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Donkey Donkey Liberation Club

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                The district gate dropped open before Marvin Beck's Julius. He stared down the highway before him. Not a soul to be seen. He let out a shaky breath, he was sweaty enough already. The SNC controlled both the coms and gates, they could afford to tell him when they'd do that, so that he'd at least get the drop on whoever had the bad luck of being on the other side. So of course they didn't.

                His machine stepped past the gate, crushing a car that had been abandoned in the wrong place. There was no one to place a shell in his side armor and for that he thanked his lucky star. The gate rose back up behind him. The SNC handler in high orbit was kind enough to beam a list of targets down his datalink before going back to trying to score with a Spacer chick with a thing for murdering people.

                Good luck there, pal.

                There was a particular trio of Spacers to remove, roughly in the direction of the Santa Luzia District Orphanage.

                Good luck there, kids.

                Having properly taken stock of the situation, Marvin sighed, leaned back and shifted in his seat, he lifted his feet of the pedals to brace himself against the cockpit frame and pushed himself back in place. A small pool of sweat, trapped between the fake leather and his ample ass, found an opening past his bulk and dripped to the floor. He sighed again and focused on his sensor screens and canopy. He didn't have time to let irrelevant details catch his attention. He'd advance along mason's avenue using the hab blocks as cover before getting sightlines over the Santa Luzia football field.

                Then he'd improvise. He didn't really have a choice, there wasn't enough information to plan ahead and the long term ways out were blocked anyway. He also had a giant war machine on his side, a pity that the other guys would have a bunch more.

                He was careful on his way in and only stomped on a pair of cars. It wouldn't do to have some jalopy wrapped around a leg, slowing him down. His cranial jack itched. The IR camera showed a shadow over the road crossing a hundred meters ahead. Marvin stopped his machine and pointed his guns at the edge of the hab block. The actual high resolution visible light camera showed nothing because, when he'd killed his copilot, the fucker was fixing it and clutched the damn thing on his way to the ground, twelve meters below. Marvin licked his lips. Fear left his body through his pores and mingled with all the sweat already in his battle dress. He focused, he needed to get the drop on that patrol and he'd get it, a good AKP would blow down those blocks and crush the lightweights, and then he'd get in with more mass and guns and fuck up the heavies.

                He also farted but he put that down to the beans rather than the fear.

                There was a crackle, something close to breaking glass. The few lights on in the hab block next to him exploded. His hardshield started glowing around his ride. Cold sweat dripped down his forehead and blinded him in one eye. Some fucker had just shot him with a radiation weapon! And through the walls. They had him dialed in.

                "Fuck."

                The lights exploded further down the street, agonized screams poured out of block after block as the gamma ray blasts swept through them. Marvin didn't scream, he had a harshield to protect him. The IR shadow turned hotter and then turned into a Spacer heavy mech. It giddily blasted more buildings with its fun war crime gun as it turned its back to Marvin without checking its corners. Marvin aimed as best as his big, beautiful Corvid ride could manage. The hydraulics gods were with him tonight, the Spacer stumbled under a stream of 20 mm rounds. A nice laser discharge to the backside finished the job. There was no explosion but the plume of boiling blue liquid from the pilot pod made Marvin smile. The little rich kid with a murder boner never had a bead on him with his big centerline laser. He'd have some good times with all of tonight's footage.

                He stepped closer to the orphanage and ran into a bunch of automated spacer wheels units at a crossroads. They turned around, all red and lit up like Christmas trees. His passive EM chowed out try to call home through the jamming. He swore and blasted them with his AKP, detonating a gas station in the process and alerting everyone in earshot.

                "Fuck me sideways."

                He rammed through some giant supermarket, managed to stick a leg in the basement, frantically dug it out and fled in a park, trying to lose any and all Spacers on his trail when a series of explosions caught up to his ears. He cursed, he should have paid more attention, those were definitely Spacer mortars addressed at his very precious ass. The bombs were gonna rain on his last known position in a minute. He mouseholed through a line of habitation blocks, and swore as the dust clung to his sensors and filled the intake filters. There were more explosions further away, to his left, rumbling like thunder, all blunt and spread out and, more than that, distant. They didn't sound like falling shells either. Not enough fireballs.

                He swiveled the IR camera to the left. The smoke started raising and it definitely was within these district walls.

                Some crazy fucker was fighting in here and, given the state of the doors, it had to be another brigador.

                Well, if mister noisy fuckhead wanted to get some attention, maybe Marvin could pick up after he'd got turned into a grease stain and pocket that pay. He headed towards the fun, proud of his powerful intellect.

                The fun started dying down long before he got there. His datalink chirped a few times. 1/3 Captains. 2/3 Captains. 3/3 Captains. Doors opened. There were a few more blasts and then the noise died down. Marvin raised his eyebrows, scratched the back of his head around the jack and checked his pay. He also got paid for those, apparently. He shrugged and headed for an exit, he had a shitty, rusty orbital garage lighter to catch.

                About halfway to the Santa Luzia gate, he saw an angry, dinky, little three-wheel varlet speed past some still smoking wreckage with a couple recoilless rifles strapped on a shitty little automated mount on the truck bed. Sole Nobre's most shameful technical.

                "People these days…" He shacked his head and smiled. He was pretty sure he'd outlive this guy.