The atmosphere in the War Room was thick with the scent of ozone and the low hum of the holographic projector. Jacob had gathered the senior veterans: Amelia, Markus, Vance, Corbin, and Jack. Despite their mix of casual gear and half-donned armor, their eyes were locked onto the Sink's CIU display with the kind of intensity only found in men and women who had survived a dozen "final" battles.
The map zoomed out, highlighting the narrow, jagged ridge on the west side. It was a treacherous bottleneck—the only way to reach the X-42 facility and the northern tunnel leading to the heart of the Big Mountain.
"So, since Case wants to storm this sooner—and let's be honest, we're all itching to move—we need a solid plan," Jacob said, tapping the holographic ridge. "But I want to confirm intel first. Vance, does the tank actually fit on that ridge? Is it safe to move seventy tons of steel up there?"
Vance, the tank commander, leaned forward, his face illuminated by the blue light of the map. "There's a pre-war truck stuck on the tracks. Currently, the gap between the ridge and that wreck is just enough for a single Main Battle Tank to squeeze through. It'll be tight, but if we can nudge that truck out of the way or blow it off the tracks, the M60 will fit. We'll have the high ground on the canyon floor."
Case stepped up, his mind racing through the technical specs he'd skimmed in the Think Tank's archives. "I found a schematic for the Robo-scorpions. If Mobius is just scaling up the standard design, expect the Giant to scoff at anything that isn't heavy-duty armor-piercing. We're talking plating thick enough to ignore 7.62mm rounds like they're raindrops."
Vance nodded, a grim smile touching his lips. "That's where the 105mm comes in. We've got High Explosive (HE) shells ready. I can put two rounds into its sensor array in quick succession. The thing is a house on legs; it isn't agile enough to dodge. If the HE doesn't crack the shell, we've got Sabots in the rack. But for a target that big and clunky, a massive concussive blast is usually the best way to scramble its internal processors."
Amelia leaned back, her fingers tapping a rhythmic metallic beat on the table. "If we're going up against a walking fortress, we need more than just the tank's main gun. Does this place have real anti-armor assets? I'm talking Fat Man launchers, Tesla Cannons—the works."
"The LAERs we salvaged can cut through thin plating," Jack added, adjusting his glasses. "But their real value is the EMP effect. It'll scramble the sub-routines, but it won't crack the main chassis."
Corbin shook his head, his raspy voice cutting through the technical chatter. "We need a recoilless rifle. A Missile Launcher is a fine tool for swatting a Vertibird out of the sky, but let's be honest, Jacob—you know as well as I do that a standard missile is an anti-air weapon. Against heavy, sloped robot plating? It's just an expensive firework."
Jacob nodded slowly, his arms crossed over his chest. "I'm aware of it. Fully aware."
"So, we need a proper anti-tank solution," Corbin continued. "Something with a shaped charge. A rocket-propelled grenade or a dedicated sabot."
Jacob turned his gaze toward Case, the red glow of the holographic map reflecting in his eyes. "Case, this 'Giant'—is it resistant to heavy MG rounds? I'm talking .50 BMG."
Case shook his head confidently. He remembered the math from the "game" world—the Anti-Materiel Rifle could tear chunks out of the legendary scorpion. Even without a lucky hit to the optics, thirty-five rounds of sustained .50 caliber fire would turn its internal sensors into scrap metal.
"It'll feel it," Case confirmed. "The armor is thick, but .50 cal will bite."
Jacob's face split into a wide, predatory grin. "So, we mount the Browning M2 on top of the tank, and I carry another one? Infantry in T-60 power armor lugging a Ma Deuce into the breach... it'll be a glorious sight, Case. Truly glorious."
"We already have two new T-60s, three in total, Kelly and Lilly are already used to the control, so it left me and Jacob, as for our weapons, we will be on the crowd control. I'll just take the gatling laser."
Case stepped forward and began sketching the layout of the X-42 "arena" directly onto the holographic display. He didn't bother with minor tactical nuances; the strategy was centered on one thing: overwhelming, superior firepower.
"The entrance to the X-42 hangar is massive," Case explained, pointing to the primary gate. "It'll fit the M60 with room to spare. Here's the play: The tank doesn't stop. It pushes forward in a constant rush toward the Scorpion, dumping every round it has—the 105mm cannon, the coaxial, the HMG—everything. We don't give its targeting sensors a second to lock onto the infantry."
He traced lines outward from the tank's path. "The T-60 power armor troops follow the tank's wake, spreading thin to minimize the splash damage from the Scorpion's pulse-wave. Behind them, the veteran Rangers will carry the heavy anti-tank assets. If that thing takes a 105mm shell to the face and keeps walking, the vets are the ones who put the killing blow in its joints."
