The Viking feels nothing like an SCV.

  An SCV is a worker space vehicle, yeah? Nothing wrong with a good ol construction mech. The Zaku starts off as Construction Mechs as well till the Principality of Zeon got the bright Idea…” hey, why dont we add guns and shield to a giant bot that builds buildings on the moon!” and that’s how Earth royally screw themselves up against a bunch of spacenoids.

  But unlike the Zaku, the SCV aint that.

  Forgiving in its simplicity and built to be manhandled, sure, but it ain't built for war. The Viking, on the other hand, is a predator. One that is supposed to dominate the land and air. It wants speed. It wants aggression. It wants me to stop hesitating and let it hunt like its predecessor.

  That’s the first thought that sticks as we punch through the cloud layer, engines howling at supersonic speed, crashing into Mach 3, the city of Brockton Bay peeling away beneath us in a second.

  Based on the Norwegian F-35 Strike Draken, it still retains its single turbojet engine with an afterburner, able to pull off a Cobra manoeuvre if you’re an Ace Pilot. That’s all that the earlier design retains of its ancestor design after they made the Wyrm. It was meant to shore up the Terran obvious lack of air superiority for the prototype before the Fall of Tarsonis.

  Everything else after that is pushed towards maximum eleven hundred per cent for the current iteration. Eventually, after the design of the AHG Banshees, the Vikings started sporting two thruster boosters to maximise their air superiority and covered many of the flaws of the Wyrm.

  First, they redesigned the thrusters and added hover capabilities during transformation. Too many pilot dies during the transformation phase as it leaves them stagnant in the air. So they added a VTOL system to the Viking, next-

  The thrusters in the Viking's underbelly, which allow for hover/VTOL capabilities, need to be stable and to keep it stable during transformations. The engineers decided to add four low-bypass turbines to generate propulsion during flight. The pilot's seat has more than double the straps, pads, and packing than any other fighter craft to account for the violent ups and downs the vehicle undergoes when switching from aircraft to walker mode.

  The cockpit wraps around me like a clenched fist tight design for the hybrid aircraft mech. Monica had to sit on my lap to even fit in the cockpit..Comfy? Yep. Tight? Also yep.

  The seat isn’t a seat so much as a cradle. It locks my spine, hips, and shoulders, syncing micro-servos to my movements so the mech follows intention before muscle. When I lean forward, the Viking leans with me. When my jaw tightens, control sensitivity sharpens. The thing reads stress like it understands body language.

  Complains? Nope. This aint designed for a two seater.

  Cockpit design was kept simple.

  Dark neosteel panels curve inward, segmented and purposeful, not a wasted surface anywhere. Every display floats as a translucent holo-layer rather than a physical screen, projected directly into my vision.

  Altitude, velocity, wind shear, thermal bloom, everything you ever need for an Ace pilot came easily as everything updates in real time, threaded together by Monica’s constant presence, humming beneath it all as it directly connects to the UED mainframe. And on its solid display board.

  Unlike the usual Terran design philosophy. It still retains the core tenets of Terran ingenuity. If something is critical, you don’t bury it, you honour it.

  Soft white light pulses from her housing, steady and calm, a counterpoint to the violence of the machine around her. The engine core sits right behind the cockpit seat, cool to the touch with an advanced cooling system to hide its warp space capacity core. The Viking is equipped with a large reactor housed in the central area of the vehicle that powers all electrical systems and provides torque for walker mode locomotion.

  These beasts are neither fish nor fowl. An armoured walker that can convert into an aircraft? It doesn't seem natural, does it? Is it elegant? No. Efficient? Hell yes, right down to its design that speaks uncomfortably to minimise space without sacrificing spec options.

  Weapons line the HUD like a prayer written in steel if I actually pray to the Messiah in Warhammer 40k. HUD design is simple to a fault, no clutter, nothing fancy, but I’ll pray too if I were up against these terror machines, if Zergs could feel, they feel fear. All the data needed is displayed in your helmet.

  As for weapons?

  Twin Gatling autocannons mounted along the forearms, currently retracted to reduce drag. MT50 lanzer torpedoes Micro-missile pods tucked beneath the wings, their payloads sleeping behind armoured shutters. A spinal rail system runs the length of the Viking’s back, not active in flight mode but humming faintly, charging capacitors in anticipation of transformation. Everything is modular. Everything can be swapped, tuned, and overclocked.

  Nothing here is decorative, and yet it’s beautiful..

  However, while the Viking's versatility is its greatest asset, it is also one of its drawbacks. Few pilots are able to handle both combat modes even after they solve the transformation issue.

  The majority of Viking pilots are killed in their first battle, as the term "cherry" is used for Viking pilots who have yet to carry out a transformation. Those who survive, however, become among the most skilled pilots. The elite few who make it through training are so deadly that their names are well known by both allies and enemies across the Koprulu sector. The Knights of Tyrador called them the Nibelung Valesti. Warriors so fierce and skilled that they inflict Divine Assault upon their enemies' souls even as they gaze towards their death.

  I can feel the engines through my teeth chittering about due to the G-Force.

  The Vikings’ turbines aren’t loud for the sake of it. The roar is a byproduct of power being forced into motion, atmosphere screaming as it’s displaced. The sound vibrates through the cockpit, through my bones, grounding me.

  Never thought I would pilot one in my life. This isn’t a flight like a jet. It’s controlled falling, speed balanced on the edge of violence, like how a proper mech should be. Big stompy robots masquerading as a jet fighter. Fuck yeah!

  Perfect for Kaiju battles except..ugh..the Kaijus in this world is a class on it’s own.

  Either way-

  You gotta love the irony of that idea. Some yahoo upstate back in Old Earth UED thought,” Hey, wouldn’t it be cool to make a mech and a fighter jet?” and yeah, whoever gave the go-ahead was a fucking genius. Yep..back to the Zaku idea. I wonder if Mech design philosophy follows the same train of thought.

  And thus, the Viking was born. God bless the Norwegian Engineers and the Belgians. Shoutout to the Belgians.. Those good folk from Europe did Old Terra proud.

