The Last Red Shoulder (MK)

[MKR]

The door creaked open, as observed it was a study a second desk lesser but present with a few books dotted on top their subjects unclear at this distance. Behind him there was distant shuffling as his eyes caught sight of a screen to the side of the room, a nice clean view of... Outside.

CCTV.

Silence was given meaning in an instant, but with the door in this state and the maids unaware the alarms could not have rung long ago. The question was how much time he had. At least there was no sight of the inside both good and bad as he was unaware of how close the inevitable pursuers were but they could not use it to find him either.

Time in an instance became a finite resource.

 

[Nemesis]

Wolfgang ambled into the room, pistol drawn, sweeping it side to side, his eyes roaming across the various books - nothing, it seemed, he needed, until his eyes fell upon the CCTV monitor. Cold, raw fear ran down his neck - they knew he was here already. Why hadn't he been checking for cameras? Just as quickly as the realization struck, he was running back towards the deadlocked door, smashing the wine bottle to the ground in a rage as he did so.

"Fuck me." He spat, throwing the door wide as he began to sprint down the hallway towards the front door as fast as his feet would carry him. The Warden had a head start, but how much? His fingers grasped the radio in his pocket, and clicked the side transmitter four times, sending bursts of static out across the city that would be meaningless to all but a chosen few, as he opened the front door slightly, checking outside to see...

---

Meanwhile...
Battling Ring Garage

Under the hot garage lights, Evans wiped his hands clean of oil and beamed at the results. A quartet of Scopedogs stood - but no ordinary machines were these. The modifications on their legs, the heavy weapons protruding from their bodies - these were Turbo Customs, some of the most notoriously difficult machines to control among a class of AT that was already demanding of skill.

"Well, what do you think?" He asked of his three guests; "Pretty nice, right?"

There was a grumbling of mixed reactions among the three Red Shoulders, their features hidden behind their pilot suits, but their voices already carrying with them plenty of concern.

"I think there's about 30 unreliable parts in there between them..." Said one.

Before Evans could argue back however, the radio clicked - once, twice, thrice - four times. That was it. That was the signal. Something had gone wrong. And that meant... It was time for plan B: Hitting Britannia where it hurt.

Without another word, the group departed, flatbed truck roaring out onto the late night, thankfully mostly deserted streets towards its destination: the distant villa, four squat figures concealed under a tarp across its rear...

 

[MKR]

The door moved to open, from his perch Wolfgang could spot the limousine still in its place, however the gate was closing once more. This time the guards outside were inside, one pointing at the door while the other communicated through an earpiece. From their posture it was evident they hadn't spotted him yet but the Duke was not seen either.

Patrols would undoubtedly intensify as through wooden floors above him rhythmic creaks that were not those of maids but rather a march were heard above.

Backup was on the way yes but could he last until then.

 

[Nemesis]

Already he could hear it - the thundering of heavy boots above. It wouldn't be long before they found him - and he wasn't equipped to deal with a SWAT-level team response. Still - all he had to do was hold out until help arrived. With how the front looked, he was already too late - a step outside, and he'd be Swiss cheese. Reluctantly, he ran back to the room he had just existed, slamming the deadbolt door shut - but not before placing the plastic explosives under the desk outside, pulling the detonator under the door with him.

The desk was kicked over, the bookshelves shunted into place, every door locked - now all he could do was wait. Wolfgang leaned against the wall, and released the safety on the pistol, waiting for the first clown to show his face in the small glass window...

 

[MKR]

"The intruder is holed up in the study." One guard communicated, afterwards they began to stream in from all angles. The Royal Guard seen minutes prior taking the lead as the situation was observed.

"So we can assume armed, and if they're holing up with any sense dangerous." He explained "He's only given himself one way out and us one way in that means he's either extremely stupid or he has a plan, given he came in here in the first place I assume the latter." The man in white looked over the floor plan of the building as the other guards followed along. "There's nothing in there that money can't buy so we smoke him out like a rat. His Highness has been made aware of the situation and will want to have a word with both His Grace the Duke about his behavior as well as our intruder so lethal force is not authorized. We want him alive."

One of the guards spoke up "Do we know who it is in there then?"

"Our registry didn't get a hit, that means that its either a foreigner or a new addition within the past month. The latter possibility is why we need him alive."

Uncomfortable looks moved between the guards, the biggest recent addition was Area 12 and those had a connection with the Duke. It all seemed obvious but the former was still possible as well. Most the guards got moving immediately, while they were no riot police and as such were equally lacking in armor and protection like the home invader did they still had tools ready for disrupting unruly situations. One however remained behind, "And the Duke?"

