The sky has been blacked out. The rivers—as well as the entire Baltic—froze. Fission material was confiscated by the USSR even before the Nuclear Winter had set in. Only coal remained, and Warsaw was the city of soot. The city wasn't dying. It had died many years ago. All the buildings—the cultural sites, royal palaces, old city squares—were recreations of Warsaw before it was flattened during World War 2 and then again during the land invasion of the Pact in 1983.
“Come on…” Seba fidgeted with the bright red cable, plugging and unplugging it over and over into the wall socket on the waiting room wall.
“Trying to access TULIPAN? From here?” Ewa leaned forward in her chair, resting her head on her arm while staring at the frost building up on the bulletproof window.
"Yes, from here,” Seba grunted in frustration, his breath visible in the frigid air. In this city, heat was a currency. It seemed like Rüstungszentrale didn’t want to invest in them. “If I can just get a signal through this grid..." There came the tactile clicking of his hand-computer as the man input each button with malice.
“Doesn’t Eurokommissariat block stuff like that out?” Brushing past its plastic frame, she felt the contours of her own hand-computer in her pocket. Seeing Seba at least try using one was the only reason she hadn’t interfered yet.
“Well,” defeated, he pulled back, securing the device into the pocket of his trenchcoat. “We aren’t in the Kommissariat territory yet, are we? Probably just busted.” Sure, the district of Bielany might have bordered the western city where the ex-EEC military had set up long after the war was over, but it was still considered part of Warsaw proper. This is why you saw Citizen’s Militia members patrolling it—or at least you would, if they weren’t on West-German Cartel turf.
The Rüstungszentrale: Warsaw’s main provider of weapons, and their contact. Even getting there, they saw an old Bundeswehr mecha patrolling the area around their headquarters.
This actually did remind Ewa of something. “Are you going to keep driving around in Kabura?”
“What?” Seba quickly turned towards her, lowering his eyelids. “Yes, why wouldn't I?”
“We’re getting paid in foreign currencies, aren’t we?” A smirk appeared on her lips. “Heard there was a big shipment coming through the Mediterranean recently. Sooner or later, the goods will be on the black market.” With Gdańsk—as well as the entire coast—abandoned due to the falling temperatures, most imports now travel through the south.
Seba already knew where this was going. “Kabura is a perfectly fine chassis,” he objected, sitting back by her side.
“The hull is literally just a single-cast sloped into the shape of an armor,” Ewa clasped her hands together. “Why don’t you get something modern, like Jopek?”
“That ‘single-cast’ was used all throughout the Arctic Circle War.”
“That was 30 years ago,” she lifted her head. “So you admit it’s outdated,”
“It’s reliable,” he corrected. “Not like that flimsy Czech frame you drive around in.”
“Oh, dear Seba,” Ewa beamed. “The best defense isn’t made from layers of steel. The best defense is simply avoiding your opponent's attacks.” Being less than half the height of Kabura and eight of its weight, Jopek was certainly agile.
“What an idea!” The man made a face of faux Eurika. “Just don’t get hit! Why didn’t I think of that?” Pressing his lips together, Seba exhaled sharply through his nose. “Oh no, I am not getting into an argument with you again,” he said—even though it was far too late. “It’s like when you tried to convince me chestnuts are a fruit.”
“If you think about it, they are-” Before Ewa could even begin her counter-rant, a bright red light above the metal door gave a sharp, lo-fi yelp.
“Just don’t try speaking German again,” he squeezed out as they headed into the cabinet.
“Natürlich,” Ewa winkend.
The metal door creaked open, revealing a stark, utilitarian office. The walls were lined with steel panels; the only decoration was a faded map of pre-war Europe. They expected to brace themselves for the wave of warm air which never came, with the only heat coming from a desk-computer imported from Japan. A red cable was connected to another wall socket—this one in a much better condition.
"Konarski,” she pointed her pen at Seba, quickly flicking it over to Ewa, “and Curuś.” Behind a metal desk, under a dim light, sat a muscular, severe-looking woman in a feldgrau uniform staring at its screen. So this was Amelie Frei, huh? It certainly matched her description. Her black hair was cut that way for convenience rather than any semblance of style—her blue eyes almost unnaturally bright. Rüstungszentrale always fancied themselves as businessmen rather than smugglers, so it’s not like either of them expected some kind of street gangster. Still, it reminded Seba too much of the military. “There is a shipment we’ll need you to intercept,” she slid a self-decaying sheet over to the pair. A chemical reaction between the ink and the paper began as soon as they were removed from the plastic and exposed to oxygen. In a few hours, nothing would remain: no paper trail, no evidence. “Expect resistance.”
