Arbiter Klint was not one who was used to being on the receiving end of surprises. He was glad he was not responsible for the security of Sharkhead before the attack, as it seemed even Mako had been in on it, and a catastrophic failure like that could result in only one outcome, death. Oh the methods and duration of your demise might be up for question, but the certainty of the end could not be avoided. Klint wanted to live. Living was tied directly to succeeding, in this particular situation he found himself in, so succeeding would be his primary goal. Such as Recluse had set it up, it was easy to find his motivation.
Still
he mused, calling up the status of his personal sub, I could always open a Shoe Source in Wyoming.
He could virtually see the future in the plans Recluse had sent him. Recluse would under estimate his opponents, as he always does, and they would separate him from the security of the platform. When that happened, Recluse would land his flier full of over priced and over hyped thugs, and they would fight the cultists in a free for all like the last time they got together with Freedom Phalanx. Only, things wouldnt go Recluses way.
Klint thought those who sought to replace Recluse were power hungry morons who had no knowledge of the headaches being in charge of an evil empire could bring. Being a powerless minion is likewise unsuitable, but there is a happy medium to be reached in the executive core. People arent always trying to stab you in the back with a much bigger target looming just within reach, and the chances that things will go so horribly wrong that Recluse will need to use your body as a human shield are slim to none. The problem is, staying precisely where you are without failing or some imbecile promoting you.
So he thought of what would happen when Recluses plan failed and he found himself surrounded by these creatures. The ramps would extend from his hidden bunkers and two battalions of Arachnos soldiers, droids and mystics of Mu would pour forth onto the web throne to drown Recluses enemies in lasers and bullets. It will be like the Dead sea crashing down on the Pharaohs men as they pursued... someone
he couldnt remember who.
Still, it was worthwhile to investigate these cultists and discover their weaknesses. Two battalions of men and machines is hard to replace. If there were an easier way
The fewer resources expended to keep Recluse safe, the better.
He pressed his wrist com to his personal clerk outside his door. I need a freelance spy.
Right away, commander.
Klint released the com. I wonder what the cat is going to drag in today.
Days went by, but the attacks never came. Arachnobots walked the perimeter without being destroyed or shut down. Even the Freakshow were quiet. It was all a bit unnerving to Arbiter Kessel, who was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Kessel had watched Operative Moss oversee one of the largest construction projects ever attempted in the Rogue Isles with the most ambitious timetable ever recorded. The base of the structure was pure titanium rods forming squares that a tight mesh would be strewn between. Each of these squares would have a larger structure attached to it that hooked together to form the ground floor. The plans called for diamond hinged, titanium connectors to give the massive structure the strength of a huge building being built on the water. Twisted steel with augmented alloy cables were used to give the structure give in the event of a solid blow from an immense object, or even just a severe storm. The upper levels of the Web Throne where shaped like the base of a throne, with a thin high rise representing the back. Behind the high rise, a webwork of cables stretched to four immense towers erected, one on each of the four smaller islands around the bay.
In the seat of this throne, that is on the top of the building, was a giant statue of Lord Recluse, with a sitting and viewing area on top of his helmet where the dictator himself was to sit when giving addresses or overseeing the realm personally.
In the bay, twelve attack subs patrolled the water, and six long poles descended from tethers at the edges of the floating structure, to the bottom of the bay. Each held sonar, cameras, pressure sensors, and torpedoes. There were five fliers in the air at all times and seven on the ground, fueling and prepping. Soldiers marched everywhere and stood watch. There were two destroyers, one on each side of the Web Throne. All looked ready. Kessel was terrified.
Klint had programmed in a clear flight path to the observation seat on the statues helmet, which Kessel had anticipated would be there to whisk Recluse to safety if something went awry, and there were construction workers missing throughout the project, taken to assist a special project that inhabited two of the shores near the web. Moss confided that these were extra security precautions, but Kessel wasnt above suspecting anyone of espionage or sabotage, even Klint.
Moss was also making Kessel aware that operatives of Klint were active in Sharkhead, poking about and trying to find more information on the cult. Moss reported that, of the five freelancers hired, only one remained on the job. Three disappeared, and one was found wandering the shore with nothing but the clothes on his back babbling incoherent nonsense. The last has yet to report in.
This is going to be incredibly ugly. I can just feel it. Kessel looked out over the landscape.
Moss nodded behind him. It feels as if a great storm is coming. Lightning flashed in the distance. Moss was not being as figurative as Kessel thought.
We are as prepared as we can be, I suppose. The arbiter turned toward operative Moss and sat in his chair.
Sir. I feel that there will be many surprises on the battlefield, more than anticipated. Moss stood at attention.
