>>6111563It was without doubt, without fucking question that of course two giant radiation spewing death machines with insane motifs would accomplish a mission that involved linking up with another team. It was a milk run. technogod and the twins spotted an AKSG signal with their hardened sensors. Simple but jam resistant, and beneficial, as the feed quickly degraded into static but the approximate location was already known on the map.
The approach was relatively calm, with the two FREDs using their sub weapons to drive off curious outriders, and drive off mostly means unloading 20mm rounds into soft human bodies, and honking an industrial grade clown horn array.
Between cigarettes the TECHNOgod watched a camera feed of The Meatmen. They were ringing a recently excavated pit, and pulling out decidedly morose and macabre looking AKSG cyborgs and a modified powergear with an aggressive amount of jamming arrays. That explained the total whiteout of sensors feeds in the area. One of the "meatmen" was chewing on a human foot and scratching it's portly belly. AKSG welcomed diversity in all it's many stripes and colors. With some curiosity he also watched the cannibal D-troop clones loading mangled corpses and chunks of outrider machinery in front of their equally mutated powergear, "the processor". The machine consumed the flesh and machinery, producing fresh ammunition which the meatmen loaded into IDEON. This was the logistics team. He almost sorted. Clownworld indeed.
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The twins sat inside the cockpit of the CLOWN WORLD, looking at various screens independently, knowing that someday this mission would end and they could subliminate back into the AKSG operative datastacks, free from the burden of existence once more. The meatmen seemed to have two scouts, modified PowerSuits with jumpjets. They would parodically boost to their peak altitude then execute a controlled descent. They were the odd "men" out. Not a total freakshow like the rest of this group. Identifier "Robort." Funny. Honk honk. The female twin pressed the honk button, it was something. Nearby one of the meatmen technician's eardrums exploded, but he really didn't care, a blank face staring at the serving panel of the FRED as his body absorbed what would be lethal doses of radiation for someone planning to live more than a year. Good ol' D-troops.
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BD looked around, alive again. Sort of. He had not been recloned and his mangled body was entombed in a PowerGear and life support system. One of the D-techs was watching some video about a 40000 year old ham and the warriors who venerated it, and now here he is, fucking stuck in a "dreadnought." The worst part was the jamming array on the back, it couldn't be turned off, only turned down or up, on a rotary analog switch that his cold, almost dead hands fondled at in the dark. At the lowest settings the slight electronic buzz sat just within his ability to hear, and at peak output it was all consuming.