“And the payment is in Deutsche Mark, right?” Ewa at least attempted to pronounce it correctly. She leaned in—placing her palms on the desk much to the officer’s dismay.
Amelie stared at the woman until she finally removed herself. “Marks, Dollars, Franks, Yen—whatever you want,” It wasn’t so much a matter of her wanting to cater to the needs of these two mercs, but more so a show of power.
“Any reason why you’re not sending your guys?” Seba pointed out. Although the shutters were closed, he could still see the shape of something large moving on the other side. Ewa immediately began staring at him as if he were an idiot. Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake, isn’t that what Bonaparte said? But Rüstungszentrale does not make mistakes—not ones like this.
“Eastern bank,” she tapped the pen against her screen, not a care in the world that they couldn't see what she was pointing at. “Russian and Romanian territory. We don’t need this kind of heat.”
“Either way, mecha will still be involved,” Ewa spoke up again—not allowing Seba to get one over on her. “What about the citizen's militia? Wouldn’t we need some distraction?”
“You expect ZOMO to swoop in? For a little gang scuffle?” Trying to determine if that woman was sneering was like those images asking you to find a minute difference between two versions of the same scene. “You’re both registered as party loyalists, so they’ll not question your chassis license. And if you kill some gangsters, you’re just doing the militia a favor, no? Worker’s strike in Wola. Curfew has been moved to 8 pm.” Amelia looked up for the first time. “Is that enough of a distraction?”
So the rumors were true. She pretty much said exactly what he wanted to hear. “We’ll take it,” Seba confirmed, extending his hand. After a few seconds without a handshake, he moved it back.
They left, passing through the black gates of the Rüstungszentrale warehouse.
“Let’s get this over with,” Ewa said, revealing her piloting gear as the cold wind cut their skin like many small pieces of shrapnel. Underneath her heavy fur coat, she wore a pair of jeans she had gotten from the black market worth half of what the average pole earns in a month as well as a bluish bolero jacket against a red shirt. “I want to get hot dogs.”
“Hot dogs?” Seba eyed Ewa’s piloting gear—a mix of practicality and flashiness that somehow fit her perfectly. The only thing he could really complain about was her puffy blonde hair, but it did fit at least into the chassis. His own attire was more subdued: an old field jacket draped over with a shoulder cape.
“Yeah, the ones from that stand at Śródmieście. They still have them,” Ewa replied, her eyes lighting up. As much as he hated the fact that she was thinking about food before a mission, he also sparked at the thought of eating something warm.
Inside his machine, Seba observed each plume of smoke as the lights around him flickered to life. It was going to get warmer—he knew it. Once the natural gas engines began working overtime (oil was too expensive), the cockpit even became unbearable and forced the man to vent the excess heat, revealing few of the only weak points of Kabura. Ewa’s frame instead operated on compressed air and was much less insulated, meaning that she had to find other ways of keeping warm.
“The receiver is still working on that thing?” Ewa’s voice called out in his ear—her way of doing a communication check. Since they typically fought at short distances, they didn’t need to go through the TULIPAN mesh network and relied on infrared waves.
“Yes, it is,” Seba shook his head, feeling the weight of the headphones. Right above him was a portable micro-computer small enough to be integrated into the dashboard. Through the slit, he saw what constituted Jopek's head turning towards him. Of course, she wasn’t looking at him per se, but rather squinting at her own micro-computer which translated the outside world into pure data. Both their mecha were vaguely humanoid, but Seba was the only one driving his. Ewa wore the chassis like a suit of armor—a filament sword clasped in its hand.
“Target ahead,” Seba announced, flicking a few switches above his head. “Convoy plus two escorts. In case we need to chase it, I am counting on you.” They were traveling on the eastern bank of the Vistula, meaning that their escape routes were limited if the goal really was the Russian territory in Wawer.
“Can’t keep up, huh?” Ewa placed her hands on her hips. With how closely she and Jopek were integrated, he could even see her emoting while inside its frame.
“No,” pulling on the lever, Seba watched as a new magazine was loaded into the arm-mounted AK-95. “I just don’t want to destroy the cargo.”
