[center][b][h1][color=#44F03E]𝔽[/color][color=#42E93C]𝕦[/color][color=#40E33A]π•₯[/color][color=#3EDD39]π•š[/color][color=#3DD737]𝕝[/color][color=#3BD136]π•š[/color][color=#39CB34]π•₯[/color][color=#38C532]π•ͺ[/color][color=#36BF31]:[/color] [color=#32B32E]𝕋[/color][color=#31AD2C]𝕙[/color][color=#2FA62A]𝕖[/color] [color=#2C9A27]𝔾[/color][color=#2A9426]𝕣[/color][color=#288E24]𝕖[/color][color=#268823]𝕒[/color][color=#258221]t[/color] [color=#21761E]𝔾[/color][color=#20701C]𝕒[/color][color=#1E6A1B]π•ž[/color][color=#1C6419]𝕖[/color][/h1][/b][/center] [center][hider=The Steady Beat of a Machine Turned Lo-Fidelity][youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ib-lvhJnV0Q[/youtube][/hider][/center] [color=orchid][b] β€œWe all want to walk the wire.” β€œPlay both sides...” β€œLike every major issue is resolved simply by…” β€œJust crossing the line.” β€œChoose a camp, and only then will you often find that evil resides in enemy and ally alike.” β€œWe try to walk the tightrope.” β€œBut it’s up there that no one sees you.” β€œAnd rarely are you ever seen again…”[/b][/color] [color=#ffdf12][b][i]ℍ𝕒𝕣π•₯ π•„π•–π••π•šπ•’ β„‚π• π•Ÿπ•˜π•π• π•žπ•–π•£π•’π•₯𝕖 π•‹π•¨π•šπ•Ÿ β„‚π•šπ•₯π•ͺ π•Šπ•‘π•£π•’π•¨π•[/i][/b][/color] [color=green]>>> …[/color] [i][color=#ffdf12] β€œTensions continue to mount on the contested Northwestern border of Portland and Seattle. Many believe the Lords of War skirmishers to now be trapped inside the hijacked Cipher Tower taken control of only days ago. Hart media is live on the border as siege seems to be laid outside the tower by a force of [/color][color=green]——…?β€”>>>-[color=orchid]-??>[/color]>>”[/color][/i][hr][hr] [h3][color=black][s]𝔾𝕣𝕖𝕒π•₯𝕖𝕣 ℂ𝕠𝕣𝕑𝕠𝕣𝕒π•₯𝕖 β„€π• π•Ÿπ•–[/s]"𝕋𝕙𝕖 ℙ𝕝𝕒π•ͺπ•˜π•£π• π•¦π•Ÿπ••"[/color][/h3][color=008000][b]β„π•–π•”π•π•’π•šπ•ž β„€π• π•Ÿπ•–, π•Šπ• π•¦π•₯𝕙 β„‚π•šπ•₯π•ͺ π•Šπ•‘π•£π•’π•¨π•[/b] [b]π”Έπ•‘π•£π•šπ• πŸšπ•Ÿπ••, 𝟚𝟘𝟞𝟝 :: π•†π•Ÿπ•– 𝕕𝕒π•ͺ 𝕓𝕖𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕖 π•₯𝕙𝕖 β„π•–π•”π•π•’π•šπ•ž β„€π• π•Ÿπ•– 𝕕𝕖𝕓𝕒π•₯𝕖[/b] [b] [πŸœπ”» β„‚β„π”Όπ•Šπ•Š] π•ƒπ• π•’π••π•šπ•Ÿπ•˜...[/b][/color] [i]She never knew what it meant for a weapon to backfire. Hadn’t used them enough. That would change.[/i] [b] β€œFan out. Encircle.”[/b][i] Such was the way of the Lords of War.[/i] [b] β€œB-Team keep the Ciphers clear. C-Team withdraw. Relay a report to Knox as fast as possible. A-Team with me… And let the hunt begin...”[/b] Herald couldn’t help but smile as the Scrap God shielded Petrukov from a final fate. It really was that easy sometimes. One could presume he wasn’t the quickest covered head-to-toe in his worn exosuit, but it certainly served its purpose. As the Jury-Rigg drifted through the wall and splattered its surroundings with small shards of concrete, Herald’s helmet only emitted a hardy chuckle, haunting with its mechanical amplifiers echoing in the old warehouse. A length of bent rebar smashed into his leg chassis, but he hadn’t noticed. Per[color=orchid]π•™π”Έβ„™π•Š[/color] they’d all forgotten her. Perhaps she di[color=orchid]𝕕 𝕗𝕒𝕕𝕖 𝕒𝕨𝕒π•ͺ π•šπ•Ÿπ•₯𝕠 π•€π• π•žπ•– π•—π• π•£π•–π•šπ•˜π•Ÿ 𝕄𝕒π•₯π•£π•šπ•©.[/color] At first it was the subtle burst of interferenceβ€”reminiscent of televisions screens poorly tuned and all thatβ€”that jolted the Jury-Rigg. Kay first caught sight of [color=orchid]𝕙𝕖𝕣[/color] on a busted camera lens that must have been placed recently overlooking the warehouse’s exterior. Then, the hacker faded back to the base white Labyrinth, and there she was standing r[color=orchid]π•šπ•˜π•™π•₯ π•šπ•Ÿ π•—π•£π• π•Ÿπ•₯ 𝕠𝕗 𝕙𝕖𝕣…[/color] Tucked behind a low pylon to ensure her safety and proximity to outlets, Kay was a shadow in the firefight. So no one saw her seize. Just as quickly as the Drift Demon’s vehicle exploded into view, a solace for his fleeing comrades, they faded from the warehouse-turned-battlefield, leaving only