  Ahead of us, the distortion is obvious now. The Merchant warbus bends light like heat haze, a massive bus barreling through the ground it has no right to occupy. Monica tags it in red, predictive paths spiderwebbing outward as she models the pathing in real time.

  I don’t need to speak to know she’s already ten steps ahead.

  The first thing that hits us is the noise.

  Not the sound of engines that I can tune out, but the gunfire. The warbus erupts in muzzle flashes as soon as we break visual range, fifty-calibre rounds tearing through the air in long, ugly streams. The warbus was loud, menacing and angry. What the hell did Squealer even put in this thing? And here I thought she’d go with something like an invisible Tank. I can deal with an Invisible tank, not MadMax Warbus- Terminator edition.

  “Fucking hell! Is that a jet?!”

  “Fuck off, Cape! We dont want any trouble!”

  The Viking shudders as rounds skim past the wings. A few clips the armour and spark off harmlessly, kinetic dampeners bleeding the force away before it can rattle my bones, the Neosteel armour protecting the hull. The HUD blooms with threat markers, red triangles multiplying faster than I can count. Monica dampens the alerts, filtering the noise down to what matters.

  Front arc. Centre mass. Heavy rotary cannon spinning up.

  I see her then. Monica chimed in “Running an analysis on the structural weakness, distract it, Commander. I trust that you are able to perform adequately?” The cheeky bugger on this Ai.

  I just rolled my eyes “Sure, sure..or else my shame as a pro gamer would haunt me in my next life. The controls seem simple enough. Maybe I’ll even do a barrel roll midair”

  “Alright, Commander, Analysing” she said curtly, and her body slumped like a doll as her real consciousness was back at the UED base using her full computing powers to find a weakness in a parahuman-based vehicle with some extraordinary, impossible engineering that only a powered vehicle can be engineered by shard-based powers.

  Because honestly? That dont look right from an engineering standpoint, bordering on impossibility at how a bus could carry loads that heavy and still move at 150 kmph per hour.

  Squealer is welded into the middle of the warbus like some demented queen on a throne of scrap. A massive cannon juts out from the bus’s spine, its barrel glowing as it charges. She’s shouting some sort of profanity,

  “-Cunt in the sky! I’m gonna rip those wings off an-” Yeah, I dont need to listen to that.

  Her arms were flailing about as she barked orders to the mook Merchants to reload her big giant canon clinging to every surface, some manning guns, others just screaming for the sake of it, panicking at the jet fighter they couldn’t hit with their tiny pitiful assault rifles.

  Where the hell do drug dealers even find assault weapons? I bet the gangs work with each other somehow. ABB and E88 supplies lose a cache or two ,and somehow it ended up with the druggies.

  Skidmark stands near the front, barely hanging on, gesturing wildly as his power warps the surface area around the tires, even with his powers dampening, doesn't mean he cant use it, it's just a little less than...full blast, even so, to think he would use it like this, You really cant underestimate the Leader of the Merchant. He’s trying to turn the road itself into a weapon by making the damn bus move faster.

  I tilt the Viking hard left.

  The world snaps sideways as a wave of distorted gravity tears through where I would’ve been. The Viking rolls cleanly, wings flexing, engines flaring as I dive and climb in the same motion. Another burst of gunfire chases me, close enough that I can hear rounds chewing through the air.

  My heart is hammering, but my hands are steady.

  I line up a pass.

  The Viking’s forearm panels slide back with a smooth mechanical hiss, autocannons deploying and spinning up. The sound is deeper than the Merchants’ guns, but I was confident in myself, even though it's my first time piloting it, I squeezed the trigger.

  The recoil is minimal, at least I know the guns work even midair. Funny how they dont work in-game, huh? Loading the missile, I am at the tracks to slow down the vehicle.

  Rounds slam into the side of the warbus, ripping through scrap plating, shredding gun mounts, and throwing bodies into the air. One of the mounted machine guns detonates in a spray of metal and fire.

  The Merchants scatter, some firing wildly, others clinging on for dear life. I dont know if that includes some casualties, at this point I just wanna hit that thing to a stop, they know the risk when they join a cape gang intended to do violence.

  Squealer’s cannon fires.

  A beam of compressed force screams past me, close enough that the Viking’s shields flare bright blue. Warning runes flash across my vision as heat spikes along the right wing. I grit my teeth and pull up, engines screaming as I climb above the bus.

  Fucking hell..that ain't a cannon, it's more like a laser beam of death. Tinkertech are bullshit!

  Below me, Skidmark is still shouting, his power turning the ground beneath the warbus into a sliding nightmare. The bus lurches and sways, half-skidding on the road, half-falling, held together by squealer's odd welding technique and duct tape nonsense..How the hell is that thing still moving that fast? Powers are soo bullshit!

  “Monica, any minute now-” I mutter, breath tight in my chest.

  I bank and dive.

  The warbus grows fast in my view, a monstrous patchwork of stolen metal and bad ideas. Squealer swings her cannon up to track me, screaming something I can’t hear over the engines.

  I fire.

  Micro-missiles streak downward, smart and precise. They don’t explode on impact, not yet. They punch in, burrow, and then detonate in sequence. The warbus convulses as explosions ripple along its spine, tearing open armour and throwing the centre gun wildly off aim.

  Monica’s voice cuts cleanly through the roar of the engines.

  “Analysis complete,” she says. “The warbus is a composite of civilian transport chassis, shipyard scrap, and at least three stolen industrial generators upgraded using highly irregular engineering based on waveform and parallel dimension energy source. Primary power routing runs through the midsection. Secondary systems are externally mounted and poorly shielded.”

  I glance at the tactical overlay as it blossoms across my visor. Weak points light up like a bad report card.

  “Let me guess,” I say, banking slightly to keep the bus centred. “Hit it in the middle, and it falls apart.”

  “Preferably the rear-left quarter,” Monica replies. “That is where Squealer overcompensated after your missile strike. Structural integrity is down to forty-two per cent.”

  Below us, dust kicks up as something fast crests a side street.

