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Chapter 39: Porta Inferni
June 12, 3139, 0700 hours
District 32
Manhattan Island, Earth
Sally heard the booms just like everyone else had on the sidewalk. Eyes shot upwards at once at the sound of the thundering cannons spreading throughout the early morning. Even at this hour the streets of Manhattan were packed, as was befitting the UEG's capital.
The Princess was transfixed on the ship hanging in the air. She tried to get NICOLE to help identify it, but the flak guns from the ship made it difficult.
The sun's rays were poking through the man-made trunks of the skyscrapers that dotted the area around her and everyone else. Smoke from the cannons had begun to drift, driven by the air currents caused by traffic and everyday function of the metropolis. She stood on the sidewalk outside of the Captain's home and just stared. She then felt the others join her. The need to be incognito suddenly faded in comparison to the chaos that was unfolding around them. This created a natural cover that would be of considerable use to them.
"They can't do that." Reyes breathed. "That's beyond illegal!"
"Hate to be the bearer of bad news..." Rouge began. "But I don't think ONI gives a damn about the law."
Sally struggled to see what the ship was even shooting at. Her first thought was that it was an attack on the government building, but the trajectories were all off. The flak rounds were going off at variable distances, which would be extremely unlikely if your target was a building.
"There." Hera said. "I see something. It looks like a dropship!"
Sally squinted. She could barely make out a gunmetal-grey colored smudge dipping and diving between the columns of buildings while avoiding enemy fire. The frigate was obviously holding back. Flak rounds gave them a bit of wiggle room. If they switched to guns, missing was a huge possibility, as was taking a good portion of the city with the shots.
"NICOLE, can you get in contact?" Sally suddenly snapped.
"I don't think they'd be in the best position to respond!" the AI said.
"Do it anyway!"
There was silence. NICOLE was trying her hardest to burrow into the dropship's COM signals. The air was thick with conflicting beacons. Each was an electronic cry in the ether of existence carrying information that slowed her down. However, she did it. She latched her signal onto the Pelican's still-functioning relay. Before she could even get a syllable out, the dropship took a hit and barreled towards the government building. A few people in the crowd screamed as the aircraft slammed through the exterior.
Almost at the same instant, televisions all throughout the city began reporting on a terrorist attack occurring at the building. Thomas Boxer was reading news that very well described the assault their teams were carrying out. This crash was just expediting the story.
"That bird is down!" NICOLE said. "No connection! I think the pilots are dead!"
"Shit, that didn't take long!" Reyes said. "We've got to double time it now. Lockdown's going to take us out of the action!"
"So how are we going to get in, genius?" Rouge asked. "Lockdown, as you say, will make sure we never get within a mile of the tower."
"Maybe they left a few holes?" Bunnie suggested.
"Good point." Hera said. "Everything we've seen thus far shows Marshall focusing internally once a threat has been identified. He'll focus on things getting out, not in. We'll cross any barriers once we get to them. Agreed?"
They all nodded. All of them except Sally, who was feeling quite sick. She rubbed her chest.
"Sal?" Bunnie asked. "You alright?"
"I need to sit down."
She more or less fell onto a bench. A concerned young man noticed them. The youth, dressed in a ball cap and black windbreaker approached to help. Sally waved him off. He reluctantly did so.
"I can't go." She finally said. "I've been stupid to come this far."
Nobody stopped her even though she expected an interjection. Saddned, she continued. "Look at me. I can't play secret agent. Not now. Look at me! I'm pregnant for the Ancestor's sake! I wanted to fight when I'm with child! What was I thinking?!"
She slumped on the bench. Bunnie took a seat next to her and placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Folks, I don't mean to be a pest but… we don't have time for this." Reyes said.
"Go." Sally said. "I have to go back and see him." When the didn't move, she nearly yelled, "Go!"
Reyes nodded in understanding. Hera tapped his and Rouge's shoulders, assuming command of the group. "We're not far from Central Park. If we double time it we can maybe make it there in an hour."
Reyes and Rouge nodded and they all started moving. Not one of them looked back at the tired woman and she did not stare back. She was stupid for coming this far at all. She had put her own desires to see Marshall burn before the life within her. It was also the life of her Human that she thought of. It was only a scant few days that they had been together again after a month apart. She didn't cry, but thought sadly about it. How a month didn't seem like much before; they were not partners before that point, and Sonic had always been with her in some capacity before. It didn't trouble her nearly as much as it had now. She stifled a small laugh. It was probably the hormones talking – the motherly instinct beginning to kick in. No. She always had this instinct. She always cared. She cared for all around her, and her Human was no different. In fact, maybe that was where she made a mistake. She treated him like a triumph. That everyone could be saved. The fact that she was out here and not back there by his side showed her what she thought of her own accomplishment.
Bunnie didn't say anything, even as the people rushed past them. She simply hugged her best friend as tightly as she could. She couldn't find the words to even say anything to Sally. Nothing would have made a difference anyway. She glanced once trying to find Hera, Rouge, and Reyes in the crowd, but could not see them.
The trio jogged down the side of Central Park's tall walls. A long time ago they may have only been about ten to fifteen feet tall, but now they were nearly three times that size. The trees within the park shot into the sky. The green interior was a sign of things past where there was a bit more green on this world. Even in the early morning there were people strolling about and enjoying the fresh air where trees grew in the largest number in the whole city.
None of the infiltrators had time to admire this. Not far from Central Park the government building rose. Flashing lights covered the exterior and emergency craft punched through the air. Police forces were trying to get the situation under control. The plan was to try and slip in among the chaos. Subtlety be damned. Subtlety disappeared the instant that frigate opened fire. It occurred to Rouge that they could have asked for help from NICOLE, but then she squelched the thought in her mind. That wouldn't be necessary and would probably cause more trouble. Counter Hacking teams were likely on the job now trying to shut down whatever madness the other teams kicked into action. That was fine too.
There wasn't much communication for the entirety of their trip alongside Central Park. A few warnings were given to avoid police patrols and keep out of sight from dropships that coursed over the area. Hera glanced up at the area where the dropship ploughed through the building. It was clear even at ground level and she could see the frigate was backing off. She wondered why it did so. They would have a clean kill shot if the needed to take it, but they held off.
"Something's off." She said more to herself than out loud, but Reyes caught it. He nodded.
"In here. We're close enough to deploy. Only a stone's throw. I guess we go over these walls."
They followed his lead. Into a dark alleyway nestled between two ancient brownstones was a shadow as dark as the fleeing night. It was there they dropped their packs and began to assemble their weapons. Rouge was armed, as well as Hera, but Reyes would need to construct his tool. He grabbed an upper and lower receiver as well as a bolt. With practiced precision he slipped the bolt into the chamber, locked both parts of the receiver together, then screwed on a short barrel. A stock could be avoided for the time being but could be slipped onto recesses on the rear of the gun at a moment's notice. Reyes constructed a compact MA-5 rifle. The nine-and-a-half inch barrel skirted the border between carbine and full length weapon. The gun itself was no slouch, firing a 7.62x54 mm 410 grain cartridge. It was heavy and devastating on impact. The prospect of close quarters fighting made stopping power an attractive concept. He clipped a SRDS sight onto the frame of the weapon, extended the stock, and slammed a magazine into the weapon, yanking on the thumb-sized charging lever to send a bullet into the chamber.
"On you, ma'am." Reyes said.
Hera was absolutely confused why defenses were light. Police cars had been moved away, probably to allow greater military presence. No cops on the road, but black suited operatives with equally black SUV and long wicked looking rifles in their arms. They pulsed with energy that could only be explained by Chaos Emerald shards cloned to serve as the arming device for such a gun.
Rouge recognized this instantly from her own experiences. She called them to halt before heading forward. "Trust me on this one; you don't want to be hit by one of those things. You don't even want to be missed by one either."
"I've seen them before too." Hera acknowledged. "I've come across them in one or two universes. Looks like ONI's been working out."
But then they saw the next problem. Standing not to too far away from the agents was a small mountain of armor. Seven feet tall and weighing close to a ton, not one, but three Spartans guarded the roadway with them. They stood unmoving except for slight movements of the heads. They weren't bothered by the agents or even by small explosions caused by looters trying to get in on the chaos.
"Well we're screwed." Hera said. "In that way anyhow."
"We can sneak past them." Reyes suggested.
"Not happening. Sneaking past a Spartan?" Rouge countered. "They're probably scanning four or five spectrums at the same time. You'll stand out like a sore thumb!"
"No, I've heard that if you crouch and move slowly you can sneak past them."
There was a four second pause. Enough time for a cat to yell out somewhere in the distance.
"That's the stupidest thing I've heard all week." Hera said.
"I'm serious!" Reyes said. "Soldiers have been saying it for years!"
"I'm not going to rely on hearsay while we're storming the damned government building!" Hera hissed.
"So what's your plan?" Reyes fired. "Wait for them to get bored and go home?"
