“So what’s the plan?” Lucas asked as the pair finally left the city limits.

Ryan grimaced, tightening his grip on the wheel as he tried to focus on the rather bumpy road. “I’ll be honest with you, with how many of them we're up against, it’s pretty simple.”

“Hit me.”

“If they’ve already attacked the bus… We’re going to drive in, distract as many as we can, pull them away from the others and take the bastards down.” Ryan drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and gestured with a few of them in a random direction. “Then, assuming we survive, repeat until we’re too much of a pain to ignore or Carrie and the others can help us outfight the rest.”

“And if they haven’t attacked yet?”

“We follow them back to base, where hopefully Sheila and the others notice what's going on in time to help them.”

Lucas grimaced. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but their chances are better in the first scenario. Be a lot harder to ram them off the road in the woods.”

Ryan grunted in acknowledgement, then bounced in his seat as Wolfenstein drove over a parked car he hadn't quite been able to avoid.

“I’m assuming that lovely gatling gun on the roof is our distraction?” Lucas asked, gesturing upwards.

“Minigun.”

“Minigun? The barrel is like two feet long.” Lucas peered back at the ladder in the backseat leading up to the gunner’s nest. “Maybe three.”

Ryan shrugged. “It’s what it's called. You’d have to ask the army why.”

“You okay? You look a little tense for a man driving a heavily armored monster truck.”

Ryan eyed the wolfman, who now also wore the same sort of gear they’d had back at the hospital. “And you’re awfully calm for a man whose wife and kids are on that bus.”

Lucas exhaled slowly, leaning back and threading his hands behind his head. “Please. Have you seen my wife fight? We’ll be lucky if there are any of those goons left.”

Though Lucas did his best to sound confident, Ryan could see the tension in his friend's posture - the clenched jaw, taut muscles, and distant expression - betray his act. He just found his kids again, only to lose them less than an hour later. How do you even cope with that?

"We'll get them back." Ryan promised, holding up a fist to Lucas. "Even if we have to take down every one of these assholes by ourselves."

Lucas was silent for a moment, then he reached out and bumped Ryan's fist with his own. "And after them, we take down Marcus."

"And anyone else in our way." Ryan agreed, putting his hand back on the wheel.

The pair fell silent after that, the roar of Wolfenstein's oversized engine filling the truck's interior. Miles passed as they drove on, each lost in their own troubled thoughts.

They had encountered no resistance from Marcus or his men when building their new assault vehicle. Not a soul had come out to disturb the woodchipper man blending down trees or his oversized werewolf guard machine-shopping up a metal nightmare in the middle of broad daylight. Both had kept a sharp eye out for trouble regardless. To their relief, leaving the city afterward had been similarly uneventful.

Their new creation, Wolfenstein, was the kind of ridiculously over-the-top vehicle grown men could only daydream about. The behemoth of a truck incorporated a half dozen crazy ideas either had could come up with, a few Ryan had brainstormed earlier, and even one or two of the new materials the editor had figured out how to make the other day. It was jam packed with so many upgrades Ryan had been forced to effectively raze Greenmeadow park to pay for the points. Followed by Mayberry park for fuel and ammo.

Ryan patted the dash fondly, careful not to flick any of the dozen or so switches that activated the truck’s various defenses. In the rear view mirror there were dozens of ammo loops neatly laid out, ready to feed into the large weapon resting up top.

Despite himself, the editor cracked a brief, satisfied smile. And you were worth every point.

As they turned onto the highway leading towards the forest, Lucas clambered up the ladder to man the minigun nest. Without warning Ryan he fired a shot. Then another. And another. Sprays of concrete flying off the highway’s median each time.

“Having fun up there?” Ryan called.

“Just getting a feel for her.” Lucas responded. “Might as well practice, right?”

Shrugging, Ryan conceded the point with a nod.

Every few minutes thereafter Lucas fired off a few test rounds. True to his word, he didn’t waste ammo - firing only short burts to get a feel for the mechanics of aiming heavy weaponry. Whatever he aimed at - typically parked cars in another lane or trees off in the distance - quickly disintegrating under ruinous gunfire. Ryan learning the lesson that miniguns didn't actually require wind up like they had in video games. There was almost no lag time from trigger press to bullets.

