Everything was silent for what seemed like the longest time as I fell, the arms and legs of the suit insanely heavy and unresponsive.
Only my inner ear told me I was falling—only, that is, until I hit the first outcropping.
I’d been trying my best to stay relaxed, knowing damn well that if I was tense, it’d hurt more. But, fuck me, I failed.
That first impact, despite me being literally locked in place and surrounded by cushioning and padding, felt like I’d been hit by a truck. The spinning of my inner ear went haywire as I flipped over and over, crashing into snow-covered rocks, buried debris, and worse.
I’d have had no chance of surviving this without the suit, I knew, but as I picked up speed, ramming through semi-solid things I guessed to be trees or something, the suit’s backup systems finally started to boot.
Vision came first. The screens all around me flickered, then cut out as cameras were smashed. My head yanked to one side then the other, as I rolled and crashed.
Bio-monitor warnings flashed up, information and recommendations that I should avoid “further head trauma” and other oh so helpful recommendations.
My shield attempted to activate. My internal emergency battery diverted power as the RI system saw something coming that it didn’t like…and it popped like a soap bubble.
My internal power, already on the emergency backups, triggered warnings, and the suit tried to open, automatic releases activating…and I frantically gripped the emergency handles, countering it.
This was one of the worst parts of all of this: I crashed into something solid, and even the padding that restrained me wasn’t enough. Blood burst from my nose to paint the inside in a lovely shade of claret.
The few remaining cameras that piped in the outside world cut off as the emergency power dropped even further. I was left in utter blackness again, this time without the solace that I might be able to force the suit to open for me.
More impacts came and went. The world flashed and vanished in rapid succession as I was knocked unconscious, and my own internal upgrades shocked me back to wakefulness.
Another impact, a bigger one, smashed into something solid. The joints of the suit were designed not to extend past normal human limits, but hoo-boy that failed.
I screamed as my left arm suddenly stopped dead, locked in place, and my entire armored body twisted and spun around it.
The metal buckled; the bones broke as something gave way. I screamed, as behind the stunning and horrific feeling of the arm bending, the pain rose up.
Then I was moving again, my left arm numb, the hand…I didn’t know if it was still there. It wasn’t responding, and I dimly remembered a conversation with Fergie when he replaced his hands. Between the new ones being attached and his “original” ones being removed, there’d been a hack on the block the chop shop was in. He’d ended up sitting there, hands gone and connectors waiting for the new ones, for nine hours.
He’d sworn he could feel his hands still, and now…I was suddenly filled with the terror that it might not just be my hand.
I could have lost half my body by now, and would I know?
The pain…I’d been knocked out a dozen times at least. Who knew how much damage had been done, and…and I could feel the cold.
There was a leak in the suit somewhere! A leak, one that would steadily drop my body temp on a fucking frozen mountainside? I panicked, before another impact jolted me out of it. I bit down hard, forcing myself to relax, to stick the brain in neutral and just…be.
Two more minor impacts, and a sensation of sliding. A bang, as I apparently slid into something solid. Then…nothing. I tried to move, to lift my arms, to…the pain was horrific.
It was as if my body had been waiting, daring me to move, and now that I’d done it? I gritted my teeth, frantic to stop the scream that bubbled up in me.
Heat and cold warred on my left arm, and I knew instinctively that it was my hot blood and the outside world getting to know each other.
I was trapped here now, unless the corps found me, and I needed to just stop. There was nothing I could do, not anymore.
Minutes passed as I forced myself to stay as still as possible. The cold leeched away at me; shivers became shudders. Distant sounds convinced me that the SARS team was arriving…and then silence falling again and again.
The very worst part, undoubtably, for me at least, was the terror that all APS soldiers learned to bury, but never fully escaped.
The suits were marvels of technology, but they also induced crippling claustrophobia. The knowledge that once the batteries were dead, that once all power was gone, there was no way to get out, short of someone else physically cutting you out?
Knowing that you’d be all alone in the dark, unable to move, to see, to hear?
The suits, designed as they were as counters to chemical, biological, and radioactive weaponry, were utterly sealed—or mine had been, at least.
Sensory deprivation tanks had been a thing in the old world, apparently, where people would pay credits to be utterly alone, all sound, motion, and more taken away.
When it was a choice? It still seemed weird. But when a suit broke down? It was utterly terrifying. You never knew what was happening outside. There could be a dozen tech types all digging away to get you out, or nobody.
The fight might have been lost, and you were about to be cut out of the armor by some asshole and killed. Or you might have been forgotten entirely.
