“Can you hack it?”
“Let me take a look. Hm. Pretty advanced this. Hang on. Hm. Uh-huh. No, I can’t. Not without setting off the alarms.”
“That’s not an option.”
“No way around it, it’s tamper-proof. You want the techno-babble?”
“Simplified.”
“It’s a locked system. Meaning the moment it detects an intrusion, it goes into alert.”
“Why doesn’t every system use that?”
“Because it means you can’t update it, or maintain it. You need to replace the entire system to apply updates.”
“Fuck.”
“Indeed.”
“Bravo Four?”
“Yeah, he might.”
“Edmund! Get your ass up here!”
“Sir?”
“Locked door, tied to alarms. It goes off, the mission’s blown and we run for life.”
“Yes sir. Give me a moment.”
“Movement.”
“Be specific, Gamma Five.”
“Big and loud. Four men, a patrol.”
“Fantastic. Gamma One, prepare to intercept.”
“Sir. Gamma, move up.”
“I think I heard something.”
“Anyone here?”
“Hold fire.”
“They’re getting close!”
“Hold. Fire.”
“I think I saw something. Going to check it out.”
“They saw us.”
“Gerim, get your squad under control!”
“Six, stay calm!”
“Fuck off! They’ve drawn their guns!”
“Stay put! Use your—”
A gunshot tore through the silence, and a scream followed. Then hell broke loose.
“Ah fuck. Gamma, hold them off, Gerim, you’re in control. Edmund?”
“Almost there.”
“I spy with my little eye reinforcements.”
“Not funny, Five.”
“We just don’t see eye to eye on the joke.”
“Report!”
“Two dropships are swooping in. Reckon there are roughly a dozen in each of them.”
“Voids damn it all. Charlie, back up Gamma.”
“You got it Cap, don’t sweat it. Come on Kyra, darling, let’s show them why Charlie’s the best.”
“Ugh! Cecil, bulkhead, there. Spectra, up front, there. Vesta, traps. Maya, help her. Zina, you hang back with Sol.”
“God, I love it when you take charge.”
“That’s your fucking job! Cecil, scoot over— Don’t point that thing at me!”
“Sorry, sorry, sorry, …”
“Yeah, two dozen hopped out. Also, sensor’s picking up more dropships. We kicked a nest.”
“Kallan, get them out of the way!”
“Trying you son of a— Tore!”
A scream of pain.
“God dammit, Bea! Get to him!”
More shouts and screams.
“Finally. Four-eyes, cover me!”
“No thanks, I want to live.”
“Fire, or I’ll fire at you.”
“Ugh, fine. Nobody sees things from my points of view.”
“And stuff your puns!”
“Well somebody forgot their roses tinted glasses.”
A sharp crack echoed through the dark, followed by the incoming screaming about a sniper as they dove for cover. The gunships roared and began to move, only for the closest to get hit by a bright blue ball of plasma. The engine spat out fire, and the gunship slowly went down, the pilot fighting gravity.
“There!”
“Good job Edmund, Bravo, go!”
“POWER ARMOUR!”
The heavy thumping of someone in power armour leaping down send tremors through the floor.
“THEY GOT A—” a scream began, before being cut off as vehicle-level armaments opened up, drowning out any other noise.
“They nailed Five!”
“And we’re next! Pull back! Pull back!”
“No, hold your position dammit!”
“I’ll take them!”
“Oison!”
“Come here, tin can, bet you’ll burn—”
Another weapon roar. Gunshots followed, and then a brief moment of silence.
“Gamma down! Gamma down! They’ll kill us all! They’ll kill us all!”
“Keep it together darling. Vesta, traps?”
“Ready.”
“Right, pull back kids. Cap, you through the gate yet?”
“Through, move behind us. Take care.”
“Cecil, we need to mov—Don’t point that at me, you chickenshit!”
“You scared me!”
“Point it at front, now go.”
“Coming. Wait… COVER!”
The heavy weapon spat fire.
“Cecil!”
A laser chaingun returned fire.
“Jesus, you scared the shit out of me! Now go, you fool!”
“Keep firing, Cecil! Keep them down.”
“GRENADE!”
“Oh no you don’t!”
An explosion rang through the hallway.
“My ears!”
“You’re fine, now go!”
“ANOTHER ONE!”
“They don’t—“
A muted explosion this time, accompanied by a loud bang and a bright flash of light.
“Sh—”
The hostile weapon roared again.
“Kyra? Kyra! KYRA!”
“Get back here, Sol!”
“They killed Kyra!”
“And you’re next if you don’t move!”
“I… Right. Co—Shit!”
Another roar of fire.
“Pinned! I need help!”
Silence.
“Captain?”
“I got you. Now run.”
“I’ll get torn apart!”
“No you won’t. Trust me!”
“You’re insane!”
“I’ll not be able to hold it long, so run you stupid bastard!”
“But!”
“GO!”
He went. The weapon roared and the hallway was lit up. Charlie One slid through the gate, which immediately slammed shut.
“Oh god, oh god, oh god.”
“You’re alive, now advance!”
“No,” came a new voice from everywhere. Through the speakers, through the helmets, from the surrounding area. “You lost too many. Also.” The lights in the hallway turned on, revealing several no-longer concealed turrets dangling from the ceiling. “Game set.”
“Yeah,” Petra agreed. “That’ll do it.” She got up, took off her helmet and slammed it into the ground. “FUCK! I’m going to skin that bitch!”
Philips shook his head as the lights turned on. He looked down on the confused survivors and shook his head. “Well boys, you royally fucked this up.”
“Ah fuck you,” Alex said, the penny dropping. “This was a training.”