It was hard to maintain a serious atmosphere after that. Something about driving a fifteen-foot tall, steel-plated monster truck with a minigun turret welded inside a roll cage on the roof and actively manned by a werewolf was just… fun.

The semi-random test firings rapidly became entertainment as Lucas blasted apart the dour mood with intermittent hails of bullets. Ryan began calling targets up for practice, to which Lucas would swivel around in the turret, doing his best to reduce them to rubble. As Lucas's aim became more precise, a sense of confidence swelled in each.

“You know, we may be outnumbered. But we are definitely not outgunned!” Lucas called down after blasting an exit sign to bits.

Ryan chuckled at that in spite of himself. “Damn right we’re not.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The path leading into the forest was a mess of broken glass, scorched earth, and torn vegetation. Multiple tire tracks swerved across depressed lines of mud leading deeper into the woods. There were too many to get a good count of the vehicles involved, all chasing what could only be Big Mamba’s trail.

"You see that?" Lucas called down, as softly as he could over the engine.

Ryan nodded, then remembered his friend couldn't see him from the gunner's nest. "Yeah… I see it."

A bloody body Ryan didn't recognize was bent over a low-hanging tree branch. Whoever it had been earlier, their head was missing. Blood dripping on the grass from the severed stump.

Several other suspiciously limb-like parts were strewn about the field as well. Ryan’s heart sank into his stomach as he looked around. His people had been attacked, and it was beginning to look like more than a few had gone down fighting that others might escape. The editor noticed with some small hope that several patches of grass were still on fire.

Means we’re not too late. He tried to reassure himself. We just need to catch up.

Ryan slanned the gas pedal to the floor. Wolfenstein's engines roared defiantly in response and the huge truck plunged into the treeline at high speed.

Neither man spoke as they raced through the woods to intercept what they hoped wasn’t already a lost fight. Lucas swiveled his heavy weapon around at every shadow, the big wolf’s trigger finger ready for any who might have stayed behind or hidden in the brush.

Minutes passed, and there were still no signs of the small army that had passed through here save for broken trees, scattered small fires, and the occasional tree spattered with blood. The forest around them was silent, not a sound for miles except twin engines working overtime… and Ryan’s own pulse pounding in his ears.

In what felt like no time at all, Lucas and Ryan made it back to the mostly-cleared field that signalled the base’s entrance. The editor felt a cold fury spread through him as he cursed.

We’re too late.

Time seemed to slow down again for Ryan as he took in the entire scene at a glance.

A dozen pickup trucks were scattered around the field near the entrance in a wide arc. Two were overturned, their bullet-riddled front halves facing towards the base. On the other side of the field Big Mamba lay on her side amidst crushed solar panels, leaking gas and blood in equal measure. Unmoving bodies dotted the landscape like grotesque decorations. Some burned, others half-crushed, and several sliced cleanly down to their very bones.

Anger began pumping rapidly through Ryan’s heart as he recognized two of the bodies.

One, the large stony form of Jake, their rock-giant door guard, lay half-submerged into a crater of dirt not far from one of the trucks. There was a large gap in the back of his enormous, boulder-sized head that had dozens of spiderweb cracks branching out from where he’d been struck. His stony arms were sliced to ribbons, large sections missing as if cut by some high-pressure hose.

John Stone, the old man Ryan had put in charge of security, was tied up with what looked like some of the hospital prisoners in the back of another truck. His old face was a mass of purple bruises, slick with blood, and his right arm missing at the shoulder. A half-hearted t-shirt tourniquet wrapped inexpertly around it was already sliding off.

Neither of Ryan’s men were moving, and it was hard to imagine either ever would again. Ryan felt the steering wheel crack under his grip. In the seconds before they fully breached into the clearing, he forced himself to take stock of their enemies.

Beyond just the vehicles, there were at least twenty or so armed men and women in various states of patrol or movement around the base. Some were loading bodies into the trucks, others were dressing their own wounds, but only a few were facing the editor’s direction. From the disinterested looks on their faces, and the relaxed postures of the rest, the handful of mercs who were actually paying attention clearly expected reinforcements instead of an all-out assault.

It was a mistake that would cost most of the mercenaries their lives.

