Chapter 215: Sierra Madre Grand Opening! Part 7

The chaos was deafening.

"High ground. Breach. Or we die here."

Six’s command was like steel snapping through the madness as he dragged Rebecca forward, her steps faltering only once before she locked in beside him. Her Punisher flared again, spitting molten death with each shot, every burst lighting up the cloud-choked streets in flashes of violent gold. Ghost People fell, only to twitch and writhe as they began piecing themselves back together.

"Keep moving!"

Six snarled, his blade a blur of silver arcs, cleaving through sinew and bone, while his pistol barked precise, bone-shattering rounds. Heads rolled—limbs spun through the air—but it only bought them seconds.

Then his Haki flared like a scream in his mind.

North alley. Dozens. Fast. Flanking.

"They’re flanking!"

Six roared, raw fury bleeding into his voice as his instincts screamed death if they stayed.

The weight of the Ghost People’s numbers was closing in fast. If they got pinned here, with their Power Armor corroding and their ammo running low, they wouldn’t survive. The Cloud would strip their armor bare and choke them out before the Ghosts even got the killing blow.

Every step toward the makeshift breach in the Sierra Madre’s wall was a battle in itself, but they pushed—hard—knowing the difference between survival and slaughter was a matter of seconds now.

And then—like a bolt of salvation—support erupted from the casino wall.

Boone’s voice crackled over the radio, sharp and cold:

"We’ve got you covered—get your asses up here!"

At the breach, Boone, Raul, Twig, and ED-E unleashed hell.

Their Knightmare Power Armor looked like something out of a nightmare, dangling with Slash Harken cables anchored to the casino. Firing into the Ghosts, obliterating them with their Varis rifles in full burst mode.

The rifles, now upgraded with salvaged YCS/186 Gauss coils, fired at a slower rate but were devastating. Every shot cracked like a thunderclap, sending bright arcs of its coiled rail ammunition through the fog.

Ghosts caught in the blast didn’t just fall—they were ripped apart. The kinetic force threw them backward, severed limbs flung yards away, where they couldn’t simply crawl back and reattach. The Cloud hissed as the severed parts twitched uselessly.

Six’s HUD caught everything, calculating their one chance.

"Rebecca—push through now!"

He didn’t wait for a reply, his shoulder crashing into another Ghost Person, hurling the thing aside before driving his blade into a second, twisting until it split apart.

Up above, Boone fired again, a burst mode shot hammering through a trio of Ghosts, their torsos detonating like rotten fruit.

ED-E’s plasma shots cut down the flankers from the north alley, the bot’s speakers chirping in rhythmic combat beeps as it floated like a deadly wasp through the haze.

"Varis rifles overheating!"

Raul barked, yanking his weapon back just before it glowed too hot to handle.

"We gotta cycle or they’ll pop!"

Six knew that. The power of the modified rifles was saving them now, but the cooldown time between bursts was dangerously long. If they got caught during a reload cycle, they’d be swarmed again.

"Boone! Keep targeting the limbs—scatter them further out!"

Six ordered between shots, kicking back another crawling torso.

"Already on it!"

Boone snapped, his next shot angled low, the impact tearing legs off at the hip and launching them over the balcony.

Rebecca coughed, blood and sweat streaking her face beneath the cracked visor—but she was laughing now, savage and alive.

"Look at ’em scatter! Like freakin’ bowling pins!"

Six grunted, hauling her toward the breach, his slash harken anchored to the casino wall. The cables hissed and smoked as the toxic cloud chewed through them—tearing apart faster than his servos could compensate.

"Sorry, Becca."

He muttered, voice hard.

"Only one of us is making it up there. And it’s a man’s job to protect his pregnant wife."

His armor emitted urgent damage alerts. The cables were about to snap, one after another, leading to death below, to the ground, and to the swarm of Ghost people.

"Don’t you Fucking dare Six."

Her voice cracked—fury and fear tangled tight.

"Boone, you better catch her!"

With a faint smile under his cracked visor, Six pushed his Power Armor servos to their limit. His armor groaned in protest, but he launched Rebecca upward like a missile, his strength an unspoken prayer. He saw her form ascend, arms outstretched—her breath sharp, heart pounding—but his crew was ready.

"FUCK YOUUUUUUUUUU, SIX!!!"

She screamed his name, even as Boone’s hands caught her, dragging her back to the breach and the thin line of safety.

The last cable gave out.

Six fell.

Armor screeching, systems breaking down.

But he had no time to feel it.

No time to think.

No time for regrets.

The air was thick with the biting burn of the toxic cloud as Six crashed back into the plaza, he braced, shifting his weight to minimize the impact—but even then, his Power Armor howled in protest, the servos grinding as he struggled to stabilize himself, joints seizing and plates buckling.

Damage warnings flared, but there was no time to care.

Six staggered, gritting his teeth against the pain. His systems were flashing warning signs across his HUD in angry red—pressure buildup in his chest, minor fractures, armor breaches.

The impact was brutal—his body shook, but his focus was razor-sharp.

But none of that mattered.

No time to linger.

No time to fall.

Not when they were coming.

Through the swirling haze, his Observation Haki flared—sharp and cold—sensing the next wave of Ghost People pushing forward, their silhouettes like nightmares shuffling through the toxic cloud.

Above, Rebecca had been dragged back toward Roger’s position by his crew, her screams fading into coughs as Boone, Raul, Twig, and ED-E opened up with everything they had. Gunfire roared, plasma bolts carved green lines through the smoke, and every shot was a lifeline thrown toward Six, holding the tide back for just another heartbeat.

He coughed again, the air burning his lungs as the effects of the toxic cloud began to seep into his system. His helmet filter beeped wildly, but the damage had been done.

"COUGH! COUGH! COUGH!"

Six sputtered, tasting iron.

Blood streaked down the inside of his visor as the acrid taste of the cloud filled his mouth.

His throat burned raw, every breath like sucking fire.

His body was reacting faster than he’d anticipated, but he shoved that panic down.

"FUCK! I’m not dying to some fucking toxic cloud!"

His voice was shredded, more snarl than words.

He forced himself upright, boots grinding against the broken ground as more system alerts flared.

Six snarled, ignoring the pain in his chest as he focused on the incoming wave, forcing his body to keep moving. The burning sensation in his mouth, throat, and lungs gnawed at him, but he refused to give it control.

His systems flashed again—air filtration was compromised. Red viscous fluid had clogged the filters, blocking out fresh air and making the burning in his chest even worse. The fluid felt like tar, thick and corrosive. It was eating at the armor’s interior, slowly, but it wasn’t going to win. Not yet.

Six stumbled forward, gripping the hilt of his blade with bloody hands as his HUD flickered. He was going to burn through this. Just like the Ghosts—just like everything else in the way.

His crew above was on point, their guns blazing, ripping through the cloud with everything they had. Boone’s rifle cracked loudly, followed by Raul’s and Twig’s roaring fire. ED-E’s plasma shots were cutting down anything that moved.

But they couldn’t hold back the tide forever. And Six could already feel the next wave surging forward, just beyond the cloud. They were getting closer.

His body shook again, the air burning in his lungs. He spat more blood. It was becoming harder to breathe.

His only thought now was:

"Get to the Ghosts before they get to ME."

"VOID TRIGGER!"