All characters and stories and trademark of Aaron "Necreus" Claypool and Tony "Griffon" Pulido
What Really Happened at the Stanford Heights Rumble
It all happened so fast.
Nothing could be heard other than the crack of exploding gunpowder. Pieces
of heated lead raced through the air between the residents and the evac squadron, scraping past each other in a clashing torrent of crossfire. The Shia forces, once formed in rigid rows, now dispersed for whatever cover they could find. But the Knights had set the arena for this battle and their body armor would provide their only protection.
With both MMG's, Slam laid down cover fire at both sides of the smoke cloud in front of him. Pink invoked shockwaves of magic energy upon the evac forces. With a belt of them across her chest, Long tossed grenades as Warren fired his own throughout scattering soldiers. Evac soldiers spent most of their efforts evading the gunfire and explosions but the Knights wondered how long they would be off balance.
Through the cloud of smoke, obscuring the brunt of the corp army and the
trio of tanks, Warren heard the blast of a heavy cannon as its shell exploded into the side of the apartment above them. Broken glass and shattered brick fell over Warren and the men at his side.
At the center of the fray, the smoke started to thin and the Knights could see the outline of Cheney running to the rest of his companions. Another of Warren's grenades exploded not ten feet behind him, but the face of the Knights wouldn't allow it to shake him in his run. On the rooftop, Green took in a single breath before he shattered the face-plate of one soldier who was taking aim at Cheney.
The face of the Knights made it no less than ten paces from the semi-trailer when one bullet struck through his shoulder. Cheney screamed without restraint but managed to hobble the rest of the way back to the trailer and a single moment's safety.
"I tried to stop this," Cheney said, his voice shouting just to be heard by Long who came to his aid. "Forgive me, it’s my fault. I didn't want this to happen." The swordswoman propped him against the side of the trailer and heard his pain-stricken plea but gave it little attention.
"Don't you see there are more important matters?"
"What about Smith?" Cheney asked.
His head hurting from Green’s shot, Smith stirred from the ground and wiped the paint that dripped over his eyes. He saw one Shia soldier two steps from him unloading his rifle up at the top of the stuffer shack. Smith carefully crawled to his side and grabbed hold of his sidearm. The gun twisting in his holster, the soldier looked down to his right just before his gun spat a bullet through his skull and shot his helmet into the air. Smith jumped to his feet, catching the man's rifle and pulling free his pistol. As the team leader stood to his feet, he saw several guns of the Shia forces turning to him. One soldier spun around to gun him down just before a series of Slam's MMG bullets flew through his chest armor.
"RUN!" the gargantuan troll screamed to his leader. Smith heard Slam's cry but knew there were too many other men in black and red that would not allow his escape. Swinging his new rifle in a spastic arc and unloading the rest of its ammo, he fled back from the Knight's side of the street. With the pistol in his cuffed hands, Smith shot out the front window to the store ahead of him and dove through it just before a barrage of Shia bullets tore apart the front of the store.
Tearing off his coat, Cheney pressed the brand-name cloth to his bleeding shoulder and peeked around the trailer to watch the chaos of the battlefield. He saw three residents firing at the Shia soldiers from the concealment of a wrecked car. Suddenly, there was a streak of smoke from the soldiers as a LAW rocket raced into the vehicle. Cheney took his hand off his shoulder only to shield his eyes from the explosion as one surviving resident, who ran from the ensuing blast, was quickly gunned down.
Still armed with his sporting rifle, Green continued to fire down on the Shia soldiers below. Keeping his aim steady, he ignored the fast-drumming bangs of the assault rifle coming from the kid next to him. Armored figures ran into Green’s crosshairs and stopped moving with a squeeze of his trigger and a loud pop… some crippled but most of them dead. Halfway through his clip, he attracted the attention of several evac squadders below that could not be fended off by the kid’s gunfire. The ledge broke open from the shots they returned as pieces of chipped stone flew into his face.
