Chapter 55: A New Kind of Warfare: Part 1
“Hey, John. What’s the point of it all?” A guard wearing a black cap and matching fatigues lounged on a lawn chair, gesturing across to his partner. Both had standard M16A3 rifles slung lazily over their shoulders. “Our team is out of the tournament. There’s no use hanging around a squad of losers.”
“They kicked my old team's ass in the first bracket, though.” The other guard tossed a paper airplane into the air, watching it stall and drop to the ground a mere few feet away. “This team actually has potential, unlike my old squad.”
“You were a squad leader? I don’t believe that for one second.”
“I was with the faction called the Agency. I thought we had our game plan all figured out with our special agent covert-warfare theme. But we got completely wiped out along with our allies. Asura brought me into this team after the collapse, and I couldn’t be in a better position. Honestly, I should have joined them from the start.”
“Asura’s not around anymore, dipshit,” the perturbed guard groaned. “And neither are her biggest followers. Our team hasn’t been the same ever since she went offline.”
“It’s not all that bad.” John stood up from his lawn chair and leaned over the heavy metal road gate. “Vampire recruits are guaranteed weekly credits just for enlisted. Vlad’s expectations for our team are a lot more lax than Asura's ever were. It’s nice and lazy now that we’re out of the tournament running.”
“You’re really pathetic,” his partner snarled under his breath. “Whatever. I’m getting fucking tired of standing at this checkpoint. The new recruits see more action than we do. I want to score some kills almost as much as I want to pass out and fall asleep.”
“We've got another two hours and then we’re off duty. Just pull through it. The credits we get for standing around doing absolutely nothing are miles above what the frontline soldiers get.”
“What for? To buy more ammo and fix these shitty, base-tier rifles? We’re not high-rank enough to buy our own custom gear. Man, I wish I had a book or one of those minigame handhelds from the armory to pass the time. Then maybe… hey… hey, John!”
“What?! What is it?!!” John was about to pass out from his own lack of energy.
“Look up the road, John! There’s a convoy approaching. Three civilian vehicles.”
“Grey SUVs. Must be some diplomats or traders from another local team. We’ll check their digital IDs and let them through. Standard operating procedure.”
“Boooooring.” The two guards stepped out from their booth and held their hands up to halt the lead vehicle—a massive Chrysler SUV with heavily blacked-out windows and an oversized chrome grill. The blinding Xenon headlights nearly flashed the guards, forcing them to wave aggressively at the driver to dim them. “Jackass!”
The SUV finally dimmed its high beams. The passenger door clicked open, and a tall man stepped out of the vehicle. He was wearing a red varsity jacket, a red baseball cap worn backward, a white turtleneck, black basketball shorts, and pristine athletic sneakers. Despite it being dawn, the African American player was wearing dark designer shades. He approached the two guards with his arms crossed over his chest.
“All visitors must present their squad identification before entering the sector,” John demanded, holding out his hand for the guest's credentials.
“Yeah, man. I gotchu.” The driver reached into his varsity jacket pocket and pulled out a custom 3D-printed cardholder housing a digital ID card. “The print on the front is all messed up. You can’t see shit. You’ll have to run it through your terminal scanner.”
“Hey, hurry up and bring the reader over here,” John ordered his partner.
“Dick head. Bring it with you next time,” his partner muttered, heading back into the guard post to rummage around the desk while John kept the guest company.
“You're from Bass Squad aren't you? What’s your business here at the fortress?” John questioned.
“Nah, nothing crazy. Just some got business with your new boss, Vlad. Don’t worry about it,” the man replied, his tone dripping with a casual, dismissive tone. He looked past the gate toward the imposing stone walls of the castle. “I heard y’all aren’t doing so hot in the standings anymore.”
“Perhaps, but it could be worse,” John shrugged.
“Yeah, I hear you. Could be a lot worse for real, for real, you know what I’m saying?”
“Here, sorry about the wait.” The second guard jogged back out, handing the ID reader to John. “We’ll just get a database confirmation and you’re free to roll through.”
“Alright. Cool.” The man crossed his arms again, sinking into a completely relaxed posture. “No rush, man.”
John ran the card through the scanner, but a red prompt immediately flashed across the screen:
ERROR: BAD READING, TRY AGAIN
“Damn it… this hardware can be so finicky sometimes.”