the driver in the dust among the Lords. The moment Petrukov slipped through the garage gateway into the building’s connector room, its garage doors began to collapse in all directions, sealing the driver off and sealing the candidate and her lawyer within. It seemed[i] β€˜their choice’[/i] was clear. As was the decision of the Lords. Their Herald braced his shinplate against a low pylon bursted to rubble and the hulk of metal held from a handle atop and a trigger below aimed at the driver that dared to create an escape route. There was a window of perhaps two seconds where the entire warehouse room could hear that strange pulsing charge as CO2 built up. Then, it all burst out with a puff of ignition fire. The first bang was the 40mm shell firing forth from the barrel of his grenade launcher. The second, almost imperceptibly present in the echo of the first, occurred when the slug slammed into the rear bumper of the Jury-Rigg, nearly taking it off as the car was jolted forward far enough to bend the recently closed garage door in a few inches. [b] β€œAim for the wheels and we’ll drag β€˜im out of the wreck,”[/b] boomed from the amplifier. They were like spidersβ€”silent as them at least, save for the sizzling of the laser burns the Ciphers left in their wake. One of the purple-clad men jumped from the catwalk, harnessed in a thick cable, but the sound of its winch was inaudible over engine revs. He fell in perfect position to grab one of the Lords by the helmet, rip off the visor, and jab the lit flare in his hand down into the face that lay beneath. The winch began to retract.[hr] The corridor’s connector was blackened as the garage doors shut. Two green globes, offset just a bit as though whatever eyes or gogglesβ€”it was indistinguishable which they wereβ€” were malformed. They illuminated a mouth of titanium incisors twisted in a smile. [color=cornflowerblue][i]Inheritor[/i][/color] had that habit. His mouth was always half smirking, more slack than would make those around him comfortable. [color=cornflowerblue][b] β€œEncirclement is dangerous, Petrukov. The Lords are trying to encircle you… All the while sending back their weakest rank to alert Portland. Imagine what would happen if the High Warlord knew you’d double-dipped and dealt with the Ciphers...”[/b][/color] His β€˜S’ trailed off, all snake-like. [color=cornflowerblue][b] β€œYou’ll be under siege. So close to your election.”[/b][/color] Inheritor could see it, almost as if through his optics. A detachment of the Lords dashed back through the opposite end of the warehouse, with aims to reach the GCZ’s back alleys and escape into the shadows, crawling their way back to Portland. Some Ciphers would give chase, but neither of the squads realized what watchers might lie in their way. Serena stared down her adversary. Her animated sunglasses showed their best approximation of an emoticon glare in pixelated nodes of red light. [color=black][b] β€œWhat’s the plan Inheritor?”[/b][/color] That slack smile return, accompanied by a automatonic cackle. All of the barriers rose, and the doors were opened.[hr] A steady beating bounced off the warehouse walls, metallic, lo-fi. Something within the stereo had busted upon his impact against the concrete pylon. The Bannerlord hugged tight the mighty boombox to his bulging chest, arm veins popped with adrenaline. The archaic machine sprayed flecks of his own blood back onto him with every pulsation. He looked down to his arm, torn open by shrapnel, but he could hardly feel it. The black flag strapped to his back was a dead giveaway for where he was ducking low. It was peppered with the high-caliber ballistics of the Lords of War, even had a long scorch mark that sheared off the top of the flag from a reflected ray of the Cipher’s guns. He was pinned down, but so long as he remained, the boombox still played.