"Keep your head down!" he shouted to the kid but his words were lent no strength as he saw the kid lying face up with part of his head blown apart. Green couldn't help but give pause in order to mourn briefly but soon returned to his gun.
The Shia soldiers gained another remnant of formation. With no other place to go, they moved in the only strategically sound direction... straight forward. Their advance was lead by the three tanks that rolled through the remaining wisps of smoke. As the first one's turret-cannon peered into clear air, it lifted to the top of the stuffer shack. Warren screamed out his warning as he dived to the ground with nimble feet and the other residents could only do the same to avoid the blast of fire that engulfed their crude shooting-nest. Bodies spilled from the top of the stuffer shack; some jumping to the ground and some just pieces of incinerated flesh. Standing up from the fall, Warren saw Wollanciek rolling on the ground next to him. He groaned in pain through a bloody face, his hand clutching his left elbow.
"Are you alive?" Warren asked.
"I’m afraid so," he answered as Warren ran up below Slam who remained on top of the semi-trailer.
"Eat this!" Slam thundered as he discarded his MMG's and picked up an RPG-launcher. He gave out three rounds at the tank in front of him even though one shot was all it took to enwrap the armored vehicle in flame and black smoke. The smoke cleared and revealed the tank with but a dent in its front plate as its only evidence of the rockets’ thrashing. The gargantuan troll couldn't help but wonder who built such vehicles.
The dented tank's gun lowered at Slam who had only the time to blink before it fired. With a burst of flame, the tank’s discharge knocked Slam off the trailer along with the scraps of metal that were once the top half of the steel shell. Slam’s falling body hammered a crater into the sidewalk. Long ran up to him, his clothes covered with tiny flames and his hair nothing but smoke and ash. Despite his appearance, the gargantuan troll got back on his feet with unnatural speed.
Still atop of the apartment rooftop, Green took out a handful of Shia soldiers whose return fire only made him retreat to another spot along the roof. Green shot as fast as he could but knew he would miss every time he didn't allow himself a breath between shots.
Green didn’t paid no attention to one of the tanks lifting up a plate from its top; that is until it exposed a rack of a dozen missiles. As the young gunner took his eye out of the scope of his rifle; the pack of red-tipped, foot long projectiles raced upward towards him, crossing each other’s paths like a swarm of angry hornets. Green slung his weapon across his shoulder and ran as the missiles that bombarded the top of his encampment. Only by diving off the roof, to the top of the next apartment, was the young Knight able to avoid the explosions that lit the roof like a torch. The fall was a costly twenty feet, which he felt when his legs hit with the gravel covered surface. Green tumbled onto his back, knowing he was alive from the pain he felt in his legs.
Pink was well aware of the damage the tanks were dealing to them but knew that all of her spells were either useless or unusable against the metal beasts. Asking the ork woman at her side to watch over her body, the elven mage laid herself against the wall behind her and turned her spirit to the astral world. Pink fought through the formal disorientation of leaving her own body and raced towards the tanks. She could see an outline of astral-summoned armor glowing around armored monsters. Armed with the magic essence of Fuldarian, the elven mage sailed past the shield of the first one and shattered the hardened armor back to the oblivion from which it was created.
"Slam, nail the one at 2’o’clock," Warren said, seeing the destruction of the astral barriers with his own awakened sight. His body still smoking from the blast of the tank, Slam picked up his RPG-launcher and re-aimed it. The single missile that shot forth exploded against the metal hull and tore through the armored plates. Slam could see fire and smoke pouring through the giant tear that the missile formed as the tanks treads ceased to roll.
Caught up in the thrashing, Pink did not realize that the magic-shells of the tanks were not the only other-worldly force brought by the Shia’s evac squad. A figure that moved too fast for the elven mage to see sacked her in the gut, throwing her through the mundane outline of the building behind her. Pushing what she recognized as a rather strong city spirit away from her form, she floated upright and saw five more similar forms circled around her. They stood in the air with their arms folded, their faces holding menacing expressions.
