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Chapter 31: Under the Gun
June 10th, 3239, 1423 hours
Mahnattan, New York City, Earth
Ground Level
In the depths of New York City's underlevels, it wasn't uncommon to see some of the strangest people to ever walk the earth. In cities like this, one would be likely to find the poor, the low-wage earners, junkies of every stripe, cyborgs that were doing anything for their next upgrade, gene splicers that were addicted to change, aliens that couldn't afford or bare to live among the higher levels of life. Much like the people, the architecture was also as diverse as the people that walked alongside it. Stands of merchants that were trying to sell their wares in hastily built stores, buildings hundreds of years old, dating back to before the super-skyscrapers, and modern buildings that were sleek and spotless. This mix of appearances allowed a group of otherwise unimpressive people to move through the masses of thousands of otherwise unimpressive people.
John shuffled in his overcoat uncomfortably. He had to ensure that he didn't make any unnecessary movements that would tear the coat. It wouldn't have been so bad if he could simply take off his MJOLNIR armor, but that simply was not an option. As for his helmet, it was tucked safely away in one of his comrade's backpacks. Despite the cool that he usually kept, John was slightly uncomfortable by this whole situation. He never imagined that he would have been in this situation. Even though he had been trained to fight against rebels, he never thought that he would have been against the very people who he had been assigned to protect. On top of it all, his powerful hand was grasping the shoulder of a young man who was fighting a battle to stay within the realm of sanity. It was a battle that John believed that the young man was losing.
"How are you feeling?" Sally asked Chris.
"Apart from the minor mental flashes of agony…" He gritted his teeth and shook his head violently. "Fucking fantastic! How's your day been?"
Jackson, who held up the left said, "I'd say you're drawing attention to yourself, but… well… I don't think you're the wildest thing out there." She looked over her shoulder to see a set of street performers flipping in the air while a holographic troupe of dancers attracted people from all over. "You know, this seems like an interesting show."
"When we don't have government agents on our ass, we'll buy a ticket." Allen said.
John tapped his earpiece. "Borne, what's it look like up ahead?"
Approximately 100 feet ahead of the group, William Borne and Alexander Konstantinos served as the forward eyes of the group. The route that they agreed on had to be scouted to ensure that ONI did not have their own eyes planted. The pair had to observe every single car, every single café corner, and every single person that looked the least bit suspicious. Borne tapped his earpiece.
"So far as we know, everything seems to check out." His ear twitched as he noticed something. "Hold position for a moment." He turned to Alex. "Hey, I don't like that guy over at the barista."
Konstantinos narrowed his eyes at the row of buildings and spotted the coffeeshop the Mobian picked out. "Which one? I see two of them."
"The one on the left." Borne said. "Big Cuppa Joy. Middle aged man, longer hair, red sports jacket. You see him?"
Konstantinos did indeed see someone at the café. He seemed to be using a datapad while at his table taking a sip of a coffee. "Yeah. I see him."
"He glances at us every now and again. Just go and make sure he's not sending any secret messages or something. Go look at the menu or something."
Alex nodded and broke away from the group. "Checking out a potential threat. Stand by." He tapped his headset and made his way across the street, letting a motorcycle go before him. Konstantinos was astounded by the amount of people making their way through the crowd. He moved out of the way of a pair of chatting Kig-Yar who barely gave him any attention. Back in Athens, it was unheard of to see all of these people. There must have been a million in eyesight alone. He got to A Cuppa Joy within minutes, but still kept an eye on where Borne was, still up against a streetlight with a pair of dark sunglasses on. He turned his sight to the man in the red jacket who was still tapping on his datapad. Konstantinos made it look like he was browsing the menu. While pretending to be interested in buying a Cuppa Delight Special, Alex made glances to the man and managed to see what he was doing. He was just playing a game of crosses on his pad. Even when he jumped to a different program, it was only a stock market application. Konstantinos also saw a second cup of steaming coffee. He was just waiting for someone, probably his wife, or a friend.
"False alarm. It's all good." He said into his headset.
"Why hello there!" a cheery voice called from his right.
Alex jumped slightly, and saw a server robot hovering at eye level projecting a smiling face into the air.
"Welcome to A Cuppa Joy! Can I take your order? Are you interested in our Cuppa Vanilla Blend?"
"Ah, not really. I was just browsing."
"We do have a sale on our Fruity Blend biscotti plate! Three for the price of two!"
"No, really I'm fine. I was just leaving. I might be passing by here later though!"
"Well alright then!" The robot said while printing out a stub. "This is a coupon for a free small Cuppa Blend! Not redeemable for cash! Hope you consider a sip!"
Alex took the coupon, and licked his lips. He did need a pick me up.
Borne was still watching the streets for any activity when he saw Konstantinos crossing the road with what looked like a to-go cup in his hand.
"The hell is that?" William said pointing to it.
"Well…" he smiled sheepishly. "I had a coupon."
"Really? We're on the verge of inter-dimensional war and the destruction of all life as we know it, and you get yourself a cup of coffee?"
"It was free!"
"You're unbelievable. Of all the things that would tick me off, this is it. Let's go." He tapped his headset. "We're good. Moving again."
"Roger." Cortana responded. "What was the hold up?"
"Someone needed to get his java on." Borne said crossing the street at the light. "Well, is it good?"
"You know, it's not bad really! What street was this on?"
"Alright, give me a sip." Borne demanded.
"What? It's my coffee!"
"And you slowed us down. Coffee tax." He took the cup away from Alex and took a drink from up. "Hmm. What was the name of that place? Cuppa Joy? Gotta write that down."
Similar to how Borne and Konstantinos watched the front roads, Rouge and Reyes were pulling up the rear. This was to make sure that they were not being followed by anybody. Rouge was wearing Reyes' jacket to cover part of her ONI jumpsuit. It was a good tactic, despite the fact that it seemed two sizes too large on her slender frame. Reyes seemed to stand out despite the cacophony of noise and cultural differences around them dressed in his simple T-shirt and cargo pants. His dark arms barely seemed contained by the sleeves. Rouge licked her lips.
"Say, Reyes… um… what was your first name?"
"James. Everyone calls me Jamie." He said in his deep voice.
"Did you… ever consider being a Spartan?"
"Never." He said right off the bat.
"Ever?"
"Never ever." He reaffirmed. "Couldn't stand the idea of them putting things in me, pumping me full of God knows what, and grafting shit to my bones… it freaks me out."
"You're a big guy." The agent said. "You could take it."
"Yeah, but what if I don't want to take it? That shit's permanent."
"But you have nanobot transceivers in your bloodstream." Rouge pointed out.
"Which can be dissolved upon me exiting the service. White blood cells will gobble them up like they're bacteria. Not so easy to do with titanium-grafted bones."
"I've never heard that before. Seems like you can become a god when you're a Spartan."
"Gods, but still people, who let that power go to their heads. People aren't right once they serve in that outfit for a while." Something caught his eye coming from behind a corner a block back. It was a black-painted police car. This disturbed Reyes since most of the regular police cars had white paint. The unit number was also not present on this model either. It set off warning bells. "Hey, I think we have a problem. Get your hood up."
Rouge did not question. She pulled the jacket hood up over her head and folded her ears down, facing away from the road. She gave the impression of looking completely Human to the common observer. "Police car, but completely black, no unit tag."
"Sounds like an NYPD Special Detectives Unit squad car." Cortana said. "This is upsetting. Sounds like ONI may have figured out that we may haven't gone through San Francisco after all."
"They may have sent alerts to both SF and here in new York." Rouge cautioned. "Getting both at the same time."
"You think they know all about us?" Sally asked over the COM.
"Doubt it." Cortana replied. "Judging from the police reports, it's only the barest information to go on. ONI wouldn't want to come down here themselves."
"Too messy." Rouge confirmed. "Too much paperwork. Best to let the local law enforcement do things on their own work before they visit us in Holding."
"We'd better be careful then…" a strained voice said over the COM. It was Chris'. "Perks of coming from a family of lawyers… you get to know a few cops. Some of them may know my face."
"It was a mistake to bring him into the open." Reyes said groaning.
"Hell of a lot better than the backroads. We get spotted there, there's no way we're walking away without slinging some lead." Borne said from up ahead.
The pair stood still as the police car rolled past their position, pretending to be interested in a news report that was being broadcasted on a public screen. The police car moved past them. Reyes took a quick glance at the officers who were shrouded in the shadow of their cruiser with dark sunglasses covering their face. The one in the driver's seat was pointing out several things to his partner. Thankfully, none of these things seemed to be the group.
