Makorai Saika's Story

The Erubescan Command-on-call system was neither complex nor refined, but it got the job done: According to Citadel policy, any Knight Commander not otherwise engaged or officially off-duty had to have their earpiece tapped into the system, and a minimum of one Knight Commander had to be available to take such calls at any time, day or night. 

Commander Botrelle happened to be the one tasked with covering Thursday mornings. 



So, when her earpiece buzzed with the double beep signaling the start of an emergency broadcast, her surprise was muted to little more than a slight flinch. She passed in whatever condolence she had been offering Kora, halting conversation with one raised finger and a gesture toward the communication device. 


“Emergency,” she mouthed, fingers already flying across the surface of her tablet to pull up the video feeds before Nicola could so much as grant staffing permission. The former softness of the Commander’s face and voice were wiped away in an instant, replaced by calculating focus. Her lips pursed as she worked, gears turning in her mind as she took in the angles and details of the situation: 

Ronin was in the West District Library— a building with a twenty-five current occupants, three of whom were minors, seven of whom were library staff. One main entrance, two emergency exits, and no roof outlet. There was a cafe across the street, a modern art gallery to the building’s left, and several other smaller shops. 



The civilian population at risk was massive; at minimum, the library would need to be evacuated before anyone could proceed. 



Her tongue clicked against the roof of her mouth with impatient frustration for a moment, and then she pulled up the Citadel’s available troop listing. 

She began flicking names on the spreadsheet open to profiles, swiping those she wanted to use to the right in a column labeled with the date and an urgent tag. Two teleporters, one sniper by the name of Nathan Chandler, and a (somewhat hesitantly added) Serf Cadriel had already been compiled when Varren opened her clearances to the entire on-call Citadel force.

She began flicking more names to the right: Sniper Makorai Saika, tank Jack Rousimoff, and the dual-gifted Lindsey Nightingale.

“Thank you, sir,” she said to Varren, “Our team will be on the ground in fifteen minutes, max.”

Her nail hovered over one more name, and she glanced up at Kora. Her friend was battered, bruised, and potentially still bleeding under her bandages. 
Ready to be shipped to the front lines, if nobody came up for a better plan. 

“Get dressed in something decent,” she ordered, “Ronin’s in the city. If you can’t fight, you’re pardoned.” The name “Kora Norrevinter” flew into Lulu’s right column.



She tapped on the list, setting the selected troops into “Alert mode.” A series of beeps would sound on their ear intercoms.

“This is Commander Botrelle,” she said, speaking into her radio as she shrugged off her suit jacket and strode toward Kora’s door. She set off down the hall at a jog. “If you are reading this message, you have been drafted as part of an immediate emergency response team. Terrorist Rick Ronin has been spotted in the West District. You are to rendezvous at the teleport bay in five minutes. Civilian attire. This is not optional.” 




Lulu arrived in the teleport bay with Kora in tow just minutes after making the call, and was pleased to find that at least a portion of her requested team had managed to report: Chandler was in, as well as the two teleporters, Schmidt and Quirk, and (obviously) Norrevinter had all gathered in a timely fashion.

“No mistake, Cadriel,” she said into her earpiece, not nothing to mask her irritation at the time-wasting question, “You should be here.”

She glanced around those gathered, and the severity of her expression possibly added a good five inches to her height. “Knights,” she addressed them, and then turned to a blank wall. A flick across the clear glass of her tablet cast her screen against it, displaying a video feed of Ronin on one side, and an aerial map on the other. “Your prompt response is as appreciated as well as it is necessary— we face a crisis on our hands. You all represent— and I do mean you all, including those of you who have somehow managed to not yet drag yourselves in to be briefed as of yet, — a first line of defense for the people of the West District.”



A few more gestures of her lacquered nails directed the satellite image to zoom in, and a building plan of the library was superimposed over its image on the map. “This is where Ronin is located, currently,” she explained, motioning toward a blue dot on the plan, “on the first floor. There are two floors, and a considerable civilian populace at risk. The building has three emergency exits, highlighted in red, here… And two fire alarm pull stations, one on each floor.