  The Cyclones came in, and I perked up “Look, Monica, Cyclones kept up, that could buy us some time”

  Four of them, low, wide, armoured with neosteel hull as they skid into view, grav-assisted tyres gripping broken asphalt as they fan out around the warbus. Their launchers pop open in unison, and a storm of blue-white streaks tears through the air.

  Stun missiles.

  They detonate against the warbus in crackling bursts, electricity crawling across its surface like living things. I see Merchants convulse, weapons dropping as they spasm and slump against the railings.

  “Cyclones are engaging,” Monica reports calmly. “Effectiveness is within predicted parameters.”

  Then Squealer screams something incoherent and swings a jury-rigged side cannon down. What the fuck..how many canons does she have on that bus?!

  The shot hits one of the Cyclones dead-on.

  The explosion isn’t catastrophic, but the tyres disintegrate in a spray of shredded rubber and sparks. The Cyclone slews sideways, scraping along the road before grinding to a halt, its chassis still intact, weapons silent.

  I feel my jaw tighten. “Fucking hell, what the hell is in those cannon?! Did it blow the thread? That’s neosteel casing actually dented in?…holy crap, fuck Skidmark. Squealer is mad dangerous”

  “Cyclone Three is immobilised,” Monica says. “Unit status: unharmed. Vehicle integrity: eighty-seven percent.”

  “Good,” I mutter. “I’d be pissed if they broke my toys.” No, that's not it. I didn't expect the tinkertech to have the necessary firepower to even harm my machines, isnt that a wake-up call? Neosteel isn’t all that almighty as it seems. Then how am I supposed to fight an Endbringer then?

  The warbus lurches again, Skidmark’s power flaring as the air around it ripples violently as he apply a forcefield right at the correct angle. The road ahead twists upward like a wave, trying to fling the Cyclones aside with his powers. I could see him using his powers and is visibly stressing himself due to the dampers.

  Is Skidmark making the bus go faster? It's probably some power interaction then, holy hell…was the Merchants ever this though in Canon? I dont remember.

  “Commander, pay attention,” Monica warns, “Skidmark is increasing output. If allowed to continue, he may destabilise the entire intersection.”

  “We might need to rework the design on those dampers if Skidmark could still somehow use it even at lower capacity,” I say, rolling the Viking onto its side and lining up another run in the sky

  “That’s my cue.”

  The Vikings’ engines howl as I dive, the ground rushing up fast. The warbus fills my vision, Squealer scrambling to redirect whatever men she has left, still not stunned.

  “Targeting rear-left quarter,” Monica says. “Recommend sustained fire. Precision is no longer required.”

  I grin despite myself.

  “Music to my ears.”

  The twin autoguns roar to life again as the target lights up again, a controlled storm of firepower hammering into the highlighted section. Armour peels away. Sparks and debris erupt outward as the warbus shudders, power flickering along its frame. One of the generators blows, a deep, concussive blast that rocks the whole vehicle.

  The warbus starts to tilt and slows down immensely, crashing into an abandoned structure in the docks. Thankfully, no one is living there. I could see some pedestrians running away, mostly homeless people. Hopefully there isnt any casualties.

  “Structural collapse imminent,” Monica announces. “Skidmark is compensating, but his control is degrading.”

  I pull up hard, climbing back into the sky as the Cyclones continue to pepper the bus with stun rounds. Below me, the Merchants are no longer yelling orders, just panicking, clinging, trying not to die in their own rolling nightmare.

  I exhale slowly, eyes locked on the chaos below.

  “Alright,” I say quietly. “Let’s finish this before they get any more bad ideas.”

  Squealer’s cannon goes dead, smoke and sparks vomiting from its housing.

  The bus started to lose its equilibrium and started to tilt sideways. I slammed the transformation and went into walker mode, skidding and scraping the asphalt ground from the G-force, trying hard to stand up straight while keeping the centre level enough so it wouldn’t topple off,

  I pull up hard to keep the mech upright as the Merchants scramble, Skidmark still yelling, still trying to bend reality to keep the whole mess together. The Viking hums beneath me, systems stable, weapons hot.

  This isn’t over yet.

  I feel the weight settle through the legs when they lock, magnetic stabilisers biting into the asphalt as I drop hard onto the street ahead of the warbus. The impact cracks the pavement. The warbus barrels toward me anyway, engines howling, Skidmark’s power rippling the air into greasy waves that make distance feel wrong, but I also know he isn’t at his best, still unbelievable that he managed to push it this far.

  “Walker mode is online and stable,” Monica says. “Leg actuators at full stability. You may fire at will.”

  “Oh, I plan to,” I mutter.

  I aimed at the reticule as the red triangles HUD targeted the tyres. The twin cannons spin up with a low, hungry whine. I angle them down and squeeze the triggers.

  The first burst shreds the front tyres.

  Rubber, steel, and sparks explode outward as the massive wheels disintegrate. The warbus lurches violently, its nose dipping as the rear tyres try and fail to compensate. I pivot smoothly, tracking the sides like I'm piloting a Battletech mech sideways, and rake the remaining wheels in controlled bursts until all of them are gone.

  The bus slams down on its axles with a tortured screech, skidding sideways and carving trenches into the road in a smoking pile of metal scrap. Inside the open framework, I can hear them now.

  “What the hell are you doing, Skidmark?!” Squealer screams, half-hanging out of her cannon rig. “You said you had this under control!”

  “Shut it cunt! I was doing fine until that metal from hell dropped and gave us full of lead!!” Skidmark yells back, his voice distorted as his power flares again. “The road’s -just fighting me! It’s not easy with these damn cuffs on me!”

  “Your power isn’t making the tyres move anymore, skid! Just take up a gun and shoot it!” she snaps. “Shoot the mech! Shoot the damn mech!”

  Something blew up in the middle of the bus, sending Skid and Squealer dropping and rolling to the ground from the bus. None of their men is here

  Squealer’s oversized cannon goes first. A precise burst punches through its mounting brackets, detonating the jury-rigged ammo feed. The whole assembly tears free in a cloud of fire and scrap, spinning off the side of the bus and crashing into a storefront.

  Squealer shrieks.