"Watch out, cruiser heading your way…" Rouge advised the guys ahead.
"This is ridiculous." Sonic remarked. He was saying what was on everybody's mind at the moment.
"Say, I don't know how easy it will be to conceal our friend here." Jackson said pointing to the Captain.
"Seems my ears still work just fine." Chris said with a snarl that was uncharacteristic.
"Knock it off." Sally said to Jackson.
"Incoming." Hera said, pointing out the police car. "Scatter."
Silently, the group broke apart, folding into the greater crowd of people around them. By the time the detective cruiser passed by them, it would have been virtually impossible to spot a single one of them. They were looking for a group, not a person. With a sigh of relief, everybody continued to move, free of speculation from those around them.
"How far to this gun shop?" Roan asked.
"Only a couple of blocks from here." NICOLE said. "I chose our landing zone because of its proximity."
Chris wobbled slightly. "Better get me there before I start…" a flash in the crowd made him blink. "…seeing things."
Sally's brow furrowed in concern.
A figure stood out in the crowd. Despite the thousands of people of different races that were on a single street, one made the Captain's mouth dropped. "No, not you."
The man stood not ten feet away from them not saying anything. He smiled sweetly. It would have been nice, had he not been holding his own legs in his hands. In place of his own, steel spiderlike legs touched the ground. A pair of broken glasses covered his nose, and multiple burns and cuts covered his face. Charles Madison.
"Please God no…!" Chris said in a small whisper "Please stay dead!"
Charles said nothing, but held his bloody battered legs, as if in offering to his best friend.
"You didn't deserve it, Chuck."
Charles nodded, but didn't say anything, still smiling and still holding his legs. One of them twitched, and Chris almost gagged. "Why won't you say anything?"
"Corpses can't talk, puke." Kapplin's voice taunted. I thought you were smart enough to know that.
By this time, Sally had developed a way to make things seem less… strange. Whenever Chris entered one of his… 'phases', she would interact herself in the conversations that he was having with himself, responding to his statements, questions, and exclamations. It was odd, no doubt, but in public, much of his insane rambling was lost among the din of the public.
"Why won't you say anything?" He had said.
"Well, I'm trying to say something to you, but if you can't be bothered to listen, then I don't know what this is going to accomplish." She said, keeping up the ruse. The others looked at her uncertainly. Sonic in particular was just as shocked with her responses. Perhaps it wouldn't be too long before Sally herself would just give in and join the Captain in his insanity.
Despite the risk of being discovered by the police, the rest of the trip passed without much difficulty. The only challenge was keeping the Captain under control. It seemed like more and more often he was beginning to become much more comfortable with his apparitions, mentioning them in the background, and even calling out to them as if in greeting. According to NICOLE, this was major cause for concern.
"I've been watching this man for weeks dealing with this nonsense. He was as disturbed as I was when I first heard about this. Now he's ready to invite them over for tea and biscuits."
"There's got to be something we can do! Anything!" Sally said in near desperation. "Can we snap him out of it?"
"I don't think it's going to be that easy anymore." NICOLE said.
They came to a large red-bricked apartment building. John put the Captain against the wall. "Why not?" he asked.
"I'm no neurologist, but if this is as bad as I think it is, even if we can remove this information, we're looking at some sort of permanent damage."
"What's the extent?" Hera asked.
"I don't know." NICOLE said after a few seconds of silence.
"Stay here. Let me take a look." John advised the others. He peeked around the side of the apartment. Like before, there were many people walking up and down the street and cars in the road, but unlike before, there was no sign that there was no sign of the police stalking them. Better yet, Ryan's property was right in front of them.
Ryan ran his own private business here in the underlevels of New York City. He called it many things: Ryan's Gun Shack, Rycorp, among many others, but it was clear that if there was any sort of friend you wanted to make, it was one with an arsenal the size of this man's. Ryan started his business up not long after coming to Earth, and within ten years had set up his first international trading contracts. He sold weapons from the Russians to the Chinese. From Earth to the Sagittarius Arm colonies. One would never think of it looking at this building. Considering the income, why he decided to put on a uniform was beyond anyone.
Sally and Chris entered first. She ensured that he could stand well enough on his own before leaving him. She looked around the room. It was almost exactly the same as they saw it five years ago. To the common observer, Ryan's humble store looked almost no different than any other firearms establishment. The walls were covered by many types of projectile weapons which ranged from pistols, shotguns, submachine guns, and rifles. Most were behind protective cases which held the weapon, and a dummy round that showed the caliber of the gun. In the center of the room was a set of antigrav 'shelves' that held three rotating rifles. Sally recognized one of them being of Misriah make. She looked at it turning slowly in the air and noted its aftermarket parts. She and Ryan may have had a few bumps in the road, but she could not deny that he was an excellent businessman and gunsmith.
Borne crossed the door first. "Dear Santa…" he said breathlessly. "I have been a very good boy this year."
Jackson and Roan made similar comments. "We should talk business with these guys."
It would have been suspicious to have everyone enter at once, so some of the group waited outside watching the road while blending into the crowds of people. Inside the store, a few people were looking around at the shelves. Sally spotted a Sangheili eyeing a Human-built plasma rifle. Its mandibles bobbed in curiosity as he looked over its angular design. Sally made a count: about ten people were browsing the store. A security guard wearing a Rycorp shirt stood in the corner watching them. At his hip was a tazer pistol. Dark sunglasses obscured his eyes.
"Stay here, alright?" Sally advised Chris, who said nothing but waved her away. She sighed and walked towards where the front desk. The store was divided into four main rooms. With a fifth acting as the space where employees were checking out the goods for customers. Sally moved past the weapons and made her way to the desk. She spotted a man who was probably about sixty or seventy. She had to remind herself that he may have seemed older, but Humans lived healthier and longer lives than this. He had a military-style buzz cut, a scar near his ear, and an full-length artificial arm that was poking from beneath his ash-grey T-shirt. It seemed to be colored like flesh. He noticed Sally walking up to him and placed his artificial hand on the table. "May I help you?"
Sally broke her vision from the fake arm. "Ah… hello."
The man smiled slightly. "Admiring the hardware?" he suggested. "Don't worry, you're not the first."
"I have a friend with an artificial arm, but I've never seen one like that."
The man shrugged and nodded. "Eyup. Barymeter Bay Skirmish, 3204. Been about 35 years with this thing. Usually there's synthetic flesh that they color to your own, but I chose to keep it like it was. Lets me know that I'm only Human." He held it out to shake her hand. "Maxwell Bing, retired colonel, UNSC Army."
"Sa… Sandra Aaron." Sally said, changing to her false name before she gave herself away."
Colonel Bing looked her over. "What can I find for you? What do you shoot? .38?"
".357 actually, but I'm not here for a gun."
Bing's eyebrow raised. "Well, let's hear it, young lady. What can this old man help you with? No hits though. We stopped doing those two months back." He chuckled.
Sally did as well, lightly, but she glanced back to the door, then glanced at Chris, who was speaking with Allen, probably upset the shop carried neither a 1911 nor a Desert Eagle. He seemed normal for now.
"Friends?" Bing asked.
"Yes." She then cut to the chase. "We're friends of Ryan. We need help."
Bing sighed and smiled. "Young lady, you have no idea how often I hear that one. Care to… uh, explain your relationship?"
Sally believed she could trust nobody, but at this point, there was no choice. "I am Princess Sally Acorn of Knothole. That man standing back there is probably one of Ryan's best friends. He is not well."
Bing looked her over. "Oh… so you're her!" he looked up and down the table, making sure other customers were busy. "He told me about you guys. Mostly just descriptions, no pictures. He said if you ever came through those doors, you're family."
She smiled. "That's very nice of him." She steadied herself and looked at Maxwell. "Can you help us?"
Bing looked at the others. When his eyes fell upon John, he said, "He's not what I think he is, is he?"
Sally nodded.
"It was not smart bringing him into public. Your friends had better get in the back, quick. I know what's been happening lately. Come on." He motioned her to a door behind the counter and went to go get the others.
"I'm just saying, Ryan says he has every single gun that can be conceived." Chris said. "There's not a single damned Desert Eagle that is here."
"There's a couple of IMI pieces here." Borne said looking at the rack."
"It's not the same." Chris said. "Roan, you love your 1911, right?"
"Yeah." Allen responded.
"If you were to lose it, would you not want a replacement?"
"But you still have it, just not here."
