Rely On Sword And Fist

Mox steels herself, gently cracking her knuckles as she waits for the mutants to run head first into the wood chipper.

Several members of the mob outpace the rest, reaching Mox first and allowing for swift punishment at the hands of her mech, a slow but powerful flurry of blows that nearly bisects more then a few of the foul beasts before ending in a viscous stomp, flattening one against the earth.

The tide of grotesque flesh crashes against the monolithic mech in full now, falling upon Mox like waves crashing against the rocks, the viewing window quickly becoming obscured by flailing limbs, beating against the glass, trying to tear their way into the mech.

She’s fighting blind now but it hardly matters when dealing with an enemy that is quite simply EVERYWHERE. Mox continues the process of executing commands, a low slash flying from left to right with her blade, the screams outside indicating she had claimed more than a few mutants in the process. A kick of the leg, resulting in a panicked scream that rapidly gets further and further away before abruptly ending.

However the mutants on the mech hold firm, steadily chipping their way inside, trying to peel the mech open like a tin can.

Reaching a free hand over, the mech begins prying the ravenous creatures from the viewing window and tightening its grip before dropping them and moving into the next, revealing the battle field piece by piece, soon the fog of war is lifted in its entirety, the carnage now on display.

Nearly every inch of dirt directly in front of Mox is stained red with blood, broken bodies and the twisted limbs of the fallen decorate the area, clearly having been sent flying throughout the fight, now either too broken to get back up or simply gone from this world entirely.

The remaining mutants appear to have retreated for now, save for the ones that are currently trying to peel back the armor of the mech to strike at Mox or the internals of the great machine.

The banging and scraping continues, overhead to the left, right and even from the mechs back there seems to be the horrible scratching of too-long nails on steel.

The arms of the mech are too short to reach the mutants on the left, right or overhead, let alone however many may be on the back of the rig, if unaddressed they’ll eventually tear their way in, mutants are nothing if not crafty and even they will be able to notice that it won’t take much work to decommission the engine once they’re through the plates.

Mox glances to her right, the handle of a gun gleaming softly in the light streaming in through the window, she doesn’t like the prospect, in truth she has always been a middling combatant out of her mech and mutants, especially in this number, are no small matter.

Beam of light appears, streaming in through a tiny gap in the plates overhead, freshly made as the mutants gibbering and feral growls become all the more audible. It won’t be long before that little pinprick of light becomes a new sunroof and by then they’ll already be inside, trapped in a tight space with the mechs operator.

She lays a hand on the handle of that pistol, her thumb gently rubbing along the smooth metal, just like everything else in the cockpit, it stings a bit in her hand, having been cooking in this walking stewpot for hours now. She tightens her grip and pulls the lever.

The front of the mech pops open with a hiss, the full might of the sun now streaming in, almost blinding Mox as she dives out into the dirt. The pair currently on the roof are the first to notice, having almost been hit by the cockpit doors as they open.

Spotting Mox, she can see the gears turn in their skulls before it all clicks, letting loose a guttural roar before jumping off the mech, fangs bared and weapons raised high. They stagger slightly as they land, the height of the mech providing too long a fall for smooth transition forcing them to claw their way to their feet before beginning their charge, allowing Mox to open fire with impunity.

Her aim isn’t spectacular but it doesn’t need to be when firing into large, mostly stationary targets, the gun jumps in her hands as smoke is ejected from the barrel, bullets following soon after as one mutant falls to the dirt.

Mutants are hardy creatures, it takes more then a few chest shots to put one down for good and it doesn’t help that this pistol isn’t a particularly impressive work of gun-smithing, the .22 rounds act more like BBs when confronted with the tough hides of the mutants but a shot to the head puts them down with little fanfare.

Another mutant falls, then another, the remaining mutants having heard the shots release their grip from the mech to attack Mox, one hurling a brick that collides with Mox’s shoulder, throwing her shot wide, the dull ache doing no favors for her already lack luster marksmanship.

Three mutants yet remain, closing in fast, now standing toe to toe with them, she can start to make sense of their murmurings, their voices wild and frenzied, interspersed with growling or groaning.

“HE’S MY SON! MINE!” A woman cries looking at Mox as though she weren’t a stranger, but a hated, embittered rival.

“St… STOP LAUGHIIIIING…!!!” Another bellows, tears welling up in his diseased eyes, his face showing a panicked, almost manic expression as he stumbles closely behind his fellow.

“YOU WON’T GET AWAY WITH THIS!!! YOU’LL PAY FOR WHAT YOU DID!” Shouts the last, a strange stirring in his voice, like the forces of good and righteousness fights at his side.

Mox opens fire, dropping the woman, and peppering the men that follows with shots until… click. The only sound louder then a gunshot, the gun has run dry.

Mox backs up slowly, burying a hand into her belt, looking for a spare magazine or failing that, an adequately heavy bludgeon to finish the job. Their almost on her now, she can smell them as a wave of rancid, junkyard stench wafts forward, proceeding the mutants by several feet.

BANG! The shot echos through the clearing, loud and powerful, one of the men fall to the dirt, a near hole in his head leaving the final man alone, undeterred by his fallen brothers and sisters as they bring their lead pipe up high, their mad eyes wide and their mouth salivating when another shot rings out. BANG!

The mutant falls into a crumpled puddle on the dirt, the pipe rolling out of their grasp. Mox turns to the sound of the gunshots and spots a figure, silhouetted by the sun that hangs in the sky just behind them.