The Spartan on the left snapped its head. It was looking in their general direction. Hera's heart started to beat faster and her ears folded behind her head. It was instinctive fear and intimidation all in one. The Spartan, gender entirely obscured by the armor, silently moved towards them. The helmet was entirely flat in texture and in design with the exception of two red eyes placed roughly where their fleshy equivalents would be, but they were far too small. Despite the size and obvious weight of the armor, the armored soldier made no noise as it approached. The hands holding the assault rifle in its hands tightened, and a trained eye would observe that the Spartan flicked the fire selector to the automatic setting.
Suddenly, the other two Spartans moved. They fell into step behind the leader, who was now close enough to make out the painted rank on its armor – Chief Petty Officer to be precise. This unknown soldier projected dread.
They were indeed screwed. The options were to run, which would result in getting shot excessively, and staying to fight, which would result in possibly getting their necks snapped or being shot excessively.
Reyes wasn't going to run, but Rouge was considering getting a running start or perhaps pulling her gun on the others mocking up a sting operation, and Hera was ready to just surrender and live another day and plan – possibly getting closer to Marshall than they were now.
None of that would matter in the end though. The loud hum of a rotary cannon filled their ears as a sharp ripping of paper. It was so loud and so close. Their hearing momentarily vanished, even with earplugs. The pavement, sidewalk, cars, and Spartans lit up in tracer fire. The roadway was in shambles in seconds. The unarmored ONI agents were torn up by the high velocity rounds, splattering the roadway with red, killing them instantly. Some of them managed to get off shots either before being struck down or in dying spasms. These stray energy blasts tore sizable holes in the offices around them as far as five stories up. One Chaos Energy round blasted through two stories on the inside of the building. The Spartans turned at once and fired at the source, which the infiltrators could not see. The elite soldiers didn't last much longer. The Spartans silently ran from one point of cover to the other. Their shields flared in response to the heavy bullets slamming against them. One lost footing from the impact of the rounds, fell to the ground, and was promptly pulverized. The remaining two fired at the source of the rounds, but the one on the left, the one with the pinprick eyes took a round in the head, blowing up the helmet in a shower of metal, bone, and blood. As the body dropped twitching, the last standing Spartan grabbed the other fallen soldier's weapon and held them both at shoulder height while charging from cover to cover. The soldier's speed was impressive, but even a Spartan couldn't stand that much fire forever. One round tore away part of the soldier's helmet, and the next six struck in the chest, blending the inside, but leaving the exterior armor intact.
The Mobians could see with a wrenching in their heart that the last Spartan was kinsman. A Mobian shrew's face was visible, jaw slack and eyes rolled up into his head. He made no more response upon hitting the ground.
After less then seven seconds from beginning their attack, the source of the fire was visible. An angular looking gunship descended from the sky and landed right in the middle of the street. Jets pivoted and blew spent shells, loose clothing, and wet blood around. Painted on the side, a man with outstretched arms and angel wings. A watcher to be sure, or as the title of the company stated, a Vanguard.
The guns rotated slowly, but still in gimbals searching for targets. The pilot's silhouette was barely visible in the smoked out windows above them. With a hiss, a hermetically sealed part of the hull slid apart revealing a squad of heavily armed mercenaries. Their armor was immaculate and well maintained with shining accents and dull matte paintjobs. Three men and a woman, each with a ball cap fastened to their heads bearing the same logo on the outside of the ship. A hardened and muscular woman stepped from the ship and jumped out before the tires of the gunship even touched street. She looked as if she had spent her whole life fighting with hard creases, equally as hard eyes and hair wound up in a tight bun. This was clearly not a woman to be screwed with.
No introductions were needed.
"Thanks a lot!" Hera nodded over the sound of the whining engines.
"You kids need a ride?"
"That'd sure be nice. Where are you heading?"
The merc pointed to the tower – their objective. "The government building. We have teams moving in up fifth avenue, and soon Broadway."
"What's going on?" Reyes asked.
"President Marshall has personally spat in the face of Vanguard Corporation ad we're not taking kindly to that. Get your asses aboard now and I'll explain on the way up!"
The other mercenaries stowed their guns and pulled them aboard. The instant Rouge's feet left the ground, the pilot gunned it and sped away from ground level.
Hera, Rouge, and Reyes held on valiantly as the pilot pulled maneuvers that topped five Gs. The female mercenary leader wasn't even fazed.
"Kidnapping's a crime as you know, and Vanguard liked to keep its family safe. You're aware of a few of our Lone Wolves?"
"Roan and Jackson." Hera nodded. "Well acquainted."
"See, like myself and these fine venture capitalists here..." she indicated the mercs who laughed. "...we are property of Vanguard. Kidnapping is also theft. Vanguard hates theft and punishes it thusly."
"You're crazy if you think you can go up against the military." Reyes noted.
"That's true." the leader said. "I would be crazy, except the military has grudgingly given us the go-ahead."
"What?!" Rouge stammered. "H-How? They're in on it!"
"No they ain't." she said in a way that basically said 'Nuh-uh'. "Vanguard keeps its property well tracked as well. Lone Wolves have no less than 11 tracking devices at all times. You guess where they are."
Hera put it together first. "You know about our imprisonment."
"And interrogations, and what basically amounts to a confession from Howard Tudyk which implicates Marshall in your torture and illegal arrest."
"We're fugitives. It looks legal."
"Pretty funny coming from a guy who killed the President and Vice President of the UEG."
"How did you know that…?!"
"It helps to make copies of important files." the mercenary said winking. "We're on our way to assist the UNSC in personally arresting Marshall."
The black boxes. Sneaky sons of bitches. Standard procedure saved their asses a long walk.
"Why didn't you say anything before?" Rouge asked.
"Wanted the charges to stick and stick hard. He could wriggle before, but we're the better anglers this time around. Now Marshall's going to flop."
"He's got an army you know." Reyes quipped.
The other soldiers of fortune smiled.
"Oh yeah?" the Vanguard merc said. "We've got two."
The firing of anti-aircraft weaponry as they approached Pad 7 was surprising as it was believed their approach was relatively invisible among the chaos. Multiple other gunships appeared in the sky spraying craft that launched from the government building's hangars. Longsword fighters clipped across the sky engaging in dogfights with Vanguard craft. Thankfully it seemed that the heavy fighters didn't heed the gunship any attention, though some security forces on the pad tried their hand at capping the pilot.
Without even looking out the windows of the bay, the mercenary leader continued her conversation.
"According to the briefing we were supposed to meet two more of you, including her Royal Highness."
"She opted not to come." Rouge said.
The merc raised her eyebrow. "May I ask why?
"That's classified." the bat smiled.
The mercenary flashed the same small grin. It was a sign of understanding between the two women. "All the same, she's a high priority target to Marshall's men. We were going to dissuade her from coming anyway. We don't need a dead princess.
The ripping hum of the miniguns rumbled the bay and the anti-aircraft guns blossomed in flames as the armor piercing rounds hit something sensitive.
"Touchdown in thirty seconds! Gear check!" The pilot shouted from the cockpit. The mercenaries analyzed their equipment. They performed brass checks to make sure a round was chambered. One of them adjusted her shoulder pauldrons, and one with a particularly impressive beard and curled mustache lit a cigarette and let it hang in his mouth. He picked a pair of shades off his utility belt and slid them over his eyes.
The last one, an Asian-looking mercenary grabbed two knives, flicked them around like a showoff would, and slid them into upper arm sheaths.
A collection of badasses such as this made the team feel rather by the book in comparison.
"Five seconds boys and girls!"
The door hissed open instantly. The mercenaries jumped before the five seconds were up. Reyes, Hera, and Rouge leaped a full two seconds after. They landed on the pad with a roll. The hard metal and tarmac stung their battered flesh, but they were battle ready.
"Hold up!" The merc leader said. She held up two fingers to the gunship. The crew chief made his way to the door holding two rifles. He threw both to the commander across the three thousand foot gap to the landing pad. She caught them easily and dropped them, opening her arms to received a bag of ammunition for the guns. She flipped the thumbs up to the Crew Chief and the gunship tore away into the fray.
"Those for us?" Hera asked suddenly feeling firearms envy.
"You bet your ass. Holster those pieces of shit and get yourself a real weapon. You're fine." She indicated to Reyes.
Rouge and Hera grabbed the guns and looked them over. They were Misriah rifles with characteristic carrying handles and bullpup layouts.
"BR107s. 8-4-2 mil, burst fire. X4 Nostradamus Combat Sights."
"Merry Christmas." Hera smiled. She grabbed five magazines and slotted them into her belt. She took a sixth and slid it into the stock of the weapon and secured it with a smack. She racked the bolt. The weapon was ready to fire. She then clipped the safety off.
Rouge followed, but handled the gun gingerly. She was a spy, but recent events over the past could of years steeled her heart. She was not afraid to fire a gun anymore, much less in open combat. If she had to face down her own organization and take down Agents, so be it. Even she had standards.
Reyes simply looked at his MA-5 in sudden inadequacy.
Loaded up, the mercenaries plus the infiltrators moved out. Their objective had been accomplished. They were in. Other gunships started to descended to other landing pads – their guns sounding like a chorus of hums as they blew away stationary defenses. More soldiers were coming to assist, and it made Reyes' heart proud to see olive drab Pelican Dropships flank the mercenary craft. The UNSC was back on their side, and more importantly, were against Marshall.
