Or Die Alone - Remastered

As the man's body dropped to the floor, Boyd saw the crime boss standing in the doorway ahead, his eyes wide. The round had passed through its target, impacting the far wall, leaving a smoking crater an arm's breadth from his head.

The pair stared each other down for a moment, the air above the rifle's magnetic coils shimmering as they cooled, the sound of Boyd's labored breathing filling his hood. He swung the rifle up towards the man, but he was already leaping behind the wall, out of view. Boyd cursed under his breath, rising to his feet, still a little unsteady from the blow to his face. He checked the counter on the little LCD display mounted above the rifle's receiver, seeing that he had twenty-six slugs left. The body of the PDF trooper lying beside him had a chest rig packed with spare magazines, like he was expecting to fight off a goddamned invasion. The weapon was nothing more than an expensive toy to people like him - a chance to look cool and feel powerful.

He stooped to recover one of the magazines, then tapped at the touch panel that was built into the forearm of his suit, activating a series of electromagnets embedded in the chest area. They snatched the mag from his hand when he brought it close, letting the suit act as a rig in a pinch. With a second magazine hanging off his torso, he felt more confident, turning back to the door just in time to see a procession of PDF troopers come rushing through.

"I want that fucking Ninnie dead!" he heard the boss yell from somewhere behind them, his calm demeanor forgotten. "Bring me his fucking head!"

Eight of the men spread out into the warehouse, their weapons already leveled, Boyd darting for the nearest row of shelves as they began to fire. The chatter of automatic weapons filled the room, the rounds punching through the containers above him as he ducked low, showering him with concrete mix and fertilizer. Those weren't XMRs - they sounded like machine pistols firing caseless rounds - older tech that the PDF garrisons would have in spades. They were still lethal, the large volume of inaccurate fire forcing Boyd to the ground. He rolled onto his side, glancing beneath the rows of shelves that stood between him and his assailants, seeing several pairs of boots.

He took careful aim, then pulled the trigger, one of the men dropping into view with a gaping hole in his chest. The railgun could fire through the obstacles like they weren't even there, another burst sending the troopers scattering. Even with only the most basic training, the troopers knew to leverage their numerical advantage, a couple of them laying down suppressive fire while the rest moved deeper into the warehouse. He had to stay mobile, or they'd get a bead on him. His suit could do many things, but stopping a bullet wasn't one of them.

Boyd scrambled to his feet, ducking as the shooters peppered the shelves around him with bullets. They seemed to have no real idea where he was, so they were just shooting randomly, hoping to keep him pinned.

He took a moment to examine his surroundings, his eyes darting around through the flexible visor on his hood. The warehouse was a large one, the ceiling rising high above his head, the skylights letting in harsh sunlight that was tinted orange by the sand that caked them. It was likely being used to store building materials and tools for the colony based on the cement mix that dusted the shoulders of his suit and the pallets stacked high with crates ready to be loaded onto trucks. Most of the floor space was taken up by the shelves, which reached almost to the ceiling, the space between them just large enough that a forklift could fit through. He had to use the environment to his advantage, or they were just going to flush him out.

He heard footsteps nearing, his suit's software increasing the gain, helping him pick out the subtle sounds. Slowly, he crept closer to the shelf that he was using as cover, peering between two of the crates. One of the PDF troopers was a couple of aisles away, sweeping the area with his machine pistol as he searched, crunching the spilled packing peanuts underfoot.

Boyd leveled his XMR, taking careful aim, staying as silent as a hunter sighting a deer. He pulled the trigger, the butt of the rifle rocking into his shoulder, the slug cutting through the boxes between him and his target like they weren't even there. The hypervelocity round impacted the crate beside the trooper, hitting something harder than foam - maybe some piece of industrial machinery or a shipment of tools. It turned whatever was inside the box into a spray of molten shrapnel, lifting his target off his feet like he had been hit by a grenade, tossing him against the adjacent shelves.