“Norrevinter, you’re on the north exit. Cadriel will take the west; Rousimoff is on the South. Quirk will drop you off at a corner block away from Ronin’s view, here. I will also be dropped at this point.”

Lulu paused for a moment, circling the point with a winding motion of her finger and checking to see that Quirk understood.

When Quirk gave a nod, she proceeded.

“Schmidt, you will deposit Chandler and Saika, wherever the hell the latter is, though presumably it is on his way on two opposing roofs, here, and here. They are to load immobilizing rounds— non lethal. There’s no room for error with this many civvies around. If Ronin makes it out the door, you shoot him. And you don’t stop shooting until you are out of ammunition. I hope you read that, Saika.” 



She flicked back to the satellite camera, offering a clearer view of just how many people were around. Families crossed the street from one corner to another, and children played in a park a few blocks off. The stakes were obvious, and the margin for error was non-existent.



“When everyone is in place, I will enter the building, locate Ronin and send signal to Norrevinter. Norrevinter, you will light a smoke bomb and roll it through the door to trigger a fire alarm. With any luck, the smell of smoke will be enough to convince everyone it isn’t a drill, and make sure that Ronin doesn’t suspect he’s been caught.



“Meanwhile, I will do my best to create a decoy for Ronin while people evacuate. I won’t engage him with civilians present, if it can be avoided. If I should fail in this, it’s the job of everyone at the exits to push him back in should he try to flee, and alert everyone on their com lines to engage. If he tries to smash out a window, Chandler and Saika— shoot him.



“With any luck, though, I will be able to hold him in the building. When it is empty, snipers are to maintain their posts while the rest of out team convenes on my location to provide backup while I engage him. You are all to take any action necessary, including lethal force, to preserve civilian life and ensure Ronin is contained, in that order.” 



With the briefing complete, Commander Botrelle pivoted on her heel to face her assembled unit. 

“Are you all clear on the plan?” she asked, the steel in her voice obviously not looking for any answer other than “yes.”

Almost as an after though, she touched her earpiece, “Everyone else, do you read?”

They all said day drinking was a problem. A day drunk, Erubescian sniper was a liability, and that anything ANYTHING could happen. Anything, to Makorai, was the countless ring of endless problems that those much more responsible, and paranoid than he, worried about. Nothing really worried him, so Anything worrying him would be a bit redundant in his eyes. So Makorai, armed with the mental safety of Nothing against the Neurotic Anything had decided to start drinking at roughly nine'o'clock sharp. The first sip promised him a healthy buzz by Nine Thirty, and a comfortable drunk by quarter to eleven.

Makorai's usual eleven'o'cock spot was the canteen, he was much more an extrovert then introvert, and the joys and misery of daily life, in his opinion at least, was best spent with people you probably couldn't stand having a conversation with sober. Lately however, he had found himself in Cadriel's maintenance closet. Well, 'Found himself' probably wasn't as appropriate as 'Cadriel found him passed out on top of her cleaning supplies', but that first meeting had sparked a conversation that turned into what Makorai would consider a friendship.

So, from time to time he'd skip out on the canteen to express his disillusionment with their mutual employers, and listen to her woes with a drunken ear that was reserved for people he enjoyed. Unfortunately, it seemed the main ingredient in his mid morning cocktail, was missing, and something, or someone was holding Caddie up.

Makorai was not a completely even person sober, and much less so after having a few bumpers in his system. Their previous conversations had given him context to her daily routine, and he swore to the spirits around him if someone was spouting vitriol in her direction he'd give them the firmest part of his dissatisfaction.

"Yo!...." His face grew more contemplative, the first of the mass message had been sent to his communicator.

No way.

Fucking /Rick/

He laughed. There in the hallway, not the bitter laugh he laughed for his fallen comrades, and not the jovial laugh that expressed his happiness. He just laughed the the absurdity of what he was hearing. Rick. In the Citadel. What the fuck.