  “My Guncannon!! That took weeks to build, damn it!”

  “Your wiring was trash,” I say, voice amplified through the external speakers without me really meaning to. “Weeks wasted.” To be fair, it was actually pretty cool. But I’m not gonna say that hell naw.

  I follow Monica’s targeting highlights next, snapping shots into the exposed generators and conduit lines she marked earlier. Each hit kills another system, lights flicker out, engines sputter, weapons fall silent one by one. Welp, there goes the Warbus sputtering into smoke. The rest of the mooks fled, some of those that were stunned were able to crawl out, and some of the mooks helped each other out. Skidmark tried to control the crowd, but it was no use. They were scattering fast

  “H-Hey! Come back, you sons of cumstain! Fuck!! Where’s your loyalty!!” I rolled my eyes when he talked about loyalty. Skidmark staggers, bracing himself as the warped air around the bus collapses his face, unevenly paling as he’s out of juice or simply too tired, forcing himself to use that power even under suppression, probably felt like hell.

  Makes you wonder how strong his will is to defy it like that.

  “Stop shooting…fuck.” he yells, panic creeping into his voice. “We can talk! Can we negotiate, yeah? You seem like a reasonable cape, unlike those fucking idiots back at the PRT-”

  The warbus finally gives up, smoke pouring from every seam. Merchants spill out, coughing, scrambling, tripping over each other as they flee in all directions. And…it burst into fire. Everyone now scrambles away trying to get away from the fire.

  Inside the wreck, Squealer slams her fist against the railing.

  “This is your fault! My baby!” she screams at Skidmark. “You said no one in this city could touch us! What the hell! Look at what that mean tinker did to my baby!”

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Skidmark looked around at the ruined bus, the shattered guns, the towering mech standing over them like a judge and just sighed like he gave up. I just…well, they can’t exactly retaliate anymore can they?

  “Fuck me…I didn’t think anyone could tear the Funbus,” he mutters, “it’d be something like that…huh, fuck me in the ass..blimey.” The funbus?! That’s what you decided to call it?!

  “It’s gone,” she says, voice breaking. “They’re all gone. The cannon, the bus, the engine… I built that. I built it. My baby is gone”

  Skidmark stumbles over, still reeking of ozone and cheap chemicals, his power flickering weakly around him. He crouches in front of her, awkward, unsure where to put his hands.

  “Hey. Hey, Squeler-Squealer,” he corrects himself quickly. “It’s just stuff, yeah? We’ll rebuild. You always do make new and better ones.”

  She lets out a sharp, humourless laugh. “With what, Adam? Scrap? You saw what that cape did. He peeled it apart, my baby liked it was a toy.”

  Skidmark swallows. “You’re the smartest person I know. You made a bus that is sturdier than a tank. You made it fly once, yeah?”

  “For six seconds!” she snaps, then her voice cracks again. “That bus was gonna show up the other gangs that we mean business, it even served as my temporary lab. My proof that I wasn’t just some screw-up with a power that makes things worse.”

  She buries her face in her hands, shoulders shaking.

  Skidmark hesitates, then pulls her into a clumsy hug, one arm wrapping around her shoulders.

  “I should’ve…fuck!” he says quietly. “Shouldn’t have pushed the hospital thing. Should’ve known someone big would answer eventually. Could have just gone to a clinic if it weren't for Whirligig's incessant complaining…Too high to even think properly.”

  She sniffles. “You always say that after.”

  “I know,” he admits. “But… we’re still breathing…”

  She looks up at him, eyes red. “So what? We’re going to jail, Skid.” He doesn’t have an answer. He just tightens his grip a little and lets go.

  I’m about to signal the PRT when the thermal overlay flickers red again. “Jason,” Monica says quietly. “Secondary heat source. Still alive.”

  I zoom in. The warbus is still burning. Inside that mess of twisted steel and sparking cables, something moves.

  “Oh hell, Whirlygig is still in there, isn’t she?” I mutter.

  Below, Squealer notices it at the same time. Her head snaps up, eyes wide.

  “Whirly-?” Her voice cuts off into a raw scream. “WHIRLY!”

  Skidmark freezes for half a second he just stares at the wreck, cuffs still locked around his wrists, dampeners blinking weak blue against his skin.

  Then he runs towards the burning debris.

  “Adam, don’t-!” Squealer shouts.

  He barrels straight into the smoke, tripping over debris, disappearing into the burning shell of the bus. Flames lick up the sides, black smoke pouring out in choking waves.

  “Idiot,” Monica says, but there’s tension in her voice now. “He will suffer severe burns at that temperature.”

  “I know,” I say, fingers tightening on the controls. “But he’s not stopping..that’s so strange….”

  Inside the wreck, I can see Skidmark coughing, power flaring uselessly against the dampeners as he slams his shoulder into a jammed bulkhead. He wedges his cuffed hands into a gap and pulls, screaming in effort.

  “Whirlygig!” he yells. “Hey-hey!, talk to me! You better not die on me! Fucking heat! argh!” The panel gives way with a shriek of tearing metal. Whirlygig is slumped against a shattered seat, helmet cracked, blood matting her hair. One leg is twisted wrong. She’s breathing, but shallow, uneven.

  Skidmark drops to his knees beside her.

  “You’re alive. You’re alive, fucking shit..she’s still alive,” he says, voice breaking as badly as Squealer’s did earlier. He fumbles with the restraints, fingers shaking too hard to be precise. The flames creep closer.

  “Squealer!” he shouts. “I’ve got her! I’ve got her, but she’s not waking up!”

  Squealer is already moving, sprinting toward the wreck despite the heat, tears streaking down her face. She skids to a stop at the edge, helpless.

  “It’s going to blow!” she screams. “Adam, get out of there!”

  “Can’t!” he yells back. “She’s stuck! Fucking hell, what was I thinking coming in here like that!”

