Firecracker_

𝔽𝕦𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪: 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔾𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥 𝔾𝕒𝕞𝕖

im gonna wait until a few others post to get mine started!

𝔽𝕦𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪: 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔾𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥 𝔾𝕒𝕞𝕖

p o s t e d!

𝔽𝕦𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪: 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔾𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥 𝔾𝕒𝕞𝕖

"Wait, you took a hostage? Yeah... Uh—... I'll see what I can do."

Della’s words flowed in one ear and out the other, as Proctor’s eyes were nearly bugging out of his skull, watching the ensuing mayhem taking place in the Square below him. Enforcers had dropped into the middle of the fray, not to mention the EMT Teams that rushed the stage to find the injured Gatch and Campbell, with complete disregard for the fact that the mysterious assassin responsible for this mess was still standing right next to them. Disregard, though, did not mean they were ignoring him, as the bulk of the men were focusing their fire on whatever the assassin was, be it man or machine or something in between.

The assailant finally decided it was time to leave the Square, the servos in his legs tightening up in preparation for a hasty escape, but his concentration was but short by some small drone that entered his view, a drone Proctor quickly identified as S’venia’s News drone. A flash burst from the drone’s camera, visibly blinding the man, stunning him long enough for an Enforcer to land a sickeningly critical strike with an explosive, violently ripping away and charring the man’s clothing and skin, exposing his electronic innards. Through the smoke a dust, Proctor could see that the killer was still standing, although perhaps a bit staggered. Above him, the drone flashed a few more shots, but they seemed to have little effects on the man, After a few more seconds, recovering from the blast that shredded parts of his torso, the man entered his stance once again, with one powerful blast from his legs propelling him up and away from the Square.

The Medical Team had begun to attend to the fallen candidates, but Proctor, breaking his gaze from the fleeing assassin, couldn’t quite make out what they were doing with Campbell. Even if his heart was still pounding from his encounter with the Knight, somewhere in the back of his head, he was worried about Campbell too. After seeing his head turn partially into red mist earlier didn’t exactly bode well, but if the medics were still working and attending to him, Proctor hoped it meant he was still able to be saved. Breaking his concentration on the stage, a whole new chaos began to break out from the edges of the square.

Stumbling over scattered corpses and splashing through accumulated puddles of mud and blood, some Knights began to take the fight into their own hands, opening fire on the Enforcers, reigniting confusion that had just begun to die down from earlier. Amongst them, no commanding element could be identified, and no special markings were apparent, either. In fact, these men lacked any markings of importance, and seemed to be conscripts or lowly street thugs, not the kind of men Rott would typically send to fight Enforcers. With no leadership, the disorganized and outgunned Knights quickly lost any semblance of organization they had, and resorted to blind firing over cover and screaming and shouting at one another, as they each gradually made their contribution to the corpse piles, one by one.

His head was spinning, and after a few stray bullets struck the wall of the building he found himself in, Proctor quickly hit the floor, considering his next moves.

Campbell was either dead or nearly there, and with the Medical Teams extracting him from the Square weren’t exactly informing everyone of where they were taking the candidate. As their personal jets revved up and they carried, Proctor simply watched in growing disbelief, his whole head raising his gaze as they lifted off and flew away.

Picking his jaw up off the floor, Proctor took a deep breath, his eyes darting around as he quickly raced to come up with a new game plan. Whatever happened next, he urgently needed to get back across the Square and reunite with the rest of campaign staff. Only, the task entailed moving across the breadth of the Square amongst a firefight between Enforcers and Knights, which showed little signs of slowing down, despite the Knights’ lack of leadership. What they lacked in organization they made up for in numbers, it appeared. They were still hopelessly outgunned, though, and Proctor didn’t particularly feel like staying in that shell of a building long enough to see if a reinforcement of Knights arrived.

Grabbing the still comatose Knight by his collar, Proctor started his way fumbling down the stairs, his free hand maintaining a white knuckle grip on his pistol, anxious of what awaited him outside the door.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Bursting through the door, Proctor swung his pistol back and forth over a wide arc across the area, scanning each end of the alleyway quickly, finally leaving the small doorway after seeing it was clear. As he carefully dragged his captive towards the edge of the alley, the sound of gunfire and bellowing became closer and more clear, until he finally entered the Square actual.