Something massive slammed into the metal door, ripping the lower part free. A gauntleted hand reached out to the bottom, then peeled it upwards as if it was a plastic sheet rather than steel, revealing a towering giant clad in power armour. “Yep,” Shredder happily commented as she stepped through the opening. “And as your captain so eloquently put it, you fucked up.” She emanated a broad grin. “I’ll be glad to be debriefing you.”
“I’ll look forward to it,” Bravo One dryly coughed.
“Oh, can it Alex.” A loud clank and a swear followed as Ooster smacked his squad leader on the helmet. “I’m more curious as to how our guys are not paste. That’s not a toy you’re holding.”
“Oh this?” she grinned, hefting a massive chaingun. “Bigger version of yours. Used to chew up vehicles. Yeah, don’t worry, I’m not using live ammo.”
“Bullshit. I heard the impacts.”
“I call them dustballs,” she explained, holding out a handful. She crushed them, and they instantly fell apart. “Pulverizes on impact.”
“Oh suuuuuure,” came Luis’ interjection. “I’m sure that’ll solve eeeeverything.”
Shredder gave him a happy pat on the back, which send him sprawling face first onto the floor. “They’re all due for a stay in the medbay, but they’ll live. Captain Philips, my commendations for that trick you pulled at the end. You think you can divert real ammo as well?”
He rolled his eyes. “You know I can. No, you don’t get to shoot at me.” A tired, bemused glare. “Not again.”
“Awwww,” she pouted. “Anyway, Charlie Three’s got guts. He threw up a shield and returned fire. Pretty ballsy. Couldn’t keep it up though, which is how I got past him.”
“General idea?”
“You’re improving,” a new voice came, the Commander sliding into view, followed by a suspiciously happy looking Charger and…
“Scaiffe,” came Philips’ icy voice.
She looked at him, but there was no fight in her eyes. Merely exhaustion. Deep exhaustion. The woman was barely able to stay on her legs.
“But you’re not there yet,” the Commander finished, easily ignoring Philips’ murderous aura.
Orderlies rushed in past them, moving towards the badly mauled members of Fireteam Paraenesis.
“Scaiffe, you’re free for the rest of the day. Escort her to her room, would you Charger? I don’t think she’d make it on her own.”
The pair left to the giant’s dark chuckling, Scaiffe meekly following him.
“Delta, I’ll see you and your squad leaders in the Spot.”
Philips let out a deep sigh, but nodded.
“Kallan didn’t listen,” the Commander stated.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because she’s a bitch?” Alex, Bravo One, offered.
“Oh, lay off her you cunt,” Sol, Charlie One, chastised.
“Oh fuck you, you bastard!”
“It’s my fault,” Gerim, Gamma One, interrupted, shaking his head. The man was sporting several ugly bruises and his breathing was ragged, courtesy of four broken ribs, but he had insisted on being present.
“I don’t care about faults,” the Commander reproached. “I care about results. She could have cloaked herself with her abilities, easily, but she didn’t. She panicked, and blew your cover, resulting in the instant elimination of Gamma, followed by the near-total destruction of Charlie. Also,” they turned to Alex, and the room darkened. “Behave, or I’ll let Petra have her way with you.”
The older woman grinned. “And that means shoving you dick first out of the airlock. Ever wondered what happens when you do that?” the Sergeant asked, showing just too many teeth for anyone to be comfortable. “It explodes. Don’t believe me? Pick a fight. Give me the chance to do it again.”
She backed off at a gesture from Philips, but kept grinning at Bravo One, who had turned as white as a sheet by now.
“I want your honest opinion. Nothing held back. Why did she break?”
“Because, sir,” Philips began, “this is a team of highly capable, traumatized people who have had six months of training and aren’t yet ready to go on any proper Ops. They’re decent mercs, but for what you want us to do? Hell no. The risk of the mission is too great, the consequences too heavy, and that puts more stress on them than they can handle. It messes with their ability to think properly.”
A deep, grating sigh. “I figured. You did well, Captain. I’ll have a word with Kallan and get her to follow some counselling.”
It was his turn to pale. The Commander lightly whacked him over the head, once again proving their masterful control over their armour by not giving him a concussion in the process. "Not from me personally."
“Now, for the rest of the operation. Let's begin at your preparation phase, shall we?"
The debriefing took several hours, through which Emelen provided them with numerous drinks. Neither the Commander nor Vector, who had joined them during, had imbibed any. The entire thing was far more professional than anything the Delta Goons had ever done. It was thorough, backed up by facts, bio-signs and video footage. The conclusion was exactly as he had stated, the team wasn’t just up to standard yet. Not for what they were up against. In turn, Shredder was called up and given a proper dressing down. Until her arrival, the fireteam had been holding their ground.
“I apologise,” she sighed. “But they were trouncing my men left and right!”
“I think it’s time we step up your training a little,” the Commander ventured, muting Shredder with a sway of her arm, causing the heavily armoured soldier to gesture angrily in utter silence, before storming off after giving her Commander such a crisp salute, you could almost hear the thunder.
“So far you’ve pushed them through a lot of tactical approaches, disciplinary training, physical reinforcement exercises… You’ve made them familiar with weapons, security systems and first aid, and that’s all good, but I think it’s time I lifted the restriction on training them psionically.”
“Finally,” Bravo and Charlie One grunted, and even Petra smiled.
“Cecil’s shield was a good trick. So was yours. Train them properly in that. I’ll have you run more missions with Shredder’s men. Dust-munitions on all sides. Stealth, defences, I’ll have you train that. Offensive tactics towards biological opponents remain off-limits.” The Commander leaned down onto the table until it creaked under their weight. “Impart that well onto your squads. You break anything on one of mine, I’ll personally break several things of the undisciplined bastard who did it. Am I clear?”
