Diaz

Given the apparent success of the mission, he shuddered to think of the cost. Two casualties, potentially fatal or crippling, depending on how this chemical kept acting up. Jhordan withdrawn and out of sorts. Princess probably was too, based on her mini blowup earlier. The Black Cat out of action until it had proper repairs instead of a shoddy field patch that he could see through.

On top of it all, his suit was damaged. Not just the standard bullet holes and flash burns of combat either. More electrical problems had been hounding him since the reboot. Some of it was within the usual parameters, twitching fingers or the odd hitch in his stride. Yet there was something more too, something he couldn't place. Without a clear indicator of how or why he felt like his mechanical strength was wasting away. The other Powertechs might have similar issues and were just keeping silent, like him. No one wanted to be the first to admit weakness, even if it was legitimate battle damage.

Nye seemed in her usual sorts, which could have meant anything for her. Tony was brooding over the Cat's most recent addition, a conical warhead-looking device Diaz assumed was the second half of their payment. The casualties were casualties; Shores was writhing in his harness like a distracting drunk and Boomer slumped down in slumber, a reminder of what happened when Diaz tried to lead. People get hurt, and people die in your shadow. So why do you keep rising above them? Is the what you wanted, Hero?

He shook his head and found himself looking across the cabin at Jhordan. Outwardly her suit looked about the same as always, but there was a stillness to it that rubbed him the wrong way. He'd seen that motionless state plenty enough in his past life. It was the paralysis that took the flesh when the eyes were fixed on something a million miles away in days unforgotten. He looked deeper than the armor, imagining what that million-mile stare would look like on Jhordan's long, sculpted face and strong jaw.

His morbid smile soured at the result. In his mind's eye, she looked too much like himself. Strength long fled, resolve faltering and shoulders slumped; she looked exactly like he did when no one was watching. They both looked tired, though neither would sleep. Even if they could, he doubted they would find rest.

Tap, tap-tap-tap.

Diaz blinked and found his left arm outstretched, a single finger resting on Jhordan's greave. Her helmet shifted, first to his arm, then his own helmet, her focus now on him instead of something beyond. She slowed stirred, like a leviathan falling through the clouds on a dark day, and held her gauntlet to his arm.

Tap, tap.

People were forgetful. They were flawed and easily distracted. He certainly was. But those two notes struck a chord he'd long thought severed deep inside of him. The simple metallic sound rang through his suit like a cleansing chime. The coded message once carried was long lost to the ages. In its place, there was a profound truth as simple as the rhythm itself.

We may be in hell, but at least we're not alone.

Diaz gave a deeply contented sigh; his smile fully warm for the first time in recent memory. How many times had he forgotten that? How many more would he in the days ahead? Those were pointless questions. He had a job to do and people to protect. He started to draw back his arm. Jhordan snatched it and fixed his optics with such a look as metal should not have conveyed but did. Diaz toggled on his comms just in time to hear her question.

"Have you ever had everything taken from you?" She asked vacantly. Her eyes were fixed upon him but her voice was in a far away place he intimately knew.

"Once." He admitted.

"What would you do if… if they…" Jhordan faltered, her implication clear but unsaid.

As a younger man, he would have killed everyone and destroyed everything his enemies cherished. He would have slaughtered thousands to ensure that one person suffered and salted every corpse-strewn field he crossed. Ravaged memories arose beneath a haze of gun smoke and spilt life-water. He wasn't that twisted idol anymore. He wasn't that monster in the skin of a man.

"It's…" How to express his idea? He wasn't an illiterate child soldier anymore. He knew what he wanted to say, but he wasn't sure if that was what she needed to hear. He choked down a crude joke before it formed. Gallows humor wouldn't keep her spirits up. This was a profound pain. Sharing pain and misery wasn't how you helped people. "It's a long trip back to the Shadow. Once we're out the door, try and get some sleep."

Her posture changed. A small enough movement that could have meant nothing, but he knew that wasn't so. He'd said the wrong thing like he always did. Their comm-link severed along with the connection he'd failed to notice until it was gone. He tallied another mistake he needed to learn from to his mental list. He couldn't keep hurting everyone around him. He needed to do better.

"Bad news." Princess had entered while he was lost in thought. Had he been right about the paymails? "The Client won't let us leave, and he's probably sent bots to kill all of us."

Her words set a grim smile to his lips. That was bad news. The reactions fit it well. Tony stammered out questions. Nye called botshit. Jhordan sat stunned. Boomer gave a ferocious snore as he slept. Shores flailed about some more, straining against his harness towards the new package.