Even if the Square was vast and the firefight was relatively small in comparison, it still felt like the whole place was on fire, and Proctor was quick to slide into cover behind a food cart that had been abandoned near the edge of the Square. Flinching from a few nearby impacts, some dust and glass shards rained down near him as large, high velocity rounds went high and struck the building close by. After taking another solid breath, Proctor poked his head out and made a quick scan of the fight. The Enforcers had pulled back to the stage, the Knights forming a sort of half-circle around it, hiding behind piles of bodies and other various pieces of debris left behind from the stage collapse. The Enforcers had taken a few casualties, but the Knights were taking an absolute beating, some of them having to pile up and hide behind the freshly dead bodies of their comrades to avoid being shot themselves.

Glancing to his left, Proctor saw a parked car, covered in a mixture of paint that was used for grand political messages, and blood which had been splattered against it in the initial mayhem. The way to the car would keep him behind the fight, and in cover, but moved him closer towards the dangerous center of the square. Another glance showed the fight had entered a lull as the combatants reloaded and repositioned, and Proctor seized his chance, heaving the Knight nearly off the ground as his legs pounded the pavement.

Just a few moments before Proctor made it to his cover, the fighting erupted once again, and this time, someone has spotted him. Unable to identify him, they decided to take a few shots at him, causing him to make a panicked dive into cover, tossing the Knight aside, not quite completely concealed, but mostly behind the car. Proctor, clearly shaken, braced himself against the engine block section of the car, casting a wide-eyed glance at the holes in the wall, made by the bullets that narrowly missed him. He exhaled shakily, hoping to whatever higher powers were overseeing him that it was just an Enforcer taking potshots, and not a Knight that could’ve recognized the man Proctor had in tow. As he glanced up at the sky, however, he noticed that S’venia’s drone was still high in the sky, observing the battle. Currently, though, it’s camera was pointed towards him, as if she’d finally spotted him. He simply raised two metal fingers in a peace sign, reached over to his limp companion, and readied himself to move to the next closest piece of cover.

Peering across the front of the car, Proctor could see the front of the building that S’venia and anyone else part of the campaign could still be hiding in. Taking a moment to think, Proctor turned on his communicator to make sure everything was still alright in the hotel, but noticed no response whenever he tried to open his mic. Not even the usual static.

”The fuck?” Proctor rasped to himself. Either the comms were down, they’d kicked him off the network, or, somehow, his communicator had taken damage in the prior scuffle. No matter what the issue was, Proctor still needed to get inside, and the fact that S’venia was still operating her drone told him that it was probably still safe enough in the building that he need not worry.

The servomotors in Proctor’s leg’s sprang to life as he heaved his limp companion over his shoulder, making a last dead sprint for the front of the hotel. Without turning his head, Proctor could tell the fighting to his right had entered another fervor, as the air was perforated and hot with slugs of lead, flying all over the square. One burst of gunfire seemed to crack even louder than most, as an Enforcer, thinking Proctor was a Knight carrying a wounded comrade, started taking errant sprays at him. As the door got closer, as did the pursuing bullets, kicking up dirt and dust as they struck the walls past him and the ground around his feet. His vision tunneled as his urge to flee grew, his animalistic fear driving his machine legs to their limit, as they pounded along the cement.

Finally, as he neared the door, a burst found its mark, and loud metal Pangs! could be heard as it struck his right leg, ruining his balance and sending him stumbling into the front door, the door splintering from the impact of Proctor’s outstretched arms, and breaking away from its hinges. Crashing hard against the tile floor and landing rather uncomfortably on top on the limp Knight, Proctor could feel a dull, hot pain in his legs and a stinging in the rest of his body that found itself smashing into either the floor, or chucks of the door that hadn’t exactly gotten away from him in the fall. Proctor’s veins coursed with adrenaline as he ignored the pain waving across his body, and his arms shrugged off the Knight and the bits of door, freeing themselves so that he could rapidly sink his fingers into the floor tiles, cracking and crunching as he dragged himself rapidly forward away from the door. He wasn’t sure if the damage in his leg was serious or not, but he’d rather not chance further messing it up, and let his arms pull and yank on the floor as he grabbed onto a coffee table and slid behind it, near the center of the lobby.

