City Front

A wistful wind passed by, a man standing in thick clothes, fur-lined within, cloak running to his ankles, a flat cap hat - their face was effeminate, yet the small grunts and humming tones gave out a smooth and deeper tone contradicting their innocent-looking exterior if the guns and knives weren’t already a giveaway.

An array of knives strapped to their legs, a pistol on their hip as a strap for their rifle is thrown over their shoulder - Rifle: Faust-Reagan M45, a bolt action rifle meant for long-range combat. Pistol: Doxen K80, a semi-automatic side-arm sporting a front-loading magazine with a thin barrel and a broom handle pistol grip. A few smaller pistols laid wrapped around leather on their belt as a reserve.

The young man brushed away the blackened hair tickling his forehead, wind passing through grass and trees as he is stood upon a dirt road, two open marshes sitting beside him, the black mirage of a city standing in front of him. His lips twitched as he glanced at the dried dirt laid beneath the grass, looking back at the faded and blurred cityscape in his path before looking over to an abandoned mech not too far away from where he was. Charred bodies laid quietly, scattered about and increasing in size as he approached the mech before suddenly dissipating in numbers as he reached his destination. The mech was melted through, servos and the like folding inward. He climbed atop the mech, looking inside - another charred corpse, fuzed to the inside, flesh sticking like glue as skin peeled off like paper. The smell of pork and rot was prevalent, it hadn’t been long since the battle ended, whatever it entailed at least. The man shivered as the smell crept into his nose, quickly grabbing a piece of cloth, putting it onto his nose, and breathing in whatever was inside. On closer inspection, it was two pieces of cloth stapled, or rather, fuzed together with herbs placed inside, a bit of water to make it moist and to make them smell stronger - a concoction of rosemary, thyme, and various other strong-smelling herbs.

The young man crossed over to the mech, walking back onto the path he previously stepped off of, looking back down it, the city seemed more intimidating than before.

Each step upon the dirt floor in front of him felt like rubber under his shoes, charred patches of grass and torn apart corpses becoming more and more frequent.

The taste of ash was persistent as he moved forward, numbing his tongue leaving only a slight feeling of annoyance in its wake. As the young man sighed due to the present situation, he wondered what could’ve happened within these lands, what could’ve led to this destruction spread across a sea of grass, across miles and miles of life. The curiosity and lack of answers were aggravating for the young man as he stared off at the rusting machines lumbering about in the distance within the fields. Judging by their rickety movement, they’ve been unattended for a few months - yet the smell of the corpses lingered. Something happened months ago that led to the machines tending to farms to be left unattended, it could even be directly tied to the recent corpses that seem to be marinating within dirt and vine, being eaten by the Earth itself.

The young man soon approached a sign, something that he expected would take a few hours to get to, yet he was here in what felt like minutes, being stuck in one’s own thoughts can really bring quite a bit of entertainment for some and that was a blessing for a man such as him, always moving forward, land to land.

The sign read, “Tierra de Ricos: Land of Rich.”

He lamented over the name then mocked it silently, laughing at the carnage that surrounded the sign - humvees dug into the ground, the nose of the car shoved into the dirt like an ostrich’s head - large mechs leaning against rocky hills, vines wrapped around their chassis and exterior as if already becoming apart of the environment as if it were meant to be there all along.

These lands were probably rich at some point, but whatever happened left it as this mess… so was it really rich in the first place?

That was a question for another day.

The young man persisted, continuing his journey towards the city. From afar, he had noticed faint poppings, the sudden rumbling here and there, but where he was, the sound was even more prevalent than before. The popping sounded meatier as if coming from a high caliber machine gun, the rumbling became explosions, even rattling a brain or two from time to time, most noticeable within the shivering metal that corresponded with its horrid beat. The sky was quickly lit up by streaks of light, building shattering and visibly shuttering in the distance as debris fell to the concrete below. It was a mesmerizing sight to behold. The guns sounded as if they were even coming from TC-90’s, rapid and horrifying.

These thoughts were all but confirmed as he entered the city, a sign propped against two buildings right at the entrance, a massive scrap metal wall spanning across and in front of said buildings shaking at the sudden sounds from further within the stone labyrinth that was its home. The sign read thus, “District: Classe Baja”.

What greeted him at “Classe Baja” were torn buildings and bloodied streets, dried. Remnants of gore and limbs where a human would be as rounds embed street corners. The machine guns that were typically hoisted upon a Diablo-Kampfer, the mechs seen within the area.

These machine guns can turn humans into pink clouds of smoke as the flesh is scattered about onto comrades and the like before they themselves were shredded into oblivion. Yes, these were the weapons seemingly used on civilians. None of the men and women scattered about in the streets had weapons, bombs, none of that. It was most likely a way to push them back… the horde. There was evidence of them being able to fight back before too, it was like the military had no choice but to fight back due to their own incompetence of course. The melted through mech was evidence enough after all. It wasn’t caused by anything but a Molotov that just happened to get through their shields at the right moment. Mechs are relatively easy to take down after all but are used frequently within populated open cities such as this one due to their mobility and ability to move through small spaces, much more usable compared to a tank - plus, it’s not like they don’t have their way of countering the various ways one can take them down, for example, the previously mentioned machine guns, or even the grenadier mounters sat upon their salvo system jutting out just below the TC-Rotorcage. They can even use themselves as suicide bombers if the need arises.

