Of Terrorists and Territory (& Crumpets)

[Aztech]

The only thing visible from under the Marauder heavy fighter was one of Jason Sykes' size 12 combat boots, and a small plasma torch, glowing red in the aftermath of its latest use. Sykes was just reaching across to pick up the torch again when his communicator started blaring. " All available units are to converge to Sector E10 Ground Level. We have highly suspicious activity on the support pillar of the Burlington Rail bridge. Confirmed Impersonation of a police constable and a possible terrorist act..... "

The boot shot out from underneath the fighter, followed by its twin, then a pair of legs clad in police issue trousers, a torso suspended on a frictionless mag-trolley, and finally Sykes' head, still with a polarised mask over his eyes. As he made to stand, the rear access hatch on the Marauder clanked open on it's rusty hinge and rapped Jason sharply on the top of the head. "Useless blimmin piece of-" "Sykes! Are you there?" He stopped his rant as he recognized Commander Silsbury's voice over his communicator.
"Roger Commander. Chaps causing trouble out there?"
"There should be another broadcast soon. That new armour is good for outside the ship too, Sykes, so get tooled up and get out here"
"On my way, Commander" He shut his communicator off and walked over to his tool bench.

On the top of Sykes' pile of tools was a heavy briefcase with "BPA SRD Package: Sgt. JASON SYKES" stencilled on top. He lifted it, surprised again by its weight, and flicked the clasps open with both thumbs. Inside was a set of armour, grey and white, semi-rigid fabric, and sized to fit a heavywieght boxer's physique. He slid the first layer of bullet, heat, explosion-and-generally-everything-else resistant material over his chest and stomach, then the full body black fire suit, the second heavy, rigid grey vest and finally the solid shoulder, knee and calf protectors. He picked up his plasma pistol and walked to the east wall of the BPA lock up he was using as a garage. He pulled back a slab of insulation and stared into his weapon rack, deliberating quietly with himself.

Eventually, Sykes chose an almost-legal, rail accelerated hollow bearing machine gun. It was the size and weight of a PPG, but fired hollow aluminite ball bearings from its large box magazine as fast as gravity could feed them into the barrel, which amounted to several thousand per minute. At any large range, the bearings would fall harmlessly to the ground, but at 200 feet or less, they would bounce, mushroom and shatter on anything solid they came into contact with, creating a literal storm of flying metal which shredded anything soft in its way. Cheap, serviceable and deadly, a mercenary's best friend, Sykes had found the weapon in a smuggler's hold when he was arrested less than a month ago. Feeling he had wasted enough time, Sykes walked to his transporter and set off for the nearest collection point.

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