A chorus of “yes sir”’s flew around the table.
The Commander nodded, satisfied. “Good. Then, gentlemen, gentlewoman, I’ll leave you to it.”
“Sir, if you would?” Philips called out. The Commander paused, tilting their head. “What about our target? The deadline’s pretty close, isn’t it?”
“Sad as it is, we’ll have to skip it. You aren’t ready yet, and Stalker’s off on another mission. The rest would turn the place into an abattoir, and I have no need for that level of visibility. I’ll let you know when the next one comes up.”
Philips nodded. As the Commander left, he turned his eyes towards the back of their helmet. Unless he was very wrong, and he doubted he was, the Commander had just lied.
“I need more drinks,” Alex sighed, signalling Emelen.
“We all do,” Petra agreed.
“So,” Sol said, turning towards Philips. “When were you going to tell us we were still in training and not actually on an operation? I thought you were supposed to have our backs, man.”
“That’s sir to you,” Petra growled, the table creaking under psionic pressure as the old woman glared at her subordinate.
Sol faced her, pulling his own ability to the fore.
“Why is it,” Philips interrupted, “that you guys can pull your abilities out so easily when you’re participating in a pissing contest, but you can’t do it when you’re under fire? That doubles as your answer, by the way. I’ll disclose full details to you when I think you lot can handle it.”
He slammed his glass down on the table and shot Charlie One a withering glare. “And for the other part, I’ll let you take a peak at what Vector had originally planned for us when we’d break into the vault. Do the words “counter-interrogation training” ring a bell?”
“Nooooo,” Alex drawled. “Because the hell we were in doesn’t count.”
Philips grinned, psionic energies whirled back and forth, and Alex jumped backwards. His feet tangled in his stool and he crashed to the ground. “The fuck was that?” he whispered.
“Counter-interrogation training.” Philips took a casual swig, locking up the memories again. “There’s a difference between a man trying to dig information out of you, and only you, and a man trying to break you as part of a herd. Our jailors were bullies who relied on time and degradation. A true interrogator is usually spurred on by a burning need and a limited timetable. They give their jobs a lot more thought than those fuckwads who had their way with us.” He tipped his head towards Sol. “Argued Vector out of that. You’re welcome.”
He got up and pulled Alex back to his feet. “For the record, I have your backs. It is why I’m running you and your squads ragged in training. Because if I do it now, that means I won’t have to bury any of you when we actually start running missions. Look. Listen.”
He eyed the men and woman at his table, nodding a brief thanks to Emelen as he appeared with drunks, and disappeared just as quickly.
“Delta Two,” he said, addressing Petra by callsign rather than name. “You were a retired housekeeper.”
She nodded and several eyes went wide. They had only known the woman as a remorseless, cold-hearted bitch.
“Bravo One, you were a flight coordinator. Charlie One, architect. Gamma One, warehouse supervisor. All of you were civilians. With a lot of powers, granted, but civilians.” He gestured to himself. “Me? I was a merc. Lifelong. Born into it, did nothing but. It’s the reason I stay calm, why I’m better at blocking incoming fire, why I can spot enemies before you do, why every part of my sixth sense is attuned to combat and surviving it. And I find these missions difficult.”
He shook his head. “This isn’t a bunch of folks playing at being mercs. This entire vessel is part of something much bigger than we can grasp. The mercs they’ve hired? They ain’t mercs any longer. Shredder is turning them into soldiers, one by one. Rough around the edges, loyal to money, but soldiers. Us? The shit they want us to do is the level of Spec Ops. And that, boys and girl, is a level none of you are prepared for.”
He opened his mind and allowed his memories to stream freely. “One guy. Called him X. Never knew his real name. Never knew anything about him. I’ll eat my damned uniform if he wasn’t Spec Ops, and boy, the difference was telling.”
Incoming fire. Sense stretched out, instinctively solidified the air ahead of him. Bullets pinged into the invisible obstacles, veering off course. Falling back, too many. Tried to call out. X leapt out of cover, blinked past him. Rifle barked. Three men down. In cover. Heard a shout. Instinct took over, closed his eyes. Flashbang. More shots, screams. Felt a hand on his neck. Pulled out of the zone.
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Look up, see X shaking his head. Leg wound. Bullet in the thigh. Bad news. He signs. Jumps out of cover. Rolls. Rifle comes up. Three shots. Switches magazine in a heartbeat. Continues firing. Into cover. Return fire slams into the floor. Grenade bounces in, already in cover. Fragmentation rains over them. X’s vambrace is shredded. Falls to the floor. Fake. Not wounded. Enemy shouts and advanced, rushed. His grenade goes off. Hallway cleared.
He comes up and tears open the uniform, applies a tourniquet. Calls events in over the radio. No hesitation, no doubt. Only action. Back up finally arrives, pick him up. They advance. Wounded, but sixth sense is useful. X leads the way, giving orders as he goes. The man is calm, collected, cold and professional.
“They’re a type that don’t hesitate, don’t stop to think. They know what they’re doing, and execute it. They’re fucking frighteningly capable.”
More memories streamed out. Lines held, positions devastated. How the man moved, how he commanded. How a squad led by him took out an entire platoon. Firebases constructed, ambushes placed, traps avoided.