Finally having a moment to think, he leaned his shoulder over onto the floor to get a look, focusing on the bloodied, still motionless man he had landed right on top of as they crashed through the door. The blood seemed to be seeping from a few cringe inducing gashes in his head caused not only by crashing through the door, but also the weight of Proctor falling on top of him.

Grimacing, Proctor turned his head and lifted his shoulder off the floor, ever aware of the cracking gunfire in the square, to look over the leg that had taken the impact of three bullets. His metallic hands slid over the metal in his legs, feeling the deep dents the bullets left, and found that one bullet was still, in fact, lodged in the side of his knee. With the adrenaline in his blood slowly leveling out, the searing pain waving up and down Proctor’s leg become more and more perceptible, and he gritted his teeth as he turned his leg to find that not only was it completely stiff, but one of the three bullets was still lodged cleanly in his leg, jutting in the side of his knee, rubbing against the motorized joint. Two lustrous dents were left in place of the other two impacts, so the damage overall was thankfully minimal, but the bullet in his knee seemed to be a little too much shock for the leg to handle.

”Ugh, fuck…”

Instantly leaning over the side of the table, Proctor’s face was one of complete astonishment as the Knight appeared to have finally woken up, shaky hands patting the bloody wounds on his head as he slowly struggled to wake up. As the gunfire and pain all over his body slowly became more and more perceptible, the Knight slowly sat up, and began crawling on his stomach over to the door, seeming to want to get a look.

”Shit!” Proctor rasped.

He pulled himself up using the coffee table as a brace, and gritted his teeth as he took a few stiff and painful lumbering steps, increasing in speed as he grew closer to the Knight. Locked at the joints, Proctor’s stiff leg gave away from under him, and his thudding impact on the tile floor alerted the Knight.

”Oh fuck! Not you again!”

The Knight turned over onto his back, and brought his legs up in an attempt to start throwing kicks at Proctor, who had begun grunting and growling as he pushed and pulled himself across the floor towards the Knight. After taking a rather irritating blow to the face, Proctor stuck his hands out to grab the Knight’s wildly flailing feet, grabbing one and pressing down with excruciating force. A cry of pain escaped the Knight’s lips as he began wilding kicked Proctor in the arms and face, to little result, besides bloodying his nose quite a bit. Through the kicks, however, Proctor grabbed both the man’s feet, and used his grip to leverage himself up onto one knee, the other stiff leg jutting behind him, hindering his balance. Now that he had the advantage, Proctor’s shoulders and elbows whirred sharply as he began to deliver savage blows to the Knight’s face and head, only needing a few to return him to his heavy, painful sleep.

Proctor panted heavily, each breath pushing more and more red blood down his face and over his mouth.

”S’venia! Anyone! Help me the fuck out!”

He gave a good, echoing yell, and fell down into his back, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he panted and spat blood out of his mouth, trying to wipe it away with his suit sleeve, which had become tattered and spattered with blood in the whole ordeal.

”Goddamn.

𝔽𝕦𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪: 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔾𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥 𝔾𝕒𝕞𝕖

I'm here, still writing. Don't give up on me yet please

𝔽𝕦𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪: 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔾𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥 𝔾𝕒𝕞𝕖

@OppositionYou can go ahead and make that delilah post, I'll just wait

⌠𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄 ╼ 𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐏𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐘𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐋⌡

---

As the sun began to set on the streets of Baltham, a wider spectrum of lights began to make themselves apparent, bouncing off the glass-sided buildings and puddles leftover from the rain the day before. Headlights, taillights, neon-laden ads, all of them come together to create a loud mishmash of colors, all imbued with a hint of deep pinkish-orange from the dying sun. The air was finally beginning to dry out, and the buzz of bustling evening traffic filled the air, as everyone rushed to get home. There was a sense of mild panic amongst it all, as more and more people began to grow wary of the random attacks that had been happening around the city.