As the man's lifeless body was buried in an avalanche of crates, his comrades came running towards the source of the noise, shouting threats and egging each other on. Another hail of inaccurate fire shredded some of the boxes to Boyd's left, sending tattered paper and fragments of polymer spraying, but they didn't know where he was. Again, he took aim, loosing a three-round burst that caught the lead man in the chest. The rounds blew fist-sized holes in his torso, imparting enough kinetic energy to throw him to the concrete like he'd been hit by a truck. The tungsten slugs overpenetrated, one of them tearing into the arm of the man who was standing directly behind him, almost severing the limb. Blood sprayed the nearby containers, the man's scream muffled by his helmet as he dropped his weapon, reaching for the arm as it hung by a thread of torn flesh.

The four remaining troopers pressed on, one of them laying down covering fire while the rest rushed towards Boyd's hiding place. He was forced to relocate, ducking low again as the rounds whizzed over his head, puffs of shimmering dust from a shipment of sintering powder filling the air. He made for the far end of his aisle, but as he neared, one of the goons beat him to the punch. He stepped around the corner, right into Boyd's path, swinging his machine pistol towards the approaching agent in alarm. Boyd didn't even flinch, barreling into him, sending the burst of gunfire wide. The two men grappled for a moment, Boyd grabbing the man's weapon, keeping it aimed away from him. The PDF trooper tried to do the same, letting out a yell of surprise and pain as he wrapped his hand around the XMR's exposed coils, the hot metal burning straight through his glove.

Boyd took advantage of the distraction to wrest the machine pistol from his other hand, sending it clattering to the concrete, wrapping his arm around the man's neck as he got behind him. The trooper struggled, grasping at Boyd's forearm, but he had him in a solid headlock. Two of his comrades came rushing into view at the other end of the aisle, Boyd leaning the barrel of his XMR on his hostage's shoulder.

The pair hesitated just long enough for him to fire, Boyd filling the aisle with tungsten, the slugs tearing through the two troopers. As they slumped to the floor, he kicked his hostage in the back of the leg, forcing him to his knees before dumping two rounds into the back of his helmet.

Before he could get his bearings, he heard the sound of metal on concrete, glancing down to see a ball-shaped object rolling towards him. It began to disgorge an obscuring cloud of white gas, the substance jetting into the air, quickly filling the aisle's narrow space. It was CS gas - used by the PDF for riot control. His hood would protect him from the debilitating effects of the aerosol, but he couldn't see three feet in front of him.

He began to move, and just in time, the chatter of automatic fire ringing out. His assailants hosed the aisle, the bullets sparking off the concrete and spilling more packing peanuts, Boyd throwing himself to the ground. He pulled the limp body of the PDF trooper up by the straps on its chest rig, putting it between him and the shooter, feeling the corpse shudder as the rounds slammed into its back.

Through the swirling smoke, two more figures walked into view. One of them was holding a riot shield, while the other was advancing behind him with another machine pistol, a hand on his shoulder. As they approached his hiding place, Boyd lifted his rifle over the body, dumping the rest of his magazine into the pair. As the man with the machine pistol fell, Boyd swung the barrel towards the second, but heard an empty click. He ejected the spent magazine, rolling onto his back as he reached frantically for a spare, tugging it free of the electromagnets that secured it to his chest.

The remaining PDF trooper let out a yell, raising the riot shield above his head and bringing it down towards Boyd. The agent was forced to roll out of the way, its edge slamming down on the floor where he'd been lying a moment prior. As he climbed to his feet, his opponent knocked the XMR out of his hand with a swipe of his shield, sending him stumbling back a few paces.

The two began to square off, the CS gas starting to clear now. The trooper produced an extensible baton, shaking it to full length with a click, starting to advance with his shield raised defensively. Boyd backed up, frantically looking around for something that he could use. The man was between him and all of the discarded weapons now. He settled on a sack of concrete mix that was sitting on a pallet on a nearby shelf, dragging it down, gripping one end as he prepared to swing it. The trooper weathered the blow as Boyd slammed it into his shield, the weight enough to force him back a few steps, the bag erupting into a spray of grey powder.

