Meridian Mayhem

PodSm@sh stands tall amid the carnage, metal body glistening with the gore of Maliwan corpses, dripping from her plating in slow, sticky trails, the red-black sheen catching the neon. Her chassis hums low, a deep, satisfied growl vibrating through the cracked pavement beneath her feet. She shimmers; her towering mass breaking into digital cubes that compresses into my Companion Tablet with a soft chime.

All that’s left behind is the mess: twenty trained corporate killers reduced to meat piles and broken armor. The faint crackle of fried electronics;visors sparking, power packs hissing, the smell of burnt circuits mixing with copper and shit.

HUD PING

Companion Roster Updated

PodSm@sh uploaded

Unit ready for redeployment

CashCrab chirps from the pile, hopping like an excited crab junkie; legs clicking against the gore-slick ground as she skitters into the wreckage of bodies and broken gear. Her claws whir fast, little digital display flashing like a slot machine on tilt as she vacuums up cash, weapons, and tech; piles of credits, mods, spent clips, even a few iridium shards; all dumped neatly into my inventory for later. She pauses once, holding up a legendary for me to inspect: a blue-and-white gloss Vladof rocket launcher, barrel still warm, grip sticky with blood. I grab it and swap it with my Judgment Day in one smooth motion.

Weapon Acquired: Vladof Rocket Launcher – “Jericho”

Damage: 444 x 4

Accuracy: 68%

Handling: 55%

Reload Time: 4.8s

Fire Rate: 1.1s

Magazine Size: 2

• Paint the Target, Bring the Storm*

Perk: Primary rocket splits into 5 micro-rockets automatically tracked to enemies.

She skitters off to find more, claws clicking happily. I leave her to it; she can catch up.

My HUD flashes again; static rippling across the top right corner… Lorelei. They cut through, image glitchy and pixelated, but still visible: blonde hair matted with sweat and soot, eyes sharp and bloodshot, face framed by flickering gunfire and the distant pop-pop-pop of weapons fire.

“Fuck, finally,” they snarl, panting through clenched teeth. “You with the Raiders? I sent that distress call ages ago.”

I nod, muttering to myself. “On my way, soldier.”

The feed cuts again as an explosion behind them almost knocks them over; shrapnel zipping by, sparks flying in bright arcs.

“I’ll meet you at -11.67° N, 84.19° W -”

HUD PING

Coordinates received

Waypoint marked

Lorelei’s voice strains through the static as another explosion rocks their comm.

“Hurry up; we’re being hit by Maliwan bastards and **** CoV pricks. Like, don’t they know Tyreen’s dead?”

The signal dies; static vanishing, image gone.

I walk the street, distant gunfire echoes through the outskirts of Promethea’s cityscape, corporate greed and desperation humming ahead.

The edge of a reservoir stretches out before me; grey water shimmering under haze and smoke. Beyond the ridge, a good ten miles out, Lorelei and what’s left of their crew are holed up, pinned down, **** for help.

Ten miles?

I could hoof it without losing a breath.

But where’s the fun in that?

Especially when I hear it: the roar of an engine, high-pitched, psychotic laughter of idiots who think they’re kings of the wasteland.

A war rig tears through the area; hover-conversion thrusters spinning wild, reckless donuts across the surface. Half a dozen bandits cling to the rig like goddamn barnacles; hooting, hollering, firing shots into the air as they carve up the terrain. One dumb bastard falls under the hover rig; the anti-grav thrusters crushing him into pulp against the surface like a sad, final fireworks display, flattening to paste, a wet crunch echoing.

I grin.

“Oh yeah… I’m taking that rig for Ellie.”

But right now?

I’ve got an itch for something I’ve been holding back.

Bullets.

Been too long since I had a proper bullet party. My companions? I love watching them work; the chaos, the carnage, the mechanical poetry of ****. Last time I really let loose was that gut-slicked mission for Zed, and that feels like forever ago.

I mount my Jericho on my shoulder; the familiar hum and click bringing a stupid grin to my face.

“Let’s have some fun.”

The rocket locks on; the target? One of the nearby wind turbines spinning lazily under the planetary glow.

FWOOSH.

The rocket arcs perfectly, locking dead-center on the spinning propeller, then it splits into five heat-seekers mid-flight, streaking like angry hornets, finding the weak points.

BOOM.

Three jagged metal blades shear clean off; spinning through the air like massive saw blades.

THOOM.

First blade buries itself deep into the ground; dirt and landscape cratering.

THOOM.

Second stabs into a wall; cracking concrete like paper.

THOOM.

The third? Lands perfectly; smack in the path of the war rig.

The driver slams the brakes, panic obvious, thrusters flaring. One idiot, not paying attention, flies off the back.

“WITNESS MEEEEEEE!” he screams with giddy, cult-like fervor; and flies chest-first into the blade, bisecting himself like a fucked-up magic trick. His halves sail in opposite directions, guts trailing, blood spraying in twin arcs before both thud to the ground.

The rest scramble, trying to find the source of the shot.

Too late.

I’m already on them.

The Respec’tor’s in hand; barrels hot, grin wide as they clock me. They slam the throttle, trying to ram me.

I pepper the driver’s head with hot lead; the holographic sight displaying “dumb asses” in mocking red text. I smile, squeezing the trigger. Pop pop pop pop! The skull bursts like a rotten melon; chunks of brain and skull decorating the cab as his body slumps forward, collapsing into the wheel.

I slide, rounds whizzing past, their shots pinging off my shield with that satisfying, electric crackle.

“Gonna take more than that, assholes.”

Switch weapons; Groovy Boomstick, heavy and precise, even with the triple barrels. I plant shots in necks, faces, chests; their bodies ragdoll, twitching, gurgling in the dirt, blood bubbling from ruined mouths.

Seconds later? They’re all dead around the rig.

I stroll up, the driver’s corpse slumped half-out the door, skull fragments coating the dash in gray-pink paste.

I open the door and his body flops out onto the ground , brain bits stick to the seat. I casually wipe them off with my sleeve and climb in.

It rides smoother than something like this should; hover systems calibrated, power-hungry, ready for carnage. I peel it into a few wide donuts for good measure; the engine growls, dirt and gore spraying like confetti.

CashCrab scuttles up; chirping like a happy little loot-gremlin; her claws already rifling through the new bodies. She clicks contentedly as cash and gear pour into my inventory.

My HUD ticks upward.

Cash Reserve: $4,012,780

“Nice haul, pal.”

I spot a Catch-A-Ride dock not far off; pulsing with faint blue light.

I turn my eyes to CashCrab, leaning out grinning.

“Get in, loser. We’re going shooting.”

She chirps, scuttling up the door and nestles on my wrist, little display flashing dollar signs. My cash ticks up again.

I gun the rig; heading for the dock; tires (or lack thereof) carving invisible tracks across the planet’s surface.

Time to make this thing mine.

And make the whole planet regret my existence.