“That,” he announced, “is Spec Ops. In comparison, this is us.” This time he did not use his sixth sense, but instead he slid a datapad onto the table. Footage of live training grenades being dropped, friendly fire incidents, people falling over their own feet in an attempt to rush to a new position or get out of the danger zone. The incidents had much diminished over the past months, as the team had improved, and they were by no means bad. However, when faced with the comparison between themselves and Philips’ old colleague, the difference was painfully clear.
“That’s the issue. You’re all good folk, and as mercs I’d trust my backs to you any day of the week. But we’re not meant to be mercs. We’re meant to hit things where people will show up in power armour if we fuck up. And you all saw how Shredder just tore through us. We need everyone at their best if we want to live, and I lost enough people to see you fuckers dead. I won’t proclaim to love you, but you’re my unit. That means I intend to keep you with me.”
He pointed to Corporal Schulder. “Kallan is a problem case. The Commander’s going to deal with her personally, and I can attest to it that she’ll be having nightmares from that encounter.” His own terrifying memories of the being showing their true self hung around him like a cloud of dread, before dissipating. “I want you to watch out for Oison. He’s a good guy, but he’s going to be out of it with his wife in that state.”
Gamma One nodded.
“Get Bea to take care of Zanthe, but not too many anaesthetics. Bastard needs to learn to report first, joke second. That’s it for your end. Get yourself to the medbay, you need some seeing to as well. Dismissed.”
Gerim gave a weak salute, before leaving to do as ordered.
“Corporal Ward,” he continued, addressing Charlie One. “You had a good positioning, but your second did that, not you. Step up your game. Flirt with her after you did your job, not before.”
“She’s better at it than me, though.”
“Yeah, but she panics when things turn south. You keep it together. Keep her together. I don’t care if she’s the brains in your squad, as long as the order to use those brains comes from you. You’re well liked, use that. Now, Cecil. While I’d like him to stop pointing his gun at anything that spooks him—”
“Which is just about everything,” Petra smiled, not unkindly.
“—he hasn’t ever fired a shot that wasn’t on centre, and when the fighting starts he’s damned solid. You can leave him as he is. Not a priority. Four, on the other hand, is a piece of work and is either one day going to take her flirting too far. She’ll either end up in bed with him, or with a knife in the ribs, and I’m not betting on either choice.”
“That’s flirting?” Sol replied, wide-eyed.
“Yeah,” the Sergeant grinned meanly. “She makes you look bad, ain’t that an achievement?”
“Can it. Vesta’s solid, toss her Vector’s way. Her explosives are good, but shaped charges meant to blow open ore deposits aren’t the same as battlefield traps. She’s to take his classes in the evening.”
“That I can do. She won’t need much convincing. Girl has a fetish, I swear.”
“As long as she maintains the right attitude. Now, Alex.”
“What is it?”
Philips was out of his chair in a heartbeat, his hands around the other man’s neck before anyone could react. “You’re a cunt,” he stated upfront. “Nobody likes you, you insult everyone and you have no respect. So you’re going to start getting your shit together and be less of an absolute bastard. Or I’m gutting you like a fish. You think you ought to worry about Delta Two blowing your cock off? Man, I’ll peel the skin of your fucking limp noodle and make soup with it, see if I don’t.” Philips’ voice was low, utterly devoid of emotion. It was cold, glacial ice, and his eyes mirrored the statement. It wasn’t a challenge, but a promise.
He pushed the man back, then sat himself down as if nothing happened. “Other than that, you’re good. Your tactics are fine, team positioning is on point. Get Manuel to stay with Luis and Casper more often. They need a chill pill and he’s the man for the job.”
“Yes sir,” Alex meekly said. The man knew better than to challenge Philips. He, and a few others, had done it before during training. They hadn’t come out of it well.
“Then that’s all for today. Take a chance to rest and recover. I expect status updates every evening at eighteen-hundred. Otherwise, you’re all dismissed until our next rendezvous. To be determined when. Goodnight.”
Petra followed him, bumping shoulders with Delta Three, who had been politely waiting for them to be done. Now that they were all off the clock, though, she was lasciviously licking her lips and eyeing Alex and his wounded pride much the same way a lioness eyed a hapless gazelle. The older woman made a despairing groan, earning her an amused chuckle, and then they were past each other.
She put the augmented specialist out of her mind, focusing on her superior and friend instead. “Gold for your thoughts,” she said once they were in the relative obscurity of their cabins. They had been a gift from the Commander. A surprisingly large set of rooms where they each had a shockingly large cabin with private shower. A joint living room with sufficient couches to comfortably seat the entire fireteam and a tiny, well stocked kitchen finished off the place they both now considered home.
“Commander’s lying to us,” he grunted. “No void’s damned way they’re passing up a target.”
“The Commander lied?” Petra’s eyebrows frowned in confusion.
“Dangerous precedent I’m setting, I know,” came the offender’s voice from high up.
Both psionics’ heads snapped upwards, only to find the person they were talking about laying comfortably on the ceiling, waving lazily at them.
“Note for our training program, Delta Two, I’m giving a year’s wages and six months off to the first person who sneaks a live grenade into the Commander’s bed.”
“You’re all heart.”
“How did you figure out I suspected?”
“You’re hooked up to bio-monitors, Philips. Take a guess.”
He considered that answer. Considered the Commander. Personality. Weighed his options.
Then his sixth sense shot out, tendrils hooking themselves around the bastard’s armour, before pulling them down from the ceiling and slamming them as hard as he could into the floor.
“Impressive,” the Commander whistled, down on hands and feet. “Almost couldn’t react.”
“Just so you know, if I had a gun I’d have shot you at this stage. Sir.”