"Kept safe by his personal detachment in the garage currently." The Royal Guard answered as he rolled up the floor plan.

"Why not evacuate him?"

"Stop asking questions and get ready. If our intruder pulls something we'll want to be ready." A cannister was being loaded into a launcher of sorts. Unfortunate for that glass the Guard thought but still it had to be done. A metal cannister was soon in the air, no clowns came in view of Wolfgang except at a side angle.

It would crash through the window separating the two rooms unless he was quick and accurate in which case the corner of the other room and not the study was the likely point of impact, still the canister would erupt in a white smoke. Tear Gas.

Outside three Knightmare frames, Knightpolice units surrounded the facility. Shields and guns available for dispensing justice.

 

[Nemesis]

Wolfgang heard the tinkle of glass, and immediately vaulted over his self-made barricade. He'd been expecting a grenade, but the distinct scent of gas hit him, and he began to wheeze as he grasped the canister, hurling it back through the opening as quickly as he possibly could, despite the heat of it burning his fingers. Inching his way up to the door, he wedged a particularly large book into where the glass had been, hammering it home even as his eyes blistered and watered. One hand tore at his suit, making a makeshift rag, with which he dabbed at his watering eyes and slumped again against the wall., trying to catch his breath

Amateur, he told himself. You should have been ready for that one. Was this it? Was he going to die holed up in this place, like a rat in a sewer pipe? As if in answer to his question, there was a distant, thundering whistle - and then roar, as something struck the exterior of the manor. A sound he hadn't heard in a long while - Armored Trooper ballistic weapons.

---

Meanwhile...

As the AT-carrier neared the villa, a low whistle came from the back, as three of the Turbo Customs rose, one after another, camera-eyes clicking back and forth as their boot-up sequences completed.

"Looks like they've started the party without us."
"That's Britannia for you, always rushing third base."
"Enough with the chatter, move out."

One after another, the three bounded from the flatbed, sending the tarp scattering - and, with a distinctive roar of their ankle-mounted boosters, careened at breakneck speed towards the manor. They fell into a loose, easy formation, the lead unit with a hand-carried rocket launcher, the two secondaries with a short heavy machinegun and a large, intimidating solid shooter being their primary method of distinction as they closed in rapidly. Despite flying into what was, essentially, certain doom, the chatter among the veteran pilots was as jaunty as ever.

"So, what's' the plan?"
"We get our man out of there, SOP."
"As long as I get to kill as many Britannians as possible, I couldn't care less."
"That's just a bonus. Eyes up, weapons hot!"

A trio of missile launchers were raised in unison - and a barrage was unleashed as they zoomed into view, arcing up and over, a cascade of explosions that was aimed to smash across the villa in a surprise first strike, hammering down upon the first two Nightpolice. The Guards at the front gate would find themselves peppered with rounds from side-mounted machinecannons and heavy machineguns, a hail of bullets aimed to quickly sweep them out of existence as the trio rapidly approached the front gate.

 

[MKR]

"He flung it back?" One of the guards exclaimed as several moved to rapidly move their collars over their mouths and noses in response to the solemn tink of the tear gas bouncing back. The door to the office slammed shut as the white gas poured outwards, there was at the very least a barrier between him and his opponents now though while a few of the guards were wheezing they had it not nearly as bad as Wolfgang.

"Get into gear quickly." The Royal Guard dictated to the three men with equipment capable of traversing the gas field "Get ready to intercept if he tries to escape." He ordered the rest. Positions were taken around the barricaded door and the sealed door now filled with gas, visibility was low but that was a natural consequence already. And then the building shook.

---

Moments prior

"We've got a speeding vehicle." One of the Knights police reported to the others, "What is it planning to batter the gate." A laugh passed between the three until all of a sudden there was movement on the back. "Is that, Red Shoulders? oh god." There was a brief moment of anxiety as the much more modern KMFs scrambled into something of a position.

"This is Tyne-3 to central, the situation has escalated!" He yelled into a communications device "Its- Its the Red Shoulders!" The Knightmare Frame would raise the shield upwards in an interception, but too little was too late as bullets rattled the police unit causing it to slump backwards and onto the gate, the other, not preoccupied with calling for backup raised their shield more effectively, though that left the legs defenseless and riddled with lead as it began its counter attack with a rifle of its own.

