The Last Red Shoulder (MK)

[MKR]

The Tristan pulled up as white smoke spewed forth, the Knight of Ten squinting to spot the moving shadow inside, aided only by the light sent out by the AT itself. Everything had just turned sour, the challenge was simply a shooting run and now the police were involved, the joy of the kill robbed from him in most un-violent of manners. Still it wasn't long before the AT broke out of the cloud, allowing him to hone his aim as beneath a décor of red and blue lights moved after. The Knightpolice, aiming less lethally fired stray shots after the AT as soon as it was evident it had avoided the trap. Shots from the KMF's pistols aimed for the wheels on the back of the fleeing machine, now in front of them and thus prime for shooting at.

A click of the tongue by the Prince as he observed the reaction by the AT pilot.
"Clever, clever." He commended the pilot of the craft, drawing a line further on his map. That had been the Knightpolice perimeter they performed admirably but his prize was still loose and this was not a foe where shooting the gas tank solved the issue unfortunately. The pen rotated in between his fingers.
"But we're not done yet." One of the Knightmare frames pulled a more boxy weapon out, firing a pin forwards. Against adversaries where the machine was a death trap for themselves and others, the solution was aiming for the pilot and only the pilot. Often this was done with lethal force but here, an electric shock would be preferable. Should it embed itself into the machine a most unpleasant shock would find its way to Wolfgang.

Should this fail however, the Prince considered as he observed his options. Something would have to force the machine to stop.

Tristan however, did not care for such attempts. With a distinct click the other Slash Harken, the one not stuck in place currently released and fired forwards. Ahead of the Scopedog to force it to slow down. Thereby removing the entire lead it had on both itself and the swarming police force underneath in hot pursuit, landspinners spinning on the concrete.

 

[Nemesis]

The Turbo Custom cannonballed forward into the city along the highway, its foes in hot pursuit. Wolfgang's breathing was labored, misting up his visor as he surveyed his route. He could already feel the cold settling in from blood loss, and fought to keep his vision clear, his focus tight as the Knight Police behind him raised the larger weapon. It was now or never.

With a scream of its wheels, the Scopedog swerved wildly... and leapt. It traveled through the air, handgun bullets ricocheting or puncturing its armor - and as it did so, the deadly Slash Harken lashed out like the stinger of a scorpion, fast, accurate, and deadly. This time, there was no denying it - and it struck at the shoulder, shearing away the AT's left arm in a fountain of sparks, Wolfgang only saved by the sudden speed of his maneuver as the fired pin went wide, the lost limb clattering to the ground before the Knight Police.

The Scopedog, body crackling threateningly with electrical discharge, slammed into the side of a building feet first as it cleared the edge of the freeway, carried forward by its momentum as it hurtled forward and down in violent, if controlled descent. The Heavy Machinegun's barrel blazed - the recoil being used to prevent the AT from falling onto its face as it slammed into the pavement below, sparks and flames erupting from its (now crumbling) knee joints as it rocketed ahead.

Not yet! Wolfgang thought desperately, Just a little further!

The smoking, sputtering AT's boosters finally shorted out, vomiting black smoke and uttering a noise not dissimilar to a lawnmower being run over a rock garden as it swung haphazardly down a ramp, and into the darkness. The sight above would be immediately recognizable to any who had followed the events that evening: the Battling Coliseum.

Sputtering and wheezing, the Turbo Custom glided into the garage. There wasn't a soul in sight - nothing but half-finished ATs, fuel lines snaking up to the ceiling like umbilical cords, a graveyard of rust, metal, and silence. It took only a moment for Wolfgang to realize the brakes also had managed to give out, as the AT slammed into a rear wall - and, finally, collapsed on its side. The cockpit hissed open... and the Reclaimer crawled out. He could feel blood about his midsection now, courtesy of the Knight Police, and lifted a crimson-soaked hand to his face, wearily.

He slumped against a support pillar... and waited, shivering.

 

[MKR]

Tristan folded back out into humanoid form looming over the parking, now emptied out as knightpolice followed immediately behind. Everything was coming full circle tonight. One of the red blades was pulled back out as the knight crept closer.

"Ser Owain." the officer moving in behind him called out "His Highness requests the terrorist to be taken alive." The knight paused, he had looked forward to killing another red shoulder, but this one had just been boring. If it wanted a better AT this wasn't the place.

The knight of ten sighed "Does he now... What a bore." the weapon returned to the sheeth, but not because he didn't want the kill. But he knew a suicide when he saw one, so he would enjoy the fireworks.

In the limousine the Prince was thinking much the same, that man was dead unless they got him to a hospital. The ambulance was already speeding forwards at his behest, an entire squadron of medical aid for the estate and one diverted to the battling arena.

"Send in two units, the machine cannot fight back." he directed the officer, the Prince was well aware those two men would not return if he was right. But letting that man bleed out uncontested would never do.