“Just so you know, at this stage I wouldn’t even have blamed you,” came the grinned response. “But yeah, you’re right. I lied. Because telling you the truth would have been damaging to the team.”
Philips dialled down his anger. He’d been through too much shit to let the Commander get to him, frustrating though they were. The Delta Goons had been fond of pulling similar pranks, though they’d usually stay on the floor for them.
“Oh no,” he whispered, a horrible thought occurring to him. “You’re not. That’s insane. You are absolutely fucked in the head if you think that’s a good option.”
“I’m not insane at all,” they snickered. “Merely playing on a wider field. And I was convinced to give it a go.”
“You’re mad.”
“Calculated gamble.”
“I fucking hope it blows up in your face.”
“Stop!” Petra shouted. “Can anyone take compassion on poor old grandma and clue me in on what’s going on?”
Philips paused mid angry gesture and nodded. Then turned back towards his superior officer. “Out. Now.”
The Commander left, radiating smugness every step of the way. The reinforced door slamming violently shut the very moment they were out, missing them by a split hair.
“Philips? What’s going on?”
He screamed in impotent rage and blasted a couch through the room, shattering it against the wall. “They’re deploying motherfucking Alpha One.”
Scaiffe covered herself in the long cloak, Charger being not too far away from her, hidden from preying eyes. How at least a ton of metal and destruction managed to make himself invisible was a mystery to her, but she didn’t quite care about that at the moment.
It was dark out. The rain drippling down from the clouded skies made the evening even more miserable than it already was. Still, she was glad to be here. Even though she was still in the backstreets, they were cleaner than she was used to. Still, her eyes spotted the signs of hidden poverty. Of trash stashed without a care, ignored and forgotten. Evidence of the passage of junkies, though they didn’t use Yellow or Care like poor folk. No, this was the good shit. Heaven, Sunlight, ladaïne. The expensive crap. Her body shivered in recollection. She’d never had been able to get enough hits of Sunlight. She’d kill for another. Hell, she’d kill for impure Yellow at this point. Fuck, she just wanted to kill someone. Preferably more than one.
But her minder wouldn’t like that. And she was taking care to not offend him.
Over the past months he’d been putting her through the wringer. The physical regimen he put her through had been arduous. The first days she had lashed out dozens of times at him. He’d laughed her fruitless attempts off, egging her on to do better, to be faster, fight smarter. By the end of the first month, she averaged an attack of once every few days. After that they had ceased entirely. She simply didn’t have the energy left for it.
Every day was much the same. He kicked her out of bed at an ungodly hour, dragged her on a run through empty ship corridors, before forcing her to eat breakfast. Then it was off to train parkour. Jump on this. Climb on that. Dive under this. Break this. Kick that. Sprint there. With weights, with a weapon, with an armoured vest, with this, with that.
By the time noon came around, she was broken. Originally she had used her allotted shower time to just lay there and rest, but after he caught on to that he personally ensured she washed herself properly. She had put up a brief, instinctive fight as her body instinctively recalled being raped countless times, but he hadn’t given a damn. He hadn’t even taken off his armour. He had done exactly as promised, ensured she was clean, then dragged her off to eat again.
Then he helped her study. He wasn’t exactly well-learned, but his endless experience compensated for the holes in his education. After that it was more running, calisthenics, core training and other words she’d come to dread.
Over the past months she had learned many things. Her body was stronger, tougher and more durable than ever. Intellectually, she now had a solid understanding of basic tactics, electronic security measures, how the human body functioned, chemistry, physics, ballistics, kinetics, energy sciences and fuck-if-she-cared how much else.
She had hated learning about it all, and she hated having to play along. She took a token measure of comfort in knowing that it would make her stronger, but that didn’t mean she hated it any less. Fuck, she hadn’t even been able to drink. No alcohol, nobody to kill, no drugs, nobody to fuck, no screams she could listen to… The only person she saw was Charger, and she couldn’t even make the bastard wince.
Still, he had been the one point of light in this continued dive into darkness. Not because she cared for him. Hell no. He was still on her shit-list. But because he cared for her.
She had tried to abuse it at first. Lure him out of his armour and into her bed, but that had been a dead end. Whenever she saw him, he stayed fully outfitted. Then she had moved on to trying to appeal to his emotions. Anger. Kindness. Pity. Nothing worked. Eventually, to her consternation, she realised that to get him to get along with her, she only needed to be herself…
Barring her mainline sadistic tendencies, which were surprisingly easy to reign in when nobody was around to practise them on.
So she had stopped her attempts to impress himself, instead falling back in the comfort of her own character. Swearing, threatening violence, assaulting dummy targets with overwhelming, vicious violence, … He had laughed, swore alongside her, added some choice threats of his own, or wrecked metal dummies by sheer of his own enormous mass and added velocity. Mass times velocity divided by time of contact. One of the few bits of theory she had actually enjoyed learning. She would never admit it, but she had enjoyed putting a number to the damage she could inflict.
No, they got along well enough now. Seemingly. She had found it easy to act grateful when he handed her a bottle of water or a towel. To look hurt when he was disappointed when her emotions trumped his calls for discipline. To laugh along when he regaled her with a spectacularly bloody tale. She liked the giant who never took his armour off. That only meant she’d not toy too much with him when she finally would have her shot at killing him, but… Until then, she didn’t mind being buddies. It wouldn’t be the first time she brutally backstabbed —or ripped the spine out of— a good friend.
Mind on the mission, she reminded herself. Then, at the same time she had to chortle at the thought of her being on a mission.
A drunk passed by her alleyway and looked at her. Rather than liquefying his brain as she wanted, she simply glared menacingly at him, putting all of her murderous intent in her gaze. It worked, and the man promptly fucked off as fast as his intoxicated state let him.