Sitting out on a sidewalk in front of a stripmall in smaller, more isolated street, Gideon was straddling his bike, surfing his phone, sifting through the various headlines and news articles. Amongst the normal headlines and stock market tidbits, there was a string of local headlines detailing the sudden rash attacks dotted around the city. The random acts of violence around Baltham certainly made him feel a little more trepidation than he usually did, but it didn’t seem to be having too much of an effect on plenty of people. There was still plenty of foot traffic flowing out of the Subway in front of him, and the booming and bustling clubs of the nightlife part of the city were still drawing plenty of attention and party-goers.

Downing another mouthful of water, Gideon lifted his t-shirt to wipe the beads of sweat slowly trailing down his forehead towards his eyes. His skin felt warm and tired, and the slight breeze helped thwart the humidity that was slowly dissapaiting. He’d finally finished his route of packages, and was getting ready to make the ride home, which was unfortunately at least a 45 minute ride away, given traffic wasn’t too heavy. Usually, even if he tried to make the last package closest to his house, they were still usually an annoying distance away from his home, but this was the farthest he’d ended his route from home in a while.

Gideon scanned the various headlines a few times more, before locking his phone, putting it and his bottle away. Adjusting his substantially lighter backpack, and giving his legs a quick stretch, he finally started moving again, slowly rolling onto the street when traffic got thin. He had a deecent ride ahead of him, and he’d like to get home sooner rather than later.

---

As his Gideon zipped and glided through out the city, he had passed at least 4 groups of cop cars, blaring their sirens and flashing their lights. More than before, it seemed that all the streets Gideon rode through or past were either completely free of activity, or full of people rushing back to their homes, all of them carrying looks of worry or nervousness on their faces. Of course, the city wasn’t in a full blown panic, looting stores or burning buildings or anything of that sort, but there was certainly a creeping discomfort seeping through the streets. Stationary groups of people kept their heads on a swivel, suspicious eyes darting back and forth. Dark, abandoned alleyways carried an even more foreboding aura than before, as everyone treated the others on the streets as possible assailants.

Feeling the wind stream across his face and skin, Gideon was gliding along in relative comfort, but he still didn’t waste time trying to get across the city. Even for night time, the traffic was heavy, and he had trouble making it through a few intersections without getting stuck at multiple lights, even riding a bike. Despite the lonely desolation of some streets, the ones lined with bars and clubs were still very much alive, but just more, stifled, perhaps. People stuck to their groups more than they would move around freely, and many found a bar to run into and elected to stay inside rather than out in the open. Cutting through the streets that had been blocked from vehicle traffic helped cut a few minutes off his route, and it was made even easier that he had less pedestrians to dodge around.

The Police were out in even more force, though. Along with the usual police that patrolled the party streets, there were plenty of pairs of them dotted around various street corners and intersections. They usually just gave Gideon a passing glance, and the few he waved to simply ignored him, choosing to continue their scan of the streets around them. The city’s mood seemed to stiffen and become more stern, as the sidewalks emptied, and peering sets of eyes set to watching the streets from above, through the windows in their apartments, high above the ground.

---

The halls of Gideon’s apartment building seemed scarce of people, and those few that remained outside their rooms were huddled in whispered conversation, and didn’t display their usual warmth or welcoming to him. Locking his bike at the entrance hall, Gideon made his way to the staircase, trotting past a pair of people who were leaned against the front desk, looking rather comfortable, despite the widespread trepidation.

”You two seem pretty comfortable, considering everyone else seems to be scared shitless.”

”Yeeaahh, I dunno. This place is usually pretty quiet, but it’s even the quiet parts of town that been having those little spats today.”

”Right? I dunno, you should see the streets right now. Cops all over the place, and parts of the city are fuckin’ dead.”

”Oh yeah? Crazy shit, dude, crazy shit.”

Gideon chuckled, and gave a bit of a wave to end the conversation, which the pair of men returned, and resumed their own conversation.

Gideon began his ascent up the stairs, and before he knew it, was unlocking his door, tossing his backpack and bike gear aside, slowly sliding down his couch and taking a deep breath. He was exhausted, as usual, but glad to be home. After a few moments of laying on the couch with his eyes closed, he finally found the will to get back up to make the short trip to his kitchen. After pouring himself a bowl of cereal, he went to searching the living room for his remote, before turning the television to the news, and opening his blinds to see the street below his apartment. As the reporter droned on about the attacks, Gideon munched away, watching as a few people dotted the sidewalks, briskly making their way to where they needed to be, leaving the street bare of any life after a short time.

