Chapter 5 – Omega’s Counterstrike

Chapter 5 – Omega’s Counterstrike

🌃 Lille, Northern France, 02:15

The rain hammered down on cracked concrete as Omega’s Shadow Syndicate advanced their counteroffensive. Mech walkers – black titanium bipedal exo-frames armed with .50 cal Gatlings and thermal sensors – patrolled the abandoned industrial park.

Inside a rusting Renault van across the street, Salty’s team geared up.

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🪖 Briefing

Salty checked his H&K, chambering a round calmly.

“Omega’s importing tactical nukes through Calais. Funji, WhizzAir – eyes and blades up. Aishling, Sarah – seduction infiltration. Ye Olde Large Lad… cause chaos.”

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✈️ WhizzAir vs Omega Mechs

WhizzAir flicked drone goggles down, eyes flickering with manic glee.

“Droning on lads… target locked.”

His micro swarm zipped through the dark sky, EMP payloads humming. The Omega mechs’ thermal sensors beeped warningly before WhizzAir’s drones fried their circuits mid-step.

The two front mechs jerked and collapsed, smashing into shipping containers. Sparks and hydraulic fluid sprayed like arterial blood.

“And that’s how you turn a billion-euro mech into modern art,” WhizzAir cackled.

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💋 Aishling and Sarah’s Infiltration

At the Omega field HQ tent, Aishling adjusted her tight black infiltration dress, cleavage pushing out so far even Sarah smirked appreciatively.

“Jesus Ash, careful turning sideways or you’ll poke someone’s eye out,” Sarah whispered.

Aishling winked. “That’s the plan, love.”

The guards outside the tent practically drooled as Aishling swayed past, blonde hair glimmering under floodlights. Inside, Omega’s quartermaster looked up, stunned.

“You’re… you’re not on the list—”

She pressed her bust against his chest, giggling sweetly before slitting his throat with her hidden wrist wire. Blood sprayed her dress as she stepped over his corpse with an exaggerated sigh.

“God, men are so messy.”

Sarah snuck in behind her, MP7 raised, clearing corners with disciplined precision. Together, they downloaded Omega’s next shipment locations before slipping away into the shadows.

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🔪 Funji’s Duel

At the northern gate, Funji moved like a phantom, tanto blades flashing under sodium lights. An Omega elite – a towering African merc in custom kevlar with dual machetes – blocked his path.

For the first time in years, Funji’s dead eyes glimmered with excitement.

Their blades clashed in silvery arcs, sparks spraying into the rain. Funji dipped under a machete sweep, slicing behind the knee before severing the man’s carotid in a single perfect motion.

The merc collapsed, choking on blood. Funji wiped his blades calmly.

“Amateur.”

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🪓 Ye Olde Large Lad’s Chaos

Ye Olde Large Lad charged straight into Omega’s rear lines, bellowing:

“WHO ORDERED THE IRISH BREAKFAST?!”

His SAW spat roaring streams of hot lead, mowing down mercs like wheat. One Omega sniper tried to line him up – Large Lad hurled his sledgehammer end-over-end, crushing the sniper’s skull into pink mist.

“GAA finals got nothin’ on this craic lads!”

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🚁 Extraction

Winky detonated his C4 under the last operational mech, laughing as its flaming carcass toppled onto Omega’s command vehicle.

Sarah and Aishling sprinted across the tarmac, Sarah’s ponytail whipping side to side, Aishling’s cleavage bouncing with each powerful stride. They dove into the extraction van as Funji and Ye Olde Large Lad jumped in behind them.

WhizzAir revved the engine, goggles flicking up. “All aboard the WhizzExpress lads!”

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❤️ Final Scene

As they sped away through Lille’s shattered streets, Sarah leaned against Salty, chest heaving.

“We need a holiday.”

Salty smirked darkly, reloading his rifle. “When Omega’s dead.”

Aishling laughed breathlessly, wiping blood from her cleavage.

“Until then, let’s just keep having fun, yeah?”

Ye Olde Large Lad bellowed from the back.

“Now who wants kebabs? I’m starvin’.”