The now-familiar sound of the minigun unleashing itself came from above, immediately followed by a line of destruction carving its way across the field. Lucas mowed the three closest men down before they could reach for their weapons. Not bothering to check the aftermath he swiveled the barrel towards the next group of cannon fodder without ever letting off the trigger.

The big wolf’s accuracy wasn’t anywhere near perfect with the very limited target practice they’d done enroute, but minigun rounds weren’t exactly concerned with ‘precision’. Any hit that landed near center mass and - super or not - that particular target was as good as gone.

And thanks to how cheap individual bullets were points-wise, Lucas had more than enough ammo to try again if they weren’t.

As the werewolf opened up, Ryan drove Wolfenstein headlong into the first pair of pickups he could find without any loaded prisoners. Trying to distract his mind from the overwhelming rage inside, the editor quickly accessed his power on every threat he could see.

Bridgette had warned them earlier that every merc in town worth hiring had a combat-related power. Their foes had everything from enhanced strength or speed, the ability to toss fireballs, wrap themselves in protective stone or some other heavy element, fire bullets from their fingertips, or any number of other nasty powers that would result in an extremely unpleasant end if they managed to physically get ahold of someone.

Most of those were fine. Ryan or Lucas had faced similar powers before - though not in quite so many numbers.

The real problem, Bridgette had stressed, were the three group leaders. Men whom she had cautioned them to watch out for. Each had reputations that had grown to the point where they used titles instead of names: Jackal, Mungus, and Wetwork.

Unlike the men and women in their employ, all three had more than one power and each knew how to use it. That fact - coupled with their general willingness to murder anyone who gave them so much as a sideye - had earned them undisputed positions of power within Marcus’s entourage.

Of the three, Wetwork’s hands were the bloodiest. Bridgette hadn’t gone into many details on him, save that the name was due to his penchant for ‘removing’ those in town who spoke out too loudly against the mayor by carving them to pieces in the street. And as it happened, the deranged italian enforcer was the only one of the enemy’s big hitters currently on the field.

Ryan had just enough time to identify him before the slender man blurred, diving behind a pickup truck away from the minigun’s line of fire and out of sight.

Name: Luca Esposito

Superpowers:

Enhanced Speed: Grants the capability to think, move, and react at higher than normal speeds.

Blade Manifestation: Grants the capability to manifest a bladed weapon of one’s choosing into reality. Physical properties are dependent upon energy expended.

Manifestation, huh? Ryan thought with dark amusement. I’m going to manifest my fist down your throat, you slimy --

Gripping the steering wheel tightly, Ryan slammed Wolfenstein into - and then over - the first two trucks. He could feel the weight of the minigun above swivel around as Lucas yelled furiously, trying to track targets even as they took off into the air.

Crunching the metal monstrosity back down on the ground, Ryan was grateful for their built-up momentum. Then he swerved in the direction of Wetwork’s hiding spot.

Ryan had hoped to pulp the man under an avalanche of oversized tires, but it was at that moment the mercenaries finally recovered from their initial surprise. Every single merc in the clearing opened up on the rampaging monster truck either with bullets or their powers, most aiming for the turret still swiveling wildly on its roof.

A man and a woman with more rippling muscle between them than a bodybuilder’s wet dream leapt at Wolfenstein's front tires as if a simple bear hug could stop them. The editor noted as they dove that each had some form of increased strength. Grim satisfaction flashed through him as Ryan flicked a switch on the dash once he was certain of their trajectory.

Just as the pair smashed the full force of their bodies into each of the front wheels, tiny barbs punched through every other square inch of Wolfenstein's tires. These weren't covered in poison or dosed up with a paralytic. They weren't even made of some exotic,skin-melting metal. Instead, each was plain steel shaped like a bee's stinger, designed to stab in and break off at first contact.

It was a single-use defensive measure, and one that meant the wheels would be deflating until the secondary fill-in layer sealed them, which would make handling more of an issue in the short term. The screams that came from underneath as Ryan plowed through the pair of would-be blockers like bowling balls though, definitely justified the expense.