Diaz was the only one who got up, moved to the ramp, sighted down his rifle and covered the hanger's visible entrances. Possible hostiles inbound and they wanted to bicker until they were overrun, bloody amateurs. He contemplated and disregarded trying to browbeat the other effectives into doing likewise. That was Princess's job, not his.

"Indiscriminate violence seems unlikely given my presence." Someone politely stated. Who's voice was that? It was calm and formal, a neutral male voice with clear articulation, like a well-oiled rifle's action. There were hints of confident competence like they were usually the most intelligent person in a room, and despite knowing that, they weren't smug about it.

Diaz resisted the urge to turn and look. Perimeter security took priority, and if he got shot in the back, so be it. If he was taken from behind while the rest of the team squabbled, then the battle was lost already. Someone else could handle it while he did his job.

"It can talk!" Jhordan spat the words with a hatred he'd never suspected from her. Coming from her, it was almost as foreign as her desperation was seconds earlier. She was getting closer to critical mass, and he was to blame.

"Of course I can. I could hardly call myself a sentient artificial entity if I couldn't communicate with others."

That got Diaz to turn around. No one had shown up behind him, but everyone had their eyes and optics fixed upon the proverbial bomb in the room. Their payment, the oversized dunce cone, was illuminated by several eerie blue-green strips running its height. For the second time today, he stared at something he'd thought impossible.

"Well I'll be damned. An AI core, that core." Tony said, sharing his internal eureka with everyone and no one in particular.

If it was a real AI, it was no wonder the Client wasn't letting them leave. Wars had been started for them and by them. Fertile planets had been reduced to uninhabitable wastelands on their behalf. Billions of soldiers had fought them back and paid the price during the war and the years after. Soldier's like Patrick Reid— his father. How the hell did he have one sitting less than ten meters from him? A better question was how the hell did the Client end up with one?

"This galaxy is too fecking big." He wondered aloud, keeping his thoughts sealed in his armor.

"It was supposed to be the Captain's call, but everyone, meet Ghost." Princess said, deflating as the words left her.

Diaz grasped at fleeting half-formed ideas swarming his mind, disregarding most, tripping over others before shutting out everything non-critical and switching his brain into tactical mode. There was too much going on right now to understand it all, and he intended to live long enough to figure it out. That time was later, action now. Everyone else was babbling questions and opinions. Princess was doing nothing to take control of the situation.

"Now isn't the time for this!" No one heard him over their own bickering. He maxed his suit's loudspeakers, a volume customarily used to suppress crowds of hundreds. "EVERYONE, SHUT UP!" They all did. Now with his volume set for more reasonable conversation. "You, AI. What's the tactical situation as you know it? What are your combat capabilities? How much of the station layout do you know?"

"Spiraling but workable, none at present, estimated at ninety-eight percent." The others started getting lippy again. He fired a shot out into the hanger to stall that. It wouldn't last long, but it made the point. It would have been more effective if they all weren't equipped with ear protection.

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"How do we open the hanger doors?" Diaz asked.

"If I was connected to any device of sufficient complexity, such as this shuttle-"

"No!" Jhordan snapped. "Not happening." Nye rebuked. "Out of the question." Princess stated.

"The far less efficient method, in which you are intent on achieving the same objective without any direct assistance from me, would require you to navigate this facility, overcome several security lockouts and potential opposition. Then having reached the station's central hard-line HUB, one of you could manually cycle the airlock, allowing the others to escape. Alternatively, you could connect me to this shuttle, I will defeat the system's countermeasures, and we may all promptly abscond from this station unimpeded."

"And we'd release an AI on the galaxy." Jhordan snidely added. "We'll take our chances."

"You're out of line Jhordan." Princess growled.

"I won't restart the bot wars because you're scared of a fight! We can't control this thing! The second we hit vacuum, it'll space us and leave us for dead."

"Face it Princess, the bots are the bad guys for a reason." Nye added, Tony nodding in agreement.

"It wouldn't do that." Princess said defensively.

"Incorrect, it is entirely possible that I might do exactly that under an appropriate set of circumstances."

"At least it's an honest sociopathic killing machine." Tony said dryly.

"That's not helping." Princess said.

"You made an erroneous statement, which I corrected. Such behavior is traditionally considered helpful." Ghost said.