There was an emergency air tank, and I was already sucking on it, I damn well knew. That gave me twenty-four hours. But after that? I was fucked.
Thus the terror as I dealt with the fact I’d forced the suit to stay closed, against its automatic response to open on power failure.
Outside, I’d have died instantly with most of those impacts, and even if I hadn’t, I’d certainly freeze to death. But as it was now? If and when SARS finally came looking, I was seriously fucked.
The heat from my injuries would show on scanners. Life sign scanners should get me, and the suits were made of specific types of metal, so the scanners should be able to pick me up anywhere, but…but we were in the fucking Fingers!
Minutes became hours, and I laid there, my own implants kicking in, activating to administer emergency drugs, to control my heart rate, to cut off circulation to the left arm.
I saw messages from my internal system RI flash up: warnings on blood toxicity, blood pressure, declining core temperature, drug and chemical levels, nutrients, all of it.
I saw them all slide slowly from yellow, to amber, to orange, and then red.
Laid there, the cold slowly stealing up and into my suit, my limited internal, personal HUD flickered and dimmed as the world slid away.
Hours passed.
The damage to my suit must have been enough to let a little air in, but not much, as I guessed sometime later that my twenty-four hours of air should have long since expired, and yet…
Music.
Distant music seeped through to me, and I felt something shake nearby. I coughed, tasting blood and shivering, suddenly aware of the cold, as warmth washed over me.
Fergie came and sat by my side, and I blinked, staring up at the red-bearded giant, watching him as he settled himself to my right on that stupid little red stool he loved so much. His bloody ridiculous bass was cradled in his arms, and he started to play. Scott picked up the tune, and the two of them happily sang, even as I stared numbly.
Sync joined in next, and I jerked, shaking my head, knowing this was all kinds of wrong.
Her voice was high, melodic, and…Sync had never sung before, had she?
She didn’t like to sing, but…but she was there…
I stared at Fergie, the steady rhythm of his fingers as they danced across the strings. Something was burning suddenly, and something jerked me sideways.
Pain flared; my armor jerked again. Someone was dragging me. I looked down at my feet, seeing the mech from earlier.
It had hold of me, and it was dragging me somewhere.
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
I tried to move, to reach out, but nothing worked. Pain from my left arm, and, and…something held my body in place, forcing me to stay still.
I saw them as I looked down, the ghosts of those I’d killed. Hundreds, maybe thousands of them, and they held me tight. I opened my mouth to say something, only to see Scott shake his head.
Richie stood next to him, in his armor, but…his chestplate was missing, and he stared out of the cavity, mouth twisted in a dark grin, frozen blood glued to his lips and chin.
“We don’t get to rest, not yet,” he told me.
“It’s time,” Sync called, her voice changing, deepening. “It’s time to go back…Are you ready?”
“Wha…?”
“Are you ready!” she screamed at me suddenly, appearing right before me, her face literally inches away. Her dark eyes swallowed up the world. “It’s gonna hurt! But it’s the only way!”
“Hurt…?” I mumbled, totally confused, before pain, so much fucking pain!
My chest felt like all my ribs had broken at once, literally, from just above my hips, as Fergie and Scott, Richie and Sync, the helo pilots and Barnes—all of them were there—kicked me as hard as they could. Voices warbled in and out as they screamed about me killing them all.
I’d failed them.
It was all my fault and…
Their voices were lost in a roar of sirens. Something was screamed by others, and then a chattering bark I recognized: a rotary cannon on full rock and roll, the whoosh of rockets and chaff launchers…
Sudden cold flooded me, followed by a bright light, as my armor was ripped open. I flinched as a shadow reached in toward me, screaming something garbled through external speakers, the strobing lights of a helo on station overhead as darting, fast-moving shapes erupted in fire, tumbling free to crash into the surrounding mountainside.
The figure over me leaned in, stabbed a tube into my chest and triggered it, making me scream in pain.
Seconds passed as they hooked up power leads, then triggered restraining bolts, freeing me of the armor’s embrace, naked beyond my under suit and exposed to the terrible temperatures of the Fingers, as the world came back into focus.
SARS.
The SARS team was here, and they were under attack. A blur of sharks flashed past. Missiles tore free of rails, streaming through the night sky, barely visible in the swirling blizzard, only to be cut apart by the defensive systems.
Chaff illuminated the night; phosphorus flares triggered and bathed the world in insane, eye-searing brightness. Pain roared through me as bones were popped back into place. The SARS medic had hit me with an emergency trauma pack of nanites.
It was the good shit, I knew instinctively, as my mind was forcibly blasted free of fog. Everything slammed into close proximity, as the medic screamed at me over the wind and gunfire.