"You should’ve stayed earthbound, lady," a spirit dressed like a denim bound street-bum said to Pink. The elven mage twirled her pole-arm in the air, its sheer speed leaving streaks of magic in its path.
Warren and Long peered over the sides of the semi-trailer and saw that, while they struggled with the tanks, a group of six soldiers had surrounded the building Smith had sought refuge and were slowly moving in.
Smith crouched down with his back to a wooden counter that was being drilled through with bullet holes. As gunshots broke splinters of the counter into his face, the team leader remained crouched down the pistol within his two bound hands.
"Hand me a gun, I’m seeking out Smith," Long said to the physad as she exposed her blade. Warren tossed her his side-arm as he peered behind the trailer with his grenade launcher and started lobbing flash-paks. The bursts of light provided an adequate distraction for the swordswoman who shot forth from the trailer. With animalistic speed, Long dashed across the war-zone between the groups of residents and evac squadders who continued to exchange gunfire. The rest of the Shia soldiers had turned their attention to Slam who stood up at the other end of the semi-trailer.
"Come and get me!" Slam bellowed without fear, both hands gripping a single MMG. As the two laid down cover-fire for Long, the swordswoman did not feel weak or hindered by her wounds. The implants continued to deliver her from the pain and her state of being was as insignificant as the bullets that sailed in the air around her. With a lion’s leap she covered the distance between her and the first soldier that surrounded Smith, tackling him down and plunging her sword through his armored vest. As the rest of the soldiers took notice of her, she threw two poison-coated throwing stars at one evac squadder just before she brought her sword through a third soldier.
Smith heard the sudden eruption of combat and sprung up from the counter, firing as fast as he could and taking out the remainder of the Shia soldiers who were still reeling from Long’s ambush. Hiding the excitement of seeing a teammate, Smith ran forward and held out his arms to Long who cut his steel restraints with one quick, upward swipe.
"A paintball?" Smith screamed. "You shot me with a goddamned paint-ball?"
"We figured it to be the course you would have taken," Long answered as she tossed Smith the physad’s pistol.
"Scoot your asses back here!" Slam screamed as he drew a generous deal of gunfire towards himself. The gargantuan troll bellowed at the soldiers like the giant he was as he felt the bullets pierce through his armor-vest and lodge into the surface of his thick and leathery flesh. "You can’t kill me!" he shouted, as he fired back. As another tank fired its cannon, the ground at Slam’s feet went up in an eruption of concrete. Slam toppled over, his reflexes shielding his face from the rush of debris that tore at his body.
"Slam!" Warren screamed as he saw the gargantuan troll lying face down. The physad continued to fire in all directions when he saw one soldier trying to sneak up on him from the front of the destroyed trailer. Seeing the soldier’s rifle peering out from the corner of the plated metal, Warren grabbed it by the barrel and pulled the evac squadder into his grip. One quick move of Warren’s arm snapped his neck. Another soldier prepared to shoot Warren through his friend’s corpse. But the physad kicked away the man’s gun and, with unimagined speed, pulled the side-arm of the dead soldier and fired it into the soldier’s chest.
A third figure in Shia armor finally did get a shot off at Warren, who spun away at the last possible moment. The bullet grazed through the muscle in his chest and grated his ribs. The physad felt the blood pour through his chest and did not have the time to stop him from firing again. Wollanciek, with only one good arm holding an Uzi, stopped him from finishing off the physad. Warren shook away the pain of his torn and bleeding chest to throw Wollanciek a thankful gesture.
Lying on his back atop a third-story roof and one ankle sprained from the fall he took, Green slowly stood up and cleared his watering eyes. As he looked over the edge of the building, he saw Shia soldiers shooting it out with residents of the apartment under his feet. Looking down at the figures, he quickly realized that he was in too much pain to be an effective shot at such a range. Discarding his rifle, he drew out a sub-machine gun and ran for the steel fire escape.