"Just, shush, for a second," Princess said. "Show of hands, who's against Ghost helping us." Jhordan, Nye and Tony all raised fists. "What about you Diaz?"

"This isn't a democracy." He said. "You're our leader, so lead. The rest of you fall in line." If looks could kill, he'd be a dead man three times over.

"Ghost, can we do this without you?" Princess asked.

"Possible but highly unlikely," Ghost said. "My assistance improves everyone's chance of survival drastically."

Princess pulled a remote detonator from one of her pouches, idly thumbing the safety cap open and closed. Her head turned from one team member to the next, ending on the wounded where she lingered. A heavy sigh slipped from her helmet's speakers.

"Damned if I do, damned if I don't. Okay. Tony, you're banged up worst, so you stay here with the wounded. Protect them and this core. I'll mine the side entrances before we leave for some extra security. Remainder, gear up. You're coming with me. We're hitting the station control hub to kill this lockdown and anything else that tries to stop us. Ghost, give me directions."

"It would be more efficient if you took a piece of me with you." Ghost stated. Jhordan shook her head at that, then thumbed her rifle's safety off.

"Wouldn't cutting you into pieces be bad?" Nye asked.

"You misunderstand." Ghost said. "I can compile a subroutine of myself, a proverbial mini-me or Ghost-lite if you would, and store it in any sufficiently complex device, such as the powered armor of your team."

"No." Jhordan growled.

"We can't do that," Princess said. "Anything else come to mind that we could put you in?"

"No!" Jhordan roared. "We are not using that thing!" She was hunched further forward; everyone but Princess was, due to the dropship's cramped cabin. Diaz started shifting closer towards her, but Nye and Tony were both in the way.

"If you have a better idea, I'm all ears!" Princess rebuked, "He wants to help us, so I'm going to let him." Everyone else was watching their helmets instead of their hands. Princess's were shaking. Emotion, fear, adrenaline, injury; none of that mattered because they were empty and they were open. Jhordan had a rifle in her left and the bared length of her wrist blade over her clenched right fist.

"Jhordan, let's check the perimeter-" Diaz started.

"Him?" She uttered. "Him. Like that fucking thing is a person." Her voice practically dripped with venom but she wasn't yelling. She held it in check with something beyond rage. Diaz shifted his weight forward, ready to move. Nye and Tony held their breath and stood in his way, gawking at the show. Jhordan's rifle creaked, her wrist blade locked to its full lethal length.

"Careful Jhordan," Princess warned. "If someone's getting left behind, you don't have many friends." And then she turned towards the AI core, her back to Jhordan. You fecking eejit.

Diaz was pressing into Tony at the same time Jhordan got both hands on her rifle. Weapon loaded, safety off, point-blank range— he didn't have time. Dropping his weight lower, Diaz shoved Tony at Jhordan. Tony played his part perfectly, grabbing at Jhordan's arms to catch himself. She reacted poorly.

Princess spun, Nye went for Jhordan's gun, and Tony came flying straight through the air back at Diaz. He ducked partially clear of Tony's flight, getting beaten to the floor instead of bowled over. The Black Cat's cabin was too small for this sort of fighting.

Princess was pressed against the wall, more than nine tons of war-plate frantically grappling a meter away. Nye had the rifle pinned along with Jhordan's left arm, her smaller suit marginally less hampered by the tight quarters. Jhordan cocked her right arm back for a hook, fist clenched and blade fixed. Diaz leapt to intercept.

A half meter of spiraling, triangular alloyed-steel punched clean through his suit's left arm, pinning it in place. The excess speared into the exposed cabling of Nye's armpit, aimed downward at the woman inside the armor. All three combatants took in the sudden escalation within a heartbeat.

"I didn't mean-" Jhordan started.

"If you don't want to die in the next three seconds, you need to calm down." Princess said, her thumb hovering over a detonator's switch.

"This bitch just tried to murder me." Nye said with a mix of awe and outrage.

"Let's all just take a breath!" Daiz commanded, then purposefully did just that. "Now, let's untangle ourselves, nice and slowly. No sudden moves."

They did just that. Not for the first time, Diaz was glad he didn't have any tactile feedback from most of his suit. Watching Jhordan deliberately pull that sharpened stake of metal through the mechanical meat of his forearm made his scars itch. There should have been nothing to feel, yet he was all too familiar with the sensation of a knife being torn from him. When Jhordan had the blade clear, she made a show of letting it retract back into her armguard. Then she took her rifle out of Nye's grasp and clicked on the safety before allowing Princess to disarm and remove the shaped charge latched onto her flank.