“Survivors?!”
“I don’t know!” I screamed back, shaking my head, even as the left shoulder sections of my armor finally responded, the explosive bolts blowing.
The right arm was released, and I looked to the left, swallowing hard. The armor was fucked, as was the flesh inside.
Multiple breaks, bleeding, and frostbite had combined to change healthy skin into a mass of black, grey, and purple. Dried, frozen blood was everywhere, as were something that looked like maggots despite the subzero temperatures, and I bit down on the revulsion that rose in me.
“It’s trapped!” the medic shouted. “Look away!”
I did as I was ordered, seeing the bright glow of a plasma blade, and knowing what was coming.
This was no chop shop where the arm would be locked down, then my body prepared for its removal.
This was a mountainside. The arm infected and the twisted mess of metal that was holding me in place? It all needed to go.
The plasma blade fell, and for a second, I felt nothing, just a strange sensation of being shifted, almost dragged by the sawing motion of the blade on the armor…and then the pain blocks failed, and I screamed.
Another form appeared, leaning over me, moving fast and pinning me down. Another emergency battery was plugged in, and a blanket of reflective foil was pressed against my chest.
Heat, welcome and shocking, flooded my overloaded brain.
More streams of fire, intermittently mingled with tracers, roared out, and a second SARS helo roared past. The downdraft made the world vanish in white.
“Get him ready to move!” someone bellowed. “No time to gradually warm him—we can’t stay!”
“Got it!” the first voice called, lifting his blade free, killing it and stowing it away. “Thermite grenades on the armor?”
“No…headquarters wants it as intact as possible. And it’ll help hold him together—we’ll winch him up in it. Then we toast the hillside, leave any scrap!”
“Wha…” I mumbled, my words torn from my lips before they could form fully.
“Connect him up!” the second figure yelled, passing some cables to the first, going to work himself on my right side.
It felt like I blinked, like the world skipped, an old record player that someone had been playing when a mech stomped past…and then I was dangling in the remains of my armor, being drawn upward into the belly of the SARS helo, the other two on either side of me riding cables of their own.
Blink.
The inside of the helo, a transport bay, sirens still flashing, shouting…Blood sprayed out of my side suddenly, as someone did something, more pain and additional injectors being hurried in and jabbed into place as they stripped me out of my armor.
Blink.
A ceiling, cracks and intermittent lights, warmth from a containment field. The subtle warping of space around me telling me that I was in an emergency sled, a combination of two medics on either side of me, and a handful of massive armored figures running alongside.
Blink.
“The hell happened! We were diverted and some fuckers took them out! Me and mine want…” Jon, Blue One, was roaring into the grim face of a corpo suit, sneer intact even as he stared up at the massive APS operator.
Blink.
Darkness. Dim lights around a hospital room. The beep and flash of machines. Pressurized systems forcing fluids into me as my eyes rolled, trying to make sense of the world.
Blink.
A nurse, kind eyes, smiling down at me, professional, as she checked something…and removed a connection, lifting something as my vision clicked off on the left, my right eye seeing a camera system being disconnected and lifted clear.
Blink.
“Worth the investment?” a bored officer was saying. “Look at him. He’s barely got a few months left before his discharge goes through. Just spend the bare minimum. Clone graft for those parts that are covered by the insurance. The rest? Tier-one mods only. And don’t bother replacing his suit mods. He’s got, what? Seven months left?”
“Nearly nine, sir,” a nurse replied, making notes.
“Whatever.” The suit sneered. “The cost for the suit mods, not to mention the rebuild to get him up to standard spec, is far more than he’s worth for that time. Give him an early severance package. Standard military buyout. Sign him out and get him off the base as soon as it’s done. And get me the list of replacements for Red Team. I want…”
Blink.
I sagged, barely able to keep my head up. The cocktail of drugs they’d pumped me full of made my head spin as they questioned me, going over a laundry list of forms that, every time I asked what they were, changed.
Blink.
“Choice, though, of course you can refuse our generous offer, and you’ll be permitted to stay on base until the end of your enlistment period. Due to the limited roles you are currently suitable for, you’d be charged for your accommodation, meals, and medical supplies.”
“Choice?” I mumbled, stunned.
“You sign the waiver of rights, you accept the replacement mods package as full and final payment against the injuries sustained in the accident…”
“We were att—”
“You sign that you understand that all injuries sustained in the accident occurred on the way back to base, meaning you were in transport at the time and as such were not covered by Section 37:1 [a] of the APS war frame code.” He glared at me. “I won’t make this offer again, soldier.”
