FIRE? Why didn't you just ask, 8-Ball?
As 8-Ball ran down the hall trying to keep an I'ee safe, it seemed that his screaming of the word fire both worked and didn't work. A group of men with guns, taking shelter behind the now mud-filled fountain in the courtyard took it as a signal to pop out and fire their weapons at a group of advancing Ragnarok mercenaries. A group of local teenagers who seemed to be in all this just for the love of the pure anarchy took it as a request. Several more torches and flasks of oil were flung into windows on the second floor, adding fuel to the fire. A few more sensibly sprinted away, carrying bags full of everything valuable within the palace and disappearing into the storm.
At this point in time, the entire city-facing wing of the palace was close to fully becoming one giant inferno, and it was spreading along to the rest of the palace.
Arccos' General Apathy:
This was a complicated situation, for damn sure. Arccos reflected. She looked up at Truffleclub and gave a little sigh as the machine rendered a man arseless. A pity... This was all madness. And it was warfare. She figured she could get her people out there to fight, but this was a situation where half the people fighting were the type you wouldn't fight. Besides, Cyrus' men were here and far more capable. The Brigadiers were best off doing what they were already doing: Finding survivors and getting them to shelter at their headquarters. With hope they'd found the I'ee out in the storm.
Arccos could fight here, herself. But she had these I'ee to take care of and protect. Precious wasps. And just as she was getting right to the meat of this scenario: Aries turned up, bleating something about Ace being hurt and playing back his broadcast.
The number of shits Arccos could give about Ace living or dying at this moment was extremely minimal. There was a long list of people she wanted to help at this point. Top of the list were the I'ee. Then came the locals, and Truffleclub; not that Truffleclub truly needed helping. Then the rioters who were doing all this. Ace was down on the list at the same elevation as the enemy soldiers who probably had families to go back to.
She wasn't going to devote more than a minimal effort to save a violently insane escapee who should still be in his cell. So should Aries in fact.
"I don't have time to be thinking about you right now. So no, I did not miss you." Arccos responded mentally to Aries. Her digital voice sounded deafening, and seemed to come from all directions at once within her own network. It was quite clear that this might be a very dangerous place to be for any sort of AI. "Get to Ace, I'll send a doctor."
In meat space, Arccos looked up to the towering mechanical mushroom and held up a servo-assisted gauntlet to take the creature's blood-caked manipulator in her own hand.
"Thank you for the warning Truffleclub. But I need your help. These are my friends, the I'ee." Arccos confirmed the huge construct's query, pushing up the I'ee under her poncho to demonstrate. "But they're being hurt badly by the dust. I need you to take them inside, over there."
Arccos indicated with her head the direction of the 'medical wing' such as it was. The place where Ace, Uso and the others had been gathering. Corgan's men were here, so this was good, but the state of the palace meant there probably wasn't anything to reclaim. She let go of Truffleclub for a moment, taking out her communicator; using it to display some images.
"Protect them from enemies, and look for these people."
First was a mugshot of Ace. Unflattering, his name hovering under his image.
"This is Ace. He is wounded, and needs help, but is also defective like the spiders. If he becomes violent towards you, he should just be euthanized."
The second image took a few seconds to scroll through multiple options for Uso; some of them flattering, some of them not, others seemed to show just irrelevant portions of Uso's anatomy, Arccos seemed to have stored to memory for her later viewing pleasure. She settled on one that looked like it was appropriate for a bounty poster.
"This is Uso. Nekovalkyrja, but not Yamataian. She may have been wounded, but will likely not need help."
She then flipped through a few more, before settling on an image of an I'ee with an LED screen strapped to their face. The picture seemed to have little love hearts and flowers copied and pasted around the wasp's image, like something a teenager would make of their boyfriend in a Yamataian photo booth.
"This is Sammy, I don't know where he is, but if you see him, please protect him."
Arccos put away the communicator, and offered up the I'ee to the giant mushroom's tender embrace. "Please be quick, and stay safe. I need to help protect the others."
There was a lot more wagons, guys:
The first assault on the palace had failed. Those inside had mostly fled before being replaced by the mob, and the storm was past its heaviest hour now, but still able to choke, shred or fry with lightning... The fires were burning but it was time to force them out. The General's men who led the assault were starting to scatter and fall back, while the mob was just getting more chaotic by the moment. If the storm died, then their skyboats would return and make short work of their artillery once again.
Now was the time. These aliens would be given no ground to run to, and their chosen haven would bury them.
Those in what passed as a medical wing of the palace, which was more a waiting room for those wanting to gain access to the Queen's Slave, would feel the entire palace shake around them. The roar of the winds failed to hide the crack of cannonfire, although it made it difficult to tell what direction it came from, heavy balls of iron were still colliding with the side of the palace... They were just trying to burn, crush, and generally destroy the entire building with everyone in it. Their people, the aliens. Everyone.
For now the heavy stone walls stood sturdy: But on shaky sand beneath the foundations, and fire spreading... The Palace was becoming a candle lit at both ends. Burning from one direction, and being pounded into gravel by cannon fire at the other.
alace Medical Wing::