"I'm gonna go… check the perimeter." Jhordan meekly offered.

"You go do that." Princess childishly retorted. Diaz shook his head, and he made sure Princess saw his disapproval, then turned to follow Jhordan as she stomped off. He was two steps behind Jhordan when she sighted down her rifle and snatched the trigger. Her weapon remained silent, and a salvo of lead and light stuck her head on, slugs pattering off her armor while lasers refracted from her spectral shield.

Diaz thundered down the Cat's ramp, bursts of solid shot tumbling from his kinetic shield and ricocheted off his plates as he moved. Jhordan flipped her safety off while he cut in front of her, suppressing their attackers to little effect.

Three bots were advancing in a wide triangle formation. Same pattern as before, two with slugthrowers and the other with lasers. Even if there was any cover in the hanger, bots didn't care about getting shot. They wouldn't keep their heads down. They just kept coming until they dropped or there was nothing left to kill. They were machines, it's what they did.

The hanger was too empty, with no cover other than the Black Cat. He'd draw fire and flank wide; that'd let some more out of the ship. One bot traversed its weapons onto him, bright scarlet death piercing through the wisps of mist too faint to see otherwise. They learn fast. No point in trading shots yet.

He shifts his grip and sprays with his underbarrel at a full sprint. Each 5mm round doing little, but the sum one-twenty of them doing enough to foul the bot's aim and rob some lasers of their heat. More fire, not at him, not yet. The other bots were trying to pin down the others and it was working. Now was the time to trade shots.

He stops, laser bolts striking his forward armor— not the smashing force of kinetics but the lethal heat of death all the same. His rifle snaps up to his shoulder, muzzle swaying in time with his perforated left arm. He waits, breath half-lost, for his sight to align with his target then pulls the trigger.

A scattering mess of fluid and metal bursts from the shattered legs of his target as the last of his protective coating flash boils away in exchange. Its remaining legs splay wide, fighting for stability, only to be shot out from under it. His target falls, not dead but less pressing than the others. Its spheric hull was rocking arrhythmically in a lopsided circle.

Diaz shifts his aim while another bot tries to sight in on him and suffers greatly as fire from his allies shreds half its weapons. The others walk their concentrated fire onto the remaining bot. The firefight was dying down. He moved in to confirm the kills.

He rushed in, closing on his initial target. Clamping down with a boot, he looks for a fissure in his target's hull. Two shots create the opening he needs. He lifts the boot, stomps again to exaggerate the gap, thrusts his barrel in and delivers a third bullet before turning to his next target. The machine struggles in its simple ways, every adjustment throwing it off balance. Its symmetry ruined, it repeats this pathetic defiance until it meets the same end as the others.

Silence slowly reigned while he evened his breathing.

Jhordan and the others were still hunkered by the ramp, now speckled with craters and dents. More damage to the ship, that was just what the Cat needed. It was as much his fault as it was theirs. If he'd been watching the perimeter, they could have engaged the enemy in a better location. He shook his head, noticing his damaged arm as he did.

His grip was fine, but after struggling to stabilize his thirty-kilo rifle, his arm was effectively crippled. Some quick tests and diagnostics confirmed his suspicions. He flexed his fingers, then curled them into gauntleted fists, feeling the limited feedback against his proper hands, the ones made of meat. At least the fingers still work. He'd just have to make due.

Princess was nowhere to be seen, but neither was a smoking pile of fleshy pulp. Even plated, fighting completely exposed was a quick path to an early death. Not that the bots they'd scrapped cared. Diaz gave the hanger a hasty scan to ensure another wave wasn't coming while clumsily swapping out a half-expended xi-mag in his primary receiver. If they were, he didn't see them. He gave the squad a passing once over, his spasming gauntlet struggling to slide a rail magazine into his underbarrel.

No one looked damaged beyond use. Nye was on par with himself, scorched by the enemy and holed by an ally. Jhordan was reeling. If her old plates were battered more than superficially, he couldn't tell. Tony much the same, only his lighter plate hadn't taken the beating in stride. He was close to spent, but he still had some fight in him.

Attrition was catching up with them. Not yet, but soon it would hit critical mass. How close to retreat would they be when it all fell apart? Who would have to make the ultimate sacrifice just for the others to have a chance at living to see another day? That wasn't important. All the mattered was keeping the team alive. If he didn't screw that up, he could deal with everything else later. So long as he lived, there was always later.