He was laughing as he fell into the wall and slid to the armoury, to promptly slide back out when he remembered he had been given clearance to store his weapon and it's attachments in his room.

Then he slid back when he realized that privileged had been revoked.

"Jeff."

The quartermasters name was not Jeff, or ever Jeff.

"Jeff..it's important. Commander /Botrelle/, yep, yep."

With a name that demanded respect, Jeff had no choice but to accept Jeff as his name, and wait for the moment he could wipe that smug look off of Makorai's face the next time he predictably lost pieces of his gear and came crawling back ten minutes before morning bugle.


He was assembling his rig with a level of affinity that transcended the mental state he was in. A dual mounted scope to brag about the peculiar, but efficient way his eyes processed stimuli. The bolt action didn't exist only to load larger caliber rounds in the chamber, but to signify that he only needed a single shot to accomplish what most did in a handful. It was a collar flair around the coat of skill he wore proudly with his swaggering walk.

"Loud and clear Commander."

He walked to the teleportation area, sniper in its case and threw up a hasty salute.

"Night Makorai reporting for duty."

Did he catch his slur? Sure a shit hoped so.

As Commander Botrelle's briefing rang out in the teleportation bay and through the communicators of those absent, Lindsey's lithe figure was dashing down a hall. A string of curses was rapidly coming out of her mouth as she ran quickly to the bay. As she practically flew, she managed to avoid hitting people carrying paperwork or hot coffee. "I shouldn't be late! I am such an idiot!!" She thought angrily to herself as she reached the room. She hurried inside and quickly got into line with her comrades. "Yes, ma'am." She answered quickly, hearing her question.

~

Nathan looked to the door as Lindsey entered hastily. He held back a sigh and simply looked to the ceiling for a moment before nodding to Botrelle. "Yes ma'am." He responded calmly. His attention was since again redirected as Makorai entered the room. He watched the fellow sniper with narrowed eyes, catching his drunken slur. Hiding his disdain, he prayed that this wouldn't be a problem for their mission.

Jack was standing there with the serfs when he heard a series of loud beeps in his ear. It startled him and jumped back, quickly covering his ears with his hands. This only made the sound louder as it echoed in his hands now. "Oh." Still jumpy, he realized it must of been from that ear piece he forgot about. He lowered his hands and laughed softly at his mistake. What could it be for? Was it for breaking the wall? Did they really know about it already? It wouldn't surprise Jack if someone higher up had seen the whole thing. He stood still and listened to what it could of been. This is Commander Botrelle, Uh oh. It very well could of been for breaking the wall. If you are reading this message, you have been drafted as part of an immediate emergency response team. Terrorist Rick Ronin has been spotted in the West District. You are to rendezvous at the teleport bay in five minutes. Civilian attire. This is not optional. It wasn't for the wall, but something much worse. A terrorist? Immediate emergency response team? Jack felt a sliver of pride. They wanted him? Someone wanted him to be with them? It also saddened him. It wasn't for the skills he favored, but for his more harmful ones. He would have to fight people, possibly kill. He didn't want to do that, but Erubesco, his home, was being attacked. Jack had a job to do, and civilians depending on him being there.

Civilian attire? Jack was good in that concern. Five minutes? That was more a problem. How would he get there quickly? And from where he was? Jack started to quickly walk to where he needed to be, but soon enough he heard another buzz over his ear piece about not being there still. Jack started to panic. Still startled by the initial beeps, and now being rushed, he became desperate. He didn't want to disappoint, or to let any civilian lives be in danger. He figured he had already broken one wall, so why not break another? Turning to the direction of the teleporter, he ran straight towards the wall, smashing into it with his shoulder. The same crashing sound heard not too earlier was now repeated, but louder than before. Instead of a small hole, it was a giant gash. After he broke through that wall, a second wall was soon in front of him. He punched his hand through and pulled part of it out, soon smashing through that wall as well. He kept running, pushing debris behind him as he kept running.