“How much longer do I have to wait in this wet hellhole?” she softly cursed.
“Patience, girl. There’s still people in the building and I’m still getting access. You need to wait for our window.”
“We can deal with people,” she suggested.
“Oh, I know,” Charger replied, sighing. “But the boss won’t want that.”
“What the boss doesn’t know…”
“Hah, the Commander’ll know. Fucker always knows.”
“Shame.”
“True enough. You’ll get your fun later, though. For now, mind on the job, girl.”
I don’t like being called girl. He said it good-naturedly, but she hated it nonetheless. It felt denigrating.
She waited in silence, occupying herself with a fun little game she called “I spy with my murderous eye”, where she looked at people passing by and considered the most fun ways to kill them. Did they have a bad leg she could twist extra hard on? Families she could kidnap? A lover she could threaten them with? Maybe she could lure on into bed, before getting to the real fun. Barring those, the usual options always worked. Genitals were sensitive. Eyeballs were too. Putting pressure on the temples until they cracked and grey mass and brain matter started flying was a classic. Breaking bones was… Boring, at this point. Unsatisfactory.
She couldn’t act on it, not the way she had often done when she was still reigning freely, but the simple game amused her well enough. She had plenty of memories to fuel her imagination, after all.
It was well into the night when Charger finally gave her the go ahead. She began to move, flexing her fingers and toes to get some flexibility in them again. The clothing she’d received from her minder had protected her surprisingly well from the wind, rain and cold, but standing still for hours had taken its toll.
The flush of excitement at finally causing some havoc quickly evaporated any stiffness she felt as she began her long walk. She easily navigated the ridiculously civilised neighbourhood that fancied itself an undercity. The few drunks and small-time criminals avoided her, a fierce glare more than sufficient to send them scurrying back. What passed for organised crime ignored her entirely. She did not have enough wealth on her to make her an attractive target, and the local muscle recognised her determined and unfrightened step as belonging to someone more trouble than she’d be worth.
Soon enough the environment began to change. Dark and dreary stalls with the disgusting neon-lights advertising their wares were replaced by proper glass windows and more elegant, less intrusive glowing letters and images. The rough, uneven placement of trash bins, containers and rogue dumps made way for clean, logically bins placed next to transport stops. The road became less damaged, the apartments less covered in drying sheets.
Then she went into a part of the city that really made her skin crawl. Upper class sons of bitches, she hissed. They had been frequent visitors to the brothel that used to own her. She always especially delighted in getting her hands on one of them. She tested varying torture methods on her normal victims, but when she got her hands on one of those fat cats, she employed only the most devious, tried and tested tricks. The thought of being surrounded by so many targets made her salivate, but her minder was watching her and urged her on with a few curt words.
She ignored the artistically crafted trash bins, sparing only a short thought for just who needed fancy shit like that to dump crap in anyway? She ignored the towering hotels, the lone, over-dressed popinjays standing guard in the off chance a rich bastard would need something in the middle of the damned night. She ignored all of the wealthy crap around her, instead going for her goal.
“Charger,” she whispered into her piece. “I’m in position.”
There it was. The gargantuan skyscraper that held the mainframe of the Interplanetary Banking Consortium, property of the Rotheimers. The fattest cats of them all. She had, not quite willingly, learned that trillions of gorint, kazaks, dubbels, and all other sorts of currencies exchanged hand here. Not daily, no. By the fucking hour. To say the place was appropriately well protected would be the understatement of the century. And they were about to attempt a break and entry.
“Good girl. Let’s go. Stick to the plan. We should have a way in.”
“I’m not a girl,” she hissed.
“Of course not, girl. Of course not.”
I am going to take my time ripping your guts out, she softly fumed. Through your eyeslits. One by one.
“I’m ready,” she said instead, leaving the relative darkness of the alleyway. The moment she stepped into the beams of artificial light the streetlamps were throwing up, she was invisible, her powers shrouding her from sight. She hurried. Her strength was considerable, and she was stronger than ever, Charger’s nightmarish training regime having paid off more than she would ever willingly admit, but even so she knew the night would be long.
And I’ve received enough lessons that I’m not invincible.
She reached the side-door in seconds. It slid open and a pair of cleaners walked out, done for the day. Despite how easy it was to replace such simple jobs by drones the Rotheimers preferred to hire humans for the job. Officially they liked to boost the economy.
Scaiffe knew better. The rich bastards got hard on seeing people actually having to work for a living.
She slipped in past them, leaving them none the wiser. The cameras were not picking her up either, or so Charger had assured her. They were good, but they weren’t Outfit levels of military hardware.
She navigated the maze of corridors, slowly descending deeper underground. Whenever she encountered a locked door, she simply flashed her fabricated keycard and open Sesame. Whatever beef she had with the Commander and the rest of the cunts of the Outfit, she had to admit they knew their shit.
She paused briefly in front of her first target, a security hub in sub-sector 3. A passage point to go deeper into the facility, and the first of four checkpoints she needed to cross. One issue. The place had motion sensors. Laser. Her cloak did fuck-all for that. She obscured the visible spectrum, but she was still there and would disrupt the signal.
Would have been handy to know back in the day, she mused. Though that would have meant fewer people to kill. And wasn’t it just delightful to turn blue uniforms red?
She extended her mind, taking great care to keep her shroud intact. It wasn’t easy. Metal and electronics had no presence for her to home in on, but the external sensors were visible and the glasses she’d been given illuminated the beams for her. Pretty nifty technology, none of which would shield her if she accidentally triggered the sensor.