Once the Scorpion was scrapped, the goal shifted: take the manufacturing facility and secure the production lines. But the final phase was what gave the veterans pause.
"The core team—Corbin, Amelia, Markus, Milla, and myself—will breach the inner sanctum to confront Doctor Mobius," Case said, his voice dropping an octave. "Orders are to make him stand down. Do not kill him. Mobius is a deranged scientist, drugged to the point of lunacy on Mentats and Psycho, but he's actually the one keeping the Think Tank from escaping and destroying the Mojave. He has good intentions; he's just lost his mind to the chemistry."
The room went silent as Case dropped the final bombshell. "Once we have Mobius contained, I retrieve the brain—my brain—while you guys sweep for the remaining underground entrances. We secure the facility, we secure the scientist, and we win the Big Empty."
The team stood there, overwhelmed by the sheer scale of the information. They had expected a bug hunt; Case had just described a regime change, a medical extraction, and a psychological intervention all wrapped into one suicide mission.
Jacob was the first to break the silence, a low whistle escaping his lips. "Kid... a drugged-up mad scientist keeping the world safe? It's a hell of a story. But if you say he stays alive, he stays alive."
"Any questions?" Case asked, looking around the circle of veterans.
"Yeah—this is absolutely nuts," Vance said, giving a thumbs-up while checking the pressure gauges on his suit. "But I've followed worse plans into better places. Let's get to it, Case."
Amelia scratched the side of her head, her T-60 gauntlet making a dull metallic sound against her helmet. "Well, Case, between the talking toasters and the brain-snatching robots, this isn't even the weirdest thing I've dealt with this week. I'm in."
Corbin just let out a dry, raspy chuckle, his ghoul features twisting into a grin. "Does this mean we'll be playing mariachi by the night? A victory song over the scrap heap?"
"No," Jacob intervened, cutting through the chatter with his CO voice. "We play when the zone is silent. Alright, everyone, dismissed. To your stations. When the power armors are finished, let's storm the place.."
The room cleared out with military precision. The heavy thud of power-armored boots and the clatter of gear echoed down the halls of the Sink as the Rangers moved back to their stations.
The war room felt cavernous now that the others had cleared out, leaving only the four pillars of the operation: Jacob, Amelia, Case, and Milla. The holographic map continued to spin in the center of the room, casting a ghostly blue light over their faces.
Jacob gestured for Case and Milla to step closer. Amelia disappeared into her personal stash for a moment, returning with a weapon that looked more like a piece of industrial machinery than a firearm. It was a custom 12.7mm SMG—heavy, matte-black, suppressed, and fitted with a sturdy tactical stock.
She handed the weapon to Milla. "Milla, I believe this will be a good weapon for you."
Milla took the weight of the gun, her eyes widening. Calling it an SMG felt like an insult; it was a heavy-duty "bolter" of a weapon, designed to put thumb-sized holes through reinforced plating. "I... I don't know what to say," she stammered, running a gloved finger over the receiver. "Thanks, Amelia, but why?"
"Because it's going to be a long day, and I want you to be the one who walks out of it," Amelia said softly.
Jacob then turned to Case, his expression uncharacteristically solemn. "And you, kid. I'm leaving my gear for you. My Elite Riot Gear and my personal rifle. This operation isn't a scouting mission anymore—it's a war. You need the best protection we've got."
"Same here," Amelia added, stepping toward Milla and giving her a long, loving gaze that cut through the tension of the room. "For you, of course, my sweetie. Take my armor as well, it will be better in your good hands."
"For real… I don't know what to say," Milla murmured, her fingers tightening around the heavy grip of the 12.7mm SMG. The weight of the gift was more than just metal; it was an admission that they were no longer just recruits.
"Don't say a thing. You've both grown so much," Amelia added, her voice uncharacteristically soft as she looked at the two of them. She reached out, adjusting a strap on Milla's suit with a motherly precision before stepping back into her role as the squad's cold, clinical heart.
Jacob turned his attention to Case, "And you, Case... don't forget to return my armor in one piece. That suit has seen more history than most libraries."
"Sure thing, Pa," Case replied, a small smirk playing on his lips.
Jacob paused, halfway into his power armor's chassis. He shook his head, though he couldn't quite hide the warmth in his eyes. "Calling me 'Pa' again. You're gonna make me feel every bit as old as I am, kid."
"Roger, Major," Case corrected with a mock salute.
With that, the preparation was complete.