Bits and pieces of wood, drywall, and some split electrical wire were scattered on the ground. There he stood in front of the teleporter, ready to go. His hair ruffled, his clothes dusty. A trail of holes behind him. He stood with the others hoping not to be late. It never occurred to him that he might be doing more damage to Erubesco than he might prevent. "Everyone else, do you read?" Jack smiled. "Loud and clear."

Nightingale and Cadriel were late, which was quite enough to set Commander Botrelle’s nerves on end: Lives were on the line, and this operation needed to run like a well-oiled machine. A hint of irritation flashed across her features as both came in a minute or two behind the start of her briefing, but she took no further action to call them out or draw attention. Minor mistakes were expected.

And then Makorai Goddamn Saika had the nerve to be late and drunk.

Her lips folded in on themselves and her irises locked onto the ceiling to avoid looking at him.

This was not a time to let her temper get the best of her.

“Knight Saika, what, might I ask, are you-“

Crash.

A chunk of wall was demolished directly where the Commander had been projecting the map, the teleport bay’s security alarm blared to life, and a puff of sealant foam sprayed out from the wall’s broken points to close up the gap, spraying both the opening and the backside of the man who had smashed it with a pale yellow snowfall that expanded on contact. Rubble and dust were cast up into a cloud, and nearly all of the teleport bay workers turned to stare in silence.

Now, some Supervising Officers would have been fuming at this development, but “fuming” was not something that Botrelle was known to do.

She was known to tap a sharp-heeled stiletto, or drum her nearly manicured nails, or perhaps draw her rosy lips into a disappointed purse.

But she did none of these.

Her posture was rigid, and she did not so much as turn to look at Rousimoff’s graceless form. The rise and fall of her chest ceased, and she was frozen so stock still that, were it not for an incredulous blink, there were about five seconds in which it looked possible that she had literally died from disappointment at the team that had gathered.

She touched her earpiece. “Knight Kollert, I need a soldering job on the north wall of the teleport bay. Gather a prompt reconstruction team. Please.” A quick flick of her finger across her tablet surface shut down the screaming alarm.

Lulu was going to kill them.

If a vein did not burst in her brain from trying to comprehend the level of unbridled incompetency in the room, she was going to fucking kill them.

She took a slow, deliberate breath— The kind so deep that it strained against the buttons of her button-up blouse as she held it before letting it go into a sigh.

“Twenty-two thousand, four hundred, and thirty-eight,” she said softly, her tone devoid of compassion or fury. There was an edge in its quietness, the kind that seemed to lower the ambient volume of the room with its demand to be heard.

“That is the number of civilian lives immediately at risk in the West District. That many men, women, and children are depending on nine upstanding military troops of the Kingdom they have pledged their allegiance to to keep them alive. They are counting on nine punctual, sober troops ,who are capable of following basic orders without causing major structural damage to sensitive, secure areas for no justifiable reason.”

Her pale green glare was fixed on the back wall, staring directly between the torsos of Nightingale and Chandler without actually looking at either of them.

“If you are not capable of fulfilling these requirements, or understanding the weight of these stakes, you will excuse yourself immediately.”She paused, letting the silence linger in the area for a moment, and then nodded to Quirk.

“Put our snipers in position,” she ordered, and with a nod Quirk moved first to Chandler and then to Saika. “Nightingale, you’re with Cadriel at the West entrance. Schmidt, move everyone. And stand by near the drop point for the withdrawal operation.”

Schmidt gave an apprehensive nod and began working around the circle, vanishing each member of the team off to the corner, ending with Commander Botrelle.

Kora, for her part, simply stood with her arms folded, regarding this arrival rather skeptically, before looking over to Lulu in a manner that asked 'Is this really what you've chosen for a squad?'

"We've got a door you know." she remarked drily, somewhat pleased, considering her current situation, that she was looking the best out of all of them. She was on time, sober, and hadn't broken any Erubescan property...well not recently anyway. And nothing as extensive as breaking through walls.

And it wasn't by lack of capability.

Kora was only down by about a foot in height on the other knight, and she had long been quite famous (or infamous) for destructive capacity.

At least at this rate she was not in danger of any of the team making her look bad.