Time to enjoy the evening, I suppose.

𝔽𝕦𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪: 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔾𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥 𝔾𝕒𝕞𝕖

I'm just kinda waiting, right now, as well.

Sʜɪᴘᴡʀᴇᴄᴋᴇᴅ Sᴏᴜʟs

I'll be messaging you soon enough, Capn! Lemme just formulate some idea for a bit.

𝔽𝕦𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪: 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔾𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥 𝔾𝕒𝕞𝕖

posted!

𝔽𝕦𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪: 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔾𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥 𝔾𝕒𝕞𝕖

@Opposition

But that would put me in the middle of the Abandoned Zone, which is a bit of a death sentence in-and-of itself.

During his wait for the debate to resume, Proctor had leaned up against the wall, a small crowd sharing the wall with him, all in their various groups, or some standing alone, same as him. Amongst all the bobbing heads, he could see a few he recognized. They were just small time street enforcers, working on his rather skim dime. It was mostly their respect for Proctor that fueled their decision to be there, rather than the promise of a payday. The potential of hitting it big helped keep them there, too.

Trying to drown out all the bothersome noise, Proctor had taken to trying to plan an escape route ahead of time, should the need arise. There were plenty of roads and alleyways flowing in and out of the Square, but around him, most of them led to dead ends or sometimes, something worse. His options were thin and questionable at best, but Proctor would take having to fight off a few junkies in an alley, rather than whatever disastrous events could take place here.

Before he knew it, the debate was back on, and he listened to it on and off as he stopped paying attention to look around him and observe the now much more quiet crowd. His gaze casted over thousands of people, almost all of them facing the stage or the various screens around the Square with the candidates’ faces on them. The stillness and silence, at least, relative to earlier, made Proctor somewhat anxious. Now that most of the attention was turned to the stage, it’d be easier for some unnoticed crazy to pull off a dangerous stunt. Of course, the place was brimming with security, so the notion was still far fetched, but it still stuck to Proctor’s mind.

Feeling like he had scanned the crowd for long enough, Proctor turned his gaze back to the stage, across the crowd, and up to Campbell’s face, which had burst in a bloody mist and cut his speaking off. Campbell fell limp to the stage, and even more of what Proctor had registered as gunshots rang out. In mere moments, the entire Square was in a state of unadulterated chaos. Multiple security personnel had been cut down in a matter of seconds, Campbell had been assassinated, and all Proctor saw before he turned to run was a large slug of plasma strike Gatch, which surely sealed his fate.

Whatever his fate was, though, Proctor did not care, nor did he even notice, as he had quickly scrambled away from the chaos, following a large herd of fleeing Citizens. The Reclaim had come violently alive, and the air vibrated with not only the sounds of what could only be described as war in the streets, but with the shrill screams and death cries from dozens of people all over the streets. Proctor followed a portion of the crowd down an alleyway out of Central Square, but he could already tell it was going to end badly. A large pile of junk and trash lay ahead of the crowd, and Proctor could already see the beginning of a pile of humans being trampled and they fell atop the barrier, failing to get across and falling victim to the herd.

Spotting a sort of alcove ahead of himself, the sprinting cyborg stiffened his feet to a halt and slid into the small doorway, taking a second to breathe, and collect himself. His heart was beating almost out of his chest, and even though he hadn’t run far or fast enough to break a sweat, he was still heaving with inhalations and exhalations, his mind absolutely exploding in a frenzy of fear and flee instincts.

Gazing across the alleyway, through the thick crowd that still surged down the alley, he could see across, and for only moments at a time, make out the contorted, nervous face of a man in a similar predicament as his own. They were both stuck in small alcoves on either side of the alley, watching as the tidal wave of flesh and metal flew past them. Neither of them had an idea what to do next, but both of them knew their lives were nearing the end if they didn’t do anything.