In the street, Smith and Long made a mad dash back with their teammates, both of them fighting and firing with each step. Running as fast as her body could move, it was halfway through that crucial run that Long felt something inside her body give. The strength of her implants faltered, at last, to wounds she ignored for too long. Her knees buckled and she made a rolling fall onto the ground. Smith almost tripped himself in order to run back to the swordswoman.
"Keep moving!" Long screamed, trying in futility to stand up.
"I’m the one who gives the orders, Hu Xiao Lin," her team leader said. As Smith picked her up and threw her arm over his shoulder, Warren saw the turret of a tank rotate towards them but could do nothing to stop it. His troll companion, who stood with a newfound energy coursing through him, felt otherwise.
Burnt and bleeding, Slam’s half-ton frame collided with the side of the metal behemoth. So hard was the impact that it threw off the shot meant for the two Knights and only exploded the ground beside them. Slam’s bloodshot and bulging eyes were now a startling red over his blackened skin as he gripped the gears of the tank’s tread. The cybernetic strength enhances sewn into his body soaked his brain and muscles with adrenaline, setting aside all other sensations of pain or emotion in order to complete the feat of strength at hand. His veins swelled like hydraulic hoses as the tank slowly lifted off its side. With a forceful push accompanied by an exerting scream, Slam threw the tank onto its back. As it rolled over like a metal-plated tortoise, the gargantuan troll climbed on top of the access hatch upon its underbelly. Tearing off the doors with one hand, Slam pulled out a sub-machine gun and looked at the disorientated faces of the crew inside.
The raging troll said nothing as he emptied the clip through the tank’s hatch. Sparks and blood flew up at his face, which was burning hot with rage. Slam heard a loud whir and, looking up, saw the last tank aiming its cannon at him. The gargantuan troll was not even given the time to draw breath before a 150mm shell laid into his chest.
As if alerted by an instinct greater than their own survival, each of the Black Knights watched as Slam was lifted off his feet, his limbs thrown out in the inertia of the tank blast that carried him crashing into the building twenty troll-paces behind him. Slam’s body crashed through the stone wall of the building, covering him in debris and a billowing cloud of gray smoke.
Pink, still dueling with the band of city spirits, could not see what happened so close to her body as a handful of residents outside the apartment fired against a group of Shia soldiers. She could not see one of the soldiers tossing a canister of tear gas that swept over the front of the apartment. After disposing of the residents, who were left easy prey by the grenade, the Shia soldiers placed on gas masks and charged inside.
Pink’s empty shell of a body was blind to the three Shia soldiers who emerged through the cloud of gas, not seeing the ork woman guarding a hallway until she fired at them. A solid round of her shotgun nearly cut a soldier in half but his two friends quickly dived down to the floor and returned fire. The tidal wave of lead sprayed both blood and plaster of the wall behind her. As her torn, ork body fell, the soldiers heard the squeals and screams of children in one of the rooms below. They also saw Pink lying without motion against a wall beside the remains of the ork woman.
"She looks dead," one of them said.
"She’s not dead you idiot," his friend answered. "…not yet," he cocked a side-arm and aimed for a clean shot to the elven mage’s head. From the entrance to the building, Green opened fire on them and managed to take down the remaining pair. The young Knight saw the orange flash of one soldier’s gun barrel just before he fell dead. Limping forward, he saw Pink lying on the floor, a bullet-wound in her abdomen. Green’s heart sank to his gut faster than his gun hit the floor and he quickly checked Pink’s pulse but felt no movement in her body.
"Oh, God," he whimpered as he grabbed Pink’s body and held it in his arms. As he looked into the closed-eye and peaceful expression, he couldn’t help but feel that there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t give for her to open her eyes.
In spirit-form, Pink stood strong with her pole-arm out. She caught her breath and resisted the pain of her spiritual wounding at the hands of the city spirits that were no longer. Sensing her physical body was injured, she quickly ran to the fleshed vessel in order to become whole once more.
