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Another mission, another day on Rubicon, where the firmament was a blazing scarlet and the fundament a glittering white - with a few interruptions of gunmetal grey buildings and rusty wrecks littering the landscape.
It was difficult to imagine this world as a once thriving colony, where the land hadn’t been reduced into uninhabitable wastelands, with the only creatures surviving being subterranean worms or vermin. But Rusty remembered - albeit through grainy videos corrupted with age and the few sketches that survived the Fires of Ibis, but he still remembered when the Central Ice Fields had been more than just lifeless snow, but a genuine tundra with a myriad of living creatures that had evolved to live in such harsh conditions.
There’d been one creature that had bore remarkable similarities to the wolves that lived on Earth, enough so that some environmentalists had accused some colonists of introducing an invasive species to the ecosystem of Rubicon (never mind humans had already done that with themselves, but moving on). But after an extensive study, funded in part by the Rubicon Research Institute, they revealed that no, the ‘wolves’ of Rubicon-3’s tundras were in fact their own distinct species.
Rusty wasn’t sure what had come about that interesting albeit unprofitable bit of trivia. The Rubiconian ice wolves (designated ‘direwolves’ by the RI) didn’t have any interesting advantages over their Earth cousins. They were just… wolves: quadruple carnivores, thick pelts that ranged from snowy white to ash grey, and functioned in packs. The only anomaly was the trace amount of Coral found within their bodies - thankfully not enough to extract any useful amounts, otherwise the corporations would’ve hunted them to extinction before the Fires of Ibis incinerated them along with everything else.
Maybe one or two survived in a zoo somewhere, Rusty remembered there was an extraterrestrial zoo on Earth or one of Jupiter’s moons, but on Rubicon-3 there were no more. The thriving tundra of the Central Ice Fields was now a dead wasteland, and their only remnants were the bones found beneath the permafrost… and in Rusty’s emblem.
The Vespers only saw a muzzled wolf, but to Rusty it was a reminder: of what Rubicon had lost. Not just the wolves, not just its biosphere, not even the thriving colony itself, but what all those things together encompassed: a home. The RLF eked what existence they could, but between the devastated ecosystem, the corporations and the PCA, they were barely scraping by, reduced to yelling out slogans and taking cheap potshots that didn’t amount to anything.
Even if they did somehow kick both the PCA and the corporations off the planet, what were they going to do after that? Earth didn’t officially recognise the Rubiconian colony anymore - they were officially squatters, and therefore couldn’t request trade or supplies through official channels. They didn’t have the means to terraform the planet to its former glory. They lived off the scraps the corporations dropped during their meaningless war over the Coral, and the PCA mostly ignored them because they were so ineffectual.
That was why Rusty had reduced himself to the depths he was now mired in. He put on that muzzle and pretended to be a tamed wolf, brought to heel by the promise of a better life and prestige, wagging his tail whenever Arquebus tossed him the barest of praises and rewards. He endured it all, to scavenge what technology and secrets he could, to feed what supplies he can to Uncle, to let the RLF become more than just a ragtag group of forgotten colonists demonised as squatters, to let them truly rebuild their home once they wrenched it from the clutches of the PCA and corporations both.
It wasn’t gonna happen in his lifetime, probably. Oh, maybe the corporations leaving, sure, but even if Rusty’s augments let him live to the age of three hundred, he’d never see those wolves on these ice fields again. Thousands of years had been the grim estimate, for the planet’s biosphere to even think about supporting complex life again, and not just a collection of hardy moss, seaweed and mealworms .
But Rusty would make this decision a thousand times over if it meant his actions would lead to the potential, several thousands years on. He didn’t do this to reap the rewards himself. He’d long accepted that he was likely gonna die in a ditch somewhere, cast aside by Arquebus, hated by the majority of the RLF as a traitor, forgotten within weeks, if not days. Uncle will grieve him, that was enough.
…and maybe…
‘Rusty.’
The text flickered across his communications feed, loitering in the corner of his eye. He boxed up his melancholy thoughts for another day, and responded verbally; “Yeah, buddy?”
The answer was slow, as it usually was when it came to 621. Rusty wasn’t sure what his setup was in his AC, but the time delay indicated that 621 wasn’t using text-to-speech for whatever reason, but was actually typing the words out in some way. Made it kind of remarkable he could do sentences, albeit short ones, in mid-contact; Rusty doubted he’d be able to write out a conversation while avoiding all of the PCA’s lasers or Balam’s love of kinetic cannons and missiles, and landing consecutives bulleyes on top of that.
he’s really one hell of a merc, Rusty mused, it’s a little scary.
A gentle ping, and 621’s reply filtered through: ‘You are unusually quiet today.’
Rusty hummed. “I guess I am.”