The locked door ahead of them was covered by Battle Beard and Bushido as Hera decided to call them. The only one whose name she knew, the Slavic looking woman with a tag reading 'Tarkov' went front and center. She spoke with an Eastern European accent.
"Lockdown. Predictable."
"Do you have a spoofer?" Rouge asked, indicating the digital lockpick in use with the military and PMCs."
"Kinda." she said, reaching into her pack and pulling out a high explosive wad of thermogenerative explosive. "Let's see if this makes a dent."
She set the timer for ten seconds. "Doorbell is rung!" She pulled back and stacked on the side. Everyone braced for the explosion. Rouge covered her ears, but Hera gritted and waited.
The explosive detonated in a shaped blast blowing towards and away from the door while leaving the stacked up soldiers unaffected. The door was pulverized in twisted bits of metal. The hole was the size of a large van width-wise. The Mercs and Marines leaned in, picked targets, and then opened fire.
Troy Marshall was not pleased. The fact that the frigates had backed off indicated that there was something very wrong, but he was unable to get communications outside of his office or to other sections of the executive floor. Thanks to the lockdown, he was unable to even do anything about it! He needed two man approval to even override the lockdown at all, and Vice President Qualms was nowhere near the Government building.
Fuck him. Marshall thought. He would need to wait until the emergency was lifted. However he had company of half a dozen Hunters that served as personal security. Even though they weren't Lekgolo as their names suggested, they were beyond appropriate as personal bodyguards. They were the work of a genetic genius named Reihner. Marshall's timely appearance had saved this man from the firing squad, and tucked him into his own service. Like himself, Reihner was not bound by petty morality and saw the big picture of the Prisoner and what it could do to the very existence of the universe. He was unethical and an absolute madman, but he had rendered his services to Marshall free of charge, with only one stipulation to his employment. He wanted the man that Marshall was hunting. In fact, this was one of the reasons why he had singled out the Captain at all. He could have gone after any other Marine, but this one person represented the heartless desire of Ambrose Reihner on the god-forsaken rock of Talahan V.
Well, not so god-forsaken to Marshall anyway.
Reihner's work was immaculate. Marshall deviated from his concern to inspect the supersoldiers. Like Spartans, they were genetically modified, but they carried very little physical augmentations if any at all. This was the Human mind unshackled and with safeties disabled. It was theorized that all Humans had hidden strength that could be accessed in life-or-death situations. This was allegedly the true person with those inhibitions removed. Unlike Spartans, they were completely unquestioning with indoctrination upon being selected. As cliché as it was, Marshall wanted a totally obedient fighting force that would make only the best decisions. The best part was that they would never stab him in the back. They couldn't even conceive of the thought. Literally. That part of their thought process had been overwritten by genetic therapy.
The Hunter stiffened at attention and saluted. The uniform barely containing the man's muscles. Next to him, a female Hunter stood looking like an Amazon. Standing at over seven feet tall with a body chiseled from obsidian, she could break a man's back with her eye-muscles. Her hair was only barely present, only taking on some of its natural curliness.
The President walked into the lounge. Howard Tudyk was nervously sitting in a padded chair sipping Pinot Noir. His hand was visibly shaking before he saw Marshall. Then they became spastic. A small bit of wine escaped the glass and spilled on the floor.
"Jesus Christ, Tudyk." Marshall said as a small robot skittered across the floor to clean the spill. "You know how much that costs?"
"I… Imagine a lot, sir."
Marshall sat down across from him and found a glass waiting for him as well. "Why are you looking so glum?"
"The… battle, sir."
"Barely a scrimmage."
"But sir, as your civilian attache, I believe I can determine that if you have a mercenary force at your doorstep, there's legal precedence to do so?"
Marshall knew that Tudyk was correct. He was even aware that the UNSC was now not heeding his orders and had subsequently locked out his communications, but the level he was on was shielded with the strongest projectors that could be afforded, and they were controlled from his desk.
"They may. However, you have to understand this is all part of the plan in the end."
"What plan?!" Tudyk snapped. "You have no plan! The military is coming to remove you from power! They have something on you!"
"You don't know that." Marshall noted.
"The UNSC is right outside ready to force their way into your building!"
"Howard..."
"No, you listen to me!" He rose.
Marshall raised an eyebrow and lifted a hand. The Hunters drew their guns at a second and aimed them at Tudyk. Lasers sprang on and the Civilian Attache for ONI looked as if he had suddenly caught the chicken pox."
"I'm listening Howie." Marshall said. "Speak your mind. I might just like what you say."
"I want out."
Marshall played coy. "Out?"
"Yes. I don't want to be a part of this anymore. Your brilliant plan, whatever you think it is, has led to nothing but failure!"
Marshall didn't respond. Tudyk started to sweat. He expected a retort.
"And?" He finally said.
"And?" Tudyk repeated, "And?! You're not telling me that you planned to fail?!"
"What I planned, Mister Tudyk, was that someone who had picked up a Chaos Emerald and unlocked that Forerunner message make their way into this very building. This young man has had the resources that was needed to complete these objectives. Now that he's likely in this building, Mister Reihner can take over. He does have a score to settle with him after all. What matters is getting that information. Besides, I can get rid of a few charges easily. Have you ever been a politician before, Howard?"
Tudyk shook his head. "I wish I knew what it was like in that demented brain of yours."
"Keep dreaming. Alright Howard, you're out. You no longer have government protection or diplomatic immunity. In fact, I can go do that from my office right now. Maybe I can make it so that you've embezzled a few hundred million credits from the government."
"What?" Tudyk asked, sweat beading around his glasses. "You can't do that! You have nothing to prove that!"
Marshall got to his feet and took the glass with him. "I think if there's anybody that can understand, it's you. Truth? That's relative." He glanced to the Hunters. "Keep him here."
"Marshall, I..."
Another wave of the hand, and another round of lasers.
"You're out, Tudyk. You don't work for me anymore. It's Mr. President."
Tudyk watched as Marshall walked back into his office. Before the president closed the door, he made eye contact one more time, winked, then sealed Tudyk off. An uncomfortable silence lowered on the lounge. The Hunters made no noise. The battle from outside didn't pierce the windows, and the only thing that he could perceive was his own scared breathing. He glanced around and could only see the barrels of high caliber handguns. Terrified, the only thing he could do was take a drink from the Pinot Noir. He spilled more on the carpet, and thought to himself that maybe he should have just jumped out the window when he had the chance.
This was ridiculous. Insane. Absolutely fucking outstanding. While the real battle was going on, he was just sitting here like a coward. Chris sat with his back against the wall listening to the constant pops of gunfire not fifty feet away. A few terrified or wounded STARs, which included Cody Roberts, the clumsy klutz who must have been someone's cousin to even get past initial selection processes! Chris had been on that commission! He had sat in for five days with generals and admirals as they decided which of the potential recruits would have gone into physical training! One hundred men and women and Roberts passed the initial selection marches? Out-fucking-standing.
Chris allowed himself to get up and look outside at the small battle that was raging. The frigate that had shot at them had pulled back over the ocean. Fucking coward. It could have blown off the side of the building to finish them off. Only after he had given this a second or two of thought he realized that it would be counterproductive.
He still had the ugly as sin rifle with him. He began to speculate that it was contraband from a gang of some sort, possibly one of Hispanic origin as he could fluently read the carved grip around the painted rose – Un Angel del Silencio y Destino, and he agreed with it. This gun was an angel of fate. No. It was the sword, and he was Gabriel, or some Bible bullshit that he could barely remember from his parents' copy of the King James' Good News.
Bowman wanted him to play sniper, and that was exactly what he did. Truthfully it was more of Winston's game… but he had no idea where Jeff got to anyway. He could have sworn he saw him earlier.
But then he was back. Two men sniping on the top of a hill. A slight breeze cut through the air.
"Alright, Sarge?" Winston asked.
"I just felt like shit for a second." Chris said with his cheek rested on the stock of a long barreled DMR. "Like I just saw something."
"Sneaking some of the good stuff from 6-Romeo?"
"Fuck that, you know I don't hit that homebrewed stuff. That'll kill you." He smiled toothily. "Seriously though I feel I just saw something – like deja vu."
Winston looked over to him. "You going to be OK though?"
"Yeah." He said.
Winston showed no further concern. If the Sarge was OK, then he was OK. He was feeling a lot better than Kapplin was right now. They just found what was left of him near The Pass. Tallies skinned him alive and left him to die. They took a few more things from him to make his last hours miserable. Revenge would have to wait. Assassination was the goal here.
Geurilla Commandant Jugo Anzaddo needed to die tonight. The moons provided wonderful lighting of the area, and an optical scope with glare protection hid the two men on the hill. They knew nothing of this man except his daily itinerary, and his love for throwing napalm on sleeping Marines. Division HQ had had enough of this and had ordered his head, which Chris and Winston were happy to oblige.
"There he is." Winston said looking through binoculars.