Let us hope they are enough. Dismissed.
Near the beach, on Cap Au Diablo, a small, abandoned boathouse defied the elements and time by continuing to stand. It was here that a single figure hurried to bury a small canister in the darkness. His fingers fumbled nervously, despite his nearly flawless history of being unshakable. His breath was hurried, though he had used every trick his master had taught him regarding stealth and guile. His mind was distracted, in spite of years of meditation and training. His task complete, though shoddy and hurried, he turned toward the door.
A board creaked above him, and his eyes shot toward the roof. They were here. He had no time remaining, and now there was every chance that his message would be discovered and intercepted. He moved to a window and crouched, looking out.
The man was dressed in a suit made from the most modern and lightweight fabrics his clan could afford. It was protection from all manner of attack, though not complete protection from anything. He carried a single katana, and a host of other devices. On the hilt of his sword was a Kanji that read simply Murderous Intent. Arachnos knew him as Ichi. He was their first choice of mercenary spies, because of his reputation of getting the job done.
Right this second, though, his only thought was getting out alive. He sprung through the window and rolled up in a field of dead grass. He looked back toward the boathouse, but saw nothing. He decided to make for the city, to use the distractions and movement, to blend into the crowd and vanish.
Up the narrow path was another structure, like a cottage looking out over the sea. As he ran past it he could hear boards creaking on its roof as well. He didnt bother looking, by the time he heard them they had moved on. Once atop the path he followed it down again toward a fallen tree that ended in some large rocks. He used his sheathed sword to glide down the wood of the dead tree to make up time and not leave any footprints. Upon reaching the base of the tree, he re-evaluated his position.
Whoever it was that was following him was skilled in the arts of the Shinobi, but not in his specific house. It was like they were more skilled than him, but in an ancient art that had been lost for many centuries. He was capable of using the modern landscape to his advantage, to make up for the fact that he was outclassed. Now he had to gamble. They could have anticipated his move toward the city, if they were confident or arrogant enough to believe that he would be scared of them. Or he could take his chances with the sea at night, something he wouldnt hesitate to do until recently.
The darkness was his home. It was where he found shelter and safety. Just recently, though, he had discovered that Oni lived in his own home, and there were rooms that were not safe. As is the case in stories, when you discover what has been living in your house, and it discovers you, the relationship changes from mutually ignoring that fact, to a struggle for life. Now he found himself on the other side of the rocks, staring at three swordsmen. They were students of ninjitsu, but still students.
Behind him, he had given up the high ground, and beyond the three he could see the lights of the city. There would be no easy end to this fight especially considering there were mages from the Circle of Thorns performing some summoning ceremony nearby. He had fallen into their trap, now he could struggle against the snare and push on toward the city, or he could reverse himself and fall upon the spikes that sought to impale his struggling form.
He studied the adversaries in front of him. They had the faint traces of modern life on them. Their skin was stained by the perfumes of modern chemicals. Their diets still consisted of processed foods and cheeseburgers. Their hair was still styled with gels when they were not on missions. He felt that they were soft and weak enough to defeat easily, but he had made this mistake before.
Ichi lunged forward, flipping up into a kick that knocked one of the swordsmen down before he could free his blade. The other two swordsmen drew and swung at him. Ichi rolled away into a dead run. Hed hoped that the enemy would not risk alerting the Circle mages, and perhaps he could create a gap in their ambush. When Ichi heard the whistle of the arrow approaching, he knew that his plan would not work, and now he must rely on strength of heart and skill with a blade to escape.
The world exploded in light, instantly drawing the attention of guardians, spirits and mages. Soon, Ichis head cleared, and the world was not so blurry. His sword was drawn, and the ancient magic it was imbued with sliced at the spirit in front of him that was trying to drain away his life force. His sword glowed like a piece of the moon had been caught in the blade, as he dodged and sliced until the spirit was no more.
When his attention returned to the battlefield, only one of his swordsman adversaries was between him and the cliff that overlooked the sea. The dead grass beneath the student was stained with the blood of a fallen thorn, and a mage lay nearby, dead from arrows. Behind him, the other two students struggled with the remaining spirit.
Ichi sprinted toward the swordsman in front of him. Their swords clashed twice, as Ichi gained the upper hand. The students strikes were slow, and Ichi anticipated them easily. However, his awareness of the hillside distracted him when it grew fangs and attacked. Ichi dodged an arrow, and was struck in the left hand with a dart. He felt the sting, and began counting, for he knew he had only so long before the poison would take effect, and he would likely lose consciousness.