That’s when he saw it. Through the bodies rushing past, in those few fleeting moments in between seconds, Proctor saw, very clearly, the insignia of Rott’s Knights printed on his jacket. Amongst the crashing waves of confusion, fear, anxiety, rose mountainous peaks of rage and violence. Here, was one of Rott’s men, in the middle of what obviously had to be Rott’s big plan, yet, he had fled and ran, same as everyone, with such great trepidation you’d think he was just another of many victims. The gall.

Proctor could feel the servos and gears in his arms and legs tighten up, not in old age or disability, but in a rising surge of anger. Anger that he had let himself believe that joining Campbell’s campaign could lead him anywhere. Anger that he had let himself become entwined once again with an enemy that he had eluded for so long. Anger at this lone Knight, who had run and fled as his comrades tore the Square apart. Anger that he was sure he was about to meet his death. Finally, he launched himself, dashing across the alley, his metal arms and legs helping him pelt people away, and shove himself through the horde of people running by. His short run was ended when his metal shoulder put a sizeable dent in the metal door that stood next to him and the Knight. Before the other could react, Proctor reached his arm out, grabbed the Knight by his neck, tightening his grip as he used his other hand to punch a hole in the door, finally reaching a metallic arm in and releasing the lock from inside, and taking them both in.

Once inside the dark abandoned factory, Proctor slammed the door shut, as to keep any unwanted guests hopefully out. His metal vice grip on the Knight’s neck tightened, and the man, who was now on the floor, yelped and moaned in pain as Proctor could feel his fingers stiffening. Pulling his machine pistol from his jacket, and shoving the barrel forward onto the Knight’s forehead, he took off the safety as he prepared to kill the struggling man in his grip.

”Son of a bitch!” The man rasped as hard as he could with his windpipe being crushed.

Feebly, the man tried to swat at Proctor’s gun, but realized the futility of it and went back to trying to pry Proctor’s hand off his throat.
”Give me one reason why not.” Proctor growled. ”You got ten seconds to give me a reason not to blow your fucking brains out.”

Proctor’s teeth were gritted, not only in his rage and anger, but also because the arm he was using to choke the Knight had locked up on him, sending a deal of pain soaring through his arm up into his shoulder.

The Knights ganger’s own metallic limb clawed against the APEX machinery pinning him back. Even in the face of his fading breath, the man seemed to stare down the barrel of the gun. Rott was always right in teaching his boys to fall honorably and fearlessly, though death was never the only option. With a pistol pressed against his head, however, the ganger was in no fighting mood. He struggled for breath, but proceeded to force forth words despite his pain.

”You don’t know shit… Campbell’s team… Doesn’t know shit. We do…” In his final exhalation of words, one could have sworn the Knights ganger showed a twisted smile, as though he’d played his gambit. He knew he had, but what followed would determine his fate. He knew his odds and played them regardless.

Only one of the fingers wrapped around the Knight’s throat had loosened after Proctor’s struggling, which drew a raspy exhale from him, with the pain in his arm calming slightly. As his suffocating grip loosened, the grip on his weapon tightened. Lifting the barrel up off the Knight’s head, Proctor took a second simply lining the bottom of the pistol grip up with the side of the Knight’s head, then suddenly rearing back and bashing the Knight savagely on the side of his head, leaving sizeable gash, which soon started leaking crimson.

”You Knights aren’t built the same as you used to be. And I’m sure it’d be much more fun to give you back to your own Paladins and let them know that while they were trying to take over the whole Reclaim, one of their very own was running away with his tail between his legs.” Proctor returned the barrel of the pistol to the Knight’s head, pressing the barrel into the bleeding gash on the side of his head, giving a twist to dig it further into the seeping skin. ”Start. Talking. Just what the fuck is going on out here, and why do you seem so scared to join in the fun?”

The eyes of the dazed ganger pierced Proctor despite their emptiness. The blows to his skull had surely stunned the man, but he was by no means ready to fall. In his moments of recovery, the Knights ganger would offer a nearly inaudible chuckle. His reason, however, remained a bit ambiguous. Perhaps he was surprised that a man like Proctor could still bring forth a certain savagery. Perhaps he knew something that Proctor did not.