Charger had assured her that while an unconfirmed trespassing would immediately be logged and kicked upstairs to a human overseer, a brief disruption of the sensor’s network would only appear on the maintenance log and wouldn’t be treated until the day after, when the main shifts came in again.
A brief exertion of kinetic pressure on the factory reset button and boom. No more laser. She slipped past it, slid her fully authorised keycard into the door and went in. Sure, the camera feed would show a door opening and closing for nothing, but nobody ever bothered to write an alarm code for that. By the time they’d notice it, she would be out. Or dead.
She plucked out a datachip and inserted it into the computers, and then waited as whatever was inside did its thing. She didn’t have to wait long, a stupid smiley appearing on every screen within a minute. Whatever the Commander had made, it did its job fucking well.
“Good girl. I’m in.”
She hissed at his comment, and felt his laugh boom through her earpiece in response.
“Got control of a lot now. Cameras. Motion sensors. Editing some of the feeds now. Nobody’ll see those doors opening and closing. Don’t think you’re in the clear though. There’s a secondary security system here, disconnected from this one. Can’t tell you what’s down there. Assume the worst.”
“What’s that?”
She felt his grin. “Things we didn’t expect. Things that aren’t additional sensor nets. Things that you’re allowed to make go crunch.”
She felt a grin of her own well up, and slipped out of the security boot and deeper into the facility.
With every step she took she felt herself get angrier. Even down here, in the subterranean depths of the banking complex, the wealth of the fat cats up top spoke to her, mocking her poverty-stricken upbringing. Even as the Red Queen, her wealth had been rather limited. She did not go hungry, but the rooms she had considered her home had been roughshod. Here, surrounded by expensive looking artistic crap that only the cleaning staff and the occasional security or maintenance guys got to appreciate, she was facing real wealth.
“And won’t I be damned if it’s all ill-gotten.”
“You should talk to Vector about that, once. One of the few things he actually gets heated up about.”
“If you say so. He doesn’t like me much.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Guy doesn’t say more than two words to me.”
“He does that to everyone. You’re right though, he doesn’t like you. Says you’re undisciplined.”
“Well he’s not wrong,” she purred, taking delight in knowing that she pissed off at least one of the bigshots in the Outfit.
“For now,” Charger shot back.
She flashed a toothy grin. She enjoyed that he was so open about it to her. She didn’t get him, in the slightest, but she enjoyed his company nonetheless.
Maybe I’ll not drag your demise out too long after all. Make it quick. Relatively.
“So how does he feel about this then?”
“Speak up, Vec. I know you’re listening in anyway.”
“Contact between different teams should be limited,” came an aggrieved sigh.
“We’re secure enough, aren’t we?”
“It’s against regulations.”
“Yeah, and regulations are always good, aren’t they?” Scaiffe snarked. “Like the regulations protecting these fat cats.”
The sudden silence was almost deafening, and she could imagine the ever-collected Vector silently fuming beneath his helmet.
“If this is truly of interest to you,” his voice finally came, constrained though it was. “Then we can discuss it post-mission. For now, cut this channel, respect procedures, retain operational silence and get on with it. Unless you wish to forego this chance to stick it to the, as you call them, fat cats.”
Kitty got claws, she snickered. She made sure to stay off the channel as she did so.
Charger was less polite, his amusement audibly rumbling over the airwaves, but he offered no further comment.
The clock ticked onwards, mercilessly advancing towards the next dawn. Scaiffe knew her time wasn’t unlimited, but that didn’t help her much. Droplets of sweat were forming on her back as her breathing was slowly becoming more intense. Keeping up the cloak wasn’t too draining, but it wasn’t easy either. It felt as if she was constantly tensing her muscles, without a chance for reprieve.
So far she had passed many sensors. Most were hijacked by the program she had inserted into the system, but that left plenty she needed to manually disable. Her equipment helped. Charger had clearly spared no expense in getting her properly outfitted, and she already promised herself that when she’d break free, she’d take it with her.
But that was then, and now… Now she was approaching the fourth and last security checkpoint. The complex was ridiculously large. She figured she was at least two to three hundred metres underground. Miles of corridors lay behind her. Dozens, if not hundreds of sensors. She had passed countless automated patrols, ranging from simple drones to heavier units. Clearly this wasn’t a place for unauthorised people to pass by, given that those things could never pass as cleaning units. And she knew for a fact that putting chainguns on bots was highly illegal. Oh, the things you could do if you had money…
Rules for thee, not for me, she hummed.
She rounded the corner, and froze to a halt. The walls around the large metal bulkhead were covered in warnings. Plastered in several languages, they formed an impressive work of art. They were the usual warnings. No entry for unauthorized personnel. Danger ahead. No passage past this point.
No, what was unusual was the sheer quantity of them. She clicked her coms on. “Charger, you seeing this?”
“I am,” he said, surprisingly softly. She felt her hairs rise. “Vector, what data do we have on what lays beyond?”
“Footage of the hallways,” the man replied instantly. That freaked her out even more. “Sensory input. Cross-checking. Wait out.”
“Hold position,” Charger whispered. “This ain’t right.”
She nodded, belatedly realised he couldn’t see that, and confirmed audibly. Her mind raced. The security she had passed so far was nothing to sneeze at, but this hinted at something else. Her senses weren’t screaming any warnings at her. So far. Not that technological traps would alert her senses.
She moved slowly, double checking every square inch of surface with her enhanced glasses. She found nothing. Even more suspicious.
“Alpha One, be advised,” Vector’s voice tore through her thoughts. “The feed we have of that area is not accurate. I am unsure if they are looped, or showing a different area entirely, but the result is the same. Neither does the power output match with the profile needed for a lot of automated support.”