He could usually put up a front - kind of a necessity in his line of work - but travelling through these ice fields with the Coral haze bloodying the sky had darkened his mood. It helped that 621 was quiet company. No nattering in his ear about Arquebus’s plans, or how Snail is the worst human being to walk Rubicon (Rusty actually doubted that man was human), or complaining about the RLF and how doomed their cause was, or how cold and shitty the ice fields were, or how they were going to strike it rich once they finally found the Coral vein.
But in return, it did mean he was prone to chattering as well. Inconsequential things, mostly, neutral, inoffensive. Always good at hitting the middle of the road. He just wasn’t feeling it today, and with his buddy… well, he didn’t feel the pressure to do it either. He could just vibe. The job wasn’t going to be a difficult one, anyways.
A simple smash and grab with a Balam outpost. G5 Iguazu was meant to be lurking in the area, but reports said that Iguazu had been growing increasingly erratic and unhinged - with rumours that he’d even outright deserted, though G1 Michigan would sooner kiss Snail than admit that officially. The sentiment throughout the Vespers (Snail) had mostly been ‘well, what do you expect with a Gen Four?’
Their augments were infamously unstable with a list of psychological side effects to the augmentations: hallucinations, emotionally withdrawn, mutism, addictive behaviours, impulsiveness, lowered rationality or heightened aggression. When placed under pressure, these side effects could just cascade like an avalanche, and it wasn’t unheard of for Gen Fours to soar down the slippery slopes of insanity on a rocket-powered toboggan. Some in Arquebus were now placing down bets on when the famous Raven will soon go the same way.
‘Are you unwell?’
The response was surprising, but not unwelcome. Still, Rusty laughed it off: “Me? I’m fine, buddy. I’ve never had a cold. ”
‘Everyone has had a cold at least once.’
“Even you?” Rusty teased.
‘Yes.’
Rusty shook his head, feeling his mood pick up slightly. He didn’t know what it was about 621, but he was easy to talk to. Despite being a total enigma and hard to pin down, there was always a sense of… you knew where you stood with him. If he was gunning for you, you’d know it, and he wouldn’t hide it either, wouldn’t plot your demise several weeks in advance. Meant Rusty didn’t have to continuously second guess 621’s words or motivations, because the guy literally lived for his paycheck or his handler’s orders, and Rusty was confident in assuming Walter didn’t give a shit about Arquebus or Balam both.
“I guess I’m just enjoying the quiet. You don’t get that a lot with the Vespers.”
‘I see. Should I stop communicating?’
“I don’t mind talking with you, buddy,” Rusty said honestly. “Anyway, it’s not like much is going to happen with this mission. I think sending us both is a bit overkill.”
‘There is a strong PCA presence in this region in addition to Balam. It is likely they’re being cautious.’
Just like Arquebus, really. Where Balam charged headfirst into things, and damn the explosions, Arquebus weren’t really a fan of all or nothing bets. True, Rusty could swoop in and terrorise the Balam outpost on his lonesome, and even do a jig on the way out without getting a scratch, but if the PCA crashed the party midway through, especially with those HCs or theirs, then Rusty wasn’t sure what the outcome would be.
It was too early in the game for Arquebus to lose Rusty… or ‘Raven’. But if the only resistance they met were Balam MTs and Iguazu, then Rusty wasn't expecting much trouble. Though, speaking of...
“True, true. Hey, by the way, since we’re on this subject, what do you think about Iguazu? I hear you two have history."
There was a considerably longer than usual pause, before 621 replied with a: ‘Who?’
Who.
Who?!
Rusty’s jaw actually dropped for a moment, caught between surprise and slightly mean-spirited amusement. Last time he’d crossed paths with Iguazu, he’d been huffing and puffing about ‘that freelancer freak being smug about getting lucky’ , and Rusty had assumed that he, yet again, had the shit kicked out of him by 621. It was practically well-known by this point that Iguazu had it out for Raven, that there was some sort of rivalry between them, and it was assumed that 621 viewed Iguazu as an annoyance at worst and a rival in turn at best.
But instead…
“Uh, G5 Iguazu?” Rusty said slowly. “Of the Redguns? Hates you to the point where I think he has a doll of you just for him to stick pins into?”
Rusty could practically hear the ancient dial-up tones as 621 processed this.
‘Oh. Him. What about him?’
“He’s supposed to be lurking around this area,” Rusty said, genuinely amazed and unsure if this was 621 being mean or if he was in an oblivious mood today. “Rumour has it that he’s deserted from the Redguns, but since he’s… antagonistic towards you, might try to interfere.”
‘Then we will eliminate him as and when he interferes. Our mission is to destroy the Balam outpost and steal whatever salvage and data they have collected. G5 Iguazu is not a priority, but will be removed if he attempts to obstruct us from completing our objectives.’
