the same time.

As Rhys stepped off her hailed horse carriage with her duffle bag full of equipment, she came to find the robot at the meeting point described in the message. However, her reluctant partner seemed a bit worse for wear mentally as he grabbed his arms.

“You good, dude?”

“Never sweller.”

“Sure…” From what the robot had said, they were supposed to meet at the edge of town once they had finished their individual preparations. Yet as they looked out into the great beyond, of wild grass on the edge of town, they saw no sign of their guide. As Rhys sat down, her companion seemed to head in the other direction. “Where the hell are you going?”

“Well!” The truly sensible and not-at-all cowardly robot yelled. “ If our guide refuses to come, I’ll have to report back to the Notary and-”

A rumble in the distance.

The both of them could hear it coming closer.

With the force of ages.

Centuries had gone by since its creation, but the roar came as strong as if it came fresh off the assembly line. An armor-enhanced vehicle that would only be seen by those graced to be born in the Mechanoid Metro. A Joint Light Tactical Vehicle coming down the hills.

“Is that our guide?”

“Is that a fucking car?!”

The vehicle pulled up to the two of them, two feet away from the duo.

The windows rolled down.

“Aren’t you gonna get in”, teased Lucia.

The shop was cleaned up. Derek had just had the best day of his life. In his limited expertise, he had worked on Mechs in the past but those were usually superficial limb jobs. But with that fella. That was the innermost work. Wasn’t sure what all the parts were for, but he didn’t feel fit to mess with him. What walked around in that boy was his masterpiece, and barring whatever that core was, he was a living masterwor-

A creak.

Derek grabbed the gun under his desk and pointed it at the door. The creaking noise continued as the door opened, yet as it came ever wider, all that could be seen was a vast nothingness. A wave of relief flooded from Derek’s head, stopping at the blade pressed against his neck.

Extract as much information as possible.

Ensure that no signs of entry could be found by antagonist parties.

Allow for as much time before the other inhabitants begin to investigate.

With no family and interactions kept strictly transactional, the one known as Derek Heinzman would be left buried in his backyard for quite some time. Not to mention the closed sign on the door would deter anyone from coming in for a few days at least. Fallacy’s work was done.