“And now in human-speak?”
The leading officers of the outfit had amply proven their ability to transmit their facial expressions through their helmets. Now Vector managed to thoroughly convey his annoyance through a radio frequency.
“Be careful,” Charger took over.
She wanted to respond with a witty comeback, but swallowed those words instead. Charger didn’t do careful. His very name was a testament to his preferred approach to combat, and he was telling her to be careful.
“I cannot tell you what is in there, but it is likely not automated, or if it is, it has an independent power source. Be ready for anything. Keep your rebreather close.”
“I can do that. Going in.”
The slid the keycard into the reader and the bulkhead slowly slid open, yellow warning lights flaring as the pneumatic systems hissed. The door was massive, easily twice her height and half again as wide. Had to be, to let cargo and maintenance servitors through, or to bring replacement parts or tools in. That didn’t make it any less intimidating.
Past her would be salivating at the thought of what might lay behind it. Present her had been made intimately familiar with her own weakness, and was a lot more prudent.
She went in.
The passageway was dark, far more so than the previous corridors. Her glasses still painted the way for her. A thing she was glad for, as the place was a maze. Dozens upon dozens of separate rooms, each shielded by another card reader, keypad and biometrical locks. Figured the fat cats would protect the private vaults down here with that crap, but not install that on the outside. Too many nobodies that needed to get in to keep the place clean. Would be too expensive to keep them all on the list. Fucking fat cats.
Man, if I could crack even one, I’d be set for life!
“And you’d have to lug it out, too,” Charger chuckled, making her realise she had said that out loud. “Focus on the mission. You’ll get paid plenty for it. You need to survive this first, though.” There was a nervousness to his voice.
She pushed down the emerging feelings of greed, not too difficult given how dark it was and only the faintest of lighting broke the sea of black surrounding her. It was putting her on edge.
Noise.
She froze. She clicked her coms twice.
“Affirmative,” came Charger’s whispered words. “I heard it too.”
“Analysing,” Vector said, softly and urgently.
The noise was repeated. She strained her ears, trying to make it out. She flicked through the sights on her glasses until she found one that countered the low-light conditions. She ignored the chandeliers —fucking chandeliers in a vault!— Okay, maybe she didn’t ignore them. She looked past the fancy paintings, fancier pillars, fanciest vases and all the other crap. She ignored the carpets, the antiques, everything that made this vault look like a world-class hotel, and focused on that noise.
It was haunting. She recognised it now. Soft cries echoed through the hallways, the shuffling of feet muffled by the carpet.
A breath, then another elongated, ululating cry. It wasn’t quite despair, but it held hints of it. She didn’t know what it really was. Sadness? Madness? Something else?
A shadow slowly trundled into view. Another human, seemingly unsteady on his feet. It took a step, fell down on it, its full weight resting on a bended knee as its head hung scant inches from the floor. It was crying, loudly sniffing, but the two seemed unrelated. Its head shot up, a sharp, too fast movement. Its unnatural movements quickened and it shuffled forward, towards her. She sucked her breath in, something about the being unnerving her.
She clicked her coms thrice, urgently drawing Charger’s attention. Not that she needed to, the soldier was already watching over her metaphorical shoulder.
“Move,” he hissed, urgently.
She took a step to the side and the being reacted, his weeping becoming louder as his head whipped from side to side. She took in more details now as it—he was coming closer. He had no hair on his head, his arms seemed slightly too long. Every one of his movements was short. He walked, if you could call it that, in short bursts. One limb shooting forward. Put weight on the limb. Shift it until the last limb was gone, then repeat it all over again.
There was so much off about the man moving in her direction. The too long limbs, the movement, the way he constantly seemed to softly utter moans of pain or sadness. The way his every step was short and sharp, too fast to be fully human. The way he swayed from side to side, yet remained sturdily on his feet. The way the carpet puffed up whenever his feet stomped down on it.
“Move,” Charger repeated. She took several more steps to the side, and the man’s head shot up again, sniffing and looking around.
She saw his eyes. Dark, black eyes, tears painted the colour of a moonless night streaking down from his face as the pupil-less bulbs of darkness glanced around, failing to see through her cloak. Yet it stayed there, searching for her.
He knows I’m here, she realised. A shiver ran through her back, sweat pearling down her skin. The fuck is that thing? She saw more details. Too long nails. Fingers held tight, hands forming claws. She heard him pant, breath rattling out of his throat. Spit dangled from his lips as his head twisted far too much on a neck that should not have supported such extreme movement. It stopped not too far from her. Worryingly close. And it kept looking.
She shook her head and clicked six times, signalling Charger of her intentions, and received a single, affirmative click in turn.
She stretched out her mind, pushing it towards the strange, not entirely human being. Her mind pushed against his, and she snuck in, planning on crushing it, like she had done to so many.
Instead she hit a wall. His mind reeled and roiled, a wall of aggression slamming down on her and evicting her from his head. A loud, terrifying wail roared through the dark corridors, and she took a step back in shock.
His head snapped to her, something having alerted him. The wail continued, but changed tune. It was no longer aimless. He had a target. Viciousness came to the fore of those black, dead eyes, and a howl tore itself free from its throat, all resemblance with humanity gone. Too sharp teeth revealed itself, glistening in the dark, spittle hanging from its lips as it roared a challenge at her, before leaping at her.
“KILL THAT THING!” Charger roared, and pure instinct made her slam a shield in between the pair of them.
The next moment she felt a blow on a level she had never felt before, and it send her careening into the wall.