It was easy to identify Anzaddo. He loved to walk around shirtless and proudly displayed a dragon tattoo that went around his back and ended on his pectorals.
"Ugh, positive ID established." Winston said. "We've got Anzaddo." he spoke into the microphone on the side of his helmet.
"Acknowledged" Overlord chimed. "Verify that positive ID. You're free to engage."
"Understood, Out." Winston's eyebrows bobbed. "Showtime!"
Chris was gunning on this one. The DMR was suitable from a five hundred meter range. A Hushpuppy 912 suppressor was clipped on the end of the barrel. Cold loaded ammunition was in the mag, and its subsonic nature would make it virtually silent at this range. The trees were thick and the humid air made it seem foggy. Andazzo was clearly visible with sweating skin almost acting like a beacon. He bitched at his subordinates and then moved away. That was the shot. Chris thumbed the safety off.
"Five hundred meters, almost on the dot. Elevation negative 40 meters, wind speed 5 meters Northwest. Ah, that's just a breeze."
"Easy." Chris said moving the crosshairs over Andazzo's chest. With the sights zeroed, he could account for the distance just fine.
"Fire when ready."
No hesitation. Chris pulled the trigger and the weapon barked. It was a small bark though – like a loud nailgun. The subsonic bullet spiraled from the gun and crossed the distance in half a second. Andazzo's dragon tattoo exploded in a splash of blood. The bullet him his just above his heart, but the Anti-Personnel round made sure that he stayed down for good.
It couldn't have been better. Nobody heard a single thing. Nobody was even aware of what happened. Winston was just about to call it in that the target was eliminated and that they would be extracting soon, but Andazzo moved. Even with blood all over the ground, he cried out for help, and plucked his sidearm. He aimed somewhere towards them, and fired.
The bullet hit the scope of the DMR. Five hundred meters away and forty meters up through a crosswind and from a sidearm no less. Chris didn't even register what happened before metal and glass shards shot into his eyes.
The pillar was dust. Hunter rounds tried to get a bead on him before he returned fire from across the atrium. The gang rifle barked and another supersoldier dropped. Fuck this, this was shitty cover and he knew it. He was back where he was before… in the government building. Was this the hallucination though? He was just on Talahan. It was so vivid, so real… but so was this place. His skin was clammy. Just which was real and which was fake?
He couldn't think about it now. He just couldn't. The thought terrified him. If he was in a dream, he had to find a way to wake up and get back to Winston. They had to extract from that hill, and he wasn't going to be carried out.
"Cover me, Roberts." he said.
"What?" Cody asked with head covered. But the Captain was gone. Roberts continued to take cover, but pointed his pistol around his cover and fired.
Chris sprinted to a stairwell. Fuck Bowman and his preconceived notion of what was correct of tactical. This battle was pointless. It was just a way for them to drain their ammunition before the Hunters could surround them. They had to get out of this room. Or rather, he had to.
The room was roughly shaped like a doughnut. He could cross around and flank the enemy, but that would be stupid. He had been in this building before. He had seen service elevators and staircases before, and he saw a door open a quarter way around the floor. With the battle contained to this area, he could sneak by undetected. Through sheer luck, he was able to duck and dive through the area sometimes crawling under desks and walls. The door was a simple pivoting type – the old fashioned kind, but made of metal with a pushbar. He knocked through it and found a staircase without windows. From there, he headed up. Up through dozens of floors without tiring, but eventually his side began to trouble him. Blood started to flow quicker, but he still pressed on until he was at the top of the staircase. The door was already open.
If he were sane, he would realize that this was a trap of some sort, but he was unable to determine if this was a dream or not. To him, this was completely logical – to look for clues to lead to his awakening.
The hallway beyond was empty. A hallway that led through the bowels of the building, but with windows that overlooked the office level below. The floor began to flash. Emergency lights turned on and off. He ignored it at first thinking that it was nothing. He searched for additional ways to go up. The hallway was sterile white with only a few paintings or mosaics on the walls to give it some sort of personality. The sounds of his footsteps were not echoed. He wondered where all of the workers were. Did they not come into work today? They couldn't have. Or could have? This was the most important building in Human space and they didn't have a night shift?
Ahead of him, a door slammed shut. The hallway beyond was hidden by a bulkhead painted with warning symbols.
Oh, so it was just like Tokyo. Lah-dee-dah. He considered going back downstairs, but there was no way he wasn't going to stick this gun up Marshall's ass and pull the trigger until it went 'click'. Ryan would yell at him for wasting ammo though.
Another door shut. This time over the stairwell. That left only the direction of the lights. He realized he was screwed into following them one way or another – there was no choice here. He decided to follow the lights despite open intersections. He felt they wouldn't be open for long if he deviated.
"Is this where you put a bullet in the back of my head?" he said to nobody in particular. "Is this where you finally end my miserable existence? I've got nobody. You took my honor, my friends, those I love..." He tried to remember her name – her face. He stopped and closed his eyes and dug through the tattered remains of his memory. He couldn't remember. All he knew was that there was someone he loved. He couldn't remember any of them. All he knew that he needed to get to Marshall.
"But I promise you this." He began walking again. "If you're listening, I'm going to do everything in my power to get you to and get you to fix everything you've done to me. You're going to fail with me at arm's length. You think I'm crazy? Oh no, I'm not crazy yet. You want my head on a platter? You're going to get it."
Perfect silence. Nothing came out to get him, but he jumped at his own shadow at every chance he got. He had to be on his toes. A final door was open, but this one was different. It was roughly octagonal and shaped more like a starship's door. A retinal scanner stood at the side, but the door was already open. He shouldered the gun and walked inside. Another long hallway, but he ran for the open door. What was on the other side made him freeze.
An infirmary, or a hospital operating room. This didn't seem right though. The room was sterile blue and steel gray. Tables were wheeled all over the place, and on them were corpses. Some were covered, but some had their faces revealed. The room was chilled, but he froze when he saw these men. He recognized one or two of them. Dead Marines. Defiled Marines. Their heads were cut open with brains visible. Parts of brains, whole brains, and some of them wounded and roughed up – indicating they were attacked before they were killed. Possibly by ONI themselves.
He wondered what this was. He nearly dropped his gun in shock and disgust. This wasn't a hospital – it was a slaughterhouse.
He was able to tear his eyes away from the bodies to see a work table covered with file folders. Some sheets were visible. He pulled one open and looked. It as a dossier on who this man was. He didn't see the name, but the face was distinctly familiar to him. The Chaos Emerald in Monte Alban had to be defended by Marines when he was away on missions. This person – Winaki as his file said – was one such guard who helped guard the Emerald from January of 3237 to March of the same year. According to the file, he had contact with the Chaos Emerald physically, and was then arrested in 3239, shortly after Marshall took power.
Winaki's corpse was pockmarked with bruises. He felt pity for the Marine – punished for something he could never understand. He pulled the linen of his bed over his face in a final, futile gesture of sadness, as if it meant anything. But… then something else caught his eye. On the wall. Unlike on the table, there were more files, but pinned to a board. He didn't realize it at first, but as he got closer, the pictures became clear. It was him. His service photo with full uniform, photos from the war, photos from prior engagements, newspaper clippings… and shots that looked as if they were taken by camera. Photos of him alone, in civilian clothes, with the woman who's face he could now place – the not quite Human woman… but her name was not in his mind, but it brought about a new anger that he could barely contain. Someone had followed him and had developed an obsession with him. He was intended to become one of these bodies.
He made a mistake coming here. This was idiotic of him. Before he could turn to leave, his breath left him. A blade… no a needle jutted out from the spot next to his neck. It was amazingly large. Every twitch he made could allow him to feel the giant syringe that jabbed through the fleshy bits of his muscle and through his bones – straight into his heart. He choked on a scream. His left side went unresponsive as he dropped to his knees He dropped the gun and let it skitter as his right hand jumped to the needle. He tried to pull it out, but then his right side went limp. He could only stare at the syringe which looked like it was meant more for a large animal than a Human. He was about to fall backwards when someone caught him. He lost sensation all over his body and was dragged onto a table. Whoever was pulling him had no regard for his safety or comfort, if the needle was any indication.
Then he was staring at the ceiling, giant needle jutting from his body. His breathing was erratic, and his sight became fuzzy.
"You don't know how long I've waited for this, Captain."
The voice wasn't Marshall's. It seemed younger, but gravelly. Then a face appeared above him. It was round, and covered with a full beard. The man was bald or had buzzed hair and his rounded nose made Chris recall a memory or two. He knew this man, but not well enough to fully recognize him. It wasn't like he could say anything anyway – his tongue felt like lead.
"Don't say anything." The man said, smiling with bright white teeth. "We've met before, but you're in no shape to remember me. Well, it's as good a time as ever for reintroduction." He extended his hand. "Ambrose Reihner, chief geneticist for President Troy Marshall. You may know me from when you ruined my career, Captain. Maybe you don't. The point is, I remember you, and what you and your girlfriend did to me!" He pulled a scalpel out and held it in front of Chris' nose. "What I'm about to do to you is going to be as painful as every day I felt after Talahan V. Then, and maybe then… we'll be even."
