Underground Meeting Room
The staring contest between Young Mo and King Baldrik continued.
Neither look away.
Neither spoke.
The only thing breaking the silence was a Goldenclaws soldier opening an ammunition case on the table between them.
Click.
Inside were three pristine white cannonballs, perfectly polished, almost glowing under the meeting room lights.
Young Mo glanced at them, then back at King Baldrik.
“Seriously?” Young Mo smirked. “Just because it’s holy, it has to be that white?”
King Baldrik exhaled through his nose. “Unfortunately, the church insisted. Everything they make—or help make—must be white. It’s in the contract.”
He paused, clearly annoyed by the memory.
“And they were very specific about it.”
Young Mo frowned. “They really love cliché.”
“Yes they are,” King Baldrik sighed.
The soldier lifted the cannonballs carefully and began loading them into the armor captain’s weapon, locking each round in with mechanical precision.
“Well,” King Baldrik said calmly, straightening in his chair, “once again, it’s been a pleasure meeting you, demon.”
The armor captain finished loading the holy shells.
He stepped forward.
The weapon rose.
“I think it’s time to end this meeting,” King Baldrik continued, a thin, cold smile forming. “And this time, it’s for real.”
Young Mo didn’t respond.
He only smiled back.
Then—
THUD.
The lights died.
Everything went black.
For a brief moment, the underground meeting room became a void of silence and confusion.
“What’s going on?” King Baldrik muttered.
More importantly—
The holy contraptions stopped humming.
The restraints went dead.
“TURN ON YOUR LIGHTS!” the armor captain shouted.
Armor lights snapped on one by one, beams cutting through the darkness as they converged on Young Mo’s position.
The chair was empty.
“He’s gone!” a soldier yelled.
“Block the exits!” the armor captain roared. “Find the demon! Evacuate His Majesty!”
Flashlights swept wildly across the room. Soldiers scrambled. Chairs were overturned. The calm, controlled atmosphere shattered into organized chaos.
“Your Majesty,” a soldier said urgently, grabbing King Baldrik’s arm, “we need to leave. Now.”
“Y-yes,” King Baldrik replied, standing quickly.
He was escorted out through the heavily guarded meeting room entrance, flanked by soldiers forming a moving shield.
Outside, the corridor was just as dark.
The entire headquarters had lost power.
One soldier led the way with a handheld flashlight as they moved quickly through the underground halls.
Alarms blared.
Boots thundered.
Soldiers ran in every direction.
The base was now on full red alert.
And somewhere in the darkness—
The demon was no longer sitting politely at the table.
---
King Baldrik’s Office
Moments later, King Baldrik and his two escorts finally emerged from the underground passage and reached his office on the surface.
Here, at least, there was light.
Sunlight illuminated the compound, spilling through the tall windows and banishing the suffocating darkness of the underground facility.
King Baldrik closed the office door behind him and leaned heavily against his desk, palms pressed into the polished wood.
He took a long breath.
Then another.
Sweat clung to his collar, the result of rapid movement, adrenaline, and the lingering dread of what had just escaped containment.
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“You can leave now,” King Baldrik said, straightening. “I’ll order my escape vehicle to pick me up.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” both soldiers replied in unison.
They saluted and turned to leave.
King Baldrik didn’t wait for the door to close.
He crossed the room, opened one of the wine decanters, and lifted it straight to his lips, drinking deeply without bothering with a glass. The rich liquid burned down his throat, grounding him.
THUD.
But a heavy thud sound interrupt him.
He turned.
One of his escort soldiers lay sprawled on the floor, unmoving.
“What happened?” King Baldrik demanded, his voice sharp.
The remaining soldier stopped at the doorway.
Then slowly turned around.
He smiled.
“Ah… my deepest apologies for interrupting your refreshment, Your Majesty,” the soldier said politely, stepping back into the room.
POOFFF.
Smoke burst outward, swallowing the figure.
The dwarf’s form twisted, stretched, and reshaped itself.
When the smoke cleared, a tall figure stood where the dwarf soldier had been—handsome, relaxed, a pair of horns curving from his head. His expression carried the same familiar smugness.
Young Mo.
“But I’m afraid our meeting isn’t over yet,” Young Mo said, continuing forward at an unhurried pace.
“D-demon?!” King Baldrik gasped.
His hand flew to the desk drawer. It snapped open, revealing a concealed hand cannon. He yanked it out and raised it—
Only for Young Mo’s hand to clamp down on the barrel effortlessly, stopping it inches from alignment.
The weapon didn’t fire.
It didn’t even tremble.
Young Mo leaned in, his face now dangerously close to the king’s.
“Now,” he said calmly, smiling, “let’s talk about your escape vehicle.”
---
Factory Area
RATATATATATATATATATAT
BOOM BOOM BOOM
THOOOOM
The vast underground factory had turned into a battlefield swallowed by darkness.
Gunfire ripped through the space. Explosions echoed off metal walls. Assembly lines and half-finished machines became cover, obstacles, and accidental shields.
Hundreds of Goldenclaws soldiers flooded the factory floor, firing blindly into the dark.
Against them—
Megan and the Misfits.
The power outage had erased visibility, plunging the factory into near-total blackness. Flashlights snapped on across the battlefield, beams cutting wildly through smoke and steam.
Unfortunately for the Goldenclaws—
Muricans were very comfortable fighting in the dark.
Thermal goggles painted enemy silhouettes in crisp clarity. Dwarves glowed clearly against the cold metal surroundings, their movements obvious, predictable.
The Goldenclaws, meanwhile, had only flashlights and panic.
Worse, their own lights betrayed them.
Every flashlight beam marked a position. Every muzzle flash announced a shooter. And in the chaos, it was nearly impossible to tell whether the flashes came from enemies—or their own men.