Boyd took advantage to step in, dropping low, sweeping the man's feet out from under him with a kick. The trooper fell on his back, the heavy shield that was strapped to his arm weighing him down enough that getting back up was a struggle. Boyd leapt over him, warding off a few strikes from the baton, diving for the nearest machine pistol that was lying on the ground. He rolled over, aiming it at his opponent just as he managed to climb to his feet, squeezing the trigger. Muzzle flash illuminated the shelves as he unloaded, the man ducking behind his shield, the rounds slamming into the translucent material to leave spiderweb-like cracks. It was bulletproof - the trooper rushing down the aisle towards him.

From his prone position, Boyd took careful aim, then put a solitary round through the man's boot. He fell, yelling into his helmet, dropping his baton as he reached for his injured foot. Boyd put the next two rounds into his chest, and the trooper lay still, Boyd gripping a nearby shelf for support as he pulled himself upright. After tossing the empty pistol, he searched for the XMR, retrieving it and loading a fresh magazine. A sudden yell echoed from somewhere on the other side of the warehouse. They were sending more goons in after him. If he stuck around much longer, he'd have to fight the entire PDF garrison. With his rifle in hand, he retreated in the opposite direction, leaving the carnage behind. At the far end of the building was another exit - he could see sunlight bleeding in through the open doors.

He ran out into the open air, his visor dimming automatically to protect his eyes from the harsh sunlight. There were no troopers out here waiting for him, no vehicles. They must have assumed that he was still inside the warehouse, preparing to stage his last stand. He could make out the silhouettes of structures in the distance, just visible through the blowing sand. Wherever they had brought him, it was on the outskirts of a settlement. There was ample cover ahead - sand dunes that had begun to form around industrial machinery and stacks of raw materials forming a kind of maze. He disappeared between a half-buried bulldozer and a pallet of steel girders, shielded temporarily from the howling wind that muffled the shouts of the men behind him.

CHAPTER 2: PLAUSIBLE DENIABILITY

Boyd slipped into an alley between two prefabs, leaning against the nearest wall as he caught his breath. He was wrapped in a long cloak that he had bought for a few plastic tokens from one of the market stalls, the garment obscuring the telltale blues and greys of his environment suit, its frayed hem whipping in the wind. Slowly, he crept out of the shadows, scanning the dusty street beyond for threats. PDF patrols in teams of three or four were moving between the groups of civilians, stopping people every now and then to check their identities. They were clearly searching for him, likely following the orders of the Syndicate. Was the entire organization in their pocket?

After escaping the warehouse, he had found himself in a port town - the largest settlement on the planet. There were a hundred little pockets of civilization spread out all over Hades, usually situated close to specific mining operations and mineral processing sites, but all of the planet's cargo came through here. It was where supplies were shipped in and where the refined ore was shipped out, so it made sense for the warehouses to be close by. Unfortunately, it was also the most secure settlement on the planet and likely where the largest PDF garrison was located.

Boyd felt naked without his rifle, but he'd had to ditch it. The weapon was far too large and conspicuous to conceal. His only defense now was stealth. He had to find a way off-planet so that he could get a message to UNNI. Hades had an FTL comms satellite like all colonies did, but it was owned and operated by ExoCorp, meaning that he had no way to transmit data without blowing his cover. If he tried to contact the corp for help, there was no guarantee that they wouldn't just make him disappear and try to deal with the Syndicate themselves, rather than risk having their dirty laundry aired for the whole sphere to see. If he tried to slip an encrypted message into the satellite's comms buffer, there was no way to estimate when it would actually be transmitted, as corporate communiques would have the highest priority with the limited bandwidth available. No, his only option was to physically leave the colony, and he was starting to formulate a plan.

Towering above the dusty landscape, gradually vanishing into the blue haze, was the orbital tether. The structure was designed for carrying large payloads of cargo to and from the planet's surface, as it was cheaper in the long run than having haulers burning fuel with every trip. It was a big investment on the part of the company, to be sure, but it had probably already paid for itself. It resembled a large strand of black cable that was several meters in diameter, anchored to the ground by a skeletal, ring-shaped structure that dwarfed the surrounding clusters of prefabs and industrial buildings. Massive jump freighters like the one that the Syndicate had raided would dock at the space station that served as its counterbalance, loading and unloading cargo that would then be ferried up and down the elevator. As he watched, a massive crawler began to rise up the length of the cable, slowly picking up speed as it went.

