Scarab

Scarab. A reinforced human pilot affiliated with the Backend Neural Engineering Research Institute. As a dispatched contractor, he takes gigs from various corporations for cash, funneling funds back to the lab. But setting aside that role, he's got a hot-blooded, battle-maniac streak that doesn't sit well with the higher-ups. If he were the type to think calmly in a fight, that might be one thing—but judging from the build on the Nexus right in front of me, that's not the case.

'A firepower junkie.'

Heavy frame for mounting ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠weight, standard armor to balance mobility and durability. Gatling guns on both arms, ammo belts snaking around the body and linking to the back. Bazooka on the shoulder like a fire dragon's pinpoint strike. You could tell exactly how he'd fight just by looking at the loadout.

'In-game, he doesn't show up until players start getting serious corporate nominations.'

But here he was, popping up in the ultra-early game. Scarab debuted as the first corporate elite you'd meet in the rankings... yet he had this weird underdog vibe.

'The weakest of the corporate elites.'

Being in the rankings was a seal of skill, sure, but he always fought pilots stronger than himself. Every Nexus pilot in the game was ranked, so for a bottom-ranker like Scarab, most opponents were higher up the ladder. Plus, showing up super early just to get wrecked by the player cemented that sense of a battle junkie whose skill couldn't keep up.

But that underdog image actually made him a great rival character. After getting beaten like a dog and fleeing in the early game, he'd obsessively chase the player, growing relentlessly until he stood toe-to-toe by the end. A mainstay supporting character etched in my memory was right there before my eyes.

Beep, beep! Without giving me time to think, Scarab lunged straight into attack.

Closing distance without hesitation, he fired the bazooka point-blank.

Boom!!

"…!"

The warning blared the instant I burst-dodged, but the close-range blast still shaved a sliver off my armor durability. My head throbbed faintly.

'Why the hell are you showing up here, you bastard.'

He should be screwing around with players of similar skill, right? At this point in the game, wasn't he supposed to be raiding a power plant? B2B was a different corp from his institute in-game, so he'd probably shifted dispatch sites.

Vreeee!!

Real bullets spat out at laser-like speeds from the gatlings. I ducked behind a tall building for cover.

'Already short on sleep, condition's crap.'

My hands felt unpleasantly slick on the controls. I activated the wrist auxiliary to stabilize and triggered a scan.

Ping—

Pulse spreading beyond the building. Out here past the visual range, scans were how you detected enemies. A matching pulse rippled from the foe, interfering with my systems and triggering an unpleasant warning tone.

Gatling rounds hammered the building. I weaved through tall structures for cover, slipping out of his firing range. That firepower-heavy build meant instant KO if exposed. Keeping his blind spots locked, I hunted for an opening.

'A pushover in-game, but same in reality?'

Would my skills hold up in the rankings now? No certainty, so I hesitated a bit. But one ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠glance at my hands on the controls steeled my resolve.

Win or lose, who cares. Since when did I give a damn?

Confirming his position behind the building, I switched to cruise mode for a surprise flank, bursting around the corner. Time to go on the offensive.

Whoosh, whoosh!!

His high-output barrage turned the surroundings to rubble. Blazing fires jammed some sensors. Relying pure instinct, I seized blind spots. As I broke cover, both gatlings swung my way.

Vreeee—

Just as they spun up.

Whoosh, whoosh! Bursting nonstop, I poured fire while circling. His aim lagged a step. In that window, I unloaded everything into his side.

The nightmare of ultra-close range: sightlines shifting every second. Positions flipped by the instant. Nauseating just to watch. But same for him.

Gatlings flailed wildly. I danced on the razor's edge, conserving energy while hammering blind spots.

His voice over comms dripped with vomit-ready disgust. Guess who was seasick.

Rat-tat-tat-tat!!

Then—shit—one stray gatling rake grazed my Nexus. Breath caught in my throat.

"Hngh…!"

'Fun!'

Ignoring it. Bazooka belatedly boomed behind me in a massive blast. Whole body rung like a gong.

'Fun!'

Whoosh, whoosh! Bursting through tangled structures, popping in and out of his sight. Lock-on grabbed, released, grabbed, released. Head pounding.

Finally, Scarab retched over comms. Heart thundering in my ears, I ignored it, pounding his drunken-sway movements relentlessly. Missile blasts vibrated deliciously up close. Splash damage chipped my durability too.

Rat-tat-tat! Submachine gun this time, stitching him up. Explosions and flames everywhere exalted my mind.

Vreeee! Gatlings firing blind now, rounds arcing skyward. He wheeled, bazooka muzzle swinging my way for a split second.

Thud!

Right before launch, I slammed into cruise mode, ramming him full-body. Impact rocked me despite safeties.

"Grk…!"

Rat-tat-tat! Submachine gun point-blank. His gatling ground my side in turn, monstrous shockwaves hitting. Vision whitened staring at that gatling.

'Submachine gun's firepower sucks.'

Sudden impulse—I ditched my right arm's submachine gun and grabbed his left arm.

Twist. Something I'd never do in-game! Certain it was physically possible now, I maxed boosters with his arm clamped. He froze in panic as his frame got shoved into structures.

Grind—

Crack, crunch. Arm wrenched. Gatling kept firing, but twisted barrel spewed flames astray. That ominous grinding continued until—

Crunch!

Metal crumpled, thin wrist snapping off.

Piercing noise stabbed my ears over comms. Severed arm lost signal, weapons dropping free.

Thud!

I scooped the heavy gatling with my now-free right arm amid the clamor.

Ignored it. Fight wouldn't drag on.

Whoosh! Burst to his blind side before his remaining gatling could spin. Side exposed wide open. While he reeled—

'Gotcha.'

Missiles, submachine ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠gun, gatling. Forward cam whited out in blasts and gunfire.

Comms drowned in unintelligible noise. Not even five seconds later—

Crush.

Steel pulverized, then—

Kaboom!!

Massive explosion neutralized him. I'd hosed every weapon wildly right up to eating the blast head-on.

Reeee—

Tinnitus ringing, I stared blankly ahead. A beast-ravaged scrap heap blazed spectacularly.