Volume 6: Mecha Contest Chapter 309: Strangler Squadron
In the West Nine District, inside an old warehouse with its doors and windows closed.
The blades of the exhaust fan were covered with oil mixed with dust. They were turning slowly, making a dull "puff puff" sound.
A young woman in a military green vest and baggy overalls sat on a folding stool, puffing on the cheap cigarette held between her fingertips - she smoked very hard, and with the bright flame of the cigarette butt, the length of the cigarette was shortening at a speed visible to the naked eye, and the gray-white smoke almost enveloped her entire upper body.
"Don't draw too much. Even an artificial lung can't withstand your tossing and turning... Alas." A middle-aged man's voice came from the shadows, with a hint of helpless sigh.
The woman smoking had short hair and a canvas military cap tilted on her head. Although she was not wearing any makeup, her well-defined face, beautiful features and the heroic spirit between her eyebrows showed a very unique neutral beauty.
However, if you look closely, you will find that her skin condition is actually very bad, which is a unique symbol of people who have been working in the wilderness for years. Under the dual erosion of harsh environment and radiation, even the best skin care products can only be regarded as decoration.
The smoking woman's right arm and right leg are both old-fashioned mechanical prostheses, which have long been discontinued. In terms of sensitivity and flexibility, they are not even one-tenth of those of cyborg prostheses.
There was originally a tattoo of a badge on her left shoulder, which seemed to be the emblem of a military unit from the outline. However, the tattoo has now been erased in an extremely rough way, leaving only a series of horrific scars that look like earthworms, crisscrossing and protruding on the skin.
"Okay, the skeleton has been basically debugged. Sit on it and try it." The man's voice sounded again. The headlights lit up, and a powerful metal monster appeared in front of the woman.
This is the skeleton of a six-meter-class humanoid mecha. It has no external parts installed, and its sophisticated internal structure is completely exposed, exuding a fascinating mechanical beauty from head to toe.
The woman threw the cigarette butt on the ground, stomped it out, walked to the squatting mecha skeleton without saying a word, bent down and got into the cockpit.
"The competition will start in a month. Remember, be careful when you attack and don't just stare at your opponent's cockpit." The middle-aged man in a one-piece work suit patted the beam in front of the cockpit and said to the woman.
The woman did not respond, but lowered her head and looked at the controls in the cockpit.
"Hey, did you hear me? I told you to be gentler and not kill anyone again." The middle-aged man's tone was filled with anger, and his voice was raised a little.
The woman still didn't say anything.
"This is just a competition, not a battlefield! They are just your opponents, not your enemies! You don't have to kill them! If you are disqualified because of this, the prize money of the competition will have nothing to do with us! Do you understand?" The middle-aged man began to roar. He hit the metal beam hard with a wrench, making a loud "bang bang" sound. "I have plenty of ways to support myself, and what about you? What about you?! Without the prize money, do you expect the meager disability pension to pay for your medical expenses?"
He glared at the woman in the cockpit fiercely and continued—
"If you don't want to live, just tell me and I'll fucking shoot you in the head, and you won't have to suffer for the rest of your life! Do you hear me?"
"Got it." Only then did the woman sitting in the cockpit speak. Her voice was extremely hoarse, and it sounded like two pieces of rusty iron rubbing against each other.
This kind of voice is definitely not caused by excessive smoking. No one except herself can understand the unforgettable pain... Being able to retain the ability to speak is a blessing in disguise.
Hearing the woman speak, the middle-aged man's tone softened: "...It's good that you know...Don't push yourself too hard. As long as you can make it to the semi-finals, the prize money for the semi-finals is enough to support the medical expenses for a year. If you can get sponsorship, you can also improve your living conditions..."
The middle-aged man took a few steps back and waved at the mecha, saying, "Try to stand up first. Pay attention to the pressure gauge of the buffer valve. Those parts are second-hand and are quite worn out."
Suddenly, a series of harsh friction sounds were heard at the ankle joint of the skeleton. The middle-aged man immediately waved his hands and shouted, "Stop! Stop! I found the problem. The fit between parts F085 and G667 is too tight. I have to loosen the bolts and add more grease... You come down first ."
The young woman nodded and climbed out of the cockpit. The crude old mechanical prosthesis was as flexible and flexible as her natural hands and feet, and did not affect her movements at all.
"Major." The woman walked behind the middle-aged man and said in a low voice.
"I'm not a major anymore...don't use that title anymore." The middle-aged man waved his hand and let out a long sigh.
"At that time, they were planning to let you coach at the academy... Why did you stay?" the young woman asked.
"I don't want to have anything to do with the army anymore..." the middle-aged man said dejectedly, "Although my hands and feet are still intact, I can no longer go to the battlefield... I am a useless person... Perhaps, becoming a pilot instructor is a good choice for me, but I can't watch the students I taught personally being sent to hell one by one... Just think of me as escaping from reality."
He took off his worn jacket and threw it on a folding stool beside him. On his left shoulder, there was also a complete emblem tattoo - a black skull with a white noose around its neck.
If the Hound saw this emblem, he would instantly recognize that this was the "Strangler" armored squadron known as the "Death God" in the field force... However, when this squadron participated in a large-scale encirclement and suppression operation ten years ago, due to a deviation in the commander's orders, the Strangler Squadron, which was supposed to be airdropped to the enemy's rear to launch a surprise attack, was thrown directly into the hinterland of an area densely populated by indigenous creatures... They were instantly surrounded by indigenous creatures , and in less than two hours, they were completely wiped out.
According to the post-war notice documents, there were no survivors in the Strangler Squadron, and the squadron's special number was revoked without being rebuilt.
As for the commander who issued the fatal mistake, he disappeared as if he had evaporated from the face of the earth.
