“So in war, the way is to avoid what is strong and to strike at what is weak.”
War was chaos to varying degree. And little had come to match the chaos in which Zafir Karim har brought that day. Already he had been likened to something similar to the concept of a Taliban Sorcerer. He had conjured an entire army and it's technology from what defenders of France had chalked up to thin air. Each and each time, coming back bigger and badder in an endless arms race between gods and men alike. All this, in the name of so called justice.
The Perses unit had engaged all enemies, successfully drawing the ire of all enemies in favor of drawing attackers towards it and away from the enemy as it was attacked from multiple fronts. This move was risky, considering how big of a target Perses itself presented. However, this size was had due compensations in place, multilayered protection. No one layer could defend against everything. The most easy to guess was Perses' sheer durability alone, with it showing the ability to casually withstand continuous assault of anti-tank weaponry and being in the vicinity of bombs that flattenee buildings. The second was Moya's own carefully crafted network of enemy intel. The enemy had somehow managed a networks.
In reaction to this? It was man's time to become more prominent.
The entire time, Maverick's army had not yet shown much face. Most who did, were limited to recon and intel gathering. This is because as the situatiom unfolded, Maverick's army had little reason to immediately show face. Magic or not, Zafir gathered enough resources from the world to make an army that could oppose a first world country of the North Atlantic Treaty. The sheer size of it and it's impact on the French people made it more trackeable. It's power was of such that Maverick had long given up on protecting the actual city itself and more allowed the enemy to engage the forces Maverick knew would come to stop this atrocity. The civillians were evacuated. And at this point? Nuking the city was seemingly a very real option if it meant to kill Zafir and his armies.
That was more viable than having another Iceland. Never again. It must always serve as a learnimg experience, for every nation. Justice? Unlimited Energy? A cure for world hunger? It didn't matter what Zafir would promise. The world has had enough of idealistic mad men, each with their own honestly, unknown goals that served behind their attempts at a Utopia, born in blood.
Their set of reticules followed the unknown individual, enacting one of many contingencies set forth for any number of superpowered individuals. In this case, the one designed for what were nicknamed speedsters and brick were most appropriate. The man moved at speeds far in excess that of sound and was difficult for the eyes of normal men to see. However, training helped. At it's peak, a human sizes object can be perceived as a distant blur at speeds of mach ten. This was far outside the reach of necessarily running up to the guy ans trying to punch him. But simply lurking in the shadows and alerting the command to his position was easier. Longitude and latitude. As a class four, his movements were always tracked but he was understandably difficult for a guy in full kit to follow. So men simply stationed themselves all about the city, tracking anything and everything in concerns to the enemy. But where humans shined over Maverick's Perses, were decision making and in solving non linear problems. Good common sense and general savvy.
cut his thumb on it to cause blood after that Stephen drew his trademark revolver the Dreadnought Divider however it acted nothing like a regular gun while amped with his blood moreso more equivalent to a railgun but denying physics and popped opened it's cylinder and dabbed his blood on the rounds placed within closed the cylinder and took aim at the towering mech "lets see some fireworks veni vidi vici " with no otherword then that and making sure he was aimed up to advert damage, Stephen slammed his trigger finger on the trigger what happened next was a sight of pure carnage as the triggered was pulled a blood tinged bullet came out of the Dreadnought Divider at LS like some sort of hyper lazer drilling through and slicing apart the very atomsphere with intense heat and penetration with the power to bust a mountain range along with atomizing the mountain and the surrounding it would look like a nuke explodedx100 there would be no shockwave damage from the shot due to the esoteric power of Stephen's blood however anyone unfortunate enough to be caught in it would cease to exist and it was outright aimed at the mech it was aimed toward the highest part on the mech so once it hit or if it hit it would launch far into the atmosphere into space a good bit then explode avoiding pure carnage.
Stephen smiled"durability be damned because durability won't be saving you from that shot" Stephen shrugged before walking away before the inevitable explosion happened and looked to engage the woman who was firing at him earlier but first twirled his revolver abit before holstering it.