The last Knight Police unit moved to join its peers, gun barrel flashing light in the darkening night as it aimed for the infamous machines.

---

"Yes His Highness is waiting before approaching considering the situation. His personal guard is with him so we have little to fear for his safety." An operator spoke into his phone, adrenaline pumped through the poor man's systems. When he started being a phone operator for the Knight Police he hadn't expected an incident like this on his watch, let alone to speak with the Crown Prince's guard himself.

Let alone to then afterwards be in direct communication with a Knight of the Round. The man on the other end of the line spoke.
"Ah good, they won't get involved. Hmmm tell your boys on site that I'll be approaching from the south." In contrast to the nerves of the operator this man was cool as a cucumber, a talent necessary for battle the young man figured.

"Ser?"

"Oh forgive my indulgence lad. But I haven't had a fight with Red Shoulders since Australia... I'll be there in about four minutes so... Have the reinforcements be there in seven alright lad? They can handle cleanup.." The Knight of Ten calmly continued even if these were wannabes it was nice to relive the old days, wonderful wonderful times. And if they were the genuine article all the better, they could be excellent assessment for Tristan.

The line dropped, the operator swallowing the brick in his throat. That was a joke, right?
If not, how would he tell them that they had to wait?

 

[Nemesis]

Outside, the Scopedogs rushing the gate didn't even slow their pace, swaying back and forth as the assault-rifle fire from the hip met empty air. For its efforts, one of the TCs paused slightly in its advance, spinning to fire the Solid Shooter over its shoulder into the offending KMF's back, silencing it for good as they advanced rapidly up the veranda.

Wolfgang, for his part, kept low to the ground, a rag soaked with the wine from earlier about his face. He'd ruined the suit, he realized, but at least it meant he could endure the chemical assault for the time being - even if his eyes were watering like hell, and his throat burning.

The team outside's preparations however, would have been rudely interrupted as the front foor exploded, courtesy of a hail of missiles directed towards its interior. The Turbo Customs skimmed into view through the smoke, machineguns rattling as they sprayed death across the lobby, aided by their side-mounted machinecannons until nothing was left but puddles of gore and viscera.

"...A little overkill, don't you think?"
"Are you kidding? Do you know how long I've wanted to wreck one of these places like this?"
"Both of you, shut up."

The trio regarded the scene before them in silence, the peals of tear gas spilling from the room.

"We too late?"
"Blow the door!"

One Red Shoulder dismounted as the other fired a precision round into the wooden door, blowing it wide open. Tense seconds ticked by until a coughing, wheezing Wolfgang was pulled into view. A bottle of water was tossed into his hand, and he began furiously washing his face, getting the stuff out of his face, his eyes, his lungs, as much as he possibly could.

"Boy, am I glad to see you." He said, shaking his head, trying to clear it of the abundant phlegm it had acquired.

"Don't worry about it. Comrades are comrades, no matter how much time has passed."

Outside, the AT truck trundled up to the ruined entranceway, Evans waving to the group, who pointed back towards the last Scopedog. At the sight of it, Wolfgang felt a potent mix of sensations - fear, revulsion - but also, anticipation. How long had it been since he'd had a fight like this?

"We brought you something. We don't have long before reinforcements get here. Get going!"

"What do you mean?" He asked; "Pretty sure the VIP got away-"

"The IR sensors picked up some bodies hiding in the building to the left. If you hurry, you can still make it. Don't worry about us."

Wolfgang turned towards the truck... and paused.

"...I'm sorry." He said, finally.

"After Canberra... I just wanted to put all this behind me. I... turned my back on you all. I should have-"

The Turbo Customs rose back into active mode, one waving its hand wearily at him.

"You think any of us blame you?"
"Comrades are comrades, no matter how many years pass."
"Yeah, you didn't stick a knife in our back. Don't beat yourself up about it."

He paused, holding the helmet in his hands as he climbed the truck's flatbed. For many years, he'd dreaded the "iron coffin". Seen it, felt it in his nightmares. Now, it was his best chance of survival. Of Orphan's survival.

"Thank you... Everyone." Wolfgang said, solemnly.

The Turbo Customs began to fan out, finding defensive positions, seeking to anticipate any incoming reinforcements as well as potential escape routes. Wolfgang's Scopedog, rising to its feet, gripped its heavy machinegun - and its roller wheels engaged, sending it skating towards the garage, scanning for lifeforms...