  I don’t think anymore and got out of the cockpit -

  ”Wait, Commander-”

  I ignored Monica in the cockpit and got out as the hydraulics hissed open and heat washed over me as I jumped down onto cracked asphalt. Squealer's eyes went wide in shock when she saw that the Viking had a pilot and recognised me, trying to threaten me,

  “H-hey! Stay back!” she scrambled back, trying to tear off a metal panelling as a makeshift metal weapon. I ignored her and dove inside the burning, blazing bus with my matrix shield spazzing around due to the heat.

  ”H-hey, the fuck you want!” I ignored him and haul his ass alongside whirlygig away from the burning vehicle.

  Skidmark doesn’t even look up. He just heaves Whirlygig into his arms, grunting as he staggers back out through While i helped him drag Whirlygig outside.He collapses onto the asphalt, still holding her, coughing violently, and suffering various degree of burns.

  Squealer hits the ground beside them, hands hovering uselessly over Whirlygig’s injuries. “She’s breathing so chill the fuck out.” Skidmark says over and over, like a prayer. “She’s breathing, she’s breathing-”

  Squealer turned to me, pleading with that gaze, “Y-you! Do something! Anything! Aren’t you a tinker! Fix this!” Well, aren’t you a tinker too? You fix it. But arguing was a moot point, she’s just stressed out.

  Whirlygig is barely conscious. Skidmark looks worse than he should due to the burns along his arms and neck, blistered skin already turning angry red where the foam didn’t reach in time. He’s still shielding her with his body, oddly protective. It seems Adam here is a little different from what I thought he was. Did he actually care about his people?

  “Don’t move,” I say, voice flat but loud enough to cut through the chaos.

  Skidmark looks up at me, eyes wild. “You gonna finish it, cape?” he rasps. “Do it quick, chinwagger, make it painless-”

  I didn’t bother to answer.

  I drop to one knee and snap the emergency Caduceus unit off my forearm housing. The device unfolds with a soft mechanical whirr, reactor core humming to life. It’s a stripped-down model or a field triage, cadeceus reactor beam flow through my fingers towards the patient, inserting the nano healing particles.

  Monica’s voice comes through my earpiece. “One hour of sustained output available. Optimal allocation confirmed.” coming from the coms in the ear.

  “Got it,” I mutter.

  I press the emitter over Whirlygig’s chest first.

  Light spills out with green Cadeceus energy. The beam washes over her body, mapping damage faster than any MRI ever could. Burn tissue peels back into regeneration, inflammation receding as nanite-guided repair stitches skin together at the cellular level.

  The wonders of nanotechnology, Dr Angela Ziegler's design. Hope she’s alright at the hospital after this clusterfuck. I’m sure if the PRT had any brain cells, they wouldn't detain her. If they do? Well…

  That just means someone is acting stupidly, playing politics. I can count on a few people who would do that in this world, Coil..Accord, even Kaiser, in either case..that’s not my problem yet.

  Her breathing evens out almost immediately.

  “Oh-” Squealer chokes, hands flying to her mouth.

  Whirlygig gasps, sucking in air like she’s been underwater too long. Her eyes flutter open, unfocused but alive. “Whuaah..are we there yet…?”

  “Easy,” I say quietly. “You’re safe. Don’t try to move yet.Your legs still need medical attention” She doesn’t argue. She just blinked, then went back to sleep.

  I shift the beam, sweeping down her leg. The twisted angle corrects itself with a faint crack as bone knits back into place, muscles rethreading like pulled cables snapping back where they belong. No pain, Caduceus handles that too.

  Thirty seconds later, she’s stable.

  I turn to Skidmark.

  He flinches when the light touches him, then stills as the heat drains from his burns. Blisters flatten. Charred skin sloughs away near his neck and arm, replaced by healthy pink tissue. He stares at his arms like they don’t belong to him anymore.

  “…What the hell…?” he whispers.

  “Hold still,” I tell him. “Im trying to fix your burnmarks.”

  A minute passes. Two. The worst of it’s gone. When I finally shut the unit down, the hum fades into silence that feels heavier than the noise ever did.

  Skidmark swallows hard. “You didn’t have to. Once this is over, I'm still gonna put a bullet to your head,” he says.

  “I know,” I reply, leaving it at that. The man should know to read between the lines, he may treat the usual Merchant members as fodder, but I didnt think he would care for his own people, well…I didn't think Skidmark would save someone from a fire.

  “Commander..The Prt is arriving soon, What will you do?” Monica asked me through the loudspeaker What will I do? I should ask Skidmark that.

  “Hey Skidmark, What should I do? PRT is coming, I could just give them to you, then again. After this I’m probably gonna be labelled a villain or a Vigilante or something. What do you think I should do?” I asked genuinely to the man I had just caught. Squealer didnt talk and wasnt sure if she should as she keep staring between me Skidmark and me and of course the menacing Viking behind me.

  Skidmark just shrug, “Fuck if I know, I’m just a two bit gangster who deals with losers buying my shit. We used to have a hideout before the big bad dragon decided we aint welcome anymore. We had a place in this abandoned shop that used to be a tourist shop, just me and squealer here. That was a long, long time ago, nobody even remembers that anymore..”

  “Just like that, huh? You dont care either way? Not gonna do a bargain plea?”

  Skidmark took one look at me and just scoffed, “ Fuck off, Guy like you? Even with an army of mechs, you can’t possibly take out the PRT. I know how this ends. I’d have a better chance with the PRT once I’m in custody”

  I nodded, “Yeah…it’s easier to break out once you’re already in their custody. Wait for them to slip up during the transfer…I’d plan around that too if I were taken In”

  That got Skidmark smiling then. He turned angry for some reason, “Fucking hell, you ain't no Hero. What the fuck are you doing bustin up our ass for?!”

  I just shrug, “ I dont know…playing Nice with the PRT? Get them to open up with free gifts? Everyone likes free stuff, innit?”

  Skidmarked was truly mad and roared at me “You’re a fucking idiot if you think the PRT ever play nice! Fuck it..hey, let us go alright, either way sounds like we’re both screwed”

  I shake my head, “ I dont know… I think I like my odds going against them”

  That just pissed off Skidmark, “Oh piss off, mate! Go fuck a mech! If you’re not gonna let is go, then go eat a dick! Dont talk to me!”