"But the principle still fucking stands!"
"Whoa!" Reyes said. "That was uncalled for, sir."
"Why don't you back the hell off, Reyes?" the Captain said through his teeth.
"I respect you sir, but you are seriously cruising for a hook to the head."
"Again? Take your best shot, big man…"
"HEY! Is there a problem?" a man said with an air of authority. The group turned to see who was speaking. A well built man with an artificial arm came marching towards them. Chris, John, Borne, Alex, and Reyes stood a bit straighter. They recognized the stride, the command, and the appearance of the man. He was a soldier, and despite not being in uniform, his very image demanded respect.
"No sir." Chris said solidly. "We were just having a small conversation that got out of hand."
"I'll say! I don't want any altercations in my weapons establishment! Is that clear, son?"
"Crystal, sir."
"Very good. Now stand at ease, Captain."
Horror jolted through the entire group. "I think you must have me-"
"Oh cut the bullshit, I know who you are. Miss 'Aaron' over there," he pointed with his prosthetic, "told me everything. You're in good hands, Marine. Max Bing, UNSC Army retired."
"Thank Christ." Konstantinos said.
"We'd better get you guys behind the desk. Ryan said you were to be given the presidential treatment."
"Only fair." Rouge said. "They've supplied him with enough adrenaline for a lifetime."
Bing smiled and waved them ahead. "Quickly. A lot of cops have been passing by outside."
The group moved past the shining weapons, armor, and personal energy shields.
"Say, what happened to that other guy who used to work here a few years back?" Sonic asked. "Thin dude, wiry hair, seemed shaky?"
"Oh, Vic." Bing shook his head. "The walking definition of 'dumbass'. Two years back, we found out he was doing some splice drugs. Hid it pretty well claiming that he was trying out some new pigmentation surgery or something, but it was after his skin started to turn a nice shade of blue that I booted his ass out. Not a very smart kid. Splicehead, methhead, cokehead, and above all, a dickhead."
"He sold our location out to Robotnik." Sonic said simply.
"Figured that out not long after he was let go. Was not happy about that at all."
"So?"
"I hear he made it as far as Ann Arbor before he dropped off the grid. Probably ended up in a gutter trying to get his next fix. Good riddance."
Colonel Bing moved some customers out of the way, ushering them into the back room. A few curious patrons glanced at them.
"They've seen our faces." John said slowly.
"They won't think anything of it until a public bulletin goes out with our locations. There's millions of people in the city. Remember too: nobody knows we swapped ship IDs."
"At least, we hope that's the truth. Abigail responded."
When the final person crossed the doorway, Bing told another cashier to take over for him while he attended to business in the back regarding 'special customers'. He then closed the door and locked it tight.
"So!" he turned around with hands on his hips. "You all royally kicked the hornet's nest!"
"What do you mean?" Chris said, absent minded, brow furrowing.
"Everything! The Jones, ONI, and Marshall!"
"A lot of that couldn't be helped." Hera said in defense. "And the Elijah Jones was an accident!"
"The news isn't painting it that way. You." He pointed at the Captain. "Everyone wants your head on a pike. How did you even get here undetected?"
"Got lucky." Chris responded sitting down in a revolving chair.
"Luck cannot be coasted on forever." The retired colonel said. "You gamble? Sooner or later you will lose. It is inevitable."
"Well then." Chris said in response. "I guess I'll just have to cash out before that happens."
Colonel Bing was not interested in starting an argument with the man who was lightly twitching. It just was not worth it. "Why did you all decide to come back to New York?"
"We're here to finish it." Hera said. "You don't know what the last couple months were like for us." She paced around the room and observed it. This was a general workshop. There were drafts for brand new weapons that were done in great detail. Many of them were done in two-dimensional blueprints and color drafts that covered the walls, and in the case of some of them, even the ceiling. A wide-blade ceiling fan supplied cool air in the otherwise hot room. A couple of holographic designs were also jittering in the air. A motion-control interface allowed an observer to flip or turn the design in the air.
A couple of the others were interested in the room. Rouge was hefting an unloaded Krinkov PK-99. Despite being a spy, she held the rifle in appreciation, cycling the bolt and relishing in the sound. Colonel Bing took the gun in his artificial hand and placed it back on the counter. "I'd appreciate it if you'd keep your paws to yourself, ma'am."
"Paws?" Rouge said, narrowing her eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Figure of speech. Meant nothing by it." Bing said quickly. "So. Finishing the fight."
"Confronting Marshall and removing him from power." John said. Even without his helmet, his motions were very robot-like, despite still being very much flesh and bone.
Colonel Bing laughed and paced around the room. He rolled up his sleeve on his artificial arm and scratched his shoulder where machine and man met. "You know, for a stone-faced Spartan sonofabitch, you make a pretty good comedian! President Troy Marshall is THE most powerful man in the Unified Earth Government. He's got entire planets' worth of private military in his pocket! His security has security! When he takes a piss he has to use retinal scans just to get a roll of TP!"
"He doesn't have all of the private militaries." Jackson spoke up. "CEO Gustoff is not pleased with Mr. Marshall. Vanguard is vested in getting him removed. That's why we're here."
"If Vanguard's in this, rest assured that other PMCs or satellite companies will follow suit." Roan added. "We know something that very few others do."
"What's that?" Bing said.
Roan said solemnly, "President Troy Marshall orchestrated the assassination of John Cleary and the vice president, committing high treason against the UEG."
Bing was silent for a second. "The… President? He killed Cleary?
"For all we know, he pushed the button himself. Don't even get me started on planting shadow governments on other planets and orchestrating an elimination of all loose ends."
"And the fact that he wants to start a war with another universe, our home." Sonic said, suddenly speaking out.
Bing didn't say anything but he paced around the room, leaning on the design table in the center of the room. "Ryan said he knew something was wrong when this whole thing started. We've been getting interesting news from other sources, specifically Doran."
Chris nodded. He knew of the hyper-secretive company located outside of government jurisdiction. If they knew things, it was serious.
"So why not pounce on him?"Sally demanded.
"Nothing but direct proof would satisfy the people we're talking about."
Jackson winced. "Our direct proof is probably in the hands of some spooks somewhere."
"Troubling." Colonel Bing said. "But direct confessions work well."
"How do you expect us to do that?" Hera demanded.
"You seem to be smart people. You've avoided ONI for this long. Maybe you can work some magic."
Chris wobbled in his seat. John steadied him immediately. "Easy, sir."
Chris waved his hand off. "I'm fine, Lieutenant. Thank you though." He cleared his throat and looked to Colonel Bing. "Is there somewhere nice and quiet I can go?"
"The range when nobody's on it." The Colonel said pointing his artificial digits towards a door marked with noise warnings. "Triple reinforced sound absorption foam. Even if you firing a fifty cal, it'd barely be a whisper."
"Excellent. I need a moment." He nodded and got up, looking twenty years older doing so. "No. Let me go." He stopped Sally before she could lay a hand on him. "Don't treat me like that. I need to keep whatever dignity I have left."
Now that Chris was out of the room, Bing looked at the young man's friends. "What's up with him?"
"He's not well at all." Sally whispered.
"Sick?"
"No. Worse."
"I hope he gets better."
"Me too." She blinked quickly, but steadied herself. "So. We were hoping you could help us again."
"Name it. I'll do what I can." The Colonel said.
"As you may know, we're not exactly a very welcome troupe of people in this town for the time being. I don't know if the authorities came by here before, but we need a place to lay low and plan."
The colonel thought about it for a while. "How long do you need to stay?"
"We're not sure. We need to do planning and thinking. Could be a day, but it could be a year. Rest assured though, we're going to finish what Marshall started, and I don't intend to leave until that's done."
The firing range was completely silent with the exception of a pair of rotating fans at the top of the room. The room was a bright off-white, rectangular, and was covered in tiles that Chris believed would display hard-light targets. He never really had a good look at this room whenever he stopped by. Usually it was just to browse on the main floor. He marveled at its expanse. It must have been five hundred meters at the most. Where the hell was the warehouse then?
"Um, hello?" he called out to the room.
"How may I assist you, Captain?" a female computerized voice called out. He steadied himself as he realized it was a simple computerized assistant. Not intelligent, but smart enough to confirm his identity from a database. It must have assisted customers that were back here in the range.
"I was… uh, hoping that I could get a couple rounds of shooting?"
"By all means. I will be happy to assist. Would you like a weapon?"
"That would be nice." Chris nodded.