 

[MKR]

The crowd inside scattered as the entrance broke down, some fortunate enough to get out of dodge but most... More than most were unable to escape the carnage. Perhaps this day would go down in history as a terrible tragedy, a terrorist attack of unthinkable magnitude in the homeland. But in the moment that mattered little, this was a happy reunion and nothing, nothing could ruin it.

Except they weren't the only ones breaking things.

Picked up on the IR sensor was something notable, a large battery. And now, it was getting closer, rapidly.
Busting through the wall came a blue blur of motion, and for a moment it was as if everyone was blasted back in time fifteen years to the height of the Red Shoulders. An ancient enemy dashed forth in fury unseen before.

The YF6-X7K/E. Better known as the "Ganymede". In its hands a makeshift weapon a metal beam fashioned into a polearm, the two jointed limbs stretching out and driving it forwards into the first AT it saw. "RAAAAGH!" A familiar, to Wolfgang, voice exclaimed in the poorly protected cockpit. This monstrosity had a reputation for being nearly as much of a death trap as the ATs it now opposed, but the wheels below were spinning in practiced movement.

Aboard the Ganymede the woman known as Regina furrowed her brow. She hated this, she hated this damn machine and she hated the piles of corpses driven underneath the landspinners as she fought. But if she wasn't going to then they were all dead meat. The off hand of the Ganymede receded, forcefully jumping outwards to push the spear forwards.

Outside, Wolfgang could see something in the distance still distant but getting closer what seemed to be a plane covered in bright coloration.

 

[Nemesis]

"Oh, what-?!"

The sudden arrival of the Ganymede caught the trio of ATs unawares. Perhaps it was just the sight of the monstrous, lanky KMF with its improvised weapon, or lingering memories of the glory days, but the swing caught one of the Turbo Customs across the chest, crumpling its armor like a bent car hood and sending it sprawling back, skidding almost comically on its roller wheels before crashing into a wall. There was a tense second or two from the others as they watched, waiting to see if there would be some kind of explosion - but fortune seemed to smile on them, for now.

"Who do you think you are?"
"Toast 'em!"

The shoulder-mounted Solid Shooter was brought to bear, firing as the two Turbo Customs closed in from either side, guns blazing as they trapped the ancient KMF between two walls of firepower that snapped at the thing's torso and legs, trying to give their comrade time to get back on his feet - all the while turning the menace into little more than scrap metal.

Meanwhile, at the Garage - The exterior shutters were blown in with a sweeping Arm Punch, before being gripped and roughly torn free. Wolfgang's Scopedog stepped across the threshold, scanning the crowd, looking for the man he'd come for, finger hovering over the trigger for the heavy machinegun. The sight of the plane hadn't left his mind - they were running out of time. He called out over the loudspeaker:

"The Warden, I presume?"​

The infra-red scanner swept the crowds, searching for the familiar face as Wolfgang spoke.

"My name's Wolfgang Holtz, of Orphan. I got some questions for you. Answer them truthfully, and all of you will live. Refuse, and... well." - There was a threatening click from the gleaming heavy machinegun - "I guess I'll have some traveling company to Hell."

 

[MKR]

In the brief breathing moment the Ganymede extended its legs, standing up straight almost scratching the ceiling in the grand hall as it towered over the ATs, the wheels on its feet already spinning as it bumrushed the next opponent, one hand moving off the weapon as it folded inwards.

"I am bloody pissed is what I am!" she declared, not giving them a chance to box her in as the giant tin can punched down with its free hand, collapsing out as it punched to add momentum to the blow, said blow aiming directly for the dome on the AT intent on punching through.

The machine performing this task was being flayed alive however pieces of metal torn off pelting the expensive decor, or what remained of it at least given the already destroyed state of the property.

"Go back to Gehenna from whence you came!"

Wolfgang was staring down what remained of the guardians of the estate and the Duke.
"Wh-what do you want from me?!" the portly man yelled, unsure if the man holding him at gunpoint could even hear him.

"Your Grace, remain quiet." one of his guards, a man in attire of the royal guard spoke.

"She already escaped on her own, the reclaimer girl!" the man continued, not able to think of any other reason a man from orphan wanted him. The distant sound of choppers grew closer.

---

In a limousine outside Pendragon

"Your Imperial Majesty, it appears that the local news has sent choppers to the site of the incident." a man spoke.

"Of course, that's their job after all." A young man replied "Everything for a scoop." a tv screen nested inside the limousine lit up, a long range filming of the situation rapidly getting closer with narration.