”I expected more from guys like you… Is this really all Campbell can offer? Psycho old men who’ve got as much information as any one of the street rats their trying to rally…” The nameless ganger lifted his non-metallic limb to wipe the sanguine stains from his cheek as the blood ran down from the base of his skull. ”This one ain’t our battle… As much as you seniors would like to think… We’re busy elsewhere.” A blood-stained set of teeth curled out from the man’s cracked lips.

”There’s bigger players in this game than washed up thugs like you’d like to think…”

Even if more fingers had come loose and relaxed on his hand, Proctor returned them all to their tight curl around the man’s throat. His eyes bore into the Knight’s, as the thought of ending the man’s life entered the forefront of Proctor’s mind. He didn’t seem to recognize Proctor, so it’s not like he could run back and report to Jackson that the Ghost was still alive. Leaving him alive still wasn’t an option, though. Too much of a liability for Proctor to allow. What had to be done had to be done. His trigger finger slowly began to coil and squeeze on the trigger, and the Knight had shut his eyes, as to give Death a warm welcome. Just as Proctor readied his arm for the recoil, thought, something clicked in his head. His finger relaxed, and his grips on both the Knight and his pistol loosened. Just as the confused Knight opened his eyes to examine the change in situation, he received a vicious blow to the side of his head, behind his ear, knocked him unconscious nearly instantly. Just to be sure, Proctor gave another quick and precise hook along the side of the Knight’s head, with the motors and servos whirring with surging energy.

Proctor went to quickly patting him down for weapons and the sort, finding a few items of interest, such as a pocket knife, and a locked personal computer pad. Surely, something, if not the Knight himself, would yield some interesting information one way or another. Perhaps a brain augment, which Knights were known to have, or some sort of other inner computer could be found. He just needed the help of the campaign members he was , ironically, getting ready to abandon just a few minutes ago.

”Della, I’ve got a live one here. I managed to catch one of these Knights escaping with the crowds, and subdued him. He won’t talk to me, but he knows more than he lets on. I figure you could have a little fun digging around in his brain.”

With the augments the man carried, he was heavier than he looked, but Proctor’s augments made the difference rather negligible. Getting him tied up was easy enough, as the Knight had enough sleeves and pant legs to make sure he was secure, but dragging him up the stairs of the building was a different task. Half-way up, Proctor finally picked the man up and tossed him over his shoulder, making every step calculated as he slowly scaled the staircase. Around every corner, his pistol went first, as Proctor felt uneasy at the possibility of the upper floors holding unpleasant surprises.

Stopping to take in his surroundings, Proctor found himself near a window facing the square, and, making sure to stick to the wall and out of sight, slowly leaned over to take a look at the chaos ensuing. Wiping some grime and dirt off the glass, he got a clear look at the square below. A lot less time had passed than he thought, as the Square was still alive with people fleeing in every which direction, and more security forces had poured out of the surrounding buildings, creating an even larger firefight between them and the Knights that were dotted around the area. He had lost sight of the monster of an assassin that descended on the debate, but he wasn’t exactly disappointed to not have to face him again.

Dozens, if not at least a hundred, of people lay limp, scattered amongst puddles off pooling blood. Left and right, Knights and Enforcers joined the ranks of their dead brethren littering the ground, but even more yet poured from streets and alleyways to reinforce the ones that remained standing. The debate stage was near collapse, and same as their assassin, Proctor couldn’t quite see either Dexter or Gatch. Spatters and pools of their blood, though, were visible, making the bile in Proctor’s gut stir a bit. Even with how often he’d encountered and dealt Death in his life, it never made the sight of it any less sickening.

Taking a breath, Proctor ducked back down from the window, setting the Knight down next to him, then he himself slid down the wall to sit on the floor. He realized he’d had his earpiece turned off, and turned it back on to listen if the team were communicating, but it was quiet for the moment.

”What the fuck is even going on out there? Is this shit really happening?...”

He spoke dispondantly into his communicator, losing the vigor of his last message. Seeing for himself the mess that everything was in, and having the memory of Dexter’s face being perforated etched in his mind, really set in the dire consequences he and his fellow campaign members faced. A bit of concern finally tricked up in his chest, through the rising feeling of hopelessness.

”Are any of you even left out there?”