At that, panels in the floor slid aside to reveal a hidden area beneath his feet. A massive rack of guns in a multitude of colors and configurations rose to eye level. Chris licked his lips, suddenly salivating at the sight of the gleaming weaponry. Chris realized that there were hundreds of pistols, rifles, shotguns, SMGs and even sniper rifles hung on racks, with copious amounts of ammunition on the bottoms of the rack. Had rarely seen so much hardware in one place, especially this good looking. The only time gear would be this shiny and functional looking would be when it came out of the crates. His fingers danced across the rack, gently inspecting each weapon. He wasn't one to get emotional over killing tools… but he thought they were beautiful.
A couple raised his eyes. He even spotted an Izhmash AK-3K2. He had rarely seen any of these weapons on Talahan, but he knew the company name well. Tallahase rebels had rifles that were made in the vein of the old Automat Kalashnikova-style of assault rifles. Nikolai Kalashnikov would shed a manly tear in joy that his weapon designs would survive well over 1300 years after his death. Every bit of it gleamed. The metal was clearly polished, and the parts were all well machined. The magazine was not made of the cheap plastics or poly-carbonates, instead being pressed steel with a custom fence design on the body. Of course, the Rycorp logo was on the bottom of the mag. The sights seemed clear, and the handguard was fitted with real leather. However, he passed up the AK though in favor of something a bit more… manageable. He finally selected one: a Bettley Model 8, a shortened carbine by the looks of it. He took the gun off the rack and inspected it in greater detail. He had rarely had the opportunity to look upon a Bettley before, and certainly not a Model 8. The weapon design itself seemed to strike the balance between smooth and boxy. Though the rounded frame was not exactly to Chris' liking, he found it quite comfortable to hold. The Model 8 had an integrated ghost ring sight that allowed clear acquisition of targets without sacrificing peripheral vision. It was light, possibly made of titanium alloys or something like that. The bolt was brushed steel.
Chris took a deep breath and decided to make a nice detailed check of the Model 8. This was an exercise to keep his mind flowing, so that he didn't… slip again. He noted every single screw, the ticks on the sight adjuster, and the texture of the charging handle. The Model 8's front grip could be grabbed at the front, or could be used as a hand protector. Chris grabbed a magazine from the rack and looked at it. 9.3x31mm PUNCH rounds. He had never heard of it. Could have even been one of Ryan's bizarre creations. He loaded the 40 round magazine into the Bettley and racked the first round into the chamber with a quite loud cha-chak, that was magnified by the empty room.
"Would you like something to drink, Captain?"
"Beer. Please."
"Which brand?"
"Uh… you have Steeler's?" Chris asked.
"We are out of that."
"How about Right Hook?"
"We have that in stock."
"Two bottles, please."
A panel opened in the wall. A robot on a single roller rushed towards him with two bottles of ice-cold beer in its hands.
"Sorry about that." It said in what seemed like an exasperated tone. "Thought we were out of this too!"
Chris smiled and took the bottles. "You did fine. Thank you. Beer served at a shooting range. Who would have thunk it."
"Happy shooting, sir!" it said turning on the spot and going back behind the panel.
Chris shrugged and popped open one of the bottles, drinking deeply. He downed nearly the whole container in one long drag and slammed it on the table next to him. He shook his head to banish the cold that gripped his skull. Now he was ready to go.
"Can I get some targets?"
"Specify target type."
"Traditional. Paper, fiberglass, aluminum; something in this category."
"Very good. One moment, please."
Chris shouldered the Bettley and gazed down the sight. He was ready to go.
"Prepare to fire in three, two, one… commence."
A target appeared. Man-sized, a series of four squares signifying parts of a body – standard target. He pulled the trigger on the Bettley. It barked three times, sending rounds screaming downrange. They blasted through the target. They impacted around the center of the target. That enemy would be knocked down. He wanted more.
They popped up faster after that. He trained the Model 8 on them and hammered bursts at them, faster and faster they popped up, and even faster he knocked them down. He found himself stepping over brass on the ground, and that he was slowly running out of ammunition. When the Bettley spat its last round and clicked, Chris slipped into Conditioned Awareness. In what appeared to be slow motion to him, he yanked the magazine out of the carbine, grabbed another on the table, and slammed it inside before the spent one hit the ground. He slapped the bolt release and kept on firing. Soon, he found himself out of that. He swapped mags again. When he hit the release a second time, he was in a warzone.
"3-Charlie Echo, 3-Charlie Echo, air support is a no-go. Rebel AAA's giving us a hell of a day."
Chris cursed. "Solid copy, Forward Command. Got any sort of ETA on some backup?"
"That's unknown at this time, Lieutenant. Please stand by until we can establish that."
"3-Charlie Echo standing by." A bullet slammed by him, sending a cloud of dirt over his face.
"Affirmative. Forward Command out."
"Fucking moron!" Chris roared, getting back into the fray.
Camp Poseidon was burning.
Rebel firebugs snuck up on the UNSC troops during the night and light the camp on fire. This was wrong. It was a violation of the Geneva Conventions, but it seemed that these maniacs had no regard for Human life if it wasn't wearing those colors. It was also the first time he was the team leader after Kapplin's death.
"Brucie!"
Bruce Aer was huddling near one of the intact supports of the barracks sweating profusely. "Hey LT."
"You see them?"
"Yeah, bastards with napalm at the center of the camp. Some of the guys tried taking cracks at him, but I guess he's got snipers or something…" at that, a chunk of the support became concrete powder. "Son of a fucking jerg!" He cried out, blinking rapidly.
"You ok?!"
"Yeah. Yeah. Think I got some of that in my eye."
That sniper was now the number one priority. As long as he was harassing the UNSC troops, nobody could do anything. That sniper needed to die.
"Hey, everyone else OK?"
"I'm here." Sid Romano said.
"Still alive for the time being." Dean Sheppard announced. "Guy next to me… not so much."
"Jeff, you out there?"
Silence over the radio. Winston remained silent.
"If you're out there…" Chris risked a glance around the corner, struggling to see anything. Then he saw it. A glint of light among a tall hill away from the camp. "We have a sniper located about… 1500 meters away…"
He ducked back behind the column. Not a moment too soon. A section of the wall behind him exploded as the bullet tore a hole in the cinderblocks. A second later, the crack of the sniper rifle reached his ears. Half a second later, a second crack sounded.
"Two hundred meters of elevation, two crosswinds, and thicker air due to humidity." A beat passed. "Target eliminated."
Chris could detect the slight smugness in The Silent's voice. It came with being around the marksman. Say what you will about his sociability, but Jeff Winston could shoot.
"Sir! Incoming!" Aer cried out.
A rebel had gotten behind them. He raised a machete and charged them, face smeared with mud, clothes ramshackle, and eyes bloodshot and bright.
Chris leveled his rifle and fired without hesitation.
The paper target danced as the bullets dashed through them. The bolt on the Model 8 locked. Chris reached on the table to see if there was another, but he could not find one. He sighed, checked the chamber, unlocked the bolt, clicked on the safety, and lay the weapon on the table. Maybe the robot would pick it up when he was gone. He was about to take a step when he saw that the floor was covered with spent shell casings. Hundreds of spent shell casings, maybe even thousands.
He couldn't have fired all of those. He just couldn't have. It was a sea of brass.
"What the hell happened here?"
"What happened here? What happened there? What happened years ago? What will happen?"
He did not recognize the voice. He looked around to find the source of it. Two men were standing in front of him. One was dressed in combat armor, face obscured by a full visor and wearing night vision goggles. It was slightly unnerving being on the receiving end of that glare. The other... the other had a look that could best be described as medieval. He wore robes, a bow and quiver strung across his back, long shoulder length hair and a beard to match.
"I think it's obvious, boyo. You happened here. There. Everywhere. It's all subjective." The bearded man said in a strong Irish accent.
"Mind telling me who's holding the costume party? I feel left out."
"You're in no position to be making jokes, lad!" the warrior said. "You're nothing but a winging, complaining, bitching piece of work, you are! Not to mention your mind's gone to shite!"
"You're scaring those who are with you. You can't tell the difference between reality and fantasy." The soldier added. "You're a failure as a Human being. You're a failure to her. You're a failure to the universe."
Chris' heart beat faster in anger. He bit his lip and pointed towards the two men standing on a sea of shell casings. "Who are you. Why do you know me?"
The medieval warrior and the soldier looked at one another, then looked at Chris as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
The said in unison, "We are a collection of your self-doubt, your repressions, and your sins."
