(Just wanted to get this up. Gonna edit it after dinner)

On paper the plan was simple. Its straightforward form was intended to be carried out by people who exuded the same ethic, people with resolve and a goal to strive for. Operating with fifteen members of assorted classes and a tank each, the three platoons operated on a rotational route surrounding the sanctuary, utilizing walls of skyscrapers and city corner as cover. Paper Moon wasn’t a strategist by any stretch of the imagination, but then again, neither were his adversaries. As opposed to the players under his command, the Outlaws were just outright salty. They were angry, and anger tends to impend recklessness. Thus, Moon just had to keep a cool head and outsmart the opposition, which he did by slowly whittling down their numbers. Whenever an enemy group pursued one of the platoons, they would soon be another group of friendly players to their flank. It wasn’t something that would make mouths gawk and hit the floor, but it sufficed for the occasion.

A rocket set astray completely missed the tank and detonated as soon as its warhead hit the concrete, which just so happened to be next to Moon’s War Machine. One of the passengers almost met his end, had it not been for the Healer who had cast a protection spell upon impact. The vehicle flipped over onto its side and spilled its content out to the road, but thankfully its momentum had been killed off by its suspension and didn’t topple down on its former riders. Not even phazed by the attack Moon’s slim form suddenly appeared around the side of the vehicle and delegated to service the rocketeer’s forehead. The far off Outlaw anticlimactically fell to the floor in a motionless heap, soon to be trounced by his allies as they charged the group. They were caught in the middle of a four-way intersection, a rather shitty place to be in the middle of a heated firefight. As bullet pinged off the War Machine’s underside, Moon nonchalantly leaned back into cover to verify the status of the three Strykers who were riding with him. After confirming that they were in adequate capacity to continue fighting, the Rogue glanced back around the machine’s corner to watch the fast approaching Outlaws disappear in a plume of asphalt and fire sent sky high. The players holed up behind the inoperable War Machine breathed a collective sigh of relief as the platoon’s tank rounded the block corner with ten other players in tow, including Leviathan. Moon rose to his feet and motioned for the Strykers to follow, then quickly made his way over to the larger unit. [color=#FF7F00]”Alright, our turn is here,”[/color] He motioned with his hand as he deftly leaped onto the tank’s angled frontal armor, directing the tank down a long strip that comprised an avenue, [color=#FF7F00]”We’ll proceed with a couple more revolutions before we hit the Sanctuary. Hopefully Strawberry is flanking the group you guys lured. Alright, let’s get a move on.”[/color]

Meanwhile on Strawberry’s front:

[b]”AAAAAAAAAAH!!, MY KNEE!! WHO USES AN ARROW IN A FUTURISTIC SETTING?!”[/b] Cried a Stryker as she nursed her leg, taking refuge within a random . The whole entire block was engulfed in heated gunfire sailing from both sides. While the main portion of Strawberry’s force remained on the street taking cover behind the tank and… Tanks, Drauni and the platoon’s other two Rangers laid into any body they could find. Since Moon had advised to incapacitate rather than eliminate, they were especially attentive to aim for the kneecaps, just as a little payback for their comrade crying in denial a few floors below. 
Back on the street, Strawberry clicked her tongue as rounds whizzed overhead, her brow furrowed into a deep ravine due to the holdup. She leaned against the tank’s side, every shot that left its secondary armament rippled through her spine. [color=#DC143C]”Tch.”[/color] A clicked tongue elucidated her agitation, instilling a minute measurement of fear in the Strykers to her side. She was pissed that she almost didn’t notice the rickety pile of trash that they Outlaws had scavenged for the impeding battle. The cannon was recognizable at a first glance, its crude molded form basically embedded in her mind after how many of those things fired upon her last weekend. The chassis supported it from below seemed to have been thrown together with sub-par adhesive and looked like it could have out any second. It was obvious they had intended to be emplacements, but perhaps the Outlaws tasked with operating it had grown restless and wanted to sink their teeth into something. And as the cannon ball was ejected from the chamber, Strawberry Baby still remained undeniably pissed. She may have met a facefull if iron and a respawn screen, but a tank with an expandable shield charge in for the save and oriented his defense, emulating the form of their own vehicles angled armor. The projective bounced off of the Stryker’s shield with a demoralizing ping and continued onwards straight into an adjacent building, which just so happened to be containing a few Outlaws. [b]”HA! RUSSIAN BIAS!”[/b] The titan of a player bellowed in a haughty fashion as he pushed out his chest and array of muscles. Simultaneously the Stryker Tank’s cannon wheeled around and returned the greeting with an attack of its own. The tank shell bored deep into the assailing vehicle’s hull and blew up in a fiery display. 

Strawberry wasn’t amused by the courageous exhibition of valor her comrade had put on. Instead, she clicked her tongue again and climbed onto the tank regardless of the little trails of light flying past her. To some of the players under her command she must have looked like a valkyrie, to others Jeanne D’Arc as her true self, while Strawberry Baby seriously didn’t give a flying fuck. Through hailing gunfire, the mage raised her hand and brought it down, [color=#DC143C]”Charge!”[/color] The order was succinct. Had she continued on she surely would have weaved in a few obscenities. But she wanted to keep it succinct to compensate for the lesser minds who must have been lost during Paper Moon’s speech. Her forces pushed the opposition down the city block. With every step forward the enemy took one back. Soon enough another group of Outlaws would soon receive word of the platoon and head straight for the position. But Regality’s and Nostradamus’ platoon were without a doubt behind, reading to outflank the flankers.

[@Lucius Cypher][@Bombardier][@Mega Birb]