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A superheated wave of energy blasts out of the plasma cutter, tearing through a line of Khanate goons. Leveling your speargun, you fire towards one of the torpedo boats, pinning a man to the deck right through his midsection before he can unload a .50 into the Maggie.
Bullets ping and ricochet off the PUEXO, with little to no effect. The armor used to protect the pilot against the crushing depths of the ocean do just as good a job of protecting you from bullets. But you still twitch, shielding your center mass by twisting to the side. Then, counter with another blast from your plasma cutter.
"Eight confirmed kills," chirps HOPI. "Only a dozen more on this side, another two on the forward deck."
"How many in the boats?" you grunt, reloading your speargun.
"Hard to tell, but all in total? Bare minimum of at least fifty. Maybe even more."
That makes enough sense with how big the boats are. No shortage of targets. Mad bastards all who wouldn't back down out of some stupid sense of honor to their Khan.
...Molly was right after all. Even though you don’t enjoy it, you are good at killing. Exceedingly so. Hadn't you nearly killed Pierce last week? You might've done so if not for his goon squad in the rafters, or the trouble it would've caused with Declan and Stolze.
But even then, it wouldn't have cost you sleep. Prick nearly killed you, and already was interfering with your ability to make money.
The PUEXO, for all its foibles, is only a force multiplier to whatever it is Molly claims to have seen within you on the day of Jean and Caroline's wedding.
...come to think about it, how'd she get an invitation? She certainly wasn't your plus one.
>>Roll 1d100 Combat.
>Best out of three.