The young man shook his head, attempting to stop himself from looking into it any further, carefully moving from building to building, hoping to not get hit by the crossfire from afar, or even worse, get shot by a stray sniper in the area. He readied his rifle, taking his journey through this horrid steel forest one step at a time, taking the time to scavenge through any building in the area just in case there was any leftover food or supplies, though the effort was fruitless, most food being rotted through, punctured, or tainted by gunpowder.

Before the young man could even leave the building he was in, even if dilapidated and turned into ruins, the faint sound of metal shooting into the air could be heard, followed by the clacking of pebbles.

He recoiled, receding back inside keeping himself in the middle of what used to be a room, looking up at a would-be roof, wood, and limestone hanging from thin rebar. Silence filled the air, the young man suspected a stalemate as stillness surrounded him.

Ching!

It was s sound created by a rifle.

Before the young man could pinpoint where it came from, two explosions rang out from afar - stray bullets. They shook the ground and made a significant amount of sound… no, they had no relation to the would-be shooter he suspected to be nearby. He clicked his tongue, pulling out a mirror camera, attaching a small device to his wrist.

The camera swiveled slowly, the footage from it showed on the device on his wrist as if it were a watch.

Whatever the camera was showing, it was barely visible, too close, but it was all he had to try and pin down the location of whoever shot at him before. He wanted to at least make sure that his suspicions weren’t wrong as well, thinking back to when he heard the noise, could he hear the echo, could he hear the pop?

He wouldn’t be able to, the shooter was probably trying to mask it under the gunfire within the skyscrapers afar, they were loud enough after all. His mouth skewed, putting away both the mirror camera and wrist device, leaning towards the wall, almost pressed against it.

The silence was deafening, ears ringing as he waited, and waited.

He took a deep breath, leaning forward near the wall before lunging outside, diving back into the ruined building he holed himself up in as his suspicions were confirmed. A pop rang out amidst a battlefield, echoing against the nearly empty streets before a subsequent, ching, could be heard from what seemed to be a bolt action rifle. The young man could even see where the bullet landed as a piece of the ground was taken due to its contact. Clicking his tongue once more, he attempted to find a good place to hunker down in. Get himself a good view of the sniper whilst also hiding in the process.

He sighed, looking to the bullet hole in the ground from which he stood on before, though for barely a second. He tried getting a read from which the bullet could’ve come from, but the effort was fruitless, it ricocheted off of the ground, shooting into the window of another house nearby causing an abstraction in the concrete. He couldn’t find out where the man was due to the odd nature the bullet ricocheted.

The young man gritted his teeth before throwing his coat outside, sprinting in the opposite direction before diving through an empty window. A gunshot rang out the instant he made it inside, quickly looking out the window, keeping his distance from it, getting the perfect view of his coat, a small hole piercing through. He couldn’t see the direction from which it came, but relief filled the young man’s body since the sniper was probably too distracted by the coat to notice where he had gone. The worst-case here though would be that the sniper had already changed spots due to the bait since whoever the sniper was would panic due to not knowing where the young man was at this moment. The best-case scenario though would be the sniper still staying in the same spot, head whipping about as they tried to find him.

Before, as the young man was in the building before, he noticed a house from afar, looking to be three stories tall, almost as if it were a guard’s tower. He’d just have to reach there to be able to even get a good look at the bastard hunting him right now.

He started digging through a small bag on his waist, pulling out a collection of small poppers. He made his way to the window, lowering himself to the ground, getting a good view of the sky before chucking one of the poppers out the window. A small popping noise could be heard and the young man ran. Jumping out another window, sprinting towards the tower, rifle in hand before throwing another popper in a random direction, sliding into the building before the sniper could even notice he changed locations once more. He was left there, panting like a wild dog as he sauntered up to the top of the tower, keeping himself low.

He walked out, quickly propping the barrel of his rifle atop a small wall, head just below before laying his body on its side, head slowly peeking out from behind, looking down his rifle’s iron sight.

First, it was the sound of fire crackling that dissipated, then it was the sound of the buildings settling, next was the sound of the air, next was the sound of his clothes. All of it left his ears, only leaving his heartbeat, the sound of him breathing in, exhaling. A glint within the distance, a raise of the barrel as the glint grew brighter. It was likely that the sniper had already seen him, but all the young man needed was to turn his barrel slightly to the right, and then, bang!

Another shot followed the young man’s, the whistling of the bullet before it skimmed across the small limestone wall he hid behind before hearing his own bullet whizz across the air before slamming into the sniper from afar, leaving a meaty thud, even audible from the distance he was at currently. Sweat ran down his brow before standing up, catching his breath from what was an exhausting experience, an exhausting yet expected experience.