“Nah, man. I don’t really have the time for all that technical difficulty,” the guest chuckled softly. “Kai-Zen has us way too busy these days. Have to stay strapped for the opps next season, especially with all those major updates coming down the pipe.”
John attempted another aggressive swipe, but the same error message blinked back at him. “Come on… work, you piece of shit.”
“John…” His partner took the device from his hand, turning the card upside down. “You’re running it backward, you buffon. Let me try.”
He lined up the opposite side of the magnetic strip and zipped it through the reader. Instantly, the device's screen violently strobed with red and blue emergency lights, displaying a single word in bold, white text:
SIKE
A loud, high-pitched digital screech blasted from the reader's speaker, forcing the guard to drop the device and cover his eyes. “AHH! WHAT THE HELL?! MY EYES! MY EARS!”
Before either guard could recover their senses or reach for their slung rifles, their vocal cords completely cut out. Two thin, metallic loops of piano wire dropped over their heads from behind, constricting their throats instantly. Unable to scream for help, the two guards were silently choked out, feeling their health pools deplete to zero as they were executed via suffocation.
When they were eliminated, their ragdolls dropped onto the gravel. Standing over the bodies were Booker and Crystal, two high-tier operators from Charleston Squad donning striking, retro futuristic 1920s fitment with modern tactcial accents.
Booker wore a sharp, tailored grey three-piece suit under a heavy tactical bandolier, ivy cap on his head, smoothly checking the bolt of his modified M1A1 Thompson submachine gun. Crystal, a girl of Korean descent, was dressed in an all-black flapper dress with a prominent white bow, white leggings that matched her beautiful white ruffled petticoat layer underneath, black dress shoes, and a tilted black tactical bowler hat. The only modern tactical gear breaking her vintage ensemble was a low-profile, high-end ballistic plate carrier, kneepads and a headset to communicate with her squadmate. She smoothly re-slung her massive tan HCAR, a heavily modernized, tactical BAR 1918 automatic rifle, over her shoulder, tapping the grip panels of the custom 1911A1 pistol holstered at her hip.
“That’s enough dirty work for us. We’ll leave the rest of the cleanup for your crew, Draco.” Booker said, his voice carrying a heavy New Jersey accent as he adjusted his round wire-rimmed glasses. “Let your boys have a wild one, but spare us a few high-ranking prisoners if you can. You'll get a bonus payout with Little Joe’s blessing.”
“And make sure your guys completely flatten everything inside that keep,” Crystal chimed in, her sultry tone dripping with absolute venom as she straightened her bowler hat. “That toxic bitch breaks my heart, blocks my account, and then has the audacity to send me a completely trash-tier custom blouse as a parting gift? I want her crafting benches burned to the ground.”
Booker sighed, resting his Thompson against his shoulder.“I told you three months ago, Crystal. Don’t go spending our credit vouchers on other teammates. You practically paid for your own heartbreak, and now our allies are spending premium ammunition to fix your domestic disputes. You two weren't even together.”
“You don't understand, Booker!” Crystal snapped back, her eyes narrowing as she glared toward the fortress walls. “I spent months putting up with Lilith and her games; defending her when the rest of Charleston Squad disapproved. Then the second Vampire Squad flunks out of the tournament standings, she ghosts me, blocks my socials, and drops that stupid blouse at my mail room as if I would accept that as an apology. She makes a mockery out of me!”
Draco leaned his head out of the SUV window, tapping his fingers against the door panel as he took in the exchange. “I dunno fam, but a bruised ego is good business. Little Joe is paying us to back y'all up, and Kai-Zen wants to leave a message to Lonestar. If trashing this place is gonna give you closure while we clean out their gear, then it’s all good. Get that gate open for us, will ya?”
They pressed the override button inside the guard post, letting the heavy steel gate lift into the air. Draco hopped back into the passenger seat of the lead SUV. “Alright boys, we’re in. Time to make some loose change out of these five-dollar vampire posers.”
“Yo MC, what are the rules of engagement?” one of the crew members in the backseat asked, checking the chamber of his Hi Point Carbine.
“It’s a Free-for-all! Shoot and loot everything in sight. If you see any high-ranking vampires, catch them alive. Our cousins from Charleston Squad want them for interrogation.”