The Misfits had already spread out.
Bella crouched behind a half-assembled spider tank, its incomplete armor plating providing excellent cover. She braced her M249 SAW and laid down heavy suppressive fire, forcing squads of soldiers to keep their heads down.
Kovalski occupied a high platform overlooking most of the factory floor. From there, he picked his targets carefully, focusing on Goldenclaws steam armors. Each shot was deliberate, controlled, and unforgiving.
Irving and Megan moved constantly—fire, relocate, fire again. They never stayed long enough to be bracketed, their shifting positions tearing holes in Goldenclaws formations and amplifying the confusion.
Ivy was already gone from sight.
She slipped through shadows, closing distance silently. One moment a flashlight swept an empty corridor—The next, a soldier collapsed without a sound.
TAK TAK TAK TAK TAK—Click.
Irving dropped behind cover as his magazine ran dry. He checked his timer before reloading.
“Fifteen minutes!” Irving called into comms.
“Guh, there’re too many of them,” Bella replied, her gunfire never slowing.
Megan was operating from the opposite side of the factory.
“I don’t think we can make it out the same way we came in,” Megan said over comms. “If anyone has a different exit route, say it now.”
“We used the ventilation shaft to get here,” Ivy replied. “But there’s no way we can crawl out within fifteen minutes.”
“…any other ideas, guys?” Megan asked.
Silence.
Then—
“Sounds like you’re in trouble.”
Young Mo’s voice suddenly crackled through the comm.
Megan grinned.
“Boss. Welcome back,” she said. “I assume you escaped. Though I’d like to point out that our current situation requires a new exit plan.”
---
King Baldrik Office
“Yeah, I know. The old me keeps updating the situation,” Young Mo said calmly while holding his comm.
Behind him, King Baldrik sat slumped unconscious in his chair. Several of Young Mo’s spying tools were spread neatly across the desk—devices he had not forgotten to collect during his escape from the meeting room.
Young Mo stepped closer to the office window and peered outside.
The courtyard below was swarming with Goldenclaws soldiers. Steam armors sprinted across the open space, all rushing back underground to reinforce the factory.
“And you were right,” Young Mo continued into the comm. “We need another way out.”
He watched the movement for a moment longer.
“And I might have an idea,” he added. “Apparently, the big boss of this place keeps a special ‘emergency vehicle.’”
A slow grin formed as he began explaining the plan to Megan.
---
Factory Area
“Is that so…” Megan muttered into the comm.
She switched channels.
“Listen up,” Megan said, her voice sharp. “Change of plans. We’re heading to the hangar bay. Does anyone know where that is?”
On the far side of the factory, Ivy had just finished taking down a group of infantry. She crouched behind cover, reloading her pistol.
“Yeah,” Ivy replied. “I saw it on the base blueprints before. There’s a direct elevator from here.”
“Good,” Megan replied. “Regroup. You’re leading.”
“Copy,” Ivy said.
Ivy rose and turned the corner—
—and froze.
A flashlight beam snapped on, stopping her in her tracks.
An enemy steam armor stood directly in her path, cannon slowly lifting toward her.
“Uh… hi,” Ivy said, forcing a polite smile. “I got lost looking for the toilet.”
THOOOOM—THUNK.
A .50 BMG round punched straight through the armor’s cockpit, leaving a perfectly clean hole.
Thud.
The armor collapsed to the floor.
“Watch your step, wicked princess,” Kovalski said smugly over comms.
“Aww,” Ivy replied sweetly. “Thank you, you dirty prince.”
---
A minute later, the firefight somehow stopped.
Five Goldenclaws infantry crept forward between stacks of crates, boots careful, rifles raised.
“Why did they suddenly stop shooting?” one soldier whispered nervously.
“Shhh,” another hissed back. “Lower your voice. They can somehow see us in this darkness. Don’t let them hear us too.”
Then suddenly—
RATATATATATATATATATATATATAT
A long, fiery muzzle flash tore through the darkness.
But it wasn’t aimed at them.
It was firing toward somewhere else entirely.
“There they are,” one soldier whispered urgently. “Flank quietly.”
The group advanced, weapons up, inch by inch, surrounding the source of the gunfire.
They reached the position.
And stopped.
There were no enemies.
Only guns.
An M249 SAW lay on the floor, barrel still smoking. A wire was tied to the trigger, leading to a crude spinning gear rigged nearby, still turning lazily.
“W–where did they go?” one soldier muttered.
---
Elevator
Megan and the Misfits were already inside a service elevator, riding upward. Weapons were being reloaded in practiced silence.
“Sigh… why do I keep losing my guns,” Bella complained while settling back with her old M240L. “That was my best piece too…”
“Well, yours had the most rounds,” Kovalski replied calmly.
“Nine minutes,” Irving said, checking the timer.
“So how do we tell which one is the ‘escape vehicle’?” Ivy asked.
“It belongs to the Goldenclaws head honcho,” Megan replied. “So look for something that screams special.”
“And don’t forget to find some dwarves who can actually drive it,” Irving added.
SKRREEEEE.
The elevator doors opened.
The Muricans raised their weapons instantly and fanned out in tight, practiced formations as they exited.
The hangar bay was a massive open space, lined with parked airships of various sizes. Dwarves moved about busily, loading shells and bombs, checking fuel lines.
None of them noticed the Muricans.
Megan led the team forward, moving from cover to cover. No one wanted another firefight this close to the deadline.
Then Irving raised his hand.
Everyone stopped.
He tilted his head slightly to the right.
“Uh… does that look special enough?” Irving asked, nodding toward his line of sight.
Megan and the rest of the Misfits followed his gaze.
“Eeeeewww….” They all said in unison with disgusted face.