He looked upon the AT from the eagle eye view available to him. Seconds ticking away as two Knightpolice machines closed in, an ambulance driving between the forest of legs.
"What ideals differentiate you, why seek strife." the man mumbled as he scanned every angle in sight for a hint. "Why must tragedies happen again and again."

 

[Nemesis]

The sound of distant sirens brought Wolfgang back around, shaking his head against the pillar. One hand drew the Armor Magnum, leaving a bloody fingerprint across its handle. Looked like the Baron had broken off his pursuit after all - probably lingering just out of sight, but it wasn't as if he hadn't fought them before. He knew it wasn't like their kind to be taken alive.

Shame, he thought. Would have been nice to see the look on that bastard's face. He'd have to settle for humiliating him on live television instead.

His thoughts drifted as he closed his hands about the weapon, trying to control the shaking from blood loss. Delirium was setting in, and he knew it - he thought about home. About Crane, Dahlia, Clint, and even that strange green ferret thing. All the strange things that had happened, bringing him here to this place. He only hoped what he'd done, what he'd found out, would save them. That his life wouldn't have been wasted after all.

There was a soft plop, as a drop of the liquid in the massive tanks overhead, the oily, unmistakable scent of Polymer Ringerl Liquid, stored in its most potent, undiluted form. The nature of the liquid meant it couldn't be stored in a diluted state - no, it had to be mixed on demand for the AT in question, yet another reason they were referred to fittingly as "coffins". He'd seen stations with a fraction of this amount go up in smoke when their fuel depots were hit. Lot of innocent people, he thought, were about to get hurt. But at the same time, here, at the very end...

He knew, at last, he'd be plagued by nightmares no more.

Wolfgang closed his eyes, and the CRACK of the Armor Magnum rang out-

Outside, there was a distinct rumbling, as though the Earth itself's stomach were rumbling, before the inevitable occurred.



A cerulean supernova, a burst of light and sound visible for miles and miles. A blast of unspeakable proportions from below the stadium, as its entire storage of PR Liquid caught flame all at once - and subsequently spread into the neighboring gas lines. Explosions ripped across the city streets like a spiderweb, centered around the obliteration of the building itself, chunks of concrete, Armored Troopers and KMFs alike raining from the skies to smash into cars, trees, sidewalks, all of it coated with the burning, caustic liquid, that set everything it touched alight, spreading flames in every direction wherever they landed.

It was a day that would forever live in infamy in Britannia... but, how would the Crown Prince react, knowing that it was possible his secret was out? Only time would tell...

 

[MKR]

Tristan looked up, inside the cockpit the knight of ten took out a small box. Leaning back as smoke rose from the now lit cigar. He despised the taste, the smell that would linger for weeks was excruciating and the victory was hollow but still, a ceremony was just that.

"Enjoy hell." the lax tone commemorated the dead. The knight stepping away from the scene, his win streak against the red shoulders unbroken.

---

Lemuel el Britannia put his hands over his head in private frustration. Flames raged through the city but at least he wasn't playing the fiddle.
"Its time to return home." he stated, the limousine driving off once more. This would need to be turned around, a public address by his grandfather or himself, the emperor undoubtedly saw this and had his own thoughts on the matter but Lemuel knew this was far from over. Emergency responders would have to handle this it was their expertise,his direct interference was done for the night. Now it was time to ready the future.

 

[Nemesis]

Whale King Class "Methuselah"
Special Projects & Deep Sea Salvage Hold
Half an hour after the attack.

The darkness of night was interrupted by the glare of floodlights, a massive Whale King class vessel hovering over the water, chains dangling from its mouth down to the surface of the pacific sea. Eventually, a pair of Gran Cher struggled, moving the hulking, waterlogged remains of something dark, as it was pulled into the mouth of the Whale King, piecemeal, dredged from the depths of the abyss.

From the inside, Albertine Crane watched, her expression impassive as usual, clad in a yellow raincoat. It had taken far longer than she'd have preferred for them to find the ruins, but with the Reclaimers' focus on searching even underwater trenches for plates, it had only been a matter of time. Her focus on the excavation was interrupted however, as her phone rang unexpectedly. Unblinkingly, she raised it to her ear, saying as she did:

"This is Dr. Crane, how can I help you?"

"I just thought I'd let you know: one of our candidates expired."

The voice on the other end was immediately recognizable - as old as the spoken word, every syllable polite and deliberate. Her eyes closed, and she gave a minute sigh. A call from Mr. Bahbem was never without good reason.

"Wolfgang?" She said, flatly.

"You don't seem surprised." Chuckled the Foundation man, "Was it you who put that thought into his head? He caused quite the spectacle."

The first of the debris chunks was dropped heavily onto the deck, causing it to rock as two Reclaimer pilots shouted at one another in the distance. Crane rolled her eyes.

"Human beings can be quite unpredictable. I wouldn't expect a Mulian to understand."