Green saw Pink’s eyes flutter open as she took in her first gasping breath of air. The pain of her bleeding abdomen was extraordinary and almost drove her unconscious again. But as she came to her senses, the first thing she saw was Green smiling down at her with tears in his eyes.
"I thought you were dead," Green admitted.
"Only half dead," she told him as she put a hand to her bloody side.
As he finally reached the other side of the street, Smith turned his head away from the pile of rubble that covered Slam’s body and looked at the last remaining tank. Following close behind it, the Shia soldiers continued their advance forward. A great deal of the residents who once stood as their resistance were dead, and most of the others had retreated into the buildings behind them.
"Get inside, people!" Warren shouted from the street. Both Cheney and the nearly crippled Long goaded the residents inside their last line of defense. "That includes you," Warren shouted to Smith who was reluctant to retreat. "We have one last surprise."
As the last tank rolled forward through the street, it flattened the semi-trailer that served as cover for the Knights and residents. The Black Knights knew that there was no way the tank’s crew could see the wires that traveled inside the trailer and Warren made sure that everybody was behind the walls of the buildings before he detonated the plastic explosives placed inside the trailer.
The inaudible click was followed by an explosion that shook the very bones of anyone involved in the battle. The tank burst open as the explosion rose up from just beneath it, leaving the proud Shia vehicle an unrecognizable piece of charred metal scrap. The sound shattered every window within a mile and the explosion killed a handful of evac squadders that stood near the tank.
Pieces of glass rained down on the Knights as flames lashed through the windows of the apartment and quickly died out. Their hearing gone in the wake of the explosion and replaced with only a soft ringing, Smith and Long looked out at the street and saw the remaining Shia forces now fleeing. The Black Knights could not hear the cries of panic the soldiers shouted as the last of their armored giants was felled. They could only watch as the remaining soldiers scurried loosely into the transports and retreat.
The smoke settled on the battlefield of Stanford Heights as the Knights lead the surviving dwellers outside. Smoldering craters and spots of scorched concrete littered the ground. The thick, throat-searing fumes of burning tank fuel drowned out the smell of charred flesh and bullet ridden corpses that filled the ruined streets.
After gathering together, the Black Knights ran to the pile of rubble that housed Slam’s body. With what strength their wounded bodies could provide, they lifted away brick and chunks of concrete until they uncovered the gargantuan troll. His blood had drained through the hole in his chest, leaving his once dark complexion ghostly pale. The Knights could see the residents gathered behind them. Each of them was staring with awe at the gargantuan troll, their fear of him now replaced with amazement and admiration.
Smith wanted to say something. He wanted to scream for what those people had cost Rudolph MacAllister and his daughter. Smith wanted to make sure they knew what the seven of them had just sacrificed simply by being the ones who refused to drive off. In the end, he kept silent and returned to Slam whose lifeless eyes were fixed upward; as if he could see the camera-drones that floated in the skies above them.
* * *
From his office in Denver, Doc had his video screens turned to the broadcasts of the incident in Atlanta. He watched the coverage, the dread in his eyes told that he was expecting the very worse as cameras from above spied down upon the scene. The lights of the medic-wagons flashed a sea of blinking red over the street as correspondents related the events over the airwaves.
"… live from the slums of Stanford Heights where, only moments ago, a gruesome conflict ensued between Shiawase security forces and a street militia of Atlanta citizens. As you can see, both parties have sustained heavy casualties and MedicWagons are being called into this area which, according to our sources, had been deemed a dead-zone for several months."
His shoulder bound in red-soaked wrap, Cheney waded through puddles of blood and piles of brass bullet-casings, staring around at the carnage with his mouth agape. Around him, medic-workers checked over residents and evac-squadders, tending to the ones who could be saved and abandoning the ones who couldn’t.
"Our sources say that the Shiawase scheduled a residential purging of this small neighborhood to make way for construction crews. It is apparent that a group of local dwellers, numbering well over a hundred, were less than willing to be evacuated from their homes."