  Sheesh..hard crowd to please. I dont understand that guy. First, he went apathetic, then he was also the same dude that saved Whirlygig. I thought the man was an asshole; turns out he is an asshole. A very special kind of asshole to everyone and not certain people. Something happened between now and later in the Canon timeline that changed him to become worse than he is right now.

  I stand, re-locking the Caduceus into its housing.

  My hands are steady, but my chest feels tight with what I’m about to face. Finally, the SCVs arrive and start to repair the rest of the Cyclones, and they keep the perimeter secured, even with Skidmark and Squealers' confused and alerted faces.

  “SCVs are here, can’t exactly keep up with a bus moving that fast…This battle taught me a lot about real-time battles”

  Monica came back online to her gynoid body and perked right up as her eyes opened, taking control of the Viking “Commander, allow me to start building the Ghost Academy and construct a Neural Programming facility for training purposes. This battle has shown that the lack of proper training will be quite dire in a real combat situation”

  I turned to her and asked, “What do you mean real combat situation? Is this not a real combat situation?” Monica just smiled and said, “No, Commander, a controlled environment where reasonable data extrapolation in real time was given by me does not count as a real combat situation, in the absence of any Support from the UED system, I believe that you are in no danger here even without my guidance”

  “Alright, this isn’t a neuro resosalization facility, am I right? I'm pretty sure those were banned due to how poorly soldiers that undergo resocialization tend to be compared to ordinary humans”

  Monica assured me, “No Commander. After peace was achieved, the memory wiped technology was repurposed and further improved for psionic detection and later psionic training facility in a more humane ghost program after the Protoss had shown to be psionically able to reverse engineered the process, Terran scientist began improving its design without any of the predecessor flaws”

  Well, that sounds swell. Instantly download knowledge into my brain? Sure, why not? Maybe I could even learn a new language or two.

  “Alright, let's go with that..-”

  “Commander..they are here” Monica alerted me as she positioned the Viking in alert.PRT vans screech in from every direction. The popo are here, finally...too late to react.

  Still late to the scene.

  They really need to improve upon operational time.

  The officials formed a tight steel ring around the smoking remains of the warbus. Floodlights snap on one by one, bleaching the night and turning the wreck into a crime scene instead of a battlefield. Containment foam launchers are already raised before the engines finish idling.

  They’re angry. I can feel it.

  Skidmark is on his knees nearby, right beside me, tired from everything. The cuffs were glowing faintly with the dampers still working, but not strong enough to cut the power down to zero., soot smeared across his face and drained from excessive use of his powers. Cant say much about Sqealer or Whirly, one fainted or was sleeping..I can't tell, and the other is having a panic attack or something.

  And somehow, that seems to be the problem, doesn’t it?

  Why do I sympathise with the bad guys I just took down? They hurt nobody, killed nobody. The giant murderbus might be excessive, but if I think about it, Skid only harassed a nurse and threatened me as I engaged in self-defence. In any case, I do hope there’s leniency, but I’m doubtful the PRT will ever let this slide. If they would follow the rule of law and have a proper court proceeding maybe..But based on Canon timeline and how they did Bitch and Canary in, I'm not so sure…

  Miss Militia pushes through first, helmet under her arm, jaw tight. She takes in the scene, looking towards the disabled warbus, the Merchants restrained, the lack of bodies shows that I either let them go or someone died and was incinerated. Even with no casualties, her expression hardens anyway.

  “This was a PRT operation,” she says. “We had custody.”

  “You lost custody when they broke them out with a rolling artillery platform,” I reply, keeping my voice level, tired of playing buerecrat simulator that didn't know the meaning of doing good. To truly do good, surprisingly enough..the only good ones are those I know without any powers or broken ones.

  Dauntless arrives behind her, eyes lingering on Skidmark longer than necessary. Velocity is pacing, agitated, still riding the adrenaline high of failure. Triumph looks embarrassed more than anything else as he refuse to look at me in the eye.

  “They were already contained,” Miss Militia insists.

  I glance at the wreck. At the burned asphalt. At the bullet-pocked storefront two blocks away.

  “You’re late…again.”

  Silence, sharp and uncomfortable.

  A foam launcher clicks as someone grips it too hard. I notice how many PRT troopers are staring at the Viking instead of the prisoners like they’re trying to decide which one scares them more.

  Skidmark looks up at me then, grin crooked even through the soot, like he’s proud of the mess he caused. Squealer moved closer to Skidmark trying to mask her insecurities. Whirlygig doesn’t move since she’s asleep but no one else did, not even the PRT agents.

  They were wary of me and Monica.

  I fold my arms.

  “They’re alive,” I say. “Healed. Restrained. Their vehicle is neutralized. Their weapons are gone. You can take them.”

  Miss Militia exhales slowly through her nose. “You didn’t follow protocol.”

  “No,” I admit. “ following protocol will resulted in even bigger issues such as potential casualties. You’re sloppy. Your men are late, your parahumans are late..all of this could be cut out from protocol if you would just do what heroes do, help when the need arise. And you couldn’t even do that.”

  That’s when the air changes.

  Dragon descends before Miss Militia could reply-

  Her Cawthorne unit settles behind the PRT line with controlled precision, turbines whispering down. The moment she’s there, the Protectorate straightens without realizing it. Even Miss Militia steps aside instinctively.

  Dragon looks at the prisoners first. She scans Skidmark. Squealer. Whirlygig.

  “All three accounted for,” she says. “No fatalities.”

  There’s no praise in her voice. But there’s no disapproval either. Then she looks at me.

  “You intercepted the escape attempt alone?” Dragon says.

  “Not alone.”Her gaze flicks briefly, very briefly, to the Viking behind me.Monica stays silent. Smart of her.

  Miss Militia turns back to Dragon. “They were already in custody. This escalation-”

  “Was initiated by the Merchants,” Dragon replies calmly. “The presence of a heavily armed transport constitutes a major threat vector, and the PRT failed to prevent that.”