Ichi was struck on the thigh by the student, whos blade did not penetrate deeply through Ichis armor due to his inexperience. Ichi heard two more arrows coming in, and could tell that one was heavier than the other, and likely contained some kind of flash bomb. Ichi slashed the first arrow out of the air, and then turned his blade on the student, delivering a life threatening wound across his mid section. Ichi sought to be out of the radius of the flash bomb and with his back turned to it, but then realized his mistake. The creator of this arrow used an ancient technique of winding feather into rope, causing the sound it made as it flew to appear more like fletching weighed down by a bomb or poison tip. In fact it was rope all along, and it fanned out, catching Ichi just by the end of it.
The experienced ninja managed to get his blade pointed out, toward the ropes, limiting the time of his entanglement, but he still cursed himself for failing to correctly perceive the threat. Two more arrows came in, and despite his relative immobility, he avoided one entirely and managed to spin his body round to receive the second in his most heavily armored spot. It was then that fire erupted on the ground in front of him and a magician breathed flame at him.
Free now, Ichi rolled away from the flame, avoiding it entirely. However, the poison had started taking effect, and his vision was changing. He felt panicked and fearful of everything. There was only one option now. He sheathed his sword and headed toward the cliff at full speed. He channeled his fear into flight and sprinted as fast as his legs could carry him.
Arrows whipped by him, many more arrows than archers, and flame erupted on the spot he sought to run through, but his momentum carried him into the flame, which stuck to him and burned him as he ran. Two more arrows found their mark in him, one in his leg, one in his back, but he reached the cliff. Off the edge he leapt, and toward the icy cold water below.
The storm that had threatened the construction, continued threatening it into the night, but never advanced. Many Arachnos scientists were monitoring the stalled squall line, but the weather condition had collided with another front and sat far offshore, gathering energy and lighting the horizon in that direction. St.Elmo's fire was occasionally seen flickering on the tallest metal parts of the cable support towers on the farthest of the four small bay islands. Nobody took it as a good sign, though there were many nervous laughs.
One of the Scrapyarder work crews brave enough to take the bounties for duty on Gull Atoll was busy securing as many bolts, welds and augmented metal alloy plates as it could before the rain that had been building offshore for hours finally came and drenched them. Many had lived on the coast all their lives, and knew a squall could dump so much water mixed with so much wind that you couldn't look straight ahead without having your eyes plugged by water and debris, could barely keep your mouth open to breathe. They didn't want to be out in the open when it hit. Especially NOT on top of a metal tower covered in metal cables that arched out into the air for hundreds of yards in all directions.
Mike and Jimmy Knuckles were man-handling a huge plate door down onto an access ladder hatch which in turn lead down from the cable anchor platform all the way to the ground a hundred feet below. "Come on, we gotta blow!" Knuckles grunted at the two welders putting final beads down around the edge of the tremendous beams crowning the tower, equalizing the incredible tension of the thigh-thick cables which stretched up and up, into what would soon be invisible darkness, vibrating in the rising wind as they arched over the turbid bay to the great seat of Lord Recluse nearly a half mile away.
"We're comin', we're comin'," one of the welders, Sully, replied under his breath, careful not to piss Knuckles off too much by actually letting the huge hulk hear him. Knuckles had the familiar gigantism that afflicted so many people born on the Isles, and which got him his position in the Scrapyarders. The second welder, though a new guy, already knew enough to keep his mouth shut tight. Sully could see him, crouching over the corner weld he was finishing. The guy was a bit sloppy, but Sully figured, and Knuckles had agreed, this spot was the farthest out, so by the time any of the Arachnos goons who knew a roll of one-oh from a regulator got here to check quality, the team would have already paid out and be long gone.
The two blinding arc spots gave enough light for the two larger men to wrestle the plate into place and slide the hinge bolts home. The heavy lock mechanism was bolted on in short order.
"All right, let's get the [censored] below and get the hell outta here," Knuckles announced as he tested the play of the new door, and the job was officially done, even though the new welder still had his tip playing along the edge of the beam with its controlled lightning. The other men wrapped the gear, tied it into the small crane-held bucket and the larger guys, Knuckles first, descended the ladder. The new guy, being the New Guy, was forced to stay behind and lower the crane, standing in the rain, humping the crank until the gear was safely down. Then he would be allowed to come in himself.
From below, waiting for the twirling basket to arrive, the three seniors watched the rain come pouring down the shaft and creating puddles under their boots on the recently-poured slab floor of the access tower. There were knowing looks and chuckles from those remaining mostly dry. The basket settled and they loaded the gear into the golf cart.
"Come on, get down here Dennis, let's get the [-] out already!" Sully yelled up the shaft, pulling back before getting too soaked.