“Damn straight,” another goon in the van shouted. “But shouldn’t we be blasting our actual bracket tournament opps?”
“Kai-Zen and Little Joe are doing some serious 4D chess moves right now.” Draco, true to his name, reached under his seat and pulled out a modified Romanian AKM Draco pistol, racking in a massive 100-round drum magazine. “Team Lonestar is gonna get the message when they hear about this. Plus we’re taking care of Crystal’s business on the down low. What was she thinking messing around with these goth ah fools?”
The crew in the van crack up in laughter. Each one decked out in heavy ballistic carrier plates, preparing an assortment of street-tier weapons: Glocks fitted with full-auto switches, Tec-9 pistols, Hi Point Carbines and chopped AR-15 pistols, some with stocks and stabilizing braces, and some featuring nothing but a bare metal buffer tube.
On the side of the road behind them, a specialized detachment of their squadmates disembarked to set up a staging area. They wore VR headsets strapped to their foreheads and held old-school, wireless Logitech gamepads. Squatting on the gravel, they began readying their budget quadcopter drones, each one rigged with strapped-on mortar warheads, fragmentation grenades, and makeshift napalm canisters.
Up ahead stood the formerly infamous 19th-century stone fortress. The inner courtyard gates were wide open for the incoming fleet of SUVs, completely unaware of the hostile force invading their instance. The guards patrolling the high castle walls looked down casually as the SUVs came to a sudden halt at the center of the courtyard, assuming they were just mundane trade visitors.
The vampires didn't appear to be on high alert until a low, ominous buzzing sound echoed from the horizon, sounding like a furious swarm of killer bees. Illuminated by the rising sun, the armada of FPV drones that had been trailing far behind the convoy was now screaming directly toward the fortress walls.
“Drones!” one of the wall guards screamed into his mic, but it was already too late. Unable to react in time, the lead drone kamikaze struck the stone battlements, detonating violently and vaporizing a massive chunk of the wall along with the guards stationed there.
Dozens of other drones followed in quick succession. The remaining vampire soldiers were thrown into an absolute panic. Some tried to outrun the drones, others leaped blindly off the high walls to escape the explosions, only to shatter their legs on the ground below.
The SUVs didn't stay stagnant for long. Suddenly, the lead vehicle's sound system began blasting a deafening, bass-boosted diss track produced by Kai-Zen. The aggressive, industrial rap beat slammed with a heavy sub-bass so loud it nearly masked the sounds of the structural explosions and screaming drones. In an instant, the doors flew open, and the Bass Squad crew disembarked, indiscriminately opening fire in full-auto on every vampire in proximity.
“There’s too many of them! Retreat back into the keep! Retreat!” the Vampire soldiers cried out as their defensive lines shattered in total disarray even though they could hardly hear one another. The courtyard had devolved into an incomprehensible battlefield of pure chaos. Quadcopters chased fleeing players on the courtyard, gangsters in red varsity jackets dumped drum magazines into anyone dressed in black fatigues, and the booming rap music created an overwhelming tactical environment that the old masters of methodical night-warfare were completely unequipped to handle.
“My lord! My lord!” A frantic Vampire soldier barged into Vlad’s primary office—the room that had formerly belonged to Asura. “It’s Bass Squad! They’re raiding our fortress layout!”
“Do you think I’m stupid?!” Vlad snarled, immediately ducking low behind his ornate mahogany desk alongside Lilith, Lucius, and a new elite male member of the Vampire vanguard who was wearing a heavy tactical gas mask. “You think I don’t hear that loud atrocious music? Why are you crying to me for? Go out there and stand your ground, soldier! I will not tolerate cowardice in my squad!”
“Ah... R... RIGHT AWAY, MY LORD!” The soldier bowed anxiously just as a stray FPV drone came crashing violently through the stained-glass window of the office.
“My Lord! Look out!” Edgar, the new elite member in the gas mask, heroically dove forward to intercept the drone. The resulting detonation completely blew him out of commission and wrecked the majority of the room. Chunks of shattered furniture, burning books, and flying glass fragments nicked the remaining three squad members hiding in the debris. His charred ragdoll along with the other soldier lay flat on the office floor.
“Edgar!” Lilith cried out, her eyes wide with panic as she looked at Vlad. “What do we do now? We’re not safe here.”