"On this Red Night-" the screen was muted immediately.

"Already gave it a label as well. Nevermind, now why would Red Shoulders get involved with this..."

"Are you sure they're genuine Your Majesty?"

"Yes."

---

Inside the Tristan the Knight of Ten considered the cosmic humour of the situation, just a sparse few minutes ago he'd been watching some ATs get wrecked by Knightmare frames for show the very act of punching the things dedicated to the man now under siege by them.

And here he was, the real Noble Bright coming in to destroy some vampires. Though Tristan was a bit newer than those show models, much more deadly and immensely faster.

This 'Fortress' form was very convenient as well, the first of its kind... Among KMFs, the basis was a Space Writer? Race Rider? Wave Glider? Those transforming Gundams.

Not like he cared much about that, it were the combat specs that caught his eyes.

 

[Nemesis]

"All of Orphan went from being radical anarchists to pro-Britannian in days, and it all started when we got Dahlia back."

Wolfgang shot the servant a withering glare, tempted to fire off a warning shot - but held his trigger, itchy as the finger resting upon it was. His throat burned, still hoarse from the gas earlier, but he forced himself to talk, shouting over the din, laser-focused on the man in front of hi.

"There's gaps in her memory. Things she doesn't remember from her time in your prison." He explained;

"What happened to her there? What did you people do to her? I'm not fuckin' around here, TALK!"

---

The Ganymede's fist came down and, to its pilot's credit... Got exactly what it hoped for. The fist smashed through the head of the Turbo Custom in a spray of oil, blood, and viscera as the pilot within was instantly crushed. Yet this time, there was no forthcoming retribution - rather, both the remaining Red Shoulders jerked sharply back, shouting something to one another that was difficult to hear-



Boom!

The highly-volatile Polymer Ringerl Liquid powering the Armored Trooper went up, along with its entire ammo supply in deafening explosion that enveloped the Ganymede, rounds cooking off in all directions as missiles, mortars and bullets demolished whatever was left of the estate. Rounds hurtled away into neighboring residential zones, rockets pulverizing chunks out of buildings, sending them tumbling to the earth.

 

[MKR]

"I don't know, I don't know!" he called out being on the other end of a gun, panic clear in the Duke's voice as he cried ignorance. "One of the knighs of-"

One of the royal guard fired his gun at the eye of the Scopedog, the Duke yelling in surprise as he ducked immediately.
"Your Grace don't talk to terrorists." the guard said.

And then, the explosion. It knocked all the remaining guards onto the concrete below, on their arms, on their side, one unfortunate soul on their head.

The Duke, already down beforehand managed to avert such a fate even as his ears rung.

The Ganymede as well, was laid out flat with a boiling chest. The woman aboard seemingly unconscious from the sheer recoil if not dead from the blast, it was unclear.

---

The fireball was seen by the entirety of Pendragon, the best view however was far and away for the Tristan. Its form shifting around to flip out of the Fortress mode, as such the humanoid, horned, form descended to the ground. Landspinners collapsing outward.

"Good evening fellas..." a voice called out, a familiar one for the red shoulders still alive. "And welcome to Britannia, now if any of you still remain I'll gladly escort you to hell to meet your colleagues." Tristan took out its two blades, connecting them together into a polearm. As it advanced on the obvious target, the one AT outside the building.

The tone of the man's voice even as there was wanton destruction around was a detached calm one. The exact same as all those years ago, 'noble knights' as merciless as the red shoulders themselves but it was fine for them and this man was prime among them.

Like a blessing from heaven spotlights aimed at Tristan, choppers with news brands upon them gazed down.
"Ah an audience hmmm... What a shame, oh and is the first lad still alive I wonder?"

 

[Nemesis]

For the poor Duke, not even the explosion would save him. As he lay quivering in the aftermath, there was a series of smaller, yet no less lethal BANG noises from before him - and he would have found his face, his body, splashed with slick, crimson blood, the heavy machinegun having turned his guards into little more than pulp. The scopedog stepped forward threateningly, its cockpit opening as Wolfgang drew the Armor Magnum, bringing it up to the man's forehead threateningly.

"Knight of what?" He asked;

"Or do you want to end up like them?"

---

"He did always say he wanted to wreck some of the castles." Said one of the Red Shoulders, solemnly, looking on at the burning wreckage of the destroyed AT.

"Rest in peace, you bastard."