Bullets tore through the windshield and driver's side door, ramming into Ryan or bouncing off the few pieces of the interior that were actually hardened. The editor paid the gunfire no more mind than he would a stiff breeze. Gonna have to try a little bit harder than th--

Ryan ducked, narrowly avoiding a lance of fire that blew through the windshield and exploded out the rear window. Alright. You want to play that game? Then let’s play.

The editor reached over and flicked another switch on the console as glass shards bounced around the cabin, activating a web of heat-absorbing metal strands forming thin grids across the cabin’s interior. The strands wouldn’t hold up to gunfire, or really much more than a stiff shove, but it should resolve his pyro problem.

The next lance that struck dissipated before it even breached the interior, the strands glowing a dull, angry red as they absorbed the heat and routed it into the vehicle’s underbelly.

For all the hate focused on Ryan, Lucas and his belt-fed death machine was still the merc's real target. Thankfully, the big wolf was protected as Ryan could make him.

Bullets streamed at the gunner's nest almost as fast as they came out of it. Spent round falling harmlessly away from the roll cage as they impacted the kinetic-absorbent strands lacing its steel mesh. The defensive layer wasn't thick enough to completely halt their momentum, just enough that the few that did make it through weren’t enough to turn Lucas into swiss wolf.

After another dozen yards towards his next target Ryan felt Wolfenstein rock forward slightly as something heavy landed on the gunner's nest. An instant later the cage's anti-personnel defense activated and a surge of lethal electricity designed to literally fry an attacker off the vehicle arced through the roof. Ryan’s hair shot upward. The editor almost mourned the loss of so much energy, but he couldn’t deny it had been an impressive suggestion.

In the brief silence that followed, he heard Lucas shout down at him.

"Ryan! He's still stuck to the cage! The gun isn’t moving!"

Confusion ran through the editor as he tried to puzzle out what must have happened. Then a bolt of the obvious struck him square in the jaw.

The jolt must have seized their muscles up after grabbing the cage. Ryan reasoned before berating himself. Of course it would, that's how getting shocked works! That’s a terrible defense!

Cursing his inability to foresee potentially costly mistakes, Ryan's thought process was interrupted by an even greater weight crashing into Wolfenstein's side with enough force to bowl the entire vehicle over.

Glancing in that direction as the vehicle tumbled in the air, the editor saw the surprise etched into his large attacker's stony face as the rock-covered man died just outside Wolfenstein’s metal frame. The outer layer of which was only a little more resistant than tinfoil. Given that its true purpose was to conceal the reinforced foot-long spikes hidden inside Wolfenstein's framing that served as its actual anti-hijacking defense.

At least that one worked. Ryan thought grimly as he jostled around in his multiple seatbelts. Flicking another switch as they rolled, Wolfenstein steadied itself instead of flipping further.

"Whatever that was, it worked!" Lucas called down in gratitude. Then his voice changed to one of alarm. "More coming, we have to move!"

Ryan punched the gas again and Wolfenstein roared forward once more. Wetwork was long gone, and Ryan couldn’t see where he’d gone. The rest of the mercs had also cleared out of the monster truck's path, so the editor pulled out into a long arc to circle around for another pass.

Mercenaries fanned out and took up defensive positions as he drove back in. Those who hadn't been reduced to paste in the first charge were now unleashing everything they had to stop the seemingly indestructible road rage machine.

They made it through another wild run of the merc’s defenses before Wetwork joined the fight.

Chunks of thick rubber tire flew through the air like ribbons. Ryan heard what sounded like a blender going off in several directions at once before a number of impacts shuddered up into the vehicle’s frame. The tire-pressure lights flickered bright red for first one, then two, then all four wheels. A few yards later, Wolfenstein lurched forward into the mud and stopped dead.

The editor grimaced, pressing the gas down harder. The engine revved in response and mud sprayed up, but Wolfenstein remained in place. Close-combat power mercs quickly closed in on all sides while the rest took careful aim at the vehicle’s occupants.

"End of the road, my suicidal little friend." Wetwork called up in a menacing italian accent from just below the driver's seat.

Ignoring the man, Ryan unbuckled his harness and called up to his friend "Lucas!" He yelled as he flipped two more switches on the dash, his adrenaline surging. "Plan B!"

The minigun immediately ceased firing as the big wolf finally released the trigger. "Wait, already?!"

