Pulov Gorcht liked it when a carefully laid out plan came together nicely. It was the essence of hard calculations and procedural steps, and working in conjunctions toward a desired outcome that thrilled him the most. It didn't matter to him what it was. It could be the combining of stimulants and propagating fumes into one of his addictive concoctions or even the organized distribution of his works, hitting each population center at just the right place and time for the fad to gain traction. Everything was a mere puzzle piece to be added to the grander scheme; with each new piece fitted in was an accomplishment and Pulov Gorcht loved it when the puzzle came together. Pulov Gorcht however was now furious that his latest scheme, his puzzle, had fallen apart before him. His once cool, sly and assured demeanor had evaporated. Lost to confusion and rage. A problem he had never accounted for had befallen him, like a stain on a fine dress or an alien ingredient in his black market elixir, changing the dynamic of the grander picture. The change was unjust, heretical even. It needed to be purged. Upon learning that his elaborate setup that powered Lasminee's slave control had be undone by human hands, he had gathered his entire crew from all the districts he ruled over and brought them along in his personal crusade to fix his latest dilemma. All he wanted was results and the amount of fodder needed to resolve the matter was beyond his care. However, he was now beginning to regret not calling Deval for back up. He had brought a sizable force that could quell any resistance that stood before him. Sending an entire company size force to deal with supposedly five troublemakers would've been consider overkill in retrospect but those same five troublemakers however possessed a tank, specifically the tank that Deval had gifted him personally. Now, his hate and spite had been halted and his shouts and angry banter silenced. At the end of his previous disputes, typically a resolution was brought forth, forcefully in most case and he was usually happy then. He had no remedy for this problem however. Pulov Gorcht could only watch helplessly as his grunts and assets vanished before him. --- Sven kept the Chimera on course the best he could. The mammoth tank wasn't meant to aggressively advanced with a shot lift engine. Those were usually grounds to pull back and limb home. Doctrine would even dictate the vehicle to hold position and fight off all enemy combatants until relieved or overrun. But given their circumstance, the only path for them was forward and utterly murdering anything that was on that path. With everyone attending to the flanks, he kept his focus to the cluster of confused and likely frightened and desperate hostiles before him. The Chimera's barriers handled the incoming fire with ease and only briefly flickered with the volume of impacts increased. Still, it was not enough. As the auto guns made short work of the lightly armored fodder in front, Sven brought he tank's main gun to the center row of APCs that had finally decided to fall back. They were too slow though. Within seconds, the Chimera's heavy plasma cannon had charged up and the moment it reached it's peak hold capacity, Sven pulled the trigger. A red beam streaked out from the barrel and struck the lead vehicle he had targeted. The round punched through the APC's defenses and detonated. The vehicle was practically erased from reality and anything within the tremendous blast radius was violently torn to ribbons or incinerated. Five APCs and some gun trucks laid on the ground as burning husks while several bodies and scorch marks where a corpse would've been littered the burned earth. Others whom were, questionably fortunate, to have survived the blast writhed on the ground on fire or weakly moved around. With their number being reduced drastically, what remained of what was a company-sized force, having now lost all moral and willingly to fight began to retreat. Many of the still functioning APCs still slowly reversing were then abandoned, their crews genuinely believing they were operating a metal coffins opted out and made a run for it some of the more agile gun trucks had turned around and took off with many infantry piling in the back of them. Despite an assured victory unfolding before him, Sven however was still engrossed with the deadly assets he had control over. One of the Chimera's other weapons that were not used against them was a set of missile launchers mounted to the turret. Given range at where they fought the tank, the missiles would've been somewhat impractical to use, especially against such small numbers. But in front of him was a target rich environment with enemies scattered at all ranges. Perfect target practice. He summoned up the control and targeting scheme for the launchers and began plugging in target markers. The tank's HUD illuminated and designated his targets on screen. All he simply had to do was choosing the firing pattern, the volley count, and the Chimera's OS would do the rest. All four launchers vomited