As the Tristan descended, the two Scopedogs observed it from cover. No matter how many years passed, Britannia's penchant for unnecessary showmanship never changed. One waved to the other, weary at the sight of the news crews - but his ally wasn't listening, only tightening his grip on his weapon as their foe taunted them.

"That voice...! It's him!"
"The Bloody Baron of Canberra... of all the luck-"

There was a soft detonation, as one of the Turbo Customs took off toward the Tristan, vaulting over the remains of the wall in a blast of speed. Cursing, its fellow followed, reloading its handheld rocket launcher as it did so.

"Wait! Shit...!"

For its trouble, the Tristan was met with a full alpha strike from the advancing Turbo Custom - missiles, rockets, and a pair of blasts from the over the shoulder solid shooter were dispensed in short order, a withering barrage that would have been the end of any lesser KMF caught in its clutches as the Turbo Custom charged ahead, practically blinded with rage, guns blazing. In the rear, its fellow supported by adding further missile fire - but it was tepid at best, afraid of hitting the advancing unit and setting off a second detonation.

 

[MKR]

Mortal fear unceasing, whatever thoughts raced through the man were unsure but there was little doubt he was appealing to divinity for his immortal soul. "F-four, the knight of four..." if he survived this he would be a fortunate man with unfortunate times ahead of him. Still everything came crashing down upon him, including his home.

Outside the Tristan suddenly moved backwards, landspinners at full tilt as the assault came. It was fast immensely so, but what did one expect from one of the latest knightmares, one based on the lancelot no less.

"Well look, you lads are the genuine article.." a toothy smile crept forward on the man's face. "What a hoot."

The machine avoided the brunt of the berserk assault, the almost sickle like polearm was swung sideways as the machine backed up, and as the AT jumped suddenly it lurched forwards aiming to impact the pilot directly and worse launch it back at its friend with the payload primed.

"Still the same... At least you come with coffin packaged in hmmm?" Gunfire pelted the paint and metal of the Tristan beginning to carve away at the machine, but this was no Ganymede or Knightpolice.

After the anti air jab the weapon was pulled back, but the off hand shot forwards. The gigantic slash harken fired forwards, if still alive the timid partner would get his own chest blow.

 

[Nemesis]

There was a tense moment... and then Wolfgang lifted the Armor Magnum, giving a grunt of approval as he did so. Without any more time to waste, he settled back into the cockpit, quickly jotting down the title in his notebook. Already he could hear the KMF doing battle with the other two Turbo Customs... and knew the outcome was closing in fast. He clicked on the radio, as he dropped the notebook into a plastic baggie, pen and all.

"Evans. Can I ask you a favor?" He said,

"I'm leaving something by the garage. Can you make sure it gets to Orphan, to a Dr. Crane? It's crucially important."

There was a crackle on the other end of the line, as the older man peered over the lip of the truck from the edge of the battlefield, observing from a distance.

"Sure, but-"

"Thank you. I'm leaving the radio with it - you can find it using the signal."

With that, and no further comment, as the Scopedog wheeled out the front and away from view of any others, he lobbed the notebook away into the foliage, radio and all. He'd miss it, of course, like a lot of things. But sometimes, you just knew:

You couldn't run away any more.

---

"Where? Where is he?"

The charging Turbo Custom's pilot squinted through his visor, feeling the sweat on his brow as he tried to see through the smoke. Spotting a flash of gold and white, the Arm Punch was readied, charging forward - resulting in a flash of metal meeting metal, blood, and spraying oil. The top and bottom half of the Scopedog tumbled away from one another under the Tristan's mighty swing, the legs accelerating until they collided with a neighboring house in an explosion of propellant. The upper half simply lay defeated at the Knight's feat, in a pool of oil and gore.

Faced with such a horrific display, the third locked up - for only the smallest of seconds, but it was all that was needed. The Slash Harken punctured its cockpit like a hot knife thrust through the shell of a lobster, sparks crossing the AT's body. Wolfgang wheeled into view at the last moment, eyes wide - before the AT detonated like its peer, sending rounds blasting in all directions that only further added to the destruction, throwing up clouds of smoke and dust as tiny chunks of debris pinged off the Tristan's body.

And yet-

From the gloom came a stream of fire - not the mad, fevered shots from before, but ones that were measured and precise. Three snap shots, aimed at his machine's outstretched arms and their deadly Slash Harkens, coming from his left. There remained only on enemy standing before the Knight of Ten and glorious vengeance - but would he be able to seize it?