A man peered at stephen through the scope as he drew blood and put it on his weapon. A trained Maverick, or even any regular movie goer would know the symbolic importance of blood, how it was used for rituals. The man knew it. Moya knew it. As the information was relayed, they had still no possible way to actually know what the gun was or what it did. All Moya knew was that she couldn't allpw the shot to land or she was in deep shit. One Perses unit had been in the battle of Iceland, and the last thung Maverick needed was to lose another. The AI was fast. And it's reflexes were in the microseconds. But it's body was large and damaged. Energy alotted to reactive armor was burnt out and in need of recharging It's cloak was imperfect due to damage. And it was occupied im using it'a own radar to track enemy positions.
The man was fast. Something needed to be done now, before the man attacked.
The air to surface missiles exploded all around Perses armored frame with astonishing precision for the French national army. It was a spectacle, but the enemy's attack was even more of a spectacle. From his handguns, two bullets roared out like some shot out of a railgun as they ripped through the atmosphere at unfathomable speeds. The unknown energies ripplles all about as the two rounds exploded somewhere in the upper atmosphere with energies that’d have flatted the city and possibly beyond easily. A devestating attack, one that would have obliterated Perses if it's hit, or of fired at random, could have killed her.
But ultimately, it simply did not hit.
From the flames, Perses rose with little damage from the anti infantry missiles, the anti-infantry, building busting bombs poorly suited to defeating it's tank like armor. But, what they lacked in armor penetration, they had in knockdown, nudging Perses forcefully out of the way. Fortunately, the man was flamboyant and arrogant enough to turn it's back on the mech and think assuredly dead. But Maverick did not rely on being tougher than it's opponents. It didn't even rely on being more powerful. Simply, all that mattered was winning. To be whatever one needed and to use what limited resources you had, and to win irregardless of what you faced.
Briefly, it's eyes tracked him. The man sized object more difficult to target, it ceased such attempts as Moya ordered it to withdraw. The ambient fire and smoke all around it served visual concealment as it disappears into the smoke, the trembling lessening as it's distance between itself and the man increases.
Moya's head throbbed. At least death would mean that she wouldn't have to worry about anything. Let alone loosing an asset like a PERSES unit. The enemy was seemingly on the last leg of their first assault, but Moya was sure her men would die when she sent them out to engage because it was like to face down gods once more. But this was all mitigated by the fact that she gathered as mucb intel aboht the enemy as possible, that she sent them in with a chance. She prepares for an attack for monthes and moved all logistics necessary to the place. Their enemy was powerful, but going in with the same mentality and equipment that they had when they faced down Asgardians and New Gods. They would win, in tandem with the friendly forces they knew could engage such powerful. It would be a grueling fight, more than anticpated. But there would never be another Iceland.
Landing on the head of the mech, the sound of a slippery naked man squeaking against undented armor was heard as he slid down its face. Hanging in front of the head, butt naked. His dong just perfectly placed in front of the probing red camera lights for all of the operators and viewers to see his raging bull. "All of us, all of these people with pain in their faces, trying to survive death and you choose to piss off the guy who seeks it! Yall have good hearts, I'll give you that! The downfall of that is that you'll find yourself constantly being harassed by guys like me!" With his Vibranium knife, he furiously began jabbing the camera lens hopefully slicing it away, howling like a madman as one did when they were grieving. An attempt to strategically scar them, mentally and emotionally.
The PERSES unit hardly responded to the impact before it. Humans were harder for it to detect than bullets and the armor that was apart of it's body was not known for it's keen tactile sensors. Moya watched from PERSES eyes as the man unceremoniously slid down the giant robots head into view. Another idealist and one man who was dangerous close to the mech with an unknown knife he drove into eyesight as he yelled out them naked,stabbing into the mech's eyes like a madman. Instinctively and wothout ordered PERSES ripped the man off and squeezed in vane to try to crush him. Unable to do actual harm to hom, it flicked him away like an indestructible ant, tossing him with such force as for him to plow through skyscraper after skyscraper with his passing.
The man attempted to do harm and the man had done more meaningful harm. Perses was blinded in both eyes, permenenantly until repair. Men were dying left and right, one of the world's most romanticized cities was laid to waste, she had little idea of Perses current condition, little knowledge of what else might pop up to potentially randomly kill her and she just laughed. She laughed at it all. A naked man had just come out of nowhere after she singlehandedly had a mech dodged an unfathomably fast attack from an unknown entity. And this guy poked out the eyes of the god of destruction like a naked, indestructible ant. It was ironic, and it was funny. Formulaic as these squabbles were, they were controlled chaos at their core. There things even she could not account for. Everything Zafir had done was in accordance of what Maverick believed possible.