plumes jettisoned smoke as rocketing projectiles screamed out from their firing tubed and shot up into the air. Sven watched, intrigued in the method of how the missiles would attack their targets. Instead of the expected horizontal approach, the missiles would instead go vertical and then slam down on their targets. And that's what they did. The missiles found their marks and crashed into masses of retreating infantry and gun trucks, generating towers of fire from the impacts. All that was left now was the command jeep with its single occupant firing upon the Chimera. The effort was futile although as Sven drove the tank closer, the individual became familiar to him. --- Silas, still atop the Chimera's turret watched the carnage unfold. Within a matter of a few minutes, the once sizable force was reduced to nothingness. At this point, they were in the clear. However, there was one matter they needed to attend to and it was a prime opportunity they couldn't let go. The Chimera finally halted in front of a jeep where it's stone-faced occupant, having emptied the magazine of their weapon, was now staring at the tank's cannon barrel that had leveled with his face. Seeing this, Silas rose from his armed spot and climbed down from the tank, his Death's Grasp in hand. The figure turned to him, anger still radiating from their expression and remained undeterred when Silas pointed his signature large caliber handcannon at him, [color=00a651][b]"Pulov Gorcht, I presume?"[/b][/color] [color=f26522][b]"Whose asking?"[/b][/color] Gorcht replied. [color=00a651][b]"No one that you would know,"[/b][/color] said Silas, [color=00a651][b]"not that it would matter anyway. Let see those hands."[/b][/color] Gorcht defied the request and retained his glare. [color=00a651][b]"Hands."[/b][/color] Still nothing. Silas groaned, [color=00a651][b]"fine then. Cyne?"[/b][/color] In an instant, Gorcht felt a hot stinging sensation spread from the soft surface of the joint of his legs, opposite of his kneecaps. In that moment, he lost all stabilization and he crumpled to his knees. Stunned, he looked around, trying to deduce what had happened. He soon found his answer as an HF blade appeared to the left of his face, just as a humanoid figure materialized behind him. [color=00a651][b]"How about now?"[/b][/color] [color=f26522][b]"Go to hell, you bastard."[/b][/color] While annoyed at Gorcht's defiance, it was inconsequential where he complied or not. Now that Gorcht was right where he wanted him, he pressed the barrel of his pistol to the Horseman's head. He then turned to Cyne, [color=00a651][b]"remind me again, what's this guy's bounty again? Dead or alive?"[/b][/color] As if he knew where this was leading, Cyne replied with a sigh, [color=00746b]"Alive. Authorities what him for information regarding the whereabouts of his drug caches that are being used to fuel his operation on other systems. Taking those out would dismantle his operations completely."[/color] Understanding the meaning behind that statement, Gorcht growled and tried to get up in an instinctive and rage-induced attempt to wring the neck of his supposed assailant. Not that it would do him any good. He was however quickly reminded about his position as the flat side of the HF blade slapped him across his cheek. He clenched his teeth in spite and hate as he remained where he was. Cyne eventually continued though the edged part of his HF blade turned toward Gorcht's face, [color=00746b]"though in my humble opinion, I don't think anyone would miss him if something were to, happen, to him."[/color] [color=00a651][b]"I concur and I would be almost happy to make the arrangement, especially after all,"[/b][/color] Silas leaned in closer to Gorcht, [color=00a651][b]"[i]this prick[/i] put us through. But I want the big pay off. He lives."[/b][/color] Suddenly and in quick succession, Silas flipped his gun around to where he was now holding the barrel and frame work of the weapon, just before bringing the hard bottom of the handle down against Gorcht's head. With a crack resonating from the impact, Gorcht slumped over, unconscious. Silas backed off and drew a breath of relief before holstering his weapon. He looked around his teammates whom had encircled the scene, [color=00a651][b]"One down, three to go. Everyone gets an hour to chill. Sven, get MACK to send us a care package."[/b][/color] [color=fff200][b]"On it!"[/b][/color] A few minutes later, an object no bigger than an averaged-sized car fell out of the sky and slammed into the road close by. Silas had planned several rocket pods to be requisitioned when needed. The pods themselves contained everyone's spare equipment, ammunition, and other supplies ranging from medical equipment to rations. He even managed to get an assortment of alcoholic beverages mixed in as well. After everyone has taken what was needed, the pod would then lockdown and could not be opened until recovered later. As everyone relaxed and resupplied, Silas reached for his communicator to contact the Resistance about their newly acquired bounty.