The convoy moved slowly through the frost-covered terrain, its armored vehicles appearing as dark, lumbering shapes against the white expanse. Between them, the quadrupedal carrier balanced itself on its thin legs—the backward-facing knees making them appear dog-like.
Playing his role like a highwayman demanding ransom, Kabura walked onto the street in front of them. Gunfire echoed through the frozen landscape as it unleashed a barrage of bullets. The leading vehicle sputtered to a halt—smoke billowing from its damaged engines as its armor sparked white.
Looking through the slit, Seba expected the quadrupedal carrier to yield like a battered puppy. Instead—tucking its legs in—it leaped over Kabura, landing on the other side and clearing the line of sight. The second escort—more heavily armored than anticipated—unleashed its machine gun. His sensors screamed warnings as a volley was directed at his body, sending chunks of ice and dirt into the air. The bullets pounded against the single-bulk like a swarm of angry hornets hitting against the windshield. He aimed his AK-95 at the escort’s weak points, but the vehicle was hiding them—using the body of its fallen comrade as cover.
Jopek readied its handle. A steel filament—literally a few atoms wide—was held where the blade should be by a magnetic field, forming an invisible sword. The only thing you could see was the occasional glints as the chassis boosted toward the machine giving Kabura trouble. With one swift motion, it slashed its limbs, sending the black frame toppling over.
“Go.” Seba watched as Jopek darted between the legs of his mecha. Lowing his gun, the man performed yet another execution. “I’ll follow the riverbank in case they send reinforcements.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ve got it.” Jopek flicked its wrist, letting Seba know that its pilot had it under control. The 4-legged transport was quick, but Ewa was quicker. It soon caught up, readying its sword. Her micro-computer informed her that the enemy was preparing to jump across the river bank. She could not allow that.
Using another boost of her dwindling compressed gas reserves, Ewa slashed the hydraulics. Instead of a majestic leap, the transporter plummeted onto the frozen Vistula. Its momentum meant that the rectangular body kept moving south-east. The amputated stumps offered some leverage as the pilot began navigating the frozen lake, using what remained as a sled which kept accelerating south.
“Cholera jasna!” Ewa cursed through clenched teeth. The rest of them were pretty standard black chassis focused on anti-infantry modifications emblematic of the Russian Mafias. But this? It looked more like an American mech than a USSR one—especially with the whole quadrupedal design.
“What—What’s going on?” He wanted a report.
"Minor setback," she responded, shaking her head. "Before you ask: it’s still in one piece."
Seba clicked his tongue. “Keep them pinned.”
“Oh, they’re not going anywhere.” She whispered—more so to herself.
Jopek’s feet ended in sharp points, meaning that she could use them to skate after it. Just as she was about to jump onto the ice, the transporter’s top hatch opened, and a figure wielding a shoulder-mounted rocket launcher emerged. Ewa was forced to veer sharply, narrowly avoiding the missile that destroyed what was once an automobile factory. Cracks appeared in the ice, but the Visuala was literally frozen solid, and the transporter had a large surface area. It would take a lot more to get to the actual water—if there still was any.
Before the smoke even cleared, the reinforcement arrived—another black chassis. It boosted against the Jopek, using its shoulder-mounted hexagonal shield as a battering ram. Ewa tried to dodge it, but the compressed gas canister was empty after that last stunt. Just as it began reloading, she felt the visceral sensation of her organs moving around and her teeth cluttering as Jopek was sent flying onto the Vistula.
Trying to use the filament blade to get a grip was utterly useless; it just cut straight through the ice like a diamond on glass. Ewa could only watch as the impact carried her all the way to the middle of the river. Her only saving grace was that the makeshift sled was quickly losing momentum.
As she approached, the figure inside the hatch frantically reloaded the rocket launcher. With a burst of compressed air, she lunged forward. The blade severed his spine and abdomen, dropping the torso onto the frozen surface like loose baggage as his lower half slumped onto the transport. It was a neat cut.
Now that the cargo was secured, Ewa glanced back towards the battle raging on the riverbank. Seba was holding his own against the reinforcements—his Kabura trading blows with the enemy mechs. But she could see that he was starting to become overwhelmed.
From within, the man felt strands of sweat gliding down his forehead as the machine was pushed to its limit. Inside, the air became thin—even touching the controls was painful, but he knew that trying to vent heat now was a death sentence. The enemy continued trying to aim for loose panels just to find that there were none.