June 12, 3139, 0700 hours
District 32
Manhattan Island, Earth
Sally heard the booms just like everyone else had on the sidewalk. Eyes shot upwards at once at the sound of the thundering cannons spreading throughout the early morning. Even at this hour the streets of Manhattan were packed, as was befitting the UEG's capital.
The Princess was transfixed on the ship hanging in the air. She tried to get NICOLE to help identify it, but the flak guns from the ship made it difficult.
The sun's rays were poking through the man-made trunks of the skyscrapers that dotted the area around her and everyone else. Smoke from the cannons had begun to drift, driven by the air currents caused by traffic and everyday function of the metropolis. She stood on the sidewalk outside of the Captain's home and just stared. She then felt the others join her. The need to be incognito suddenly faded in comparison to the chaos that was unfolding around them. This created a natural cover that would be of considerable use to them.
"They can't do that." Reyes breathed. "That's beyond illegal!"
"Hate to be the bearer of bad news..." Rouge began. "But I don't think ONI gives a damn about the law."
Sally struggled to see what the ship was even shooting at. Her first thought was that it was an attack on the government building, but the trajectories were all off. The flak rounds were going off at variable distances, which would be extremely unlikely if your target was a building.
"There." Hera said. "I see something. It looks like a dropship!"
Sally squinted. She could barely make out a gunmetal-grey colored smudge dipping and diving between the columns of buildings while avoiding enemy fire. The frigate was obviously holding back. Flak rounds gave them a bit of wiggle room. If they switched to guns, missing was a huge possibility, as was taking a good portion of the city with the shots.
"NICOLE, can you get in contact?" Sally suddenly snapped.
"I don't think they'd be in the best position to respond!" the AI said.
"Do it anyway!"
There was silence. NICOLE was trying her hardest to burrow into the dropship's COM signals. The air was thick with conflicting beacons. Each was an electronic cry in the ether of existence carrying information that slowed her down. However, she did it. She latched her signal onto the Pelican's still-functioning relay. Before she could even get a syllable out, the dropship took a hit and barreled towards the government building. A few people in the crowd screamed as the aircraft slammed through the exterior.
Almost at the same instant, televisions all throughout the city began reporting on a terrorist attack occurring at the building. Thomas Boxer was reading news that very well described the assault their teams were carrying out. This crash was just expediting the story.
"That bird is down!" NICOLE said. "No connection! I think the pilots are dead!"
"Shit, that didn't take long!" Reyes said. "We've got to double time it now. Lockdown's going to take us out of the action!"
"So how are we going to get in, genius?" Rouge asked. "Lockdown, as you say, will make sure we never get within a mile of the tower."
"Maybe they left a few holes?" Bunnie suggested.
"Good point." Hera said. "Everything we've seen thus far shows Marshall focusing internally once a threat has been identified. He'll focus on things getting out, not in. We'll cross any barriers once we get to them. Agreed?"
They all nodded. All of them except Sally, who was feeling quite sick. She rubbed her chest.
"Sal?" Bunnie asked. "You alright?"
"I need to sit down."
She more or less fell onto a bench. A concerned young man noticed them. The youth, dressed in a ball cap and black windbreaker approached to help. Sally waved him off. He reluctantly did so.
"I can't go." She finally said. "I've been stupid to come this far."
Nobody stopped her even though she expected an interjection. Saddned, she continued. "Look at me. I can't play secret agent. Not now. Look at me! I'm pregnant for the Ancestor's sake! I wanted to fight when I'm with child! What was I thinking?!"
She slumped on the bench. Bunnie took a seat next to her and placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Folks, I don't mean to be a pest but… we don't have time for this." Reyes said.
"Go." Sally said. "I have to go back and see him." When the didn't move, she nearly yelled, "Go!"
Reyes nodded in understanding. Hera tapped his and Rouge's shoulders, assuming command of the group. "We're not far from Central Park. If we double time it we can maybe make it there in an hour."
Reyes and Rouge nodded and they all started moving. Not one of them looked back at the tired woman and she did not stare back. She was stupid for coming this far at all. She had put her own desires to see Marshall burn before the life within her. It was also the life of her Human that she thought of. It was only a scant few days that they had been together again after a month apart. She didn't cry, but thought sadly about it. How a month didn't seem like much before; they were not partners before that point, and Sonic had always been with her in some capacity before. It didn't trouble her nearly as much as it had now. She stifled a small laugh. It was probably the hormones talking – the motherly instinct beginning to kick in. No. She always had this instinct. She always cared. She cared for all around her, and her Human was no different. In fact, maybe that was where she made a mistake. She treated him like a triumph. That everyone could be saved. The fact that she was out here and not back there by his side showed her what she thought of her own accomplishment.
Bunnie didn't say anything, even as the people rushed past them. She simply hugged her best friend as tightly as she could. She couldn't find the words to even say anything to Sally. Nothing would have made a difference anyway. She glanced once trying to find Hera, Rouge, and Reyes in the crowd, but could not see them.
The trio jogged down the side of Central Park's tall walls. A long time ago they may have only been about ten to fifteen feet tall, but now they were nearly three times that size. The trees within the park shot into the sky. The green interior was a sign of things past where there was a bit more green on this world. Even in the early morning there were people strolling about and enjoying the fresh air where trees grew in the largest number in the whole city.
None of the infiltrators had time to admire this. Not far from Central Park the government building rose. Flashing lights covered the exterior and emergency craft punched through the air. Police forces were trying to get the situation under control. The plan was to try and slip in among the chaos. Subtlety be damned. Subtlety disappeared the instant that frigate opened fire. It occurred to Rouge that they could have asked for help from NICOLE, but then she squelched the thought in her mind. That wouldn't be necessary and would probably cause more trouble. Counter Hacking teams were likely on the job now trying to shut down whatever madness the other teams kicked into action. That was fine too.
There wasn't much communication for the entirety of their trip alongside Central Park. A few warnings were given to avoid police patrols and keep out of sight from dropships that coursed over the area. Hera glanced up at the area where the dropship ploughed through the building. It was clear even at ground level and she could see the frigate was backing off. She wondered why it did so. They would have a clean kill shot if the needed to take it, but they held off.
"Something's off." She said more to herself than out loud, but Reyes caught it. He nodded.
"In here. We're close enough to deploy. Only a stone's throw. I guess we go over these walls."
They followed his lead. Into a dark alleyway nestled between two ancient brownstones was a shadow as dark as the fleeing night. It was there they dropped their packs and began to assemble their weapons. Rouge was armed, as well as Hera, but Reyes would need to construct his tool. He grabbed an upper and lower receiver as well as a bolt. With practiced precision he slipped the bolt into the chamber, locked both parts of the receiver together, then screwed on a short barrel. A stock could be avoided for the time being but could be slipped onto recesses on the rear of the gun at a moment's notice. Reyes constructed a compact MA-5 rifle. The nine-and-a-half inch barrel skirted the border between carbine and full length weapon. The gun itself was no slouch, firing a 7.62x54 mm 410 grain cartridge. It was heavy and devastating on impact. The prospect of close quarters fighting made stopping power an attractive concept. He clipped a SRDS sight onto the frame of the weapon, extended the stock, and slammed a magazine into the weapon, yanking on the thumb-sized charging lever to send a bullet into the chamber.
"On you, ma'am." Reyes said.
Hera was absolutely confused why defenses were light. Police cars had been moved away, probably to allow greater military presence. No cops on the road, but black suited operatives with equally black SUV and long wicked looking rifles in their arms. They pulsed with energy that could only be explained by Chaos Emerald shards cloned to serve as the arming device for such a gun.
Rouge recognized this instantly from her own experiences. She called them to halt before heading forward. "Trust me on this one; you don't want to be hit by one of those things. You don't even want to be missed by one either."
"I've seen them before too." Hera acknowledged. "I've come across them in one or two universes. Looks like ONI's been working out."
But then they saw the next problem. Standing not to too far away from the agents was a small mountain of armor. Seven feet tall and weighing close to a ton, not one, but three Spartans guarded the roadway with them. They stood unmoving except for slight movements of the heads. They weren't bothered by the agents or even by small explosions caused by looters trying to get in on the chaos.
"Well we're screwed." Hera said. "In that way anyhow."
"We can sneak past them." Reyes suggested.
"Not happening. Sneaking past a Spartan?" Rouge countered. "They're probably scanning four or five spectrums at the same time. You'll stand out like a sore thumb!"
"No, I've heard that if you crouch and move slowly you can sneak past them."
There was a four second pause. Enough time for a cat to yell out somewhere in the distance.
"That's the stupidest thing I've heard all week." Hera said.
"I'm serious!" Reyes said. "Soldiers have been saying it for years!"
"I'm not going to rely on hearsay while we're storming the damned government building!" Hera hissed.
"So what's your plan?" Reyes fired. "Wait for them to get bored and go home?"
