Jett stepped into another abandoned station, this one marked in bizarre runes and tribal designs. Faded banners fluttered from the ceiling, and torches hung in sconces, illuminating the chamber. A large staked heart was painted on the entranceway of the station depot. A crowd of men and women turned from warming themselves over the flames from a large metal trash can. All of them had their heads shaved to a v-shaved crest and sported black bandanas tied around their arms with the Diabolis emblem proudly displayed. Upon spotting Jett, they swaggered forward, brandishing assorted stabbing and bludgeoning weapons.
"What we got here?"
"Someone lost."
"Yeah, major lutz. Gonna pay, though."
"Big mistake, cabron."
Jett unslung the railgun from over his shoulder and aimed it. "The only mistake tonight is not getting out of the way." He took advantage of their momentary confusion to pull the trigger, scoring a direct hit on the trash can. Fire exploded, showering over the panicked toughs. They screamed and yelled, beating at the flames.
Jett sprang into action.
No need to waste power reserves. The powered lead in his gloves made his punches more damaging, and the butt of his railgun made for an excellent melee weapon. He struck in quick succession, making the most of his combat training to weave and spin from one combatant to the next, putting power into his punches and kicks.
He slammed his boot into a tough's knee, then bashed him in the face with the rifle butt. Spinning way, he dodged a clumsy jab and counterattacked with a flurry of chest shots and a brutal uppercut. Someone tried to cut him with a long dagger. The coat's fabric sliced open, exposing the armor that took the brunt of the stab. Jett grabbed the wrist, snapped it, and head-butted the attacker, dropping him to the gravelly ground.
A tattoo-faced woman whipped out a semi-automatic and aimed. Jett activated the magnetic tow with a snap of his wrist, snatching the gun from her hand. He disengaged the magazine and hurled it back, striking her right between her eyes.
The toughs closed in, wild in fear and desperation. Shout and screams of pain rang in the air. Jett's armor absorbed punches and dull impacts while he dealt out punishing damage in close quarter combat. From one to the next, he struck, twisted, dodged, and struck some more. His chest was on fire from the effort, his body slicked with sweat.
Inside the helmet, a fierce grin widened across his face.
The last man standing uttered a wordless shriek and ran for the stairs. Jett waited until the tough nearly made it to the top before firing a thin cable, wrapping the man's legs up. He tripped and rolled back down, groaning when he landed at Jett's feet. Jett finished him with a casual electric blast.
The doors to the station compound hissed open. A large silhouette filled the entranceway.
"Looks like you got your workout," a deep voice rumbled. "Now I'm gonna get mine."
Jett stared at the brute that stomped down the stairs. He was sharply dressed in a custom pinstriped suit with a fedora tilted on his massive head. His face was a cruel mockery, consisting mostly of jutting forehead and snarling mouth. Dark eyes glimmered somewhere under the shade of his brow. His skin was the color and texture of rust, giving him the appearance of an old metallic statue come to life. But what most shocked Jett was the man's size. At least eight feet tall, with massive bulk in addition to his height. He looked to be around five-hundred pounds of heavy muscle. He glammed a beefy fist into his palm with a sound like a thunderclap and grinned with gleaming-white, unevenly spaced teeth.
"The name's Joe Blow. I'd tell you to remember it, but you won't be able to after I'm done."
Leaping from the stairs with the agility of a much smaller man, he sailed through the air with a bellowing roar. Jett rolled to the side as the giant landed. The ground shuddered from the impact. Jett sprang back to his feet, g-spans glowing. Joe Blow was a massive blurred shadow, rushing with shocking speed. A fist larger than Jett's head shot forward, striking him the force of a runaway car collision.
Pain exploded, so intense it was bright, nearly blinding him. He was weightless for a frantic second, flying across the pile of bodies he had just left behind. When he struck the ground, he skipped across the broken concrete before falling over the edge of the station back onto the tracks.
The world flickered on and off. He groaned, shaking his head as he tried to rise. Something in his chest felt broken. Every breath stabbed his lungs like daggers. Warning lights flashed inside of his helmet. Proto's voice blared like a shout in his ringing ears.
"I can't gauge the exact amount of damage without a complete set of armor components, but I estimate you might have suffered a number of contusions and cracked or fractured ribs from that blow. Evasive maneuvers recommended."
Jett coughed, wincing from the agony. "Yeah. No kidding."
Something massive landed on the tracks. A towering shadow loomed over him, laughing like rumbling thunder.
Jett gritted his teeth. "Proto, give me everything you got into the spanner pulse blasters."
"Charged and ready."
Joe Blow's enormous hand reached out, seized Jett by the coat and hoisted him with ease. "Not out yet? Good. I'm not even warmed up." His fist drew back, clenching muscles so tight that his shoulder busted out the seams of his suit with a ragged tearing sound.
Jett fired pulse blasts from both gauntlets directly into Joe Blow's chest. The air flashed with brilliant blue light, the scent of burning fabric fouled the air. Jett gritted his teeth and discharged the blasters until his reserves were spent.
The smoke dissipated, revealing Joe Blow's soot-stained, hideous face. A large hole sizzled in his suit, exposing his muscled chest. The only visible damage was a reddish-black bruise from the force of the blast. He glanced down and grunted.
Then he looked up and grinned, displaying a massive set of clean white teeth.
"Thanks. I had an itch right there."
He followed the statement with an uppercut that knocked Jett completely off his feet. He landed on his back a dozen yards away. Joe Blow's fedora flew off his hairless head when he jumped, clearing the distance and delivering a kick to Jett's midsection that sent him skidding across the gravel. He barely felt it. Pain was everywhere, a cocoon of torment stabbing like barbed spikes from his head to his toes.
Joe Blow stalked over, every step shaking the ground. "That's for ruining my suit. You know how much I gotta pay to get 'em made? Here's a clue: they ain't cheap." He scooped Jett off the ground like a child might do a broken toy. "And this is for trespassing and beating up my crew."
His thunderous punch exploded against Jett's helmet. A sound like a massive gong reverberated inside Jett's head. His vision blurred; three angry Joes pummeled him with six enormous fists. Jett could only wrap his arms around his head and curl into a ball, praying for oblivion to claim him.
This must be how Freddy Flava felt when I was kicking his ass. The random thought was suddenly hilarious. He tried to laugh but bit his tongue as another vicious blow rocked him. Reality faltered, flickering in between worlds. A dead woman's voice whispered to him.
"Jett…"
He followed the warbling voice, shoving away a blazing section of collapsed ceiling. Tatsu lay underneath. Her helmet was shattered, revealing her face. It was the only part of her that wasn't shredded by the explosion.
Jett's mind refocused when a piercing shriek nearly split his eardrums. His helmet receivers partially muffled the sound, but the auto-dampening mechanism was damaged by Joe Blow's damaging punches.