“We stand our ground and fight!” Vlad bellowed, forcing himself up from behind the ruined desk and racking his rifle. “I will not be publicly humiliated by these urban degenerates! Lucius! I command you to gather as many backup vampires as you can find in the barracks and push these barbarians out of our grounds! Take no prisoners!”
“But what about your safety, Vlad?” Lucius asked, hesitating.
“Lilith and I are going to secure the lower basement levels! I’ll direct my personal vanguard troops from the fallback bunker! Don’t just stand around! Death to these urbanites!”
“Understood.” Lucius drew his sidearm and charged out into the burning corridor, his voice echoing valiantly over the sound of gunfire and rap music. “Soldiers of the shadows! To arms! This is war!”
“Lilith said solemnly, watching him run off to his doom. “Do you think we can to fend them off?”
“I don’t know, Lilith,” Vlad sneered, his hands shaking slightly as he pulled her toward the hidden basement stairwell. “They think we’re an easy, defenseless target just because we’re out of the tournament. That will be their fatal undoing... assuming Lucius actually manages to hold the courtyard while we assemble the sentries.”
Lilith couldn't help but bite her lip, her anxious expression showing that she didn't believe Vlad’s desperate cope for a single second. Vlad glares back at her as they are descending down the staircase.
“What’s with that look? This isn’t the first time our base was assaulted, you know.”
“No...it’s nothing. Forget it.” Lilith can’t help but wish Asura was still around. She was feared but a respectable leader compared to Vlad.
While the courtyard dissolved into a roaring mess of firefights and rap music, Booker and Crystal didn't rush forward with the rest of the mob. They stepped through the shattered road gate, following right behind like vultures picking off the remnants of Bass Squad’s rampage.
“Look at them go,” Booker murmured, casually stepping over a smoking chunk of fallen masonry. He kept his Thompson tucked low against his frame, his eyes sweeping the high stone arches above. “Like kids in a candy store. It’s a good thing we teamed up with the likes of them. Makes our job a whole lot easier, right?”
A pair of dazed Vampire Squad recruits staggered out of a side corridor, coughing through the plaster dust from a nearby drone strike. Before they could even raise their weapons, Booker smoothly brought up his Thompson. A short, incredibly disciplined burst thudded into the chest plates of the lead recruit, dropping him instantly. Crystal stepped ahead, the heavy barrel of her HCAR blasting a pair of heavy .30-06 rounds that echoed off the stone walls, finishing the kill on the survivors.
“Too easy.” Crystal muttered coldly, “They’re not watching the blind spots. Asura would have had an ambush set up on these stairwells.”
“Once soldiers of the shadows, now shadows of their former selves.” Booker chuckled with a gentle demeanor. “Pun aside, Team Lonestar did a number on them.” His eyes scanned the vaulted ceilings as he kept his Thompson low. “I don’t know if I should be glad Asura’s gone or worried her team was defeated by a bunch of amateurs.”
“That has to be the workshop over there.” Crystal pointed with her heavy battle rifle to the barracks-like building across the courtyard. “Let me torch the place first, then we’ll look for some prisoners. If I see Lilith, I’m going to tear her to pieces like the rest of this fortress.”
“We’re Charleston operators, Crystal.” Booker reminded her. “Try to keep our professional reputation intact so we don’t degrade ourselves to the likes of our partners or these gothic lowlifes. Save the wild behavior for the bar back on base.”
“Say, You want to unwind and fool around after this?” Crystal suggests to Booker, her voice turning softer and more needy. “I wouldn’t mind having a new interest to fill the void in my heart.”
“I don’t play Mil-Sim Story like a dating sim. Sorry.” Booker said bluntly. “I’m here to do my job, get my credits, and focus on my other team when all is said and done.”
“Tsh. Always so serious.” Crystal groaned. “You and your obligations to your other squad. Come on, Booker. It doesn’t hurt to unwind and have a good time like the rest of us. You’re not making use of the best years of your life.”
“I’m an introvert. Those wild swinger parties we have at our base aren’t my kind of thing.”
“Ugh. Then why are you in Charleston Squad?”
“Because Little Joe values my work ethic and combat skills. Do I have to remind you who eliminated half of Bayou Squad with my Springfield in our last match? Come, let’s get this done before our allies does something more reckless.”