June 10th, 3239, 1423 hours
Mahnattan, New York City, Earth
Ground Level
In the depths of New York City's underlevels, it wasn't uncommon to see some of the strangest people to ever walk the earth. In cities like this, one would be likely to find the poor, the low-wage earners, junkies of every stripe, cyborgs that were doing anything for their next upgrade, gene splicers that were addicted to change, aliens that couldn't afford or bare to live among the higher levels of life. Much like the people, the architecture was also as diverse as the people that walked alongside it. Stands of merchants that were trying to sell their wares in hastily built stores, buildings hundreds of years old, dating back to before the super-skyscrapers, and modern buildings that were sleek and spotless. This mix of appearances allowed a group of otherwise unimpressive people to move through the masses of thousands of otherwise unimpressive people.
John shuffled in his overcoat uncomfortably. He had to ensure that he didn't make any unnecessary movements that would tear the coat. It wouldn't have been so bad if he could simply take off his MJOLNIR armor, but that simply was not an option. As for his helmet, it was tucked safely away in one of his comrade's backpacks. Despite the cool that he usually kept, John was slightly uncomfortable by this whole situation. He never imagined that he would have been in this situation. Even though he had been trained to fight against rebels, he never thought that he would have been against the very people who he had been assigned to protect. On top of it all, his powerful hand was grasping the shoulder of a young man who was fighting a battle to stay within the realm of sanity. It was a battle that John believed that the young man was losing.
"How are you feeling?" Sally asked Chris.
"Apart from the minor mental flashes of agony…" He gritted his teeth and shook his head violently. "Fucking fantastic! How's your day been?"
Jackson, who held up the left said, "I'd say you're drawing attention to yourself, but… well… I don't think you're the wildest thing out there." She looked over her shoulder to see a set of street performers flipping in the air while a holographic troupe of dancers attracted people from all over. "You know, this seems like an interesting show."
"When we don't have government agents on our ass, we'll buy a ticket." Allen said.
John tapped his earpiece. "Borne, what's it look like up ahead?"
Approximately 100 feet ahead of the group, William Borne and Alexander Konstantinos served as the forward eyes of the group. The route that they agreed on had to be scouted to ensure that ONI did not have their own eyes planted. The pair had to observe every single car, every single café corner, and every single person that looked the least bit suspicious. Borne tapped his earpiece.
"So far as we know, everything seems to check out." His ear twitched as he noticed something. "Hold position for a moment." He turned to Alex. "Hey, I don't like that guy over at the barista."
Konstantinos narrowed his eyes at the row of buildings and spotted the coffeeshop the Mobian picked out. "Which one? I see two of them."
"The one on the left." Borne said. "Big Cuppa Joy. Middle aged man, longer hair, red sports jacket. You see him?"
Konstantinos did indeed see someone at the café. He seemed to be using a datapad while at his table taking a sip of a coffee. "Yeah. I see him."
"He glances at us every now and again. Just go and make sure he's not sending any secret messages or something. Go look at the menu or something."
Alex nodded and broke away from the group. "Checking out a potential threat. Stand by." He tapped his headset and made his way across the street, letting a motorcycle go before him. Konstantinos was astounded by the amount of people making their way through the crowd. He moved out of the way of a pair of chatting Kig-Yar who barely gave him any attention. Back in Athens, it was unheard of to see all of these people. There must have been a million in eyesight alone. He got to A Cuppa Joy within minutes, but still kept an eye on where Borne was, still up against a streetlight with a pair of dark sunglasses on. He turned his sight to the man in the red jacket who was still tapping on his datapad. Konstantinos made it look like he was browsing the menu. While pretending to be interested in buying a Cuppa Delight Special, Alex made glances to the man and managed to see what he was doing. He was just playing a game of crosses on his pad. Even when he jumped to a different program, it was only a stock market application. Konstantinos also saw a second cup of steaming coffee. He was just waiting for someone, probably his wife, or a friend.
"False alarm. It's all good." He said into his headset.
"Why hello there!" a cheery voice called from his right.
Alex jumped slightly, and saw a server robot hovering at eye level projecting a smiling face into the air.
"Welcome to A Cuppa Joy! Can I take your order? Are you interested in our Cuppa Vanilla Blend?"
"Ah, not really. I was just browsing."
"We do have a sale on our Fruity Blend biscotti plate! Three for the price of two!"
"No, really I'm fine. I was just leaving. I might be passing by here later though!"
"Well alright then!" The robot said while printing out a stub. "This is a coupon for a free small Cuppa Blend! Not redeemable for cash! Hope you consider a sip!"
Alex took the coupon, and licked his lips. He did need a pick me up.
Borne was still watching the streets for any activity when he saw Konstantinos crossing the road with what looked like a to-go cup in his hand.
"The hell is that?" William said pointing to it.
"Well…" he smiled sheepishly. "I had a coupon."
"Really? We're on the verge of inter-dimensional war and the destruction of all life as we know it, and you get yourself a cup of coffee?"
"It was free!"
"You're unbelievable. Of all the things that would tick me off, this is it. Let's go." He tapped his headset. "We're good. Moving again."
"Roger." Cortana responded. "What was the hold up?"
"Someone needed to get his java on." Borne said crossing the street at the light. "Well, is it good?"
"You know, it's not bad really! What street was this on?"
"Alright, give me a sip." Borne demanded.
"What? It's my coffee!"
"And you slowed us down. Coffee tax." He took the cup away from Alex and took a drink from up. "Hmm. What was the name of that place? Cuppa Joy? Gotta write that down."
Similar to how Borne and Konstantinos watched the front roads, Rouge and Reyes were pulling up the rear. This was to make sure that they were not being followed by anybody. Rouge was wearing Reyes' jacket to cover part of her ONI jumpsuit. It was a good tactic, despite the fact that it seemed two sizes too large on her slender frame. Reyes seemed to stand out despite the cacophony of noise and cultural differences around them dressed in his simple T-shirt and cargo pants. His dark arms barely seemed contained by the sleeves. Rouge licked her lips.
"Say, Reyes… um… what was your first name?"
"James. Everyone calls me Jamie." He said in his deep voice.
"Did you… ever consider being a Spartan?"
"Never." He said right off the bat.
"Ever?"
"Never ever." He reaffirmed. "Couldn't stand the idea of them putting things in me, pumping me full of God knows what, and grafting shit to my bones… it freaks me out."
"You're a big guy." The agent said. "You could take it."
"Yeah, but what if I don't want to take it? That shit's permanent."
"But you have nanobot transceivers in your bloodstream." Rouge pointed out.
"Which can be dissolved upon me exiting the service. White blood cells will gobble them up like they're bacteria. Not so easy to do with titanium-grafted bones."
"I've never heard that before. Seems like you can become a god when you're a Spartan."
"Gods, but still people, who let that power go to their heads. People aren't right once they serve in that outfit for a while." Something caught his eye coming from behind a corner a block back. It was a black-painted police car. This disturbed Reyes since most of the regular police cars had white paint. The unit number was also not present on this model either. It set off warning bells. "Hey, I think we have a problem. Get your hood up."
Rouge did not question. She pulled the jacket hood up over her head and folded her ears down, facing away from the road. She gave the impression of looking completely Human to the common observer. "Police car, but completely black, no unit tag."
"Sounds like an NYPD Special Detectives Unit squad car." Cortana said. "This is upsetting. Sounds like ONI may have figured out that we may haven't gone through San Francisco after all."
"They may have sent alerts to both SF and here in new York." Rouge cautioned. "Getting both at the same time."
"You think they know all about us?" Sally asked over the COM.
"Doubt it." Cortana replied. "Judging from the police reports, it's only the barest information to go on. ONI wouldn't want to come down here themselves."
"Too messy." Rouge confirmed. "Too much paperwork. Best to let the local law enforcement do things on their own work before they visit us in Holding."
"We'd better be careful then…" a strained voice said over the COM. It was Chris'. "Perks of coming from a family of lawyers… you get to know a few cops. Some of them may know my face."
"It was a mistake to bring him into the open." Reyes said groaning.
"Hell of a lot better than the backroads. We get spotted there, there's no way we're walking away without slinging some lead." Borne said from up ahead.
The pair stood still as the police car rolled past their position, pretending to be interested in a news report that was being broadcasted on a public screen. The police car moved past them. Reyes took a quick glance at the officers who were shrouded in the shadow of their cruiser with dark sunglasses covering their face. The one in the driver's seat was pointing out several things to his partner. Thankfully, none of these things seemed to be the group.