Lightning flashed outside and the thunder was immediate, right overhead. The shaft lit up and Sully could see the new guy's form silhouetted in the bright square above, one arm holding the plate open. In the after-flash blindness, Sully heard a clatter from above and flung himself back by instinct. Dennis' helmet came caroming down the shaft, smashing itself to pieces on the floor at their feet, as a horrible scream came echoing down on its heels. The sound was cut off by the sepulcher clang of the great metal door they'd just installed.
"Dennis!' Sully shouted up the closed shaft, but the two other Scrapyarders, their faces wide in fear and pale and wet with rain, were already hopping into the electric cart, tilting it with their bulk and accelerating into the access hall leading down through the hill and to relative safety. Sully gave a last look up, then ran for his life, chasing the cart as it scraped off alternate walls down towards the guards in the distance.
Above, on the platform, lightning flashed again. The rain came sluicing down, with the squall line only a few hundred yards off.
Grinning, Dennis considered sliding the lock closed too, but that would look too suspicious. And the Deep Ones wouldn't bother doing it. So, he ducked back to the base of the great cable anchor, and began planting the magnetic bombs all around its circumference.
As he'd suspected, nobody came clambering up the ladder for him even five minutes later, even though he waited for them so eagerly, so, his explosives planted below the lip of where observers might come to check, Demiise cackled, and flew off, into the darkness.
We reconned the cave in force and found no sign of lieutenant Greens platoon. There were visible scorch marks on the ground, evidence of smoke at the top of the cave and hits from small arms fire on the cave walls, but no casings, no blood and no debris. Further, none of the tracking devices, save for the one on the lieutenant, seem to be active. Arbiter Zeller reported to Arbiter Kessel.
This is a [censored] nightmare. If the tracking devices do come online, dont send a squad, it will just be another trap. Kessel looked out of the tower window down onto the twisted metal that was the beginnings of the Web Throne. Arachnos fliers patrolled the skies and flew low over land and water to protect the rebuilding efforts. Ten patrol boats and two destroyers secured the recovery effort, while three cargo ships sent divers into the water to lower defenses to be secured to the bottom of the bay.
The areas outside of the bay were unsecured now, with only a token Arachnos force there, held up to defend themselves vrs any attack. All eyes were on the newly created bay in the middle of Sharkhead. There were many forces of various different kinds around the bay, all poised to counter attack any threat at a moments notice. Kessel was taking his job seriously.
Zeller nodded in agreement. Yes, sir. Agreed.
And cease patrols near the sea caves, just leave arachnobots there.
Arbiter Zeller knew this was a waste of time, as they would find the bots destroyed by morning or missing entirely nearly half of the time, but he did not dare argue. The mood was getting grim. It had been two days since the attack and no work had been done on the structure aside from clearing away damaged portions that could not be salvaged. As you wish, sir.
Dismissed. Zeller turned and left the spacious and well lit room.
Operative Moss stepped forward as Kessel continued to look out of the room. A red screen flickered to life over Kessels desk as operative Moss began speaking. I have secured the cooperation of several factories in Nerva as well as Saint Martial to fabricate and transport supplies to put us back on track. Some of the materials arent up to the standards of Arbiter Clark, but these materials take longer to manufacture, and we have lost time.
Arbiter Kessel scoffed, and how many days will we have to wait for these materials to get here?
The three large buildings you see near the south end, they are already filled with them. We could begin tomorrow morning or, if you dont mind the risk to morale and lives, we could have workers on constant shifts through the night starting immediately. Moss was pointing to the reports on the screen when Kessel turned around. The report showed the chances of worker injury and the probable timetable adjusted by an average number of worker injuries and work stoppages due to death and dismemberment.
Already? So we are ready to begin now? That gives us one day to spare, which we might be able to make up some spare time with some forced labor. Kessel briefly looked over the numbers. He looked at the bottom where Moss projected that, despite the loss of life and multiple injuries, they would finish 16 hours ahead of schedule. Do it. He turned back to the window. I want to keep our superiors happy and finishing nearly two days early they appear to be opening the doors to the you already gave the order to begin at once didnt you?
Nearly half an hour ago, sir. Moss did not smile, though he could sense the muscles in Kessels face tensing in a smile, even though he was facing away. Sciroccos mystics cannot penetrate the magical defenses of these cultists, they say that their sight is being blocked as if these cultists can simply turn off their abilities. Yet you read my mind perfectly. Maybe I should transfer you to their division.
Moss still did not smile. Who would plan your building project?
Very good point. Let me know when the defense grid is up and running. Kessel turned and nodded at Moss. Dismissed.