Long kneeled in front of a man whose gaping head wound had left his face covered in blood. She poured water into his mouth as she bandaged his temple. As his eyes fell closed, the swordswoman felt for the pulse in his wrist and ultimately laid the man down peacefully, holding out her arms in prayer.
"The Shiawase planned this area as the sight for their latest Western facility in cybernetic research, but there are some rumors and early reports that the Shiawase did not have full ownership of this zone."
Lead by Smith, a group of residents carried out Slam’s body from the wrecked building. Six men stood on each side of him as they lifted the gargantuan troll onto the sidewalk. As Slam was laid out, Green wiped the dust off his face as he placed a paper animal into the troll’s hand.
"It is far too early for speculation, but Atlanta authorities have already announced that they will be working jointly with members of Lone Star Security in order to gain the full facts behind this incident."
As she pressed a wad of gauze to her side, Pink limped over to Warren who had just helped a dying man into a MedicWagon. Tired and still bleeding slightly, the elven mage fell into Warren’s arms, promising she wouldn’t cry.
"Please stay tuned as we continue our coverage."
His hand trembling with rage that he fought to keep within, Doc turned off the video screens. It was only a few seconds before he received a page from his secretary.
"Mr. Weiss, you have an urgent phone call from a Mr. Devlin of…"
"Bring him through," Doc ordered before she could finish. The head and founder of the Black Knights clicked on a speaker switch from his desk.
"Hello, Mr. Devlin," Doc said solemnly.
"I gather you already know who I am," the voice answered back.
"I do, you’re the chairman of the Western bank whose exclusive client is the Shiawase Corporation."
"Indeed, I control all their finances on this hemisphere, which makes me the single most powerful Caucasian in the company. Such authority is very crucial at this moment." As he talked, Doc just continued to stare at the dead, dark silver screen in front of him.
"What is it you want?" Doc asked.
"I take it you’ve heard the news about this business in Atlanta. It’s a horrible thing and our companies should not be butting heads like this," Devlin’s voice was arrogant and distant.
"A horrible thing, you’re absolutely right."
"What’s worse is that this whole mess is going to raise a lot of questions. And I for one don’t like to address any inquiries until I have all my answers ready. How about you?"
"Why don’t you just get to the point, I’ve already lost a good man in this mess."
"We both have our dead to bury, Mr. Weiss. But I think we both need this situation resolved before the toll on either side gets any worse."
"What did you have in mind?"
"I spoke with the commander of this little fiasco and he had an interesting conversation with one of your men. Apparently, he made an offer just prior to the conflict, and I think it has quite some merit to it. That is if you’re willing to end this silly thing right now."
"I don’t want anyone else dead," Doc said, his words speaking more to himself than the voice on the phone.
"That’s good," Devlin said with spirit. "Congratulations on your company’s victory, I think your stocks just went up a couple of points."
* * *
It was at the terminal of Atlanta’s only major airport that the Black Knights saw to the relocation of 98 former-citizens of Stanford Heights. The six of them personally saw off a great deal of the residents as they waited for their own flight home later that evening. Both of them covered in bandages, Warren shook hands with Wollanciek who had but one suitcase that housed all his possessions.
"Perhaps it was for the best," Wollanciek said dismally. "That place was nothing but a graveyard anyhow."
"Sure can’t argue that," Warren replied. "Where’s your flight headed?"
"The in-laws have my kids up North near the Sioux country. After that…" Wollanciek threw up his hands to show his uncertainty. "Maybe with the money the Shia corp gave us, we could travel down South to the Caribbean. I heard currency goes far down there."
"It sure does," Warren said, trying to crack a smile. "When you do, give me a visit on my island. I’ll show you and your kids around."
"You got it. But for right now, I just want to forget that any of this ever happened. I don’t know, maybe you can’t understand that."