"Watch out, cruiser heading your way…" Rouge advised the guys ahead.
"This is ridiculous." Sonic remarked. He was saying what was on everybody's mind at the moment.
"Say, I don't know how easy it will be to conceal our friend here." Jackson said pointing to the Captain.
"Seems my ears still work just fine." Chris said with a snarl that was uncharacteristic.
"Knock it off." Sally said to Jackson.
"Incoming." Hera said, pointing out the police car. "Scatter."
Silently, the group broke apart, folding into the greater crowd of people around them. By the time the detective cruiser passed by them, it would have been virtually impossible to spot a single one of them. They were looking for a group, not a person. With a sigh of relief, everybody continued to move, free of speculation from those around them.
"How far to this gun shop?" Roan asked.
"Only a couple of blocks from here." NICOLE said. "I chose our landing zone because of its proximity."
Chris wobbled slightly. "Better get me there before I start…" a flash in the crowd made him blink. "…seeing things."
Sally's brow furrowed in concern.
A figure stood out in the crowd. Despite the thousands of people of different races that were on a single street, one made the Captain's mouth dropped. "No, not you."
The man stood not ten feet away from them not saying anything. He smiled sweetly. It would have been nice, had he not been holding his own legs in his hands. In place of his own, steel spiderlike legs touched the ground. A pair of broken glasses covered his nose, and multiple burns and cuts covered his face. Charles Madison.
"Please God no…!" Chris said in a small whisper "Please stay dead!"
Charles said nothing, but held his bloody battered legs, as if in offering to his best friend.
"You didn't deserve it, Chuck."
Charles nodded, but didn't say anything, still smiling and still holding his legs. One of them twitched, and Chris almost gagged. "Why won't you say anything?"
"Corpses can't talk, puke." Kapplin's voice taunted. I thought you were smart enough to know that.
By this time, Sally had developed a way to make things seem less… strange. Whenever Chris entered one of his… 'phases', she would interact herself in the conversations that he was having with himself, responding to his statements, questions, and exclamations. It was odd, no doubt, but in public, much of his insane rambling was lost among the din of the public.
"Why won't you say anything?" He had said.
"Well, I'm trying to say something to you, but if you can't be bothered to listen, then I don't know what this is going to accomplish." She said, keeping up the ruse. The others looked at her uncertainly. Sonic in particular was just as shocked with her responses. Perhaps it wouldn't be too long before Sally herself would just give in and join the Captain in his insanity.
Despite the risk of being discovered by the police, the rest of the trip passed without much difficulty. The only challenge was keeping the Captain under control. It seemed like more and more often he was beginning to become much more comfortable with his apparitions, mentioning them in the background, and even calling out to them as if in greeting. According to NICOLE, this was major cause for concern.
"I've been watching this man for weeks dealing with this nonsense. He was as disturbed as I was when I first heard about this. Now he's ready to invite them over for tea and biscuits."
"There's got to be something we can do! Anything!" Sally said in near desperation. "Can we snap him out of it?"
"I don't think it's going to be that easy anymore." NICOLE said.
They came to a large red-bricked apartment building. John put the Captain against the wall. "Why not?" he asked.
"I'm no neurologist, but if this is as bad as I think it is, even if we can remove this information, we're looking at some sort of permanent damage."
"What's the extent?" Hera asked.
"I don't know." NICOLE said after a few seconds of silence.
"Stay here. Let me take a look." John advised the others. He peeked around the side of the apartment. Like before, there were many people walking up and down the street and cars in the road, but unlike before, there was no sign that there was no sign of the police stalking them. Better yet, Ryan's property was right in front of them.
Ryan ran his own private business here in the underlevels of New York City. He called it many things: Ryan's Gun Shack, Rycorp, among many others, but it was clear that if there was any sort of friend you wanted to make, it was one with an arsenal the size of this man's. Ryan started his business up not long after coming to Earth, and within ten years had set up his first international trading contracts. He sold weapons from the Russians to the Chinese. From Earth to the Sagittarius Arm colonies. One would never think of it looking at this building. Considering the income, why he decided to put on a uniform was beyond anyone.
Sally and Chris entered first. She ensured that he could stand well enough on his own before leaving him. She looked around the room. It was almost exactly the same as they saw it five years ago. To the common observer, Ryan's humble store looked almost no different than any other firearms establishment. The walls were covered by many types of projectile weapons which ranged from pistols, shotguns, submachine guns, and rifles. Most were behind protective cases which held the weapon, and a dummy round that showed the caliber of the gun. In the center of the room was a set of antigrav 'shelves' that held three rotating rifles. Sally recognized one of them being of Misriah make. She looked at it turning slowly in the air and noted its aftermarket parts. She and Ryan may have had a few bumps in the road, but she could not deny that he was an excellent businessman and gunsmith.
Borne crossed the door first. "Dear Santa…" he said breathlessly. "I have been a very good boy this year."
Jackson and Roan made similar comments. "We should talk business with these guys."
It would have been suspicious to have everyone enter at once, so some of the group waited outside watching the road while blending into the crowds of people. Inside the store, a few people were looking around at the shelves. Sally spotted a Sangheili eyeing a Human-built plasma rifle. Its mandibles bobbed in curiosity as he looked over its angular design. Sally made a count: about ten people were browsing the store. A security guard wearing a Rycorp shirt stood in the corner watching them. At his hip was a tazer pistol. Dark sunglasses obscured his eyes.
"Stay here, alright?" Sally advised Chris, who said nothing but waved her away. She sighed and walked towards where the front desk. The store was divided into four main rooms. With a fifth acting as the space where employees were checking out the goods for customers. Sally moved past the weapons and made her way to the desk. She spotted a man who was probably about sixty or seventy. She had to remind herself that he may have seemed older, but Humans lived healthier and longer lives than this. He had a military-style buzz cut, a scar near his ear, and an full-length artificial arm that was poking from beneath his ash-grey T-shirt. It seemed to be colored like flesh. He noticed Sally walking up to him and placed his artificial hand on the table. "May I help you?"
Sally broke her vision from the fake arm. "Ah… hello."
The man smiled slightly. "Admiring the hardware?" he suggested. "Don't worry, you're not the first."
"I have a friend with an artificial arm, but I've never seen one like that."
The man shrugged and nodded. "Eyup. Barymeter Bay Skirmish, 3204. Been about 35 years with this thing. Usually there's synthetic flesh that they color to your own, but I chose to keep it like it was. Lets me know that I'm only Human." He held it out to shake her hand. "Maxwell Bing, retired colonel, UNSC Army."
"Sa… Sandra Aaron." Sally said, changing to her false name before she gave herself away."
Colonel Bing looked her over. "What can I find for you? What do you shoot? .38?"
".357 actually, but I'm not here for a gun."
Bing's eyebrow raised. "Well, let's hear it, young lady. What can this old man help you with? No hits though. We stopped doing those two months back." He chuckled.
Sally did as well, lightly, but she glanced back to the door, then glanced at Chris, who was speaking with Allen, probably upset the shop carried neither a 1911 nor a Desert Eagle. He seemed normal for now.
"Friends?" Bing asked.
"Yes." She then cut to the chase. "We're friends of Ryan. We need help."
Bing sighed and smiled. "Young lady, you have no idea how often I hear that one. Care to… uh, explain your relationship?"
Sally believed she could trust nobody, but at this point, there was no choice. "I am Princess Sally Acorn of Knothole. That man standing back there is probably one of Ryan's best friends. He is not well."
Bing looked her over. "Oh… so you're her!" he looked up and down the table, making sure other customers were busy. "He told me about you guys. Mostly just descriptions, no pictures. He said if you ever came through those doors, you're family."
She smiled. "That's very nice of him." She steadied herself and looked at Maxwell. "Can you help us?"
Bing looked at the others. When his eyes fell upon John, he said, "He's not what I think he is, is he?"
Sally nodded.
"It was not smart bringing him into public. Your friends had better get in the back, quick. I know what's been happening lately. Come on." He motioned her to a door behind the counter and went to go get the others.
"I'm just saying, Ryan says he has every single gun that can be conceived." Chris said. "There's not a single damned Desert Eagle that is here."
"There's a couple of IMI pieces here." Borne said looking at the rack."
"It's not the same." Chris said. "Roan, you love your 1911, right?"
"Yeah." Allen responded.
"If you were to lose it, would you not want a replacement?"
"But you still have it, just not here."