 

[MKR]

The Duke gasped for air, amidst the blood as his pupils dilated he couldn't look at the man himself. Had he just survived, how had he survived? The man was left with little time to contemplate this as parts of one of the ATs careened by the garage, once more his life flashed before his eyes and it was clear that he shouldn't count his chickens before they hatched, in fact chicken was apt in more way than one as he scrambled to a further corner of the garage.

---

Tristan gently stepped back from the carnage, that was a bit more collateral than expected. But ATs were practically suicide bombers so all in all the people should be glad they fought far away from the actual capitol's population centers and just in the middle of some noble houses. There was plenty of space for things to explode here without causing chain reactions, but unless he forgot how to count there was one more.

As shots blasted forth Tristan dashed sideways, the Slash Harken returning but unfortunately for the Knight was struck on the predictable path back to him, the mechanism locked in place on the arm but only partially, didn't seem like he was using that one again. The same arm now also was scraped by the other shot aimed for it.
"Oh look at you...." Came a response "Cool as a bucket of ice are you pal hmmmmm?" The last sound dragged on for a grating amount of time as the Tristan's head pulsed blue, the Factsphere underneath spotting exactly where this adversary was. "Suits a Red Shoulder better, the complete lack of emotion." Choppers above cast light on both of the mecha below, cameras were rolling. The entirety of Pendragon, if not the Britannian Mainland or even beyond had live footage of this spectacular once in a lifetime atrocity.

Landspinners fired off, the Tristan lurching forward as it held its polearm vertically. In one swift motion it scooped the limousine upwards with its weapon to act as a shield for its approach before continuing the slice, two hands spinning it rapidly to cut open the AT from the front.
"But no matter, ten years ago you might've been a threat ol' red but this piece of work is from now." The red blades danced on their approach to Wolfgang, two amber eyes inside Tristan keeping an eye on the movements of the AT and any funny business it may try to pull.

---

"Why forfeit his life? That one still could have escaped if it abandoned the unit and hid among the populace somewhere north." The Crown Prince tapped on a screen with a digital pen as the live display continued. "Process of elimination and actions dictate thats the intruder, not that we'll get to speak with him with Ser Owain there." It was a frustrating moment for the young man, drawing notes on his digital device in contemplation, what factor had he overlooked with the subjugation of Orphan? The one capable of answering that was there facing one of the few knights incapable of taking prisoners.

"He must have accomplished what he set out to do." the thoughts continued aloud "But nothing changes... Rodulf?"

"Yes Your Majesty?" The driver responded from the front, knowing better then to interrupt the prince during his musings.

"Arrange a compilation of every angle the news hawks filmed of that AT, it must have done something to throw itself away so calmly." There was one alternative, the pilot was entirely certain they could beat one of the Knights of the Round in one of the most modern machines on the continent at which point they were insane and trying to deduce their line of reasoning was mostly wasted effort. As such the path of partial sanity must be assumed unless proven otherwise.
"Oh and cancel the prepared manhunt among the populace."

 

[Nemesis]

"What is he thinking...?"

Creeping through the undergrowth, Evans made his way slowly across the veranda's edge, grumbling to himself. Wolfgang having put him up to one last bit of trouble - but there was no changing his mind now. For better or for worse, today would end a chapter of the Red Shoulders history that had begun in Canberra... and he, in all likelihood, wouldn't be able to witness it. He clicked the radio - and sure enough, got a response from nearby. Trying to look as nonchalant as possible, he retrieved the small plastic bag, and eyeballed the notepad within, skeptically.

What was so important it was worth throwing his life away for it? With that question on his mind, the old man slipped away, melting into the crowd. It wasn't the first time he'd changed identities, and it wouldn't be the last - but seldom, he thought, had things worked out in such an interesting fashion.

---

The polearm snapped out, breaking the limo in two in midair with the style its pedigree afforded, and at the exact moment the Knight was rewarded with the thundering CRACK of a metal spike slamming into concrete. The Scopedog before him spun on the spot around its right leg, an almost 360 degree movement caused by using one of its breaks - a Boost Turn, a maneuver not possible for any amateur. For a split second, the two combatants were eye to eye, and it was likely the Knight of Ten could feel his adversary's gaze from beneath the AT's visor, staring right back at him. Challenging him.