Rusty shook his head, letting out a quiet huff. “He’s a skilled pilot.”
‘So are we.’
“Heh… that’s true.” Rusty couldn’t help but smile. Iguazu might’ve been a concern if he jumped them whenever they were alone and fighting off Balam forces, but with the both of them together? He’d be swept from the board quick.
‘I’m more concerned with the PCA intervening. Their HCs or Ekdromoi are a dangerous threat.’
“You really hate those guys, huh?”
‘They never stay still.’ Even through text, 621’s irritation somehow seeped through. ‘They are cheating somehow.’
“Cheating.”
‘No generator can sustain that many consecutive boosts with minimal charge time. I know. I have checked.’
“On the market, maybe,” he pointed out. Stand aside, Iguazu, it seemed like Rusty had found his buddy’s true arch-nemesis. “But the PCA’s tech is mostly in-house. All salvaged from the Institute, I’m guessing.”
‘As I said, cheating.’
Rusty snorted.
“And who is also running salvaged Institute tech here…?”
‘It is not cheating when I do it.’
Damn, sometimes he really liked 621, Rusty couldn’t help but think fondly. He really hoped that by the end of this mess, they could stay buddies, that this fight over the Coral didn’t kill that too. Once the corporations were kicked off planet, maybe there’d be some work to entice an independent merc like 621 to stay here… provided Walter was willing to let his hound go.
Another thing to sit on the backburner for now. Rusty still had mixed and suspicious feelings over Walter. He didn’t like how he treated 621, and he didn’t like the murky rumours surrounding him either. Walter had sent countless ‘Hounds’ to Rubicon, and all of them had died, thrown away just so Walter could get a slice of that Coral pie. Rusty didn’t want 621 to go the same way.
With this in mind, Rusty abruptly changed the topic: “Since we’re gossiping about people and cheaters though… how’s Handler Walter treating you, recently? Things still good between you two?”
‘...? Yes? He is my Handler.’
not what i was asking, buddy, Rusty mentally sighed.
“Not working you too hard?”
‘...I will not join the Vespers, Rusty. Snail is there.’
Figures 621 would think Rusty was trying to recruit him. Sufficiently walled from that topic, Rusty let it drop. He didn’t want 621 blithely conveying Rusty’s concerns to Walter - who knows what conclusions that guy would come to and decide to act on. Tangling with Walter was like grabbing the tail of a viper - ill-advised.
“Well, no one lives forever. It’d be great working with you on a more permanent basis, buddy, but I get Snail’s a pretty big deterrent for most folks.”
‘I give priority to any jobs that you are attached to. That will do for now.’
“Hm…” Rusty was actually startled by how touched he was. “Never thought you were the type to have a silvertongue.”
‘...? My tongue is still organic.’
Ah, 621…
“Turn of phrase. I meant you’re a smoothtalker,” Rusty quickly amended. “But… thanks. It’s nice to know you have my back, buddy.”
‘And I hope you have mine… buddy.’
It was cute, how 621 would mimic him like that. It came across as awkward, but it was sweet in its own way… even if it made Rusty utter promises he’ll never keep. He felt himself smile, but it was a wry thing, and he was thankful when a marker blinked to life on his HUD as an early warning. They were close to the Balam outpost.
“Of course. I always will.” Rusty hated how easy it had been to say that. He’s gotten too good at lying. “Now, looks like it’s time to earn our pay. You ready, buddy?”
“Yes. Commence mission.”
Rusty strengthened the connection between STEEL HAZE and his neural implants, shifting from ‘travel mode’ to ‘combat mode’. His sensations heightened, and he was no more a driver in the cockpit of a giant mecha - he was STEEL HAZE, with all the freedom it offered: limited, but enough for him to surge ahead of 621’s STALKER and rocket towards the Balam outpost at breakneck speed.
It’ll last only for precious minutes, this freedom, but the scant taste of it was enough to sustain him. It won’t be long until he’ll be able to chase the clouds all over Rubicon, to see it free from the corporations and the PCA, even if it’s something he’ll only witness from the other side. He just had to keep enduring, keep pushing, keep fighting.
It’ll all be worth it in the end.
No matter what he had to do.
(Later, far later, deep beneath the earth and with the end so close he could practically see the finish line, he’ll stand across from 621 and try not to think of that broken promise, try not to read the confused messages ricocheting over his communications feed (‘Rusty, stop. Rusty, I don’t want to fight. Rusty, stop. Rusty. RUSTY. STOP. RUSTY! STOP!’), try not to think too hard about what he was doing, try not to notice how 621 did his best to avoid direct hits to his Core.
It had to be worth it in the end.
It had to be worth it in the end.
It had to be worth it in the end.
It had to be worth it in the end.
It had to be worth it in the end.
…it had to be worth it, if he wanted to live with himself for clipping 621's wings for good.)