As Planned

Nicknamed the Titan, the Militaris-class floating mothership measured roughly 419 meters in length, 89 meters in width, and 91 meters in height—an ultramassive aerial vessel incorporating every cutting-edge technology Militaris had to offer. It could carry 30 mechs and 150 fighter craft, with side launch bays capable of deploying 10 mechs simultaneously. It also housed around 20 prototypes of unmanned mechs capable of autonomous combat via onboard battle AI, though this was kept off the official books to avoid violating international law.

This colossal airborne fortress boasted insane operational capacity: up to 80 sorties per day from mechs alone, or over 300 if you threw in the fighters. The moment it appeared over the Namdong Industrial Complex, operations kicked off.

Emergency broadcasts blared throughout the ship as the invisibility filter shut down. The Titan, now fully visible, became vulnerable to enemy fire—but in exchange, its sheer overwhelming presence crushed the entire city beneath it.

With a heavy rumble, the launch bays yawned open. Internal runways connected to the hangars were exposed to the outside air, and the mechs assumed launch positions.

Pssshhh! Thick smoke billowed and sparks flew from intense friction as electromagnetic catapults hurled the mechs forward. Gliding along the runway like skiers, the mechs shot out of the bays, plummeting for a split second before deploying energy wings and soaring upward.

The bays sealed shut again. Quick repairs patched up launch damage, and the sequence reset for the next wave. Meanwhile, the 10 mechs began bombing the Namdong Industrial Complex under control tower guidance.

Officially unpopulated on paper, the area was still home to plenty of people—and not a single knight hesitated. Every pass from a mech triggered mushroom clouds of explosions, sending complex dwellers scrambling in blind panic.

They knew a noose was tightening to wipe them out, so they'd prepped countermeasures. But no one dreamed monsters like this would show up, or that 10 mechs would rain hell in an instant.

"Th-this is a massacreee!!!"

Men in shabby mechanical exosuits—industrial heavy gear modded into makeshift upright tanks—unloaded man-sized machine guns at the mechs. At a glance, they could pass for small mechs: 3 meters tall when suited up, with thick armor and heavy weapons earning them a rep as invincible.

But against real mechs? Useless.

Whoosh.

A mech spotted the exosuits, pulled a stunt-pilot maneuver, and materialized right in front of one.

"!!"

The man jolted in terror, snapping his weapon up—but the mech was already gone. By the time he registered it, his body and suit were bisected, sliding sideways.

"Guh... ugh...?!"

The complex's ultimate weapon exploded pathetically. The mech rocketed back into the sky like it was nothing, weaving through the area, dropping bombs and hosing railgun fire without restraint. No hesitation, no guilt in the slaughter.

And there were 10 of them.

The Titan had fired the opening salvo, but the pre-positioned teams weren't sitting idle. Outermost self-propelled guns from the city defense forces roared first. Concentrated barrages hammered the complex's core, forcing criminals to spill outward—where police forces and Inaeun's special sword unit blocked them.

"Gaaah! S-save me!!"

It was like a zombie flick. They mowed down the surging masses without mercy.

"You fucking bastards!!! Have mercy, you goddamn bitches!!!"

Not heartless, though. Every spillover was an armed criminal. They'd threatened cops and prosecutors with their nastiest weapons—and death was the inevitable result.

Thwung—!

A Terminator's signature air-ripping streak lanced out. One shot pierced six or seven, detonating them in sprays.

"Gaaaaah!!!"

Some gave up escape, going all-in on sabotage and terror. The complex wasn't far from other districts, so they lobbed rockets, shells, and crude missiles at the city.

Left unchecked, they'd hit civilian zones hard.

But those blind shots got shredded by the Titan's 10 mechs, 15 dedicated craft borrowed from Gominji, and the mothership's own anti-air network.

"N-no... way...!"

The sight was like fireworks lighting up the night sky. Beautiful, if you ignored the blood fueling them.

Terrorists got priority deletion. The Namdong purge was going too smoothly.

+++

The roar was damn familiar to me. Railguns cracking like thunder, shredding sky and eardrums alike. I'd heard it until I was sick of it back on the artificial island.

Difference? There it'd been blasting forests. Now it was people.

Hence the screams, groans, and wails mixed into the din pounding my ears.

"The ward chief's completely ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠paralyzed. Major damage to her spine and femurs—minimum full-body paralysis. Worst case, she'll be a vegetable."

"As expected. No implants? She's bedridden for life."

"Yes."

Amid it all, I got reports inside the tent. I'd been briefed on the complex suppression earlier, but it was going so smoothly—and with Auntie's ace weapon deployed—that I just let it ride.

Now? Updates on my handiwork (?): the ward chief I'd so carefully (??) tenderized, now carted to the hospital. Real-time intel.

"Think that bitch'll go for implants?"

"No implants means bed for life."

"But it's the Progressive ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Innovation Party."

Those clowns rejected pretty much all life sciences lately dubbed "basic decency"—anti-aging, most biotech. Even implants? "Losing humanity," blah blah, total bullshit excuses.

They especially demonized implants. Would their ward chief go for it?

"She'll have that much flexibility, right?"

"Dunno."

In my book, they lacked even that. Who knows, though. No certainties.

I'd spared her to gauge just how boneheaded the Progressive Innovation Party really was. Minimum flexibility? That curiosity—and potential political gains.

Recalling the election? If Toad Bitch gets implants to "recover," she'll lose party supporters. "Betrayed our beliefs."

Skips 'em? Non-supporters write the party off as hopeless trash.

That's my opening to shove in a new candidate and snag the vacuum easy. Probably.

"Watch it. If it's boring, just off her."

"Yes, sir."

Briefing wrapped; I stepped out. Past one flap of tent, and the thunder intensified, the acrid stench of carnage thickening in my nostrils.

Reporters my secretaries had blocked poured in.

"You assaulted the ward chief—what's the exact reason?!"

"We hear you planned this Namdong op. Was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a slaughter like this the goal from the start?!"

"Over 50,000 live in the complex! You plan to kill them all?!"

What the. Paid shills?

All trash questions. I ignored, kept walking—they dogged me.

"No guilt or—"

Too clingy; I snatched an outstretched phone.

"Reporters feel guilt cleaning front-yard trash?"

"Pardon? Wh-what...?"

"Look, folks."

I pointed at the burning complex.

"Don't sweep it now? That shit comes to your doorstep."

"But—"

"Missed it earlier? They're rocketing intact city blocks for terror. Leave 'em be?"

"..."

"I'll make Namdong safe. Rebuild the complex greater than ever—Incheon's top spot. No shells at your door. No kidnappings on your kids' walk home. Hate that? Keep obstructing."