"Three seconds!"

There was the sound of scrambling as Lucas ripped his harnesses off and shifted form. The top of the roll cage sliding backwards to reveal the clouds above.

Ryan activated his power, accepting the prompt almost as quickly as it appeared.

Would you like to dissolve every nut, bolt, and welded section connecting the various pieces of this vehicle together? Cost: 156 points.

"Plan... B?" Wetwork asked as Lucas leapt upward, soaring high above into the air.

Ryan had no such escape route. Unbuckling his harness, he expelled his breath, clamped his mouth shut and thought his response rather than vocalize it: The B stands for--

Wolfenstein exploded.

An enormous wave of force blew outward from the monster truck in every direction. Sharp metal sections of framework flying through the air like hot shrapnel, shredding everything and everyone nearby. Flame engulfed a wide radius as the fuel tanks Ryan had installed for just this purpose shot fire out for at least fifteen feet in every direction.

The few remaining sections of the vehicle that hadn’t been blown off quickly collapsed in on themselves, dropping Ryan harshly to the ground amidst a covering of dull red metal wiring. The editor quickly extricated himself, pushing the fire-absorbent metal strands off as he stood up. The fibers lining his suit, as planned, had kept him from being burned too badly. His hair had been singed off again, and half of his face felt like it was still on fire, but he could still move.

Rage sustained him. Flashes of the people he’d lost already and fear for the ones whose fates he still didn’t know shot through Ryan’s mind and pure, unadulterated anger pushed back the burning pain until it was no more than a data point in a cold, merciless sea.

Black and grey smoke billowed around the editor as Wolfenstein's remains burned. Lines of fire emanating from the blast zone and scorching the grass at strange angles blazed high like the start of some dark ritual. Formerly humanoid chunks of seared flesh and chunked bone smoldered around the area for dozens of yards, with smaller pieces still raining back down.

The only survivor of those who had been nearby, Wetwork, had just barely managed to move far enough to escape the initial killzone. Barely holding on to life, the hired gun was coughing blood and desperately trying to push himself further away, apparently too stunned to do much else.

Ryan went to him first.

Striding away from the hellish inferno behind him like an angry god, the editor grabbed the man by his burned and bleeding shoulders, hauling him up to eye level. Blades erupted out of the mercenary, slamming into Ryan’s flesh and finding no more give than a mountain might.

Wetwork - Luca Esposito - stared dumbfoundedly at Ryan as if he were the devil himself.

"The B stands for 'Boom'." The editor whispered. His tiger eyes glinted a predator’s hunger back at the other man. Ryan paid no mind to the blades still struggling to find purchase on his skin. Instead he raised his voice so that every one in the clearing could hear him.

“You see this?” He roared, shaking the man like a ragdoll. “You think you can come into my house, kill my people, and just walk away!?” Activating his power, Ryan absorbed the still-living, screaming man into his right arm. Blades and all.

Seconds later, silence fell like a curtain across the forest. Hardened mercenaries that had been so confident of themselves mere moments before began trembling, their nerve and morale crumbling after watching their leader literally melt into the skin of this new demon. The editor made sure at the last second to channel some of Wetwork’s energy into healing his own injuries.

Turning to face them, his own flesh knitting itself together before their very eyes, the men flinched. Then Lucas landed hard on the ground beside the editor, teeth bared and claws extended. A menacing growl rumbled from deep within the large werewolf's chest, forcing several to take an involuntary step backward.

"Run." Ryan said, his tone cold and implacable. It echoed through the clearing like a commandment.

The few remaining mercs fled into the forest towards the city, not one of them daring to look back or spare a thought for their wounded or dying comrades.

Lucas took a step after them, but Ryan held up a hand. The werewolf stopped, then looked at him. Blood had splattered across the editor’s face, giving his freshly healed face a barbaric look. Something in his eyes gave Lucas pause. Despite the heat from the nearby flames, the big wolf shivered.

When Ryan still hadn’t responded a few heartbeats later, Lucas asked. “... You alright?”

Snapping back to reality Ryan nodded, gesturing to where their own people were still tied up.

"Take care of our people first. I've still got some trash to take out."

Then the editor turned towards the half-destroyed base entrance door and strode inside.