Her skepticism was only reinforced upon seeing the small figure of Serf Caddie stepped through the enormous gap in the wall, with a look of exasperated resignation on er face at the destruction.

Caddie had arrived in time to catch most of the Commander's lecture, and was almost certain she was not exactly in favour either.. but in all fairness it was hard to be prompt when you'd neither had any civilian clothes, nor had any real means to purchase them, for years. She didn't get out much. Well, she didn't get out at all. Generally speaking the height of Caddie's social life was talking with Saika whilst she tried to get to the drain cleaner he was lying on top of.

Her current outfit had been stolen rather hastily out of a cart of laundry, and some things left in a locker room by the teleport bay, so consisted of a slightly faded mauve sun dress, a hoodie at least two sizes too large for her tiny frame, and a pair of sneakers.
The lack of uniform didn't seem to diminish the strangeness of her appearance. If anything it worked completely the other way with more grubby bandages left on show.

But it was the best she could do in a hurry.
Plus it was not like she really cared that much for Lulu's approval.
She wasn't even sure why she was here.
Why send a janitor to do a Knight's job?
Still, if her work told her anything it was not to bother asking why.
Hopefully she could just get this over with and not end up vapourized.

Makorai Saika's belief in the divine was a convenient thing. Spirits inhabiting the bits and pieces of mortal life. It was a belief system void of restraint and greater moral struggles. It required little to no effort on his part, and also allowed him to humanize any inanimate object to the point on conversation when he was six cups over the legal limit. That being said, the convenient appearance of Jack, highlighting as what he was supposed to find atop the beanstalk, stole Commander Botrelle's attention like the marginally hotter guy at the bar.

Makorai nodded in Jack's direction. Thankful he was alive. Thankful he was a gifted being with such an immense drive to cause unneeded destruction that no one had time to check on the blood alcohol level coursing through his veins was Jack was on the move. 'Keep doing you man'. Makorai nodded encouragingly. Keep doing you man, keep doing you. This small bit of amusement now done, he took a moment to cast a sniper's eye to the motley crew assembled to safeguard ten thousand plus civilians in the face of this Wanderer epidemic. He expected Kora. If she hadn't been called officially he'd in the least expect her here arguing with the Knight Commander about going, all anger and swirls of red hair a second from becoming angry and sentient themselves. Cadriel was..a surprise, so much so that the genuine look of concern that inevitably formed on his face took a few beats to resettle into the RDF he wore so casually.

Next was Linsday, which sort of went without saying for him. Nathan however, bothered him for a multitude of reasons that he wasn't about to go over whilst he was in the middle of emptying his mind of all the background noise. Which, in itself wasn't a terribly impressive feat considering Saika usually didn't have much going on up there anyhow.

"Something heartwarming, something sarc-"

Teleportation took him and the, "astic" to his assigned building. It was athletically pleasing, and like most buildings in the city, took its cues from the old world artisans who's masonry had withstood the test of time long enough to be replicated in their modern era.

For Makorai, this meant he had cover, and a multitude of positions that left him largely invisible to the naked eye. Currently, he was sat behind a particularly skyward arch, attaching the three foot plus long barrel to a consol that switched between anti-personnel, and anti-material on the fly. Gravity stabilizers locked the mechanisms in place, and a series of scope glasses, akin to the pre war mechanisms used for judging ones eye strength, appeared in front of the scope.

Their application ranges from locating electromagnetic disturbances to thermal hear, even the absence of heat. A second scope, fitted with the same enhancements as the first was slid into its docking port.

It was a personal request, one that was useless on most sniper rigs, and probably more at home in a virtual game then a snatch and grab operation. Most was the key word here. Makorai wasn't 'most' snipers, and his ability to use both his right and left as master eyes, independent of the others, made this fantasy rig deadly in his hands.

More deadly then his companion sniper perhaps, has he'd strapped a series of lethal rounds to his inner thigh.

Dangerous thing to be shooting live rounds into a crowd, but in his mind? He was a bit separate from the rest.

Not cocky.

Confident.

"Arguably handsome reporting in, over."