  Velocity bristles. “W-we had it under control! It’s just…it’s a huge bus”

  Dragon’s head tilts a fraction. “You did not.”That lands harder than anything I could’ve said. Look at Miss Dragon, I knew she was the favourite after all. The only good person in this whole damn world with powers. Then again, she’s a little unconventional, isn’t she? Her shard works differently after all. Hers..the administrators etc. Fairy stuff bullshit.

  The PRT troopers shift. Uncomfortable. Defensive.

  I watch Skidmark being hauled to his feet, still grinning like he thinks this is a win. Squealer is still yelling about her bus. Whirlygig is wheeled past us toward an ambulance, alive because I made a decision faster than bureaucracy ever could.

  Miss Militia finally looks tired instead of angry. “We’ll take custody,” she says.

  I stepped aside and gave them leeway; no use arguing. “They’re yours.” I gave a wink to Skidmark, and he just gave me the middle finger. Heh, I really hope he escaped. Is it weird that I’m wishing Skid would actually break away from the PRT?

  One can hope, yeah? Besides…after speaking to the guy, I can roughly understand a little. I probably shouldn’t, since he’s done a lot of bad things, but as things stand…he might just break out successfully if things keep up this way. In a city like this? It’s hard not to turn to crime. Its easier to take the easy way just for survival. Because for some people, eating bread, or having your fix, is just their way to cope in this dreaded world.

  You know? He might just break free. Still haven’t seen that microphone and traditional dark blue skin-tight look he would pull in the future..or maybe I already messed up with the timeline and whatever happened in the future won't matter anymore. If it happens, it happens. Especially with the cape..yeah, Alexandria can pull it off, not him. Something to not look forward to, I guess.

  Dragon lingers a moment longer, optics glowing faintly as she studies the Viking, then me.

  “This city is already unstable,” she says quietly. “Unpredictable actors complicate matters.”

  I meet her gaze.

  “So do predictable failures,” I said, returning the idiot ball argument back to them.

  They don’t even bother lowering their voices.

  Triumph is the first one to snap again, Mr Lion Mask boy seems to have a hard on for me.

  “He interfered with an active PRT operation,” he says, pointing at me like that settles it. “Used unregistered tech in no way we PRT approve of,. Fired heavy weapons in a populated area. That’s grounds for detention at minimum.”

  Dauntless doesn’t look at me when he answers. He’s staring straight ahead, posture rigid, shield resting at his side.

  “Protocol says we secure the scene, debrief all involved parties, and escalate to command,” he says evenly. “Arrest isn’t automatic, and he’s an independant.”

  Triumph scoffs. “Come on. He EMP’d half the block rendering Parahumans to powered down! A dangerous tech like that and he walks free?! Not to mention he just… rode off in a transforming mech. If that doesn’t trigger a cell, what does?”

  Velocity rubs the back of his neck, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “Look Triumph, I’m not trying to support the guy but..,” he says, carefully neutral, “the Merchants broke custody. They rolled out a mobile weapons platform. If Dreamhack hadn’t intercepted we-”

  Triumph cuts him off. “That’s not the point!”

  Miss Militia raises a hand, sharp and practiced, and the argument stalls. She turns to me then, really looks at me, not the armor or the machine behind me.

  “Why?” she asks. No accusation. Just a question. “Why go against us? You could’ve coordinated. You could’ve waited.”

  I meet her gaze.“Because waiting might get people killed.”

  Triumph lets out a harsh laugh. “Oh, spare us the vigilante speech.” I ignore him and keep my eyes on Miss Militia.

  “You had three violent parahumans in custody,” I say. “One of them is a tinker who specializes in weaponized vehicles. You put them in a van and called it done. I saw an escape coming a mile away.”

  Dauntless finally looks at me. “And you decided that justified unilateral action.”

  “Yes,” I say simply. “It did.”

  “That’s not how the system works,” Triumph snaps.

  I shrug. “I know. That’s the problem.”

  Velocity exhales slowly, like he’s trying not to pick a side. “You could’ve have…I dont know, work with us?.”

  “I did,” I reply. “By showing up. By stopping them before they turned half the docks into a shooting gallery and leaving them in your custody again…despite the track record.”

  Triumph steps forward, fists clenched. “You don’t get to decide that!”

  Miss Militia steps between us before it can escalate.

  “Enough,” she says, then looks back at me. “You don’t trust the PRT.”

  I consider lying. Decide it’s pointless. I shift my weight, keeping my gaze level with Miss Militia, Dragon hovering just behind the PRT line. This is the moment, the teaching moment, if they’ll hear it, if they dont? Fuck it. I have better things to do than to answer QA with a bunch of cops playing pageantry.

  “You want to know what makes a true hero?” I start, letting the words roll out deliberately. “Not the badge, not the regulation, not the press releases or debriefs. It’s an action. It’s stepping in when everyone else freezes. A hero acts to protect those who can’t protect themselves, even when it’s inconvenient, even when it’s risky, even when the rules say you shouldn’t.”

  I let my eyes scan the group, letting it sink in. “Tonight, you had three violent parahumans under custody, civilians nearby, and a hospital in chaos. You hesitated. You followed protocol. And yeah, that’s the way things are supposed to work. But the question is, what saved the people who were about to get hurt? Who made the call to actually stop them?”

  Dauntless nods once, slow and thoughtful. “You’re saying you acted because you believed we wouldn’t.”

  “I’m saying you couldn’t,” I answer. “Not fast enough…not when you’re trying to prevent me from doing what's right instead of doing it yourself.”

  I shrug lightly, almost casually, though my tone is firm if they dont get this in their head, nothing will. “Heroes don’t operate in grey, they operate in necessity. And sometimes, that looks ugly. Sometimes, it pisses people off. But that’s the measure of a real hero, isn’t it? Doing what has to be done when it matters.”

  Silence settles again, heavier this time. Triumph looks like he wants to argue more, but even he seems to realise how bad it would look now, three captured villains, no civilian casualties, a disaster that never quite happened.