"But the principle still fucking stands!"
"Whoa!" Reyes said. "That was uncalled for, sir."
"Why don't you back the hell off, Reyes?" the Captain said through his teeth.
"I respect you sir, but you are seriously cruising for a hook to the head."
"Again? Take your best shot, big man…"
"HEY! Is there a problem?" a man said with an air of authority. The group turned to see who was speaking. A well built man with an artificial arm came marching towards them. Chris, John, Borne, Alex, and Reyes stood a bit straighter. They recognized the stride, the command, and the appearance of the man. He was a soldier, and despite not being in uniform, his very image demanded respect.
"No sir." Chris said solidly. "We were just having a small conversation that got out of hand."
"I'll say! I don't want any altercations in my weapons establishment! Is that clear, son?"
"Crystal, sir."
"Very good. Now stand at ease, Captain."
Horror jolted through the entire group. "I think you must have me-"
"Oh cut the bullshit, I know who you are. Miss 'Aaron' over there," he pointed with his prosthetic, "told me everything. You're in good hands, Marine. Max Bing, UNSC Army retired."
"Thank Christ." Konstantinos said.
"We'd better get you guys behind the desk. Ryan said you were to be given the presidential treatment."
"Only fair." Rouge said. "They've supplied him with enough adrenaline for a lifetime."
Bing smiled and waved them ahead. "Quickly. A lot of cops have been passing by outside."
The group moved past the shining weapons, armor, and personal energy shields.
"Say, what happened to that other guy who used to work here a few years back?" Sonic asked. "Thin dude, wiry hair, seemed shaky?"
"Oh, Vic." Bing shook his head. "The walking definition of 'dumbass'. Two years back, we found out he was doing some splice drugs. Hid it pretty well claiming that he was trying out some new pigmentation surgery or something, but it was after his skin started to turn a nice shade of blue that I booted his ass out. Not a very smart kid. Splicehead, methhead, cokehead, and above all, a dickhead."
"He sold our location out to Robotnik." Sonic said simply.
"Figured that out not long after he was let go. Was not happy about that at all."
"So?"
"I hear he made it as far as Ann Arbor before he dropped off the grid. Probably ended up in a gutter trying to get his next fix. Good riddance."
Colonel Bing moved some customers out of the way, ushering them into the back room. A few curious patrons glanced at them.
"They've seen our faces." John said slowly.
"They won't think anything of it until a public bulletin goes out with our locations. There's millions of people in the city. Remember too: nobody knows we swapped ship IDs."
"At least, we hope that's the truth. Abigail responded."
When the final person crossed the doorway, Bing told another cashier to take over for him while he attended to business in the back regarding 'special customers'. He then closed the door and locked it tight.
"So!" he turned around with hands on his hips. "You all royally kicked the hornet's nest!"
"What do you mean?" Chris said, absent minded, brow furrowing.
"Everything! The Jones, ONI, and Marshall!"
"A lot of that couldn't be helped." Hera said in defense. "And the Elijah Jones was an accident!"
"The news isn't painting it that way. You." He pointed at the Captain. "Everyone wants your head on a pike. How did you even get here undetected?"
"Got lucky." Chris responded sitting down in a revolving chair.
"Luck cannot be coasted on forever." The retired colonel said. "You gamble? Sooner or later you will lose. It is inevitable."
"Well then." Chris said in response. "I guess I'll just have to cash out before that happens."
Colonel Bing was not interested in starting an argument with the man who was lightly twitching. It just was not worth it. "Why did you all decide to come back to New York?"
"We're here to finish it." Hera said. "You don't know what the last couple months were like for us." She paced around the room and observed it. This was a general workshop. There were drafts for brand new weapons that were done in great detail. Many of them were done in two-dimensional blueprints and color drafts that covered the walls, and in the case of some of them, even the ceiling. A wide-blade ceiling fan supplied cool air in the otherwise hot room. A couple of holographic designs were also jittering in the air. A motion-control interface allowed an observer to flip or turn the design in the air.
A couple of the others were interested in the room. Rouge was hefting an unloaded Krinkov PK-99. Despite being a spy, she held the rifle in appreciation, cycling the bolt and relishing in the sound. Colonel Bing took the gun in his artificial hand and placed it back on the counter. "I'd appreciate it if you'd keep your paws to yourself, ma'am."
"Paws?" Rouge said, narrowing her eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Figure of speech. Meant nothing by it." Bing said quickly. "So. Finishing the fight."
"Confronting Marshall and removing him from power." John said. Even without his helmet, his motions were very robot-like, despite still being very much flesh and bone.
Colonel Bing laughed and paced around the room. He rolled up his sleeve on his artificial arm and scratched his shoulder where machine and man met. "You know, for a stone-faced Spartan sonofabitch, you make a pretty good comedian! President Troy Marshall is THE most powerful man in the Unified Earth Government. He's got entire planets' worth of private military in his pocket! His security has security! When he takes a piss he has to use retinal scans just to get a roll of TP!"
"He doesn't have all of the private militaries." Jackson spoke up. "CEO Gustoff is not pleased with Mr. Marshall. Vanguard is vested in getting him removed. That's why we're here."
"If Vanguard's in this, rest assured that other PMCs or satellite companies will follow suit." Roan added. "We know something that very few others do."
"What's that?" Bing said.
Roan said solemnly, "President Troy Marshall orchestrated the assassination of John Cleary and the vice president, committing high treason against the UEG."
Bing was silent for a second. "The… President? He killed Cleary?
"For all we know, he pushed the button himself. Don't even get me started on planting shadow governments on other planets and orchestrating an elimination of all loose ends."
"And the fact that he wants to start a war with another universe, our home." Sonic said, suddenly speaking out.
Bing didn't say anything but he paced around the room, leaning on the design table in the center of the room. "Ryan said he knew something was wrong when this whole thing started. We've been getting interesting news from other sources, specifically Doran."
Chris nodded. He knew of the hyper-secretive company located outside of government jurisdiction. If they knew things, it was serious.
"So why not pounce on him?"Sally demanded.
"Nothing but direct proof would satisfy the people we're talking about."
Jackson winced. "Our direct proof is probably in the hands of some spooks somewhere."
"Troubling." Colonel Bing said. "But direct confessions work well."
"How do you expect us to do that?" Hera demanded.
"You seem to be smart people. You've avoided ONI for this long. Maybe you can work some magic."
Chris wobbled in his seat. John steadied him immediately. "Easy, sir."
Chris waved his hand off. "I'm fine, Lieutenant. Thank you though." He cleared his throat and looked to Colonel Bing. "Is there somewhere nice and quiet I can go?"
"The range when nobody's on it." The Colonel said pointing his artificial digits towards a door marked with noise warnings. "Triple reinforced sound absorption foam. Even if you firing a fifty cal, it'd barely be a whisper."
"Excellent. I need a moment." He nodded and got up, looking twenty years older doing so. "No. Let me go." He stopped Sally before she could lay a hand on him. "Don't treat me like that. I need to keep whatever dignity I have left."
Now that Chris was out of the room, Bing looked at the young man's friends. "What's up with him?"
"He's not well at all." Sally whispered.
"Sick?"
"No. Worse."
"I hope he gets better."
"Me too." She blinked quickly, but steadied herself. "So. We were hoping you could help us again."
"Name it. I'll do what I can." The Colonel said.
"As you may know, we're not exactly a very welcome troupe of people in this town for the time being. I don't know if the authorities came by here before, but we need a place to lay low and plan."
The colonel thought about it for a while. "How long do you need to stay?"
"We're not sure. We need to do planning and thinking. Could be a day, but it could be a year. Rest assured though, we're going to finish what Marshall started, and I don't intend to leave until that's done."
The firing range was completely silent with the exception of a pair of rotating fans at the top of the room. The room was a bright off-white, rectangular, and was covered in tiles that Chris believed would display hard-light targets. He never really had a good look at this room whenever he stopped by. Usually it was just to browse on the main floor. He marveled at its expanse. It must have been five hundred meters at the most. Where the hell was the warehouse then?
"Um, hello?" he called out to the room.
"How may I assist you, Captain?" a female computerized voice called out. He steadied himself as he realized it was a simple computerized assistant. Not intelligent, but smart enough to confirm his identity from a database. It must have assisted customers that were back here in the range.
"I was… uh, hoping that I could get a couple rounds of shooting?"
"By all means. I will be happy to assist. Would you like a weapon?"
"That would be nice." Chris nodded.