Mox needn’t look much further, the lone sniper soon disappearing once more to continue her watch from the gloom. Mox climbs up into her mech, the cockpit closing once more before she stuffs the handgun back into its compartment before beginning her march once more, leaving the body strewn clearing behind.

Another series of enclosed maze like trenches lead off from the chamber, allowing her to continue her march, each step shaking the earth softly, Mox must admit, as much as she detests the heat of the mech, she prefers it to the heat of battle. Though it hurts to admit, she’s likely be dead if Blood-Upon-Sand hadn’t arrived when she did.

The radio hisses again, the familiar voice of the radio operator filtering through the speaker, a strange metallic filter accompanying his voice but still she can make out the words.

“Team Sierra; call has just come in from Temple Of Leaden Lady, one Brother Phosphorus has requested aid once again and I have told him to expect you” reports Constantine before Mox could respond he continues on.

“Apparently there is religious schism in temple, he says situation is disintegrating rapidly. Orders from God-Empress are to kill less important side of schism and return home” kill an entire half of the clan? That will gimp their production capacity hell it might ruin the installation for the rest of the clan too.

“Understood” Mox says, eyes closed as she attempts to rationalize such an order, what the hell is she thinking?

The radio belts static and with a click all sound from the radio ends entirely, leaving Mox along with her thoughts as she marches through the winding series of halls and gaps in the garbage just large enough to sneak the mech through without sustaining damage to the rig.

There’s a sudden thud from the roof before all goes quiet a moment, Mox’s hand going to rest on the handle of her pistol as she waits for the scratching and pounding to start but it never does, making it clear who is currently sitting atop the mech.

Up ahead is a group of bodies, laid scattered across the narrow path through the graveyard, 12 in all with blood pooling out under the bodies indicating their status as Mox pushes forward, eyes trained on the bodies for any sign of breathing.

“This your handiwork?” Mox says, voice raised just enough for Blood-Upon-Sand to hear.

Instead Blood-Upon-Sand appears, hanging onto the left side of the viewing window as she stares into the cockpit, only able to make out the faint outline of the operator within.

She climbs upward, once more coming to rest stop the mech and leaving Mox in a confused daze, pushing the mech onwards, shortly thereafter coming out the other side of the graveyard, only a little worse for ware as when they ventured inside.

“They were a group of mutants that hadn’t yet joined the group laying in wait for you” she states as casually as if she pointed out the weather.

“How’d you get here so fast? This is almost an hours walk from my position when I heard the shots” Mox reply’s, resulting in silence for a long, long time she almost thinks the conversation is over when she hears that monotone voice speak again.

“I move faster then you do” her voice is terse and blunt, signaling in no uncertain terms that this conversation is over, leaving Mox to quietly contemplate that answer for the rest of the trip.

———————————————————————

Leaving the junkyard behind, it’s not long until Mox can make out the silhouette of The Temple Of The Leaden Lady, a grandiose name for what is essentially a gun and ammo factory.

The Piscatelli clan had always been unstable, a group of lead worshipers and gun nuts that have concocted an entire ideology in which creating weapons of war is a virtue and using said weapons of war to kill your enemies is a god given right.

Suffice it to say, Mox had always known she’d be sent out on a call such as this, and so she focuses up as she closes in on the great temple, no doubt having been spotted long ago.

The temples structure consists of several large brick buildings, one of which being the main complex which houses the bullet press and likely all of the machinery for building guns. To the east of the complex is a large warehouse, almost as large as the factory which serves as a stockpile for everything from their domestic product of guns and ammo to food, medicine and other precious items. Finally to the north of the complex is a series of short single story buildings, which house bunks and prayer halls.

Surrounding the entire compound is an ancient chain link fence with several large openings present, practically inviting wildlife, mutants and bandits inside the perimeter. Little do they know, that’s exactly what the Piscatelli are hoping for, there’s few things they love more then using their guns on live targets.

A Piscatelli waits on the outskirts of the settlement and rushes out to meet Mox halfway, he wears all the common trappings of the clan, robes that drape down his lanky frame complete with gas-mask attached to some kind of tank strapped to his back.

His words come out with a filter that makes it hard to understand him as he stops 5 feet back, hands raised in reverence as he turns his head upwards.

“Father Brass be praised! When Sister Smoke reported back her meeting with the God-Empress, I had feared my plan had failed but here you are!” Beneath the filter, his voice is raspy, each word seemingly taking great effort but he shouts nonetheless.

“What seems to be the problem, Piscatelli?” Asks Mox, already growing tired of the cultists grating voice.

“I am Brother Phosphorus, the heretics have taken the sacred press! They wish to hold the holy instruments of her will hostage until we convert to their perverted doctrine!”

“Uh huh… and… why would they do that…?” In truth, Mox wasn’t a spiritual type, but to her understanding there wasn’t much to this belief system of theirs, you make guns and you shoot shit with them, what’s there to argue about?

“It.. it would be better if Militarch Wesson told you, I am but a humble acolyte…” says Phosphorus with a bow.

“I shall lead you to her, we have secured the storehouse, ensuring what we have is not taken by the deviants..” says Phosphorus before heading off, leading Mox deeper into the complex.

Already she can spot the bodies of half a dozen cultists laid out across the small roads of the compound, a clear sign of previous violence though it seems both sides have made little progress for it.

With a lurch the mech comes to a halt outside the depot, large barn doors are slowly pushed open, revealing almost three dozen gun barrels pointed at the pair and their guide which are swiftly lowered with a call from deeper within the mounds of supplies.

“Lower your weapons, kindred, the miracle we’ve preyed for has arrived..!”