The tether wasn't his objective, however. Boyd was more interested in the civilian ships that would be sitting on the landing pads that surrounded the anchor. If he could barter for safe passage with an independent trader or just stow away in someone's cargo hold, he'd be out of the Syndicate's reach.

He waited for the nearest pack of PDF troopers to move on, then shrouded himself in his cloak, heading out into the crowd. With the tattered garment covering him, he was indistinguishable from the locals, and he would be safe as long as he was wary of the patrols. Sticking to back alleys and large throngs of colonists as best he could manage, he gradually made his way towards the port, guided by the oppressive tether that loomed over the settlement.

When he eventually arrived, he found that the compound was separated from the surrounding prefabs by a large concrete wall made from interlocking segments. There was an entrance for pedestrians that was guarded by a pair of men with caseless rifles slung over their chests. They weren't PDF - they looked like corporate security, dressed in the same shades of black and yellow as the logos that adorned all of the cargo containers. Corporate enforcers were nothing to trifle with - especially ones that were posted on backwaters like Hades. They were better armed than the PDF and far more competent, dressed to intimidate with their faceless helmets and bulletproof armor.

They were stopping people at the gate, asking for ID by the look of things, managing the slow trickle of colonists that came in and out. Boyd reached for his pocket reflexively, but found it empty. If he'd still had his wallet on hand, he could have used its onboard computer to generate a fake ID that would likely have gotten him through the checkpoint, but the goons had taken it. There was no way he was slipping past those guys - he had to find another way in.

The sound of an engine drew his attention, and he watched as a large truck trundled into view some distance to his left, emerging from a dusty road that led deeper into the settlement. It was a bulky, rugged design intended for use on colonies that lacked proper roads, built more like a piece of heavy industrial equipment than anything that belonged on a highway. The cab was raised high off the ground to give the driver better visibility, and its eight wheels were each as tall as a man, sporting honeycomb tires to prevent flats. On its bed was a cargo container that was likely filled with refined ore ready to be sent up the tether. As he watched, it drove up to the wall some two hundred meters away, a far larger gate opening automatically to let it pass.

That was his way inside...

Boyd made his way through the dusty streets, eventually arriving at the dirt road where the trucks were coming through. He waited, biding his time in an alley until another shipment came along, checking the display on his wrist to see that approximately fifteen minutes had elapsed. This truck was much like the first - the same heavy, industrial design. He examined it as it trundled past, feeling it shake the ground, its chunky wheels kicking up clouds of dust. The container on its flatbed was completely sealed, likely prepped to load directly onto the cars that ran up and down the tether. There was no way to smuggle himself inside, so a more creative solution would be required.

Once it had passed through the automatic gate, he turned to the nearest prefab, examining it for a moment. His plan formulated, he hauled himself up onto the roof, using a shaky air conditioning unit that jutted from the wall as a foothold. He kept low so as to avoid attention, creeping over to a satellite dish that rose three or four feet into the air, a common feature in the settlements. It was bolted to the roof, but the device wasn't exactly sturdy, a few hard yanks breaking its support. Boyd checked his display to ensure that he had enough time to get ready, then tossed the broken satellite dish into the road below. It made for a small obstacle, but one that would hopefully give the next driver pause. It was windy enough that a fallen satellite dish likely wouldn't raise suspicion.

Slowly, he crept back down to ground level, lurking in the shadow of an alley as he waited. After a few more minutes, he was greeted with the sound of another engine, the next shipment driving into view. It passed his hiding spot, then ground to a halt, its brakes squealing. The door on the raised cab swung open, and a man wearing yellow overalls hopped out, climbing down a small ladder. As he appraised the fallen dish, Boyd made his move, sneaking out of cover. He ducked low, making for the rear of the truck, dipping beneath its bulky chassis. Its large wheels raised it a good couple of feet off the ground, giving him enough space to move around at a crouch. He glanced up, seeing the vehicle's drive train above him. Much of it was covered by a tough casing that shielded the machinery from the harsh environment, but there were handholds enough to serve his purpose. Spurred on by the sound of the driver dragging the debris out of the road, he climbed up, securing himself beneath the truck. It was already uncomfortable, but he only had to hang on for a few minutes at most.