But this was unprecedented.
While his attack was a success on the physical effect, he accomplished the opposite on the emotional front. A rush of endorphins rushed through her blood and vains, one hand intricately punching in a few commands on the keyboard and the other spent keeping hair out of her face from the laughter that echoed through the garage. As she ceased, wave of relief washed over her, and she looked to the static camera screen with a smile.
I needed that.
Ms. Hawkins, are you alright?
Oh my. I left a communication line open.
(Moya) I'm good. Better, now. I don't know about you, but I've had enough of this pointless war.
Moya and Maverick would always consider Zafir Karim to be a threat. But to take him seriously? To respect him? Maverick had fought and conquered armies of superhumans, of beings who were considered by some to be gods. They had seen it all. Done it all.
In the end, Zafir Karim was no different from everything else they had faced.
“And in other news, France still recovers from a brutal attack on the city of Paris, lead by the infamous terrorist Z. The attack was repelled by numerous allies to the French Armed Forces, aided by the Paramilitary Private Military Company oft called Mercdnary Group Maverick, the United Nations Kaiju Defense Force and various unofficial independent unnamed entites. The attack has left a deep scar on the nation, as the terrorist group flew one hundred miles unopposed to France in a giant air craft carrier like airship.
The attack raises many questions in this new wave of super-terrorism, with many of them becomng NGO superpowrs capable of amassing resources to threaten actual countries. Where are these resources coming from? Can they be tracked? Is the world truly so unstable as to require a global intelligence system. Many criticize the reactive nature to modern threats that have proven capable time and time again to be able to destroy heavily cities from New York to Paris. Countries, from Iceland to Greece. One can only wonder"
*Click click click* The volume rises, as the news story continues.
You know, maybe the Nightwarden was onto something.
The reporter weaved her words well. What's a bit of incentive anyway, when you're being paid extra to do your job? To tell the truth and to protect people. Less than that, Maverick did little to stop anyone from demonizing them as many reporters did. To speak of relevant issues to the modern issues and ro press them through the latest Liafador gossip and through the Kaija action figure advertisements. Propeganda was a useful weapon to be used in conjunction with the application of surgically applied force.
The Modern Day Minerva tossed her sheets aside as she slid out of bed and almost knocked over the enclosed bottle of honey flavored hard liquor off the side table. She grabbed a set of folded up home clothes and decided to get dressed in something a little more decent, as she walked over to the transparent aluminium armored windows all around her, peering out the ceramic pain at the street below. A bit of water helped with the minor hangover she had, she being sure to hydrate profusely thr night before when she got shitfaced.
*Sssssst* She was far from a five star cook, and hardly admitted to the fact thag people had cooked for her a lot of her life, but simple stuff like eggs she learned how to make. Her cognitive capacity lent itself to a little bit of everything.
“In the wake of the conflict, many mourn fallen service members of the French armed Forces and even, those amomg Maverick's own who were killed in the conflict, in the effort to repel terrorists.”
A necessary sacrifice….Huh. Nobody told her to write that.
She allowed the statement to touch her, if only a little. Not enough that she would regret knowingly sending men to their death in the name of victory and the greater good, as she saw it. But enough that she felt something, for the men she lead. That she talked to, that made sure had the best weapons and weapons resources. That she did her best to give the best tactical picture in order to mitigate the amount of inevitable deathes, at least. The loss of Perses' operability for some time, hurt them in more of a paycheck oriented way, than a personal one. Perses could be repaired in months. But Maverick did not die often. They'd become unacustomed to death, in their thinking themselves the Alpha army.
There are some that argue them, but irregardless of their stature, they all knew that it was necessary to look back and remember what had been lost. To remember history, and the circumstances of the time, so as to not repeat something that may yet be averted.
She ate outside, atop her Portland Penthouse, eating an omlette, an apple and a couple slices of watermelon. Her hand went to flick her hair out of her face, and she squinted, looking about for a moment, giving a two fingered salute to a friendly sniper some thousand feet away she'd managed to spot. Her eyes staring almost directly into his scope, and she could see keenly as he returned it.
What would he say if he was here? If he wasn't in vacation in the phillipines? Oh right…
“What a mess…”