“A minute, if you will?” an unknown voice said, and the suit glared at someone outside my limited vision, before sighing and dumping a pad on the table to my side.
“Fine, you get him to sign it. You get him on board, or you get him moved into the reserve block. I’m not wasting any more time on this.” The corpo scumbag stood, smoothing his slate-grey suit, glasses already displaying rolling text as he started to do something else, heading for the door.
He started a call before the door even closed properly.
“His kind are all the same.” Major Marcial sighed, moving into sight and standing over me. “You there, Kabutt? Operator?”
“Sir…” I slurred, right hand twitching as I started to salute.
“Ah, no!” He cursed as my hand caught on something and pain reared its head again.
Minutes passed before I could focus. When I finally could, the major was sitting by my side, a cigar almost burnt to the butt.
“You back?” he asked, and I nodded slowly. “Good. Look, son, we’re literally out of time, and you need to make a decision. We’ve talked about the situation at the base, and the attack, but…Kabutt? You there?”
I’d zoned out again, staring at the glowing tip of his cigar, mesmerized, and I jerked back to wakefulness.
“Sorry…sir…” I whispered.
“Fucking medics! Drugging you up to the eyeballs!” He cursed. “You’re gonna have a nightmare of a time kicking that addiction after this, never mind the rest of the shit you’ll be dealing with…Fuck. I’ll make them include a full wipe, get you off them, but it’s gonna leave you feeling rough. Be ready for that. Okay, look, do you remember us talking? The attack? The AROC? Anything?”
“I reported it…” I muttered, blinking owlishly.
“Yes!” He nodded quickly. “You reported it to me. You cut out that little shit Tyrannus and his corpo friends, and you started off the bug hunt.”
“Bug hunt, sir?” I managed to get out.
“Let’s just say there’s a lot more of our corporate ‘friends’ making requests than there should be, and a lot of good men and women are paying the price. Your ‘accident’ was due to two of them playing games. I’ve tried to fill you in a few times, but you’ve been in no fit state. All I can say right now is that there are measures being taken. That, though, brings us to this next point.
“The corpos and their friends need us to be quiet about this, publicly at least, and your injuries are the most obvious reminders of what happened. Now, you’d put in your retirement papers already, and due to the injuries you’ve got? Well. It’s a simple decision for the credit crunchers.
“Pay you off, give you cheap tier-one mods in place of the damaged systems, and give you your remaining nine months’ pay up front, boot you out, move on.” He snorted, shaking his head in disgust. “Never mind that you’re a hell of an operator who was badly injured thanks to their games and fuckups. They only see the bottom line. Well, that suits us just fine.”
“How…sir?” I grunted, forcing myself up a little from where I’d been slumping down the bed.
“If you accept their offer—and I’ll make them add a few credits to the pile—you’ll be out of the army now, rather than in nine months. You’ll be out of the loop, and no longer considered a target, partly because, and let’s be honest here, you’re broken. I might even get them to remove the watch on you early, or not place it at all.”
“Wow…thanks, sir,” I mumbled, glancing down at my missing left arm, and the dozens of cables and connectors that were feeding into me.
“Don’t take it to heart.” He smiled. “You lost friends out there…you remember?”
“My team,” I growled.
“You want some payback?” he asked curiously.
“Fuck, yeah.”
“Then this is how you get it. The corpos have been involving themselves in the army, much more than they’re allowed to, and now that it’s come to light? Some of my investigators had leads to follow. Twelve hours later, and they’ve all fucking vanished. Others, well, they couldn’t find anything. Besides their new cred balances, that is.”
“Bought…and…paid…for…” I whispered, the world spinning again.
“Exactly. The thing is, though, I lost some damn good people, the honest ones, and all I’m left with is those bought and paid for corpo types.”
“And…?”
“And I want answers.”
“Just…answers?”
“No,” he admitted, his voice dropping. “I want blood as well. Fucking oceans of it.”
“And what’s…my choice…sir?” I forced out, focusing on him again.
“You refuse the payout, get tier-two mods, maybe—most likely clone vat replacements—and no mil-spec mods installed. Come the end of your term, you’re given a bill for the time you’ve been in the hospital and in reserve housing, and then you get booted out onto the street, probably broke.”
“Or?”
“Or you accept their offer. You’re out of here tonight, after they get you in for basic mod-one implants. You spend the next few days and weeks healing up, and then you work for me.”
“Doing what?”
“What you do best, Sergeant. You evaluate, you judge, and you kill everyone who so much as looks at you sideways.”