The Spartan on the left snapped its head. It was looking in their general direction. Hera's heart started to beat faster and her ears folded behind her head. It was instinctive fear and intimidation all in one. The Spartan, gender entirely obscured by the armor, silently moved towards them. The helmet was entirely flat in texture and in design with the exception of two red eyes placed roughly where their fleshy equivalents would be, but they were far too small. Despite the size and obvious weight of the armor, the armored soldier made no noise as it approached. The hands holding the assault rifle in its hands tightened, and a trained eye would observe that the Spartan flicked the fire selector to the automatic setting.
Suddenly, the other two Spartans moved. They fell into step behind the leader, who was now close enough to make out the painted rank on its armor – Chief Petty Officer to be precise. This unknown soldier projected dread.
They were indeed screwed. The options were to run, which would result in getting shot excessively, and staying to fight, which would result in possibly getting their necks snapped or being shot excessively.
Reyes wasn't going to run, but Rouge was considering getting a running start or perhaps pulling her gun on the others mocking up a sting operation, and Hera was ready to just surrender and live another day and plan – possibly getting closer to Marshall than they were now.
None of that would matter in the end though. The loud hum of a rotary cannon filled their ears as a sharp ripping of paper. It was so loud and so close. Their hearing momentarily vanished, even with earplugs. The pavement, sidewalk, cars, and Spartans lit up in tracer fire. The roadway was in shambles in seconds. The unarmored ONI agents were torn up by the high velocity rounds, splattering the roadway with red, killing them instantly. Some of them managed to get off shots either before being struck down or in dying spasms. These stray energy blasts tore sizable holes in the offices around them as far as five stories up. One Chaos Energy round blasted through two stories on the inside of the building. The Spartans turned at once and fired at the source, which the infiltrators could not see. The elite soldiers didn't last much longer. The Spartans silently ran from one point of cover to the other. Their shields flared in response to the heavy bullets slamming against them. One lost footing from the impact of the rounds, fell to the ground, and was promptly pulverized. The remaining two fired at the source of the rounds, but the one on the left, the one with the pinprick eyes took a round in the head, blowing up the helmet in a shower of metal, bone, and blood. As the body dropped twitching, the last standing Spartan grabbed the other fallen soldier's weapon and held them both at shoulder height while charging from cover to cover. The soldier's speed was impressive, but even a Spartan couldn't stand that much fire forever. One round tore away part of the soldier's helmet, and the next six struck in the chest, blending the inside, but leaving the exterior armor intact.
The Mobians could see with a wrenching in their heart that the last Spartan was kinsman. A Mobian shrew's face was visible, jaw slack and eyes rolled up into his head. He made no more response upon hitting the ground.
After less then seven seconds from beginning their attack, the source of the fire was visible. An angular looking gunship descended from the sky and landed right in the middle of the street. Jets pivoted and blew spent shells, loose clothing, and wet blood around. Painted on the side, a man with outstretched arms and angel wings. A watcher to be sure, or as the title of the company stated, a Vanguard.
The guns rotated slowly, but still in gimbals searching for targets. The pilot's silhouette was barely visible in the smoked out windows above them. With a hiss, a hermetically sealed part of the hull slid apart revealing a squad of heavily armed mercenaries. Their armor was immaculate and well maintained with shining accents and dull matte paintjobs. Three men and a woman, each with a ball cap fastened to their heads bearing the same logo on the outside of the ship. A hardened and muscular woman stepped from the ship and jumped out before the tires of the gunship even touched street. She looked as if she had spent her whole life fighting with hard creases, equally as hard eyes and hair wound up in a tight bun. This was clearly not a woman to be screwed with.
No introductions were needed.
"Thanks a lot!" Hera nodded over the sound of the whining engines.
"You kids need a ride?"
"That'd sure be nice. Where are you heading?"
The merc pointed to the tower – their objective. "The government building. We have teams moving in up fifth avenue, and soon Broadway."
"What's going on?" Reyes asked.
"President Marshall has personally spat in the face of Vanguard Corporation ad we're not taking kindly to that. Get your asses aboard now and I'll explain on the way up!"
The other mercenaries stowed their guns and pulled them aboard. The instant Rouge's feet left the ground, the pilot gunned it and sped away from ground level.
Hera, Rouge, and Reyes held on valiantly as the pilot pulled maneuvers that topped five Gs. The female mercenary leader wasn't even fazed.
"Kidnapping's a crime as you know, and Vanguard liked to keep its family safe. You're aware of a few of our Lone Wolves?"
"Roan and Jackson." Hera nodded. "Well acquainted."
"See, like myself and these fine venture capitalists here..." she indicated the mercs who laughed. "...we are property of Vanguard. Kidnapping is also theft. Vanguard hates theft and punishes it thusly."
"You're crazy if you think you can go up against the military." Reyes noted.
"That's true." the leader said. "I would be crazy, except the military has grudgingly given us the go-ahead."
"What?!" Rouge stammered. "H-How? They're in on it!"
"No they ain't." she said in a way that basically said 'Nuh-uh'. "Vanguard keeps its property well tracked as well. Lone Wolves have no less than 11 tracking devices at all times. You guess where they are."
Hera put it together first. "You know about our imprisonment."
"And interrogations, and what basically amounts to a confession from Howard Tudyk which implicates Marshall in your torture and illegal arrest."
"We're fugitives. It looks legal."
"Pretty funny coming from a guy who killed the President and Vice President of the UEG."
"How did you know that…?!"
"It helps to make copies of important files." the mercenary said winking. "We're on our way to assist the UNSC in personally arresting Marshall."
The black boxes. Sneaky sons of bitches. Standard procedure saved their asses a long walk.
"Why didn't you say anything before?" Rouge asked.
"Wanted the charges to stick and stick hard. He could wriggle before, but we're the better anglers this time around. Now Marshall's going to flop."
"He's got an army you know." Reyes quipped.
The other soldiers of fortune smiled.
"Oh yeah?" the Vanguard merc said. "We've got two."
The firing of anti-aircraft weaponry as they approached Pad 7 was surprising as it was believed their approach was relatively invisible among the chaos. Multiple other gunships appeared in the sky spraying craft that launched from the government building's hangars. Longsword fighters clipped across the sky engaging in dogfights with Vanguard craft. Thankfully it seemed that the heavy fighters didn't heed the gunship any attention, though some security forces on the pad tried their hand at capping the pilot.
Without even looking out the windows of the bay, the mercenary leader continued her conversation.
"According to the briefing we were supposed to meet two more of you, including her Royal Highness."
"She opted not to come." Rouge said.
The merc raised her eyebrow. "May I ask why?
"That's classified." the bat smiled.
The mercenary flashed the same small grin. It was a sign of understanding between the two women. "All the same, she's a high priority target to Marshall's men. We were going to dissuade her from coming anyway. We don't need a dead princess.
The ripping hum of the miniguns rumbled the bay and the anti-aircraft guns blossomed in flames as the armor piercing rounds hit something sensitive.
"Touchdown in thirty seconds! Gear check!" The pilot shouted from the cockpit. The mercenaries analyzed their equipment. They performed brass checks to make sure a round was chambered. One of them adjusted her shoulder pauldrons, and one with a particularly impressive beard and curled mustache lit a cigarette and let it hang in his mouth. He picked a pair of shades off his utility belt and slid them over his eyes.
The last one, an Asian-looking mercenary grabbed two knives, flicked them around like a showoff would, and slid them into upper arm sheaths.
A collection of badasses such as this made the team feel rather by the book in comparison.
"Five seconds boys and girls!"
The door hissed open instantly. The mercenaries jumped before the five seconds were up. Reyes, Hera, and Rouge leaped a full two seconds after. They landed on the pad with a roll. The hard metal and tarmac stung their battered flesh, but they were battle ready.
"Hold up!" The merc leader said. She held up two fingers to the gunship. The crew chief made his way to the door holding two rifles. He threw both to the commander across the three thousand foot gap to the landing pad. She caught them easily and dropped them, opening her arms to received a bag of ammunition for the guns. She flipped the thumbs up to the Crew Chief and the gunship tore away into the fray.
"Those for us?" Hera asked suddenly feeling firearms envy.
"You bet your ass. Holster those pieces of shit and get yourself a real weapon. You're fine." She indicated to Reyes.
Rouge and Hera grabbed the guns and looked them over. They were Misriah rifles with characteristic carrying handles and bullpup layouts.
"BR107s. 8-4-2 mil, burst fire. X4 Nostradamus Combat Sights."
"Merry Christmas." Hera smiled. She grabbed five magazines and slotted them into her belt. She took a sixth and slid it into the stock of the weapon and secured it with a smack. She racked the bolt. The weapon was ready to fire. She then clipped the safety off.
Rouge followed, but handled the gun gingerly. She was a spy, but recent events over the past could of years steeled her heart. She was not afraid to fire a gun anymore, much less in open combat. If she had to face down her own organization and take down Agents, so be it. Even she had standards.
Reyes simply looked at his MA-5 in sudden inadequacy.
Loaded up, the mercenaries plus the infiltrators moved out. Their objective had been accomplished. They were in. Other gunships started to descended to other landing pads – their guns sounding like a chorus of hums as they blew away stationary defenses. More soldiers were coming to assist, and it made Reyes' heart proud to see olive drab Pelican Dropships flank the mercenary craft. The UNSC was back on their side, and more importantly, were against Marshall.