"The Britannian Royalty is going to have quite the time spinning this. A casus belli drops on their laps, and nowhere to point it but at themselves. I can't wait to see how that young Prince of theirs reacts."

"Empires rise and fall, like castles of sand before the tides. So it has been, so it shall always be. I don't gain any satisfaction from pointless speculation, like you."

"Are you including your own people's history in that statement?"

The question was left to hang in the air, frigid silence being the only response as Dr. Crane walked down to inspect the salvage, the hulk riddled with seaweed, barnacles, and the other detritus of the deep to the point it was unrecognizable.

"Anyway." Said Bahbem, "The search continues. I'm still quite confident in that young man..."

"You should get some better hobbies. Perhaps some more suited to your age. Have you considered bingo? Golf? Croquet, perhaps?"

"I'll consider it, Doctor. Best of luck with that project of yours..."

Click.

Crane lowered the phone. That miserable old crook just couldn't resist putting his nose in other's business, she thought privately - but, it didn't matter. Let him be the peanut gallery. The world was shaped by the doers, those who actively went out of their way to shape the future, not the spectators.

She came to a halt among the watery refuse by a boxy-like structure, a little taller than she was, its shape bent and distorted over time. Smoothing away the seaweed from its surface, she placed a hand on it - and was rewarded with a dull blue glow. The cryogenic coffin groaned, coral and detritus cracking as its long-sealed doors ground open with a frosty hiss.

Rising slowly from the interior was a shape, almost reptilian in nature. Crane couldn't help but give a self-assured smirk. How long had it been, now? How many hundreds of years for this reunion to take place? She spread her arms wide, welcoming her long lost partner back into the fold.

"Good morning, old friend. We have so much work to do."

"GKKKRRRRR..."

 

[MKR]

The message Grandfather gave him was clear.

Lemuel was front and center on a broadcast for the entire nation, a podium with flowers inside the royal castle in the middle of Pendragon. Press and people amassed as cameras rolled centered on him. It was a task for those on the throne and in line for it to address the public after such an occurrence and though the Emperor was not giving up his throne soon, that man seemed to be unable to realize he was aging.

"Today, this night, it is not one we will look upon fondly. Mere hours ago the capitol of Pendragon was assaulted by remnants of the Red Shoulders in brutal fashion, as I speak the streets are still burning, emergency responders are fighting to mitigate and stop further damage and had the Knightpolice and the Knights of the Round not interfered I dread to imagine what other locales may have been struck by these vengeful remnants of a lost nation." He had opened with a solemn tone but suddenly he sharpened his posture a gaze straight forward as he spoke with renewed conviction.

"But these valiant men and women did stop them and Pendragon still stands. If they would set the streets aflame then our hearts must burn fiercer! The light of Britannia awaits us every morning and even the darkest night cannot smother it after dawn, and that is what we are. Against this night we, Britannia are the unwavering rise of the Sun. These phantoms of the past have only today, but we- We have every single day yet to come!" Lemuel's gaze turned fierce, his arm placed on the pedestal as if to block the past from advancing past him and beneath it the Britannian crest, a shield for tomorrow.

"And so we must look to the future, not halted in time by tragedy. Britannia advances, Britannia is advancement! Our borders ever moving forward, our people moving ever forward! We may look back, but then we see how far we've come since." His muscles relaxed from the tension he had built in them, the man's blonde hair ebbing slightly.

"And when we look back, the past generations can be proud of us from the Emperors that came before to the people that have existed as foundation of this nation and when we look forwards we can be proud of those yet to come. Yet the engine of progress is change and contest, actions like these are never to occur again the past must remain where it is as we stride forwards. Let those that attempt to shackle this beautiful nation be swept underneath the march of Britannia's people. ALL HAIL BRITANNIA!" Lemuel saluted with those last words. The crowd following suit in repetition.

Both his hands now rested on the podium, that was the public appeal part completed now, policy after the crowd had calmed he continued "Thus, per decree of his Imperial Majesty Alexandros zi Britannia, I Crown Prince Lemuel el Britannia will be putting into motion policy to ensure this never happens again. ATs, a relic of the past enabled this tragedy and as such regulations on PR Liquid will be strengthened. Additionally both the forces of the Knightpolice and military in all Areas are being strengthened with registered citizens to prevent such incidents in the future. Those with talents in other field will be presented other opportunities to aid our glorious nation."

Events like these must be used to make national unity a policy, the people inside Britannia were different in all ways people could be and Britannia would expand again already eyes were aimed at the former nations of China and Russia behind closed doors. But first came the issue of the League, technological advancement was already being encouraged so that Britannia could remove its shackles from gravity as well as time.

Humanity always contended with itself. Tribalism had most likely motivated the men today in one way or another, be it to the Reclaimers or the dead nation in Australia. It was always a form of tribalism at the end of the day. Were they to truly move to an eternal future that would need to be addressed.