Baiken Guilty Gear Novels & Stories

Those words echoed the thoughts of a few persons in the room. Guardian Knight didn't answer the question directly as he said something else, "I advise all relevant personnel to prepare the auxiliary materials from now. We'll need to start the production of the gear as early as possible if we want to stay ahead of our enemies, especially the and the ."

One both sides were padded Four inch wide shelves with Velcro straps on them just above the shelves were padded leather buckle straps backed with wooly sheep skin. Cherry looked at Abi. "Get up on the pad, head toward the higher end." Abi looked nervously at Gio "Gio?" Gio nodded. "I need to know how to use it Abi for Becky." "You won't do anything or let her do anything to me?"

He had something on his mind and whatever it was, it wasn't good. He also wasn't dressed casually. Instead, he was in full tribal warrior gear. Soft moleskin pants hugged his lower frame. Lace-up boots covered his feet and shins. His upper body was bare except for an interlocking buffalo bone breastplate. Inch and a half wide leather strips wound around his wrists. And in addition to traditional weaponry of knives strapped in various places, Ever also had a Glock handgun holstered around one meaty thigh. No, this definitely wasn't an informal visit.

“What man wears pink?” “A man whose girlfriend buys it for him. Or is sponsored.” I get up and lean against the closet door. It’s big enough to fit a small car. Backlit shelves, cedar panels, mirrors that make everything look ten percent more expensive. Rows of jeans folded with geometric precision. Racks of button-ups, hoodies, jackets, all of them sharp-lined and brand-labeled. Most are Calvin Klein. His backer. Also mine. Jackson is into comfort, not branding. He wears Mack Weldon’s AIRKNITx and Bauer — not by sponsorship, by choice. He’s not big on freebies that come with legislations.

All of us wanted to destroy it and its leader. Pulling up to base, we unloaded our gear and parked the van in the garage out back. Our base was a warehouse building disguised as an elite gym. In the front was Domino’s Gym, owned by Chief. In the back of the warehouse, was all the government equipment we could ask for. To patrons, our team all worked at the gym. Badger was in charge of martial arts and kickboxing classes, while Buddha was in charge of weight training and yoga classes. Arrow and Chief ran self defense classes and helped oversee operations

Brea dashed to it, yanking the back door open and fumbling around in the pocket behind the driver’s seat. Her fingers found the cool metal of the Glock, and she wrenched it free. Then she darted back for the repair shop, crouched and on her tiptoes. Brea hadn’t heard anything that sounded like a gunshot yet, and she counted her blessings, even as she counted the seconds. Pierce was clever enough to keep her talking…but Clara craved blood now.

His face turned red almost instantly. “What… what manner of armor is this?” His voice cracked. “Not armor.” Geoff’s grin widened wickedly. “Lingerie.” Keenan’s eyes swept the displays in horror and fascination. He leaned closer to one mannequin, frowning at a lacy bra. “It offers no protection. The stomach is bare, the chest, exposed. This would get a soldier killed.” “It’s not for fighting,” Geoff said. “It’s for… other battles.” Keenan’s blush deepened. “Ah.” He cleared his throat, stepping back like the lace itself might burn him. “Other battles.”

According to analytics, it’s very popular. Dad, Uncle John, and Alberto Garcia are in the backseat of an armored black Chevy Suburban SUV driven by armed bodyguards who look like they were assembled in a government lab. Meanwhile, we’re on our Reaper dirt bikes, decked out in matching co-op government official outfits — courtesy of Uncle John’s company, naturally. Nothing says totally legit like sponsored authority. And also thanks to Blackburn Inc., we’re all wired with sleek little earpieces designed for tactical, covert, direct-to-ear comms. Whispered threats. Muted swearing. Crystal clear panic, should it come to that.

"So how do you want to play this?" "I am going to handle it," I said flatly. Without waiting for a response, I reached up and unbuckled the heavy, silk-lined royal cloak Kaelen had draped over my shoulders back at the Citadel. I tossed the expensive garment onto the floorboards behind me, revealing the sleek, skin-tight tactical gear I wore underneath—complete with my loaded knife stays and the twin silver short blades strapped to my thighs. Kaelen watched me with dark, heavy brows, his eyes tracking the fluid, lethal lines of my body as I adjusted my gear.