Before Ewa could act, she heard the sound of something pressing against the sides of the legless transporter. Another mech? She had to be ready. As Jopek stabilized itself on the ice, the transporter’s top hatch flew open again. This time, it wasn’t a rocket-wielding enemy that emerged, but a Nekomimi—her ears twitching as she looked around. At least Ewa imagined that she was looking around. It was impossible to tell with her short messy black hair covering both of her eyes.
Ewa squinted, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. A low hum resonated through the air, growing louder with each passing second. The cat girl’s body began to shimmer and distort as if she were being viewed through a heat haze. Hydrogen. Oxygen. Carbon. Other trace gasses. The atmosphere had all the elements that her body needed to grow—to expand.
The chassis cracked like an aluminum can put under pressure as the giantess inhaled deeply—her lungs drawing in the frigid air around her and creating a warm vacuum. The thick ice melted and shattered under her weight as the Neko made an effort to stand upright—stretching her sore arms with a purr and displaying her naked, pear-shaped body for all to see. By her estimate, the woman was about twice Jopek's height. Ergo, she was about the same height as Kabura—well over 20 feet tall.
The giantess's eyes seemed to lock onto Jopek with an almost predatory intensity. She mumbled something in a foreign language, lifting the remains of the quadrupedal transporter as if it were a cardboard box. Ewa watched her spinning around before lounging it like an asymmetric flying disc at the shore. It impacted against the side of one of the enemy mecha, pinning the half-functioning joints under metal and rubble.
The second—the one which continued pressing against Kabura—pulled back.
Violently slumming a new magazine into his light machine gun, the enemy frame now focused on the giantess. Seba winced, already expecting chunks of flesh to be blown from her body, but they just bounced off. Matching its appearance, her pale skin seemed to have the durability of ballistic ceramics. It might leave a bruise, sure, but a slab of meat should have gotten obliterated by this kind of caliber.
Lunging at the annoyance, the man watched her wrap her arms around the waist of the black chassis. He had seen mecha clashing in person and cartridge movies, but this wasn't a battle. It was a wrestling match. With a grunt of exertion, the Neko’s muscles bulged as she heaved the black chassis over her shoulder, slamming it into the ice with a deafening crack. The hydraulic legs flailed wildly before its head and upper torso were driven into the frozen river, shattering the ice and sending shards flying in all directions.
There was a moment of silence, with the only movement being the giantess wiping liters-worth of drool from her puffy lips. Neither Seba nor Ewa were in a mood to give orders. Were they supposed to knock her out? Kabura’s olive-colored hull already had its stomach panel forced open—bright red cables spilling out like guts and letting cold air blow through the scalding inside. Jopek wasn’t in any better position to fight. One of its limbs hung by the side of the mech’s body like an arm with its nerve roots plucked out.
The giantess turned her head towards Seba and then Ewa—the motion slow and deliberate. Her lips parted slightly, but no words came out. Instead, she tilted her head as the same shimmer overcame her. This time, however, they saw her becoming compressed, letting out an endothermic explosion that turned the air around her into snow.
Seba jumped out of his half-destroyed hatch, cautiously approaching the once-titan. Petals of snow danced around him as he walked into the carcass of the transporter that the cat girl had thrown here. There was nothing else inside—just a naked 4-foot-tall woman. She was the weapon Rüstungszentrale sent them here to retrieve.
The stranger didn’t shiver as frozen petals fell onto her messy black hair, making the man wonder if this thing was even alive. The air around her seemed almost supernaturally quiet as if the little bubble of thinning snow separated her from the world.
THUD. Toppling over like a mannequin, Seba rushed forward. She was so small and light, forcing him to kneel as he caught the Neko in his arms. To think that this destroyed a medium-sized chassis…
Warmth radiated from her body, but there was also a faint, rhythmic rise and fall of her chest. She was breathing. Slowly. Shallowly. Her ears twitched restlessly as the woman’s tail wrapped itself around his forearm. Reaching his hand against the minimal resistance and over to her forehead, Seba wanted to part her hair to prove that she even had eyes—that there was anything human about her other than the general shape.
“We need to get out of here before reinforcements arrive.” Ewa’s voice stopped him. Her breath was visible in the cold as the front panel of the Jopek opened up.
Seba nodded, glancing around the desolate landscape. “I’ll carry her. You lead the way back to the rendezvous point.”
“Can Kabura still move?”
“It's seen worse,” he asserted, pressing the tiny bundle against his chest.
Once inside a cockpit, Seba placed the Neko on his knees—her tiny body clinging to his field jacket.