I’ve never seen so many people mass together and choose to do something so reckless for no direct benefit to themselves. This planet is full of weirdos.

Millions of people are marching right from the lowest levels of Calitrexia where the roads are coated in blood to the top levels where the roads are covered in ... well, more blood. Because the marchers are being gunned down by slavers and everyone else that’s been working with them for the past few centuries here. Our job is to defend the marchers, but without killing the opposition. I don’t really get why. Tal said it was something about showing mercy in the face of the merciless or some bull like that. Honestly, it just makes my job tougher.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to not kill someone using a child as a meat shield? I don’t even like kids and even I’m finding it pretty trying. Yana would be so proud of me right now. I can practically feel her grinning at me from beyond. She wouldn’t care that I’m doing this out of vengeance, spite and all that fun stuff. Of course, she’d claim that there was some good in me all along. I won’t deny that her faith in me was a little intoxicating; I even started to believe her myself.

But this lot, this galaxy’s slavers, they stole that from me.

So if I have to keep aiming at their legs and shooting their shoulders, well, I can’t be blamed if a shot or two misses its mark and punctures something a little more vital.

“TINA!” Tal shouts.

“Fiiiiiiiiiiine,” I drawl, switching my sniper for a rifle. “I’ll head to the front and pave the way for those stupid marchers.”

Meg gives me an actually sincerely worried look. “We wanted a mascot not a martyr.”

“Please. I blew up the Torl Enforcer Headquarters twice and got away unscathed. Like this lot could do anything.”

“You did what?” They both screech.

I smirk and leap off the roof. I activate my armour’s thrusters at the last moment, scaring a couple of nearby birds, and land on the ground with a run. The dense crowd of marchers part at the sight of me, one whooping as I sprint past, and another whimpering. Guess they’re not all cut out to be shot at. Or maybe they just don’t trust someone who is grinning so widely to defend them. But I just can’t help it.

This is way too much fun.

I incapacitate three slavers with a careful shot their thighs then leap to the side as a plasma grenade hurtles towards me. The lead marchers throw up a deployable energy shield that takes the blast then flickers out. Nice. These revolutionaries have some tricks up their sleeves. I just hope they’ve got a few more where those came from. I’m good, but not blocking explosions good. If only I’d installed that AI on my ship, then I’d have it down here taking out grenades with those mining lasers I got last month.

Tal’s main worry leading up to today is that we’ll lose more marchers than slaves that we’ll free. I don’t think they quite expected this much support. Or this much resistance. I thought Calitrexia couldn’t care less, but we were both proven wrong. Yesterday, we managed to take out the bombers the slavers were going to use for the march. And today, well, we’re only about a kilometre out from the Calitrexia World Council which sits at the highest constructed point on the planet.

The air isn’t the only thing thinner up here. It almost seems like the slavers are starting to retreat. At least, some of them are. Others are blending into the march and attacking it from the inside. There’s not much I can do about that from here though. If I leave the front, I know that they’ll hurl every explosive at the marchers. The slavers clearly weren’t expecting me to fight down here. I’m an unpredictable element. And it’s making them lose their nerve.

I smile at that thought, no doubt unnerving those I’m shooting at even more. Surely they’ve seen my face on some interplanetary news broadcast. I’m sure that they know how I took Xalon out. Because otherwise, why are they starting to run away at the sight of me? And I don’t mean a few cowardly deserters either. Dozens of the slavers are now turning tail and sprinting away, tripping over each other in a mad dash to escape my rifle sights.

Except that guy. That guy with the grenade launcher. He looks half mad as he slowly walks down the World Council’s steps, his face a mask of cold anger. A collective shiver of dread runs through the marchers behind me. I hear them simultaneously stop and take a single step back. The message is clear. I deal with this one. They walked all this way while being attacked and didn’t hesitate for a moment, but this, this final hurdle is my job.

It’s time for the mascot to dance.

I take a step forward and he immediately fires. My hands find my sniper automatically. Three shots collide with his one several metres above me. The explosion forces me backwards. He was aiming for the marchers, not me. He’s trying to deter them. And it’s working. They’ve all moved a little further away, as if suddenly regretting their decisions. Where are those deployable shields now? It’s like I’ve got to do everything.

I shoot his projectiles out of the air before they strike the ground, while steadily sneaking closer to him. He’s oblivious to my proximity until my sniper is pressed against the barrel of his launcher.

“Try it, I dare you,” I say, smirking.

For a spit-second, I think he actually might. Then he throws the launcher aside and tries to punch me. I lazily block the punch and smack him over the head with my sniper. He crumbles to the ground, unconscious.

“Well, that was easy,” I mutter, turning back to the marchers. “Hey, you lot can stop cowering now! We got here, congrats and all that! Now go do your referendum-thingy so you can pay people for the crap you don’t want to do!”

For some inexplicable reason, the marchers cheer. I shake my head and walk off, dragging grenade launcher guy behind me. Maybe after some healthy torture he can tell me where all these slavers are operating from, so I don’t have to suffer the embarrassment of being treated like some hero much longer.