  “ True heroism is about protecting those who can't protect themselves, meddling when you dont need to is the essence of being a hero. It's when you arrive at the scene, your presence alone will ensure that everything is going to be alright. “

  I continued, “Firefighter does this, Doctors do it, any profession that saves life that goes beyond the call of duty does the utmost, because they have no fear…they symbolise the essence that good isn’t dead, there’s justice to right the wrongs. A declaration and reassurance and responsibility contrasting the very dire need to inspire those in despair, for you are the embodiment of hope, because…”

  I let that sink in a little and said, "It's fine now. Why? Because I am here…"

  Because I am Here!

  I shook my head, thinking about what Allmight would say in these times, and just shrugged because once Upon a time, Earth Bet did have a symbol of Peace, In Hero and in Vikare, the both of them were charismatic, and willing to help people when most of the Parahumans in the golden age of heroes were criminals, roving mad broken people with powers and use it to abuse it before Eidolon, Alexandria and Legend showed up. Things were never the same after Vikare died, but he paved the way for future heroes to turn against Villainy. It was a start.

  “ I have nothing else to say anymore” Not like they could understand.

  Miss Militia sighs. “You put us in an impossible position,” she says. “If we let this go, we set a precedent. If we don’t..” She glances at the wreck, at the vans pulling away. “-we punish someone for fixing our mistake.”

  Dragon’s voice cuts in over the comms then, calm and measured. “Command will want a full report,” she says. “All parties. Including Dreamhack.”

  Triumph seizes on that. “Good. Detain him until then.” Dragon pauses just long enough to matter.

  “Detention is not warranted at this time,” she says. “Observation and debrief will suffice.” Dauntless exhales, tension bleeding out of his shoulders. Velocity visibly relaxes. Miss Militia gives Dragon a grateful look.

  I just smirked and decided to throw a left ball. “Monica, deal with them. I’m heading back to base”

  She got out of the Viking with the hydraulics opened up from the cockpit, everyones gaze is now directed to her,Her optics glint softly as she inclines her head now wearing a perfectly covered Medic Visor on her head to cover her face although her dark black hair still flows out from the back of the showing everyone her ethnicity.

  “Understood,” she replies, voice calm, almost amused.

  Dragon steps forward as Monica moves toward the PRT lineup, her gaze flicking between the AI and me. There’s that little twitch in her stance the recognition of knowing.

  “You again, It’s you Monica” Dragon murmurs, her tone more neutral than hostile. “I should’ve expected you to be behind all this.”

  Monica’s voice is smooth, casual, with just a hint of condescension. “I’m not here to fight you today. I’m here to enforce my Commander's orders.. You should take notes, it could help with efficiency parameters by 2 per cent.”

  Dragon crosses her arms, trying to maintain that rigid, authoritative posture she always carries falters at Monica’s light teasing“W-what?”

  “Hey, where’s Armsy? Didnt see his BeardCycle anywhere. Didnt he came?” I asked, I could see that her Cawthorn almost leaned in too close and lose her balance. Dragon was surprised, “W-what did you call it? BeardCycle?”

  “Yeah, I thought he would be here, since you know..Leader of the PRT ENE in Brockton Bay” Dragon just sighed as the monstrous machine mech of a dragonsuit just said,” He’s under the weather.You know how tinkers are, these things happen sometimes when focusing too much, and they enter a state of fugue”

  Monica chimed in and said “I suspected that the items you gave him, Commander, might induce his current situation. Perhaps you should send him more gifts? I suggest you send him the newly improved Neosteel Ablative armour-”

  Dragon was visibly alarmed “No! You shall not send him anything! He needs to recover properly and take proper breaks!” Monica just smirked at Dragon, baiting her into a feud again,” I should send him your data packets when you lost to me, would that intrigue him?”

  “Oh, you insufferable-” Dragon's anger is rising.

  I chuckle, leaning back against the Viking’s cockpit wall. “Oh, come on, Monica was just having fun. She told me everything. You knew the stakes, you almost made it into our servers.”

  Monica tilts her head, her voice cool and teasing. “Fun is a relative term. You were just lucky I wasn’t interested in a full wipe.”

  Dragon’s jaw tightens. No, her Cawthorn literally has its Jaw Tighten. The metal around the Mech creaked and screeched with pressure; even Miss Militia was startled " D-Dragon?"

  Monica's lips pressed together amusingly as if she was enjoying this, her eyes flickered with amusement. She’s trying hard to hide her panic. I just told her that I knew she was an A. Unless she doesn't realise what I mean. “Lucky me, perhaps a round two is in order...friend,” she mutters, voice low.

  I glance between the two of them, feeling the electricity from their old rivalry sparking again. “Huh.. Monica have actual friends?” I say. “Monica, keep it friendly. Dragon, try not to be too harsh on her, okay? This cheeky bugger means well.”

  Dragon doesn’t respond, just narrows her eyes, but I can see the corners of her mouth twitching if she had a mouth somewhere under that big giant four-legged draconian mech. Monica simply gives me that serene tilt of her head, like she’s already ten steps ahead in some game only she and Dragon know. Ahh, what the hell do I know? Ai wars aren't really a thing, even when they telecasted the Grog vs Nero Sama rap battle back in 2030.

  Yeah, ok fine. You Ai’s enjoy your little mind games.

  Im out..

  I shake my head slightly, amused. “Alright, I'm out! Nice seeing you all but - I'm tired, so peace!.”

  Wait! You can’t just!”

  Miss Militia tried to stop me, but Monica caught her hand and just pulled her away as I hopped into the Viking, its hydraulics cockpit closing in, and the VTOL startup hovered into the Fighter Mode as I cruised into the Sky-

  Monica steps off with her usual composed grace, and Dragon’s gaze lingers a beat longer than necessary. I can tell she’s still processing the history between them. I just smirk quietly to myself. These two are going to have fun.

  Fuck it-

  Not my problem

  I contacted Mercy while flying, “Hey Mercy, you alright down there?”

  From behind the coms, I could hear "I'm suing the hospital for gross negligence and employing a Minor without proper Oversight! *hachoo* Oh, Gesundheit! Amy! Kein Grund, mir zu danken, Victoria, it's what I should do as Amy's mentor. As for you doctors-"

  Okay, what the hell is going out over there?

  Seriously..Can't I take a break?