But, no counterattack emerged - not even as the Tristan swung, exposing itself however briefly. Instead, the Turbo Custom's leg mounted boosters lit up - and sent it hurtling past him, over the edge of the estate and onto the roads in the direction of the highway at breakneck speed. The Turbo Custom, without braking even the slightest, hurtled past oncoming cars, skating back and forth, in and out of lanes. Within the cockpit, one of Wolfgang's hands worked on the System Disc, adjusting it on the fly, while turning his head back toward the knight.

Come on then, he thought. You want me?

Come get me.

 

[MKR]

Tristan's pilot eyed the maneuver, there was the trick. Good one for theatre and fights if he was in the former that would have heralded a single clap but right now all it meant for him is his opponent knew his way around an AT, so all in all nothing new for a Red Shoulder that survived until today. As the machine blazed past him however the smile on his features turned upside down.

He sighed, they were really doing this huh. He hated this tactic, every time someone did it it was just a boring chase and he was no bloodhound whose only amusement was the pursuit. Still it wasn't like he would let this foe get away, especially not on a live show so the Tristan leapt upwards, folding its parts inwards as the wings on the cockpit became more then mere décor. The Fortress mode was excellent for these situations sure stability had taken a hit with the damage but that was all the transportation issues right now.

And in this mode it was even faster, also not obstructed by any ground obstacles making pursuit easy. The twin machineguns lit the darkening skies alight as the fired down upon the AT. Fortunately, for both in this instance, the road had been cleared by the Knight Police and oncoming traffic was redirected.

---

A head craned as the situation was viewed.
"So that was the point." The prince muttered as he viewed the feed of the two machines heading towards the road "He wants Owain away from the ruined estate. So something is still happening there. Find the vehicle they brought the ATs on." No machines were in range and all the combat personnel on site were already dead or wounded. So that would go unobstructed, a shame but other opportunities had opened up.

"Rodulf, connect me to the officer in charge of that section." Suddenly there was an urgency as a realization formed.

Lemuel picked up the phone on the wall of the Limousine, eyes aimed outside as the choppers could not keep up with the speeding pair and the feed grew ever more distant. "Officer, time is of the essence- skip the formalities." His tone was direct, a line drawn on his screen. "You have to deploy a 'Talon' anti-vehicle net immediately, rendering the AT immobile is of the utmost import." Thoughts raced, it was too brittle to lay out explosive charges, its battery was different and those new traps needed time both not available.

No something more suited for vehicles, disabling rather than destroying and deployed almost instantly. It was the perfect answer. A modern Spike Strip.
"Yes, otherwise it will detonate from the force of impact." The crown prince put the phone between his shoulder and ear as he continued to draw notes, this was it the moment he might still get to have a word with this man. With Wolfgang's attention on the Tristan the Knightpolice acted, the main host seemingly evacuating the road but lying in wait, hidden was a trap. A welcoming carpet for the AT that blend in with the road, designed to ruin the wheels on the heels and the legs forcing the AT to a standstill and avoiding an uncomfortable detonation.

The prince observed, now from the cameras of one of the Knight Police units as the pursuing pair approached. Tapping one finger on his knee as he waited. Normally he didn't micromanage, but for instances such as these there were exceptions.

 

[Nemesis]

The Turbo Custom careened onto the freeway, not slowing for an instant as it cleared the ramp, careful not to go too aerial. Wolfgang turned his head, expectantly - and sure enough the Tristan came into view, guns blazing. Beneath the mask, he couldn't help but give a grim smile. Sure enough, the Knight's pride was getting the better of him, just as he'd hoped. He turned his attention back to the road ahead, the Mission Disc cycling through possibilities, displaying a tactical readout directly to his goggles.

Roads had been cleared... No barricades, but-

Spikes!

There was only a split second to react as the Tristan dove, seeking to capitalize on the obstruction, time seemingly slowing to a crawl. The machineguns lashed out, and Wolfgang heard the distinctive ping of bullets meeting armor, and the zing as some passed very close to his head through the AT. His response was immediate - a blossom of grey and white smoke, billowing forth from the AT in all directions as if it had been hit by a bomb. For a moment, it looked as if the Red Shoulder had been vanquished, cut down by aging reflexes - but, a moment later, and the Turbo Custom emerged from the edge of the cloud, its three-charge smoke and chaff dispenser now empty, the detonations having been used to mask a small jump from the murderous barrage.

Even so-

Wolfgang grunted in pain, feeling wetness running down his leg. He didn't dare to look at how bad the damage was, couldn't afford a moment of concentration lost as he slammed the throttle home, giving it everything it had, carrying the rattling AT forward towards its destination. He just needed it to hold together just a little longer...