The locked door ahead of them was covered by Battle Beard and Bushido as Hera decided to call them. The only one whose name she knew, the Slavic looking woman with a tag reading 'Tarkov' went front and center. She spoke with an Eastern European accent.
"Lockdown. Predictable."
"Do you have a spoofer?" Rouge asked, indicating the digital lockpick in use with the military and PMCs."
"Kinda." she said, reaching into her pack and pulling out a high explosive wad of thermogenerative explosive. "Let's see if this makes a dent."
She set the timer for ten seconds. "Doorbell is rung!" She pulled back and stacked on the side. Everyone braced for the explosion. Rouge covered her ears, but Hera gritted and waited.
The explosive detonated in a shaped blast blowing towards and away from the door while leaving the stacked up soldiers unaffected. The door was pulverized in twisted bits of metal. The hole was the size of a large van width-wise. The Mercs and Marines leaned in, picked targets, and then opened fire.
Troy Marshall was not pleased. The fact that the frigates had backed off indicated that there was something very wrong, but he was unable to get communications outside of his office or to other sections of the executive floor. Thanks to the lockdown, he was unable to even do anything about it! He needed two man approval to even override the lockdown at all, and Vice President Qualms was nowhere near the Government building.
Fuck him. Marshall thought. He would need to wait until the emergency was lifted. However he had company of half a dozen Hunters that served as personal security. Even though they weren't Lekgolo as their names suggested, they were beyond appropriate as personal bodyguards. They were the work of a genetic genius named Reihner. Marshall's timely appearance had saved this man from the firing squad, and tucked him into his own service. Like himself, Reihner was not bound by petty morality and saw the big picture of the Prisoner and what it could do to the very existence of the universe. He was unethical and an absolute madman, but he had rendered his services to Marshall free of charge, with only one stipulation to his employment. He wanted the man that Marshall was hunting. In fact, this was one of the reasons why he had singled out the Captain at all. He could have gone after any other Marine, but this one person represented the heartless desire of Ambrose Reihner on the god-forsaken rock of Talahan V.
Well, not so god-forsaken to Marshall anyway.
Reihner's work was immaculate. Marshall deviated from his concern to inspect the supersoldiers. Like Spartans, they were genetically modified, but they carried very little physical augmentations if any at all. This was the Human mind unshackled and with safeties disabled. It was theorized that all Humans had hidden strength that could be accessed in life-or-death situations. This was allegedly the true person with those inhibitions removed. Unlike Spartans, they were completely unquestioning with indoctrination upon being selected. As cliché as it was, Marshall wanted a totally obedient fighting force that would make only the best decisions. The best part was that they would never stab him in the back. They couldn't even conceive of the thought. Literally. That part of their thought process had been overwritten by genetic therapy.
The Hunter stiffened at attention and saluted. The uniform barely containing the man's muscles. Next to him, a female Hunter stood looking like an Amazon. Standing at over seven feet tall with a body chiseled from obsidian, she could break a man's back with her eye-muscles. Her hair was only barely present, only taking on some of its natural curliness.
The President walked into the lounge. Howard Tudyk was nervously sitting in a padded chair sipping Pinot Noir. His hand was visibly shaking before he saw Marshall. Then they became spastic. A small bit of wine escaped the glass and spilled on the floor.
"Jesus Christ, Tudyk." Marshall said as a small robot skittered across the floor to clean the spill. "You know how much that costs?"
"I… Imagine a lot, sir."
Marshall sat down across from him and found a glass waiting for him as well. "Why are you looking so glum?"
"The… battle, sir."
"Barely a scrimmage."
"But sir, as your civilian attache, I believe I can determine that if you have a mercenary force at your doorstep, there's legal precedence to do so?"
Marshall knew that Tudyk was correct. He was even aware that the UNSC was now not heeding his orders and had subsequently locked out his communications, but the level he was on was shielded with the strongest projectors that could be afforded, and they were controlled from his desk.
"They may. However, you have to understand this is all part of the plan in the end."
"What plan?!" Tudyk snapped. "You have no plan! The military is coming to remove you from power! They have something on you!"
"You don't know that." Marshall noted.
"The UNSC is right outside ready to force their way into your building!"
"Howard..."
"No, you listen to me!" He rose.
Marshall raised an eyebrow and lifted a hand. The Hunters drew their guns at a second and aimed them at Tudyk. Lasers sprang on and the Civilian Attache for ONI looked as if he had suddenly caught the chicken pox."
"I'm listening Howie." Marshall said. "Speak your mind. I might just like what you say."
"I want out."
Marshall played coy. "Out?"
"Yes. I don't want to be a part of this anymore. Your brilliant plan, whatever you think it is, has led to nothing but failure!"
Marshall didn't respond. Tudyk started to sweat. He expected a retort.
"And?" He finally said.
"And?" Tudyk repeated, "And?! You're not telling me that you planned to fail?!"
"What I planned, Mister Tudyk, was that someone who had picked up a Chaos Emerald and unlocked that Forerunner message make their way into this very building. This young man has had the resources that was needed to complete these objectives. Now that he's likely in this building, Mister Reihner can take over. He does have a score to settle with him after all. What matters is getting that information. Besides, I can get rid of a few charges easily. Have you ever been a politician before, Howard?"
Tudyk shook his head. "I wish I knew what it was like in that demented brain of yours."
"Keep dreaming. Alright Howard, you're out. You no longer have government protection or diplomatic immunity. In fact, I can go do that from my office right now. Maybe I can make it so that you've embezzled a few hundred million credits from the government."
"What?" Tudyk asked, sweat beading around his glasses. "You can't do that! You have nothing to prove that!"
Marshall got to his feet and took the glass with him. "I think if there's anybody that can understand, it's you. Truth? That's relative." He glanced to the Hunters. "Keep him here."
"Marshall, I..."
Another wave of the hand, and another round of lasers.
"You're out, Tudyk. You don't work for me anymore. It's Mr. President."
Tudyk watched as Marshall walked back into his office. Before the president closed the door, he made eye contact one more time, winked, then sealed Tudyk off. An uncomfortable silence lowered on the lounge. The Hunters made no noise. The battle from outside didn't pierce the windows, and the only thing that he could perceive was his own scared breathing. He glanced around and could only see the barrels of high caliber handguns. Terrified, the only thing he could do was take a drink from the Pinot Noir. He spilled more on the carpet, and thought to himself that maybe he should have just jumped out the window when he had the chance.
This was ridiculous. Insane. Absolutely fucking outstanding. While the real battle was going on, he was just sitting here like a coward. Chris sat with his back against the wall listening to the constant pops of gunfire not fifty feet away. A few terrified or wounded STARs, which included Cody Roberts, the clumsy klutz who must have been someone's cousin to even get past initial selection processes! Chris had been on that commission! He had sat in for five days with generals and admirals as they decided which of the potential recruits would have gone into physical training! One hundred men and women and Roberts passed the initial selection marches? Out-fucking-standing.
Chris allowed himself to get up and look outside at the small battle that was raging. The frigate that had shot at them had pulled back over the ocean. Fucking coward. It could have blown off the side of the building to finish them off. Only after he had given this a second or two of thought he realized that it would be counterproductive.
He still had the ugly as sin rifle with him. He began to speculate that it was contraband from a gang of some sort, possibly one of Hispanic origin as he could fluently read the carved grip around the painted rose – Un Angel del Silencio y Destino, and he agreed with it. This gun was an angel of fate. No. It was the sword, and he was Gabriel, or some Bible bullshit that he could barely remember from his parents' copy of the King James' Good News.
Bowman wanted him to play sniper, and that was exactly what he did. Truthfully it was more of Winston's game… but he had no idea where Jeff got to anyway. He could have sworn he saw him earlier.
But then he was back. Two men sniping on the top of a hill. A slight breeze cut through the air.
"Alright, Sarge?" Winston asked.
"I just felt like shit for a second." Chris said with his cheek rested on the stock of a long barreled DMR. "Like I just saw something."
"Sneaking some of the good stuff from 6-Romeo?"
"Fuck that, you know I don't hit that homebrewed stuff. That'll kill you." He smiled toothily. "Seriously though I feel I just saw something – like deja vu."
Winston looked over to him. "You going to be OK though?"
"Yeah." He said.
Winston showed no further concern. If the Sarge was OK, then he was OK. He was feeling a lot better than Kapplin was right now. They just found what was left of him near The Pass. Tallies skinned him alive and left him to die. They took a few more things from him to make his last hours miserable. Revenge would have to wait. Assassination was the goal here.
Geurilla Commandant Jugo Anzaddo needed to die tonight. The moons provided wonderful lighting of the area, and an optical scope with glare protection hid the two men on the hill. They knew nothing of this man except his daily itinerary, and his love for throwing napalm on sleeping Marines. Division HQ had had enough of this and had ordered his head, which Chris and Winston were happy to oblige.
"There he is." Winston said looking through binoculars.