At that, panels in the floor slid aside to reveal a hidden area beneath his feet. A massive rack of guns in a multitude of colors and configurations rose to eye level. Chris licked his lips, suddenly salivating at the sight of the gleaming weaponry. Chris realized that there were hundreds of pistols, rifles, shotguns, SMGs and even sniper rifles hung on racks, with copious amounts of ammunition on the bottoms of the rack. Had rarely seen so much hardware in one place, especially this good looking. The only time gear would be this shiny and functional looking would be when it came out of the crates. His fingers danced across the rack, gently inspecting each weapon. He wasn't one to get emotional over killing tools… but he thought they were beautiful.
A couple raised his eyes. He even spotted an Izhmash AK-3K2. He had rarely seen any of these weapons on Talahan, but he knew the company name well. Tallahase rebels had rifles that were made in the vein of the old Automat Kalashnikova-style of assault rifles. Nikolai Kalashnikov would shed a manly tear in joy that his weapon designs would survive well over 1300 years after his death. Every bit of it gleamed. The metal was clearly polished, and the parts were all well machined. The magazine was not made of the cheap plastics or poly-carbonates, instead being pressed steel with a custom fence design on the body. Of course, the Rycorp logo was on the bottom of the mag. The sights seemed clear, and the handguard was fitted with real leather. However, he passed up the AK though in favor of something a bit more… manageable. He finally selected one: a Bettley Model 8, a shortened carbine by the looks of it. He took the gun off the rack and inspected it in greater detail. He had rarely had the opportunity to look upon a Bettley before, and certainly not a Model 8. The weapon design itself seemed to strike the balance between smooth and boxy. Though the rounded frame was not exactly to Chris' liking, he found it quite comfortable to hold. The Model 8 had an integrated ghost ring sight that allowed clear acquisition of targets without sacrificing peripheral vision. It was light, possibly made of titanium alloys or something like that. The bolt was brushed steel.
Chris took a deep breath and decided to make a nice detailed check of the Model 8. This was an exercise to keep his mind flowing, so that he didn't… slip again. He noted every single screw, the ticks on the sight adjuster, and the texture of the charging handle. The Model 8's front grip could be grabbed at the front, or could be used as a hand protector. Chris grabbed a magazine from the rack and looked at it. 9.3x31mm PUNCH rounds. He had never heard of it. Could have even been one of Ryan's bizarre creations. He loaded the 40 round magazine into the Bettley and racked the first round into the chamber with a quite loud cha-chak, that was magnified by the empty room.
"Would you like something to drink, Captain?"
"Beer. Please."
"Which brand?"
"Uh… you have Steeler's?" Chris asked.
"We are out of that."
"How about Right Hook?"
"We have that in stock."
"Two bottles, please."
A panel opened in the wall. A robot on a single roller rushed towards him with two bottles of ice-cold beer in its hands.
"Sorry about that." It said in what seemed like an exasperated tone. "Thought we were out of this too!"
Chris smiled and took the bottles. "You did fine. Thank you. Beer served at a shooting range. Who would have thunk it."
"Happy shooting, sir!" it said turning on the spot and going back behind the panel.
Chris shrugged and popped open one of the bottles, drinking deeply. He downed nearly the whole container in one long drag and slammed it on the table next to him. He shook his head to banish the cold that gripped his skull. Now he was ready to go.
"Can I get some targets?"
"Specify target type."
"Traditional. Paper, fiberglass, aluminum; something in this category."
"Very good. One moment, please."
Chris shouldered the Bettley and gazed down the sight. He was ready to go.
"Prepare to fire in three, two, one… commence."
A target appeared. Man-sized, a series of four squares signifying parts of a body – standard target. He pulled the trigger on the Bettley. It barked three times, sending rounds screaming downrange. They blasted through the target. They impacted around the center of the target. That enemy would be knocked down. He wanted more.
They popped up faster after that. He trained the Model 8 on them and hammered bursts at them, faster and faster they popped up, and even faster he knocked them down. He found himself stepping over brass on the ground, and that he was slowly running out of ammunition. When the Bettley spat its last round and clicked, Chris slipped into Conditioned Awareness. In what appeared to be slow motion to him, he yanked the magazine out of the carbine, grabbed another on the table, and slammed it inside before the spent one hit the ground. He slapped the bolt release and kept on firing. Soon, he found himself out of that. He swapped mags again. When he hit the release a second time, he was in a warzone.
"3-Charlie Echo, 3-Charlie Echo, air support is a no-go. Rebel AAA's giving us a hell of a day."
Chris cursed. "Solid copy, Forward Command. Got any sort of ETA on some backup?"
"That's unknown at this time, Lieutenant. Please stand by until we can establish that."
"3-Charlie Echo standing by." A bullet slammed by him, sending a cloud of dirt over his face.
"Affirmative. Forward Command out."
"Fucking moron!" Chris roared, getting back into the fray.
Camp Poseidon was burning.
Rebel firebugs snuck up on the UNSC troops during the night and light the camp on fire. This was wrong. It was a violation of the Geneva Conventions, but it seemed that these maniacs had no regard for Human life if it wasn't wearing those colors. It was also the first time he was the team leader after Kapplin's death.
"Brucie!"
Bruce Aer was huddling near one of the intact supports of the barracks sweating profusely. "Hey LT."
"You see them?"
"Yeah, bastards with napalm at the center of the camp. Some of the guys tried taking cracks at him, but I guess he's got snipers or something…" at that, a chunk of the support became concrete powder. "Son of a fucking jerg!" He cried out, blinking rapidly.
"You ok?!"
"Yeah. Yeah. Think I got some of that in my eye."
That sniper was now the number one priority. As long as he was harassing the UNSC troops, nobody could do anything. That sniper needed to die.
"Hey, everyone else OK?"
"I'm here." Sid Romano said.
"Still alive for the time being." Dean Sheppard announced. "Guy next to me… not so much."
"Jeff, you out there?"
Silence over the radio. Winston remained silent.
"If you're out there…" Chris risked a glance around the corner, struggling to see anything. Then he saw it. A glint of light among a tall hill away from the camp. "We have a sniper located about… 1500 meters away…"
He ducked back behind the column. Not a moment too soon. A section of the wall behind him exploded as the bullet tore a hole in the cinderblocks. A second later, the crack of the sniper rifle reached his ears. Half a second later, a second crack sounded.
"Two hundred meters of elevation, two crosswinds, and thicker air due to humidity." A beat passed. "Target eliminated."
Chris could detect the slight smugness in The Silent's voice. It came with being around the marksman. Say what you will about his sociability, but Jeff Winston could shoot.
"Sir! Incoming!" Aer cried out.
A rebel had gotten behind them. He raised a machete and charged them, face smeared with mud, clothes ramshackle, and eyes bloodshot and bright.
Chris leveled his rifle and fired without hesitation.
The paper target danced as the bullets dashed through them. The bolt on the Model 8 locked. Chris reached on the table to see if there was another, but he could not find one. He sighed, checked the chamber, unlocked the bolt, clicked on the safety, and lay the weapon on the table. Maybe the robot would pick it up when he was gone. He was about to take a step when he saw that the floor was covered with spent shell casings. Hundreds of spent shell casings, maybe even thousands.
He couldn't have fired all of those. He just couldn't have. It was a sea of brass.
"What the hell happened here?"
"What happened here? What happened there? What happened years ago? What will happen?"
He did not recognize the voice. He looked around to find the source of it. Two men were standing in front of him. One was dressed in combat armor, face obscured by a full visor and wearing night vision goggles. It was slightly unnerving being on the receiving end of that glare. The other... the other had a look that could best be described as medieval. He wore robes, a bow and quiver strung across his back, long shoulder length hair and a beard to match.
"I think it's obvious, boyo. You happened here. There. Everywhere. It's all subjective." The bearded man said in a strong Irish accent.
"Mind telling me who's holding the costume party? I feel left out."
"You're in no position to be making jokes, lad!" the warrior said. "You're nothing but a winging, complaining, bitching piece of work, you are! Not to mention your mind's gone to shite!"
"You're scaring those who are with you. You can't tell the difference between reality and fantasy." The soldier added. "You're a failure as a Human being. You're a failure to her. You're a failure to the universe."
Chris' heart beat faster in anger. He bit his lip and pointed towards the two men standing on a sea of shell casings. "Who are you. Why do you know me?"
The medieval warrior and the soldier looked at one another, then looked at Chris as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
The said in unison, "We are a collection of your self-doubt, your repressions, and your sins."
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