"I do, Reggie," Warren said. "I sure do." Wollanciek stepped on the platform to be taken to his gate, giving a little wave to the physad before moving out of his sight. As he turned around, Warren saw Smith staring at him. His bruised cheeks and bandaged nose couldn’t hide the pride the team leader had for his friend and fellow Knight.
"You did a hell of a job out there," Smith told him.
"You think you would’ve done better?" Warren asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.
"Maybe," he answered. "But I sure as hell wouldn’t want to find out."
Long sat at the airport bar with no glass in front of her. She remained unmoving, keeping her eyes intently at the vid-screen above the stools as the anchorman covered local news.
"Hey, change the channel," someone shouted. "Warlords is coming on!"
"Leave it," Long said as the bartender moved to the vid-screen. He paid no attention to her quiet demand. "I said leave it," she said once more, clasping his arm. The bartender looked into her eyes for only a second before pulling his hand away from the vid. Long quietly returned up at the screen.
"And now we go live to the press conference where Shiawase PR Director is issuing his statement concerning the incident that now has been named The Stanford Heights Rumble."
"That is an outright lie," the man at a podium said with force but elegance at the same time. The wall behind him bore an oversized Shiawase logo that almost swallowed his form. "At no time did this corporation ever have anything but complete control and ownership of the area in question. We were well within our bounds to do what we did." Dozens of people below him struggled and scampered to ask their questions.
"And what about reports of the evacuation squads ordered to arrest or eliminate people who remained on that property?"
"Our forces were securing that area of hostile elements. I don’t know about you, but I consider men armed with automatic weapons and heavy ordinance a threat. Residents or not, they conflicted with our men and started this entire catastrophe. Such a bloodbath was never the intention of the Shiawase. And unlike those people, we value human life, and we have negotiated for the relocation of the surviving residents in order to prove so." More shouts rose up through the crowd as reporters struggled to throw out their questions.
"What about the role of a Denver-based covert team known as the Black Knights?" one of them asked. Long, who had been tapping her fingernails on top of the counter, started to drive them into the hardened plastic.
"As for the Black Knights," the man at the podium began. "They had been involved in this on our behalf when they saved the life of Director R.D. Farnsworth from this bloodthirsty militia two days before the incident. They also tried to negotiate a peace settlement with the militia before this violence took place. I and the Shiawase commend the Knights on their actions, they were a great aid to us." Long left four deep scrapes into the counter as her eyes narrowed at the screen. A hand came on Long’s shoulder but, already knowing who it was, she did not jump.
"You’re better off not watching that crap," a bandaged Cheney said.
"I take it we are ready?" Long said.
"The plane leaves in ten minutes." As Long stepped out of her stool, Cheney heard the tone from his beeper and took it out of his pocket. The face looked at the message screen which read:
WELCOME TO THE BIG LEAGUES
"Looks like we got a little message from the Shiawase," he said as he stuffed the pager back into his pocket.
Green stood alone at the gate that boarded the flight to Denver when he saw Pink approaching. The elven mage had just seen off an five-year-old ork girl on her way to her aunt’s in the Atzlan country, but she was unable to make the girl understand why her mother couldn’t come with her. The elven mage walked to Green and when the two came close, even though there was no one around to be concerned with, they did not kiss or embrace. They simply looked at each other with tiny smiles over forlorn faces.
"How are you, Kim?" he asked.
"I’m fine," she said with an air of sadness. "Or at least I will be. I take it you don’t have anything glyph or witty to say to me that will cheer me up?"
"Not today, I just had a talk with Smith. I volunteered for something, and I have no idea how I’m going to do it."
"What was that?"
"I said I’d be the one to tell Natalie about her father." Kim lowered her head and frowned with sympathy as she put a hand on his shoulder.
"I’ll go with you," she said. "No one should have to do that alone."
"Thanks." The young gunner gently motioned for Kim to walk in front of him but the elven mage grabbed Derek by his hand and walked at side into the plane.
10/26/00
A "Black Knights" story
All characters and stories and trademark of Aaron "Necreus" Claypool and Tony "Griffon" Pulido