It was easy to identify Anzaddo. He loved to walk around shirtless and proudly displayed a dragon tattoo that went around his back and ended on his pectorals.
"Ugh, positive ID established." Winston said. "We've got Anzaddo." he spoke into the microphone on the side of his helmet.
"Acknowledged" Overlord chimed. "Verify that positive ID. You're free to engage."
"Understood, Out." Winston's eyebrows bobbed. "Showtime!"
Chris was gunning on this one. The DMR was suitable from a five hundred meter range. A Hushpuppy 912 suppressor was clipped on the end of the barrel. Cold loaded ammunition was in the mag, and its subsonic nature would make it virtually silent at this range. The trees were thick and the humid air made it seem foggy. Andazzo was clearly visible with sweating skin almost acting like a beacon. He bitched at his subordinates and then moved away. That was the shot. Chris thumbed the safety off.
"Five hundred meters, almost on the dot. Elevation negative 40 meters, wind speed 5 meters Northwest. Ah, that's just a breeze."
"Easy." Chris said moving the crosshairs over Andazzo's chest. With the sights zeroed, he could account for the distance just fine.
"Fire when ready."
No hesitation. Chris pulled the trigger and the weapon barked. It was a small bark though – like a loud nailgun. The subsonic bullet spiraled from the gun and crossed the distance in half a second. Andazzo's dragon tattoo exploded in a splash of blood. The bullet him his just above his heart, but the Anti-Personnel round made sure that he stayed down for good.
It couldn't have been better. Nobody heard a single thing. Nobody was even aware of what happened. Winston was just about to call it in that the target was eliminated and that they would be extracting soon, but Andazzo moved. Even with blood all over the ground, he cried out for help, and plucked his sidearm. He aimed somewhere towards them, and fired.
The bullet hit the scope of the DMR. Five hundred meters away and forty meters up through a crosswind and from a sidearm no less. Chris didn't even register what happened before metal and glass shards shot into his eyes.
The pillar was dust. Hunter rounds tried to get a bead on him before he returned fire from across the atrium. The gang rifle barked and another supersoldier dropped. Fuck this, this was shitty cover and he knew it. He was back where he was before… in the government building. Was this the hallucination though? He was just on Talahan. It was so vivid, so real… but so was this place. His skin was clammy. Just which was real and which was fake?
He couldn't think about it now. He just couldn't. The thought terrified him. If he was in a dream, he had to find a way to wake up and get back to Winston. They had to extract from that hill, and he wasn't going to be carried out.
"Cover me, Roberts." he said.
"What?" Cody asked with head covered. But the Captain was gone. Roberts continued to take cover, but pointed his pistol around his cover and fired.
Chris sprinted to a stairwell. Fuck Bowman and his preconceived notion of what was correct of tactical. This battle was pointless. It was just a way for them to drain their ammunition before the Hunters could surround them. They had to get out of this room. Or rather, he had to.
The room was roughly shaped like a doughnut. He could cross around and flank the enemy, but that would be stupid. He had been in this building before. He had seen service elevators and staircases before, and he saw a door open a quarter way around the floor. With the battle contained to this area, he could sneak by undetected. Through sheer luck, he was able to duck and dive through the area sometimes crawling under desks and walls. The door was a simple pivoting type – the old fashioned kind, but made of metal with a pushbar. He knocked through it and found a staircase without windows. From there, he headed up. Up through dozens of floors without tiring, but eventually his side began to trouble him. Blood started to flow quicker, but he still pressed on until he was at the top of the staircase. The door was already open.
If he were sane, he would realize that this was a trap of some sort, but he was unable to determine if this was a dream or not. To him, this was completely logical – to look for clues to lead to his awakening.
The hallway beyond was empty. A hallway that led through the bowels of the building, but with windows that overlooked the office level below. The floor began to flash. Emergency lights turned on and off. He ignored it at first thinking that it was nothing. He searched for additional ways to go up. The hallway was sterile white with only a few paintings or mosaics on the walls to give it some sort of personality. The sounds of his footsteps were not echoed. He wondered where all of the workers were. Did they not come into work today? They couldn't have. Or could have? This was the most important building in Human space and they didn't have a night shift?
Ahead of him, a door slammed shut. The hallway beyond was hidden by a bulkhead painted with warning symbols.
Oh, so it was just like Tokyo. Lah-dee-dah. He considered going back downstairs, but there was no way he wasn't going to stick this gun up Marshall's ass and pull the trigger until it went 'click'. Ryan would yell at him for wasting ammo though.
Another door shut. This time over the stairwell. That left only the direction of the lights. He realized he was screwed into following them one way or another – there was no choice here. He decided to follow the lights despite open intersections. He felt they wouldn't be open for long if he deviated.
"Is this where you put a bullet in the back of my head?" he said to nobody in particular. "Is this where you finally end my miserable existence? I've got nobody. You took my honor, my friends, those I love..." He tried to remember her name – her face. He stopped and closed his eyes and dug through the tattered remains of his memory. He couldn't remember. All he knew was that there was someone he loved. He couldn't remember any of them. All he knew that he needed to get to Marshall.
"But I promise you this." He began walking again. "If you're listening, I'm going to do everything in my power to get you to and get you to fix everything you've done to me. You're going to fail with me at arm's length. You think I'm crazy? Oh no, I'm not crazy yet. You want my head on a platter? You're going to get it."
Perfect silence. Nothing came out to get him, but he jumped at his own shadow at every chance he got. He had to be on his toes. A final door was open, but this one was different. It was roughly octagonal and shaped more like a starship's door. A retinal scanner stood at the side, but the door was already open. He shouldered the gun and walked inside. Another long hallway, but he ran for the open door. What was on the other side made him freeze.
An infirmary, or a hospital operating room. This didn't seem right though. The room was sterile blue and steel gray. Tables were wheeled all over the place, and on them were corpses. Some were covered, but some had their faces revealed. The room was chilled, but he froze when he saw these men. He recognized one or two of them. Dead Marines. Defiled Marines. Their heads were cut open with brains visible. Parts of brains, whole brains, and some of them wounded and roughed up – indicating they were attacked before they were killed. Possibly by ONI themselves.
He wondered what this was. He nearly dropped his gun in shock and disgust. This wasn't a hospital – it was a slaughterhouse.
He was able to tear his eyes away from the bodies to see a work table covered with file folders. Some sheets were visible. He pulled one open and looked. It as a dossier on who this man was. He didn't see the name, but the face was distinctly familiar to him. The Chaos Emerald in Monte Alban had to be defended by Marines when he was away on missions. This person – Winaki as his file said – was one such guard who helped guard the Emerald from January of 3237 to March of the same year. According to the file, he had contact with the Chaos Emerald physically, and was then arrested in 3239, shortly after Marshall took power.
Winaki's corpse was pockmarked with bruises. He felt pity for the Marine – punished for something he could never understand. He pulled the linen of his bed over his face in a final, futile gesture of sadness, as if it meant anything. But… then something else caught his eye. On the wall. Unlike on the table, there were more files, but pinned to a board. He didn't realize it at first, but as he got closer, the pictures became clear. It was him. His service photo with full uniform, photos from the war, photos from prior engagements, newspaper clippings… and shots that looked as if they were taken by camera. Photos of him alone, in civilian clothes, with the woman who's face he could now place – the not quite Human woman… but her name was not in his mind, but it brought about a new anger that he could barely contain. Someone had followed him and had developed an obsession with him. He was intended to become one of these bodies.
He made a mistake coming here. This was idiotic of him. Before he could turn to leave, his breath left him. A blade… no a needle jutted out from the spot next to his neck. It was amazingly large. Every twitch he made could allow him to feel the giant syringe that jabbed through the fleshy bits of his muscle and through his bones – straight into his heart. He choked on a scream. His left side went unresponsive as he dropped to his knees He dropped the gun and let it skitter as his right hand jumped to the needle. He tried to pull it out, but then his right side went limp. He could only stare at the syringe which looked like it was meant more for a large animal than a Human. He was about to fall backwards when someone caught him. He lost sensation all over his body and was dragged onto a table. Whoever was pulling him had no regard for his safety or comfort, if the needle was any indication.
Then he was staring at the ceiling, giant needle jutting from his body. His breathing was erratic, and his sight became fuzzy.
"You don't know how long I've waited for this, Captain."
The voice wasn't Marshall's. It seemed younger, but gravelly. Then a face appeared above him. It was round, and covered with a full beard. The man was bald or had buzzed hair and his rounded nose made Chris recall a memory or two. He knew this man, but not well enough to fully recognize him. It wasn't like he could say anything anyway – his tongue felt like lead.
"Don't say anything." The man said, smiling with bright white teeth. "We've met before, but you're in no shape to remember me. Well, it's as good a time as ever for reintroduction." He extended his hand. "Ambrose Reihner, chief geneticist for President Troy Marshall. You may know me from when you ruined my career, Captain. Maybe you don't. The point is, I remember you, and what you and your girlfriend did to me!" He pulled a scalpel out and held it in front of Chris' nose. "What I'm about to do to you is going to be as painful as every day I felt after Talahan V. Then, and maybe then… we'll be even."
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