CHAPTER 61 - FISHER

“So,” Fisher said, breaking the silence. “You got enough guns there, wife?”

Sam sat cross-legged in the middle of the floor. All around her were her weapons. Fisher wasn’t one for military hardware, but he knew enough to identify them to a limited extent. There was a pair of handguns, a single revolver, a pair of rifles, a shotgun, three knives, and a bevy of grenades. Sam had been running through them one by one, checking magazines and—

Well, that was about all Fisher knew she was doing. Capes didn’t use guns. Axes, swords, spears, hammers, suits of armor that gave your hands the strength to crush bone—oh, those were all fine. But for whatever reason, firearms alone resulted in bad optics.

Sam glanced up. “Could always use a few more, really—but check this out.” She rose to her feet, scooping up the revolver as she went, and held it out to Jack. He didn’t take it, of course, and so, with a sigh, she settled for stuffing it into the holster at his hip. Then she took up Jack’s rifle and pressed it into his hand. That one he held.

“Like a regular zombie,” she said. “See?”

“Given what I’m pretty sure is your history, I’m surprised you’d joke about that.”

“I said regular zombie, Pavel. The brain-eating kind. Not the atrocity-committing kind.”

“Good to know that eating brains isn’t an atrocity.”

Tiger grinned, shrugging.

“Is it even safe to give him a gun?”

“It’s not loaded if that’s what you’re worried about,” she said, collecting the magazines and stuffing them into a pocket on her vest. “But if he snaps out of it, better for him to have a gun to help us out than not, right? You want one? Or a knife? I don’t judge.”

It took Fisher a moment to realize she was talking to him. “I’m sorry?”

“Do you,” she began, talking slowly, as if to a child, “want a weapon, Pavel? Or are you going to try and team dad Monkey to death?” She held one of her pistols out by the barrel, extended it in his direction. The light caught on some etchings along the barrel, and Fisher realized they were kill markings.

“I’m good,” he said.

“Suit yourself,” Tiger replied. “You can be our morale support then. Moral support too, I guess. Good to pull double duty, because God knows we need that last one.”

Fisher nodded, chewing at his cheek, agitated and, strangely, ashamed. You’re a superhero without any superpowers, was what went unsaid. She hadn’t seen what he had done then, to stymie The Engineer for but a moment. But then again, he wasn’t sure he’d done anything, either. He flexed his hand, tried to remember, to focus on one of Sam’s firearms—but nothing happened.

Sam returned her attention to her weapons, her pre-battle rituals, and no one said anything until Fisher heard the sound of heavy, armored footfalls. Sam looked up and whistled.

“Shit, Defiant got an upgrade.”

Fisher turned. There came Sabra in her chrome and charcoal armored suit, shining and repaired. In the crook of her arm, she carried a deep green helmet with the visage of an angular, judgmental lioness. Revenant followed about two paces behind in her silver mask and an armored suit that left her arms exposed.

“Nice helmet,” Fisher said.

“It’s fearsome, isn’t it?” Sabra replied. “The all-clear just came through. Are we ready to go?”

“As ready as we’ll ever be, I think.”

“Pavel, you don’t need to do this.”

“Got a point,” Sam said. “Don’t wanna leave your cat an orphan.”

“I can’t imagine coming this far and not going all the way over the finish line,” Fisher said. “Besides, the historian in me has always wanted to see one of the Trimurti. As far as Octopus is concerned—well, I have a Will.”

Sabra reached out and squeezed his shoulder. The care in it, the delicate touch, the sense of control. He thought of a titan holding an infant, the horrific awareness that came with knowing strength and power and realizing vulnerability and weakness.

“What,” Sam began. “Come on, I don’t get a heart-to-heart?”

“You already had yours,” Sabra replied. “Don’t get greedy. Let’s go.”

The group fell in behind her. It wasn’t a long walk to the conference room, where it’d been decided Gate would open his doorway. Blueshift and Aegis met them there.

“Are you ready?” Aegis asked.

“Absolutely,” Sabra said. “I’m ready to lick tits and take names.”

“Sabra.” Revenant’s tone was a mild reprimand, but Aegis only snorted.

“And you, Impel?”

“Well,” Fisher said, “I’m always happy to try something new.”

“Gate has pinpointed a location to insert you,” Aegis said. “It’s a village just south of SHIVA’s ruins. According to SOLARIA, you should intercept Monkey just as he arrives. Don’t give him a chance to pull any tricks. Blow his fucking head off, grab the artifact, and get out of there.”

“Abacus,” Sabra said.

“And if he’s managed to get inside and close the door behind him?” Fisher asked.

“Revenant can get you in.”

“Expected opposition?” Sam asked.

“We don’t know what you may find inside,” Blueshift said. “In the aftermath of the SHIVA Rebellion, the IESA accounted for ninety-nine point eight two percent of SHIVA’s legions. However, we do not know how many may remain within the complex, inactive or otherwise.”

“Well, at least it’s a known unknown.”

“We won’t be able to help you,” Aegis added. “As discussed, no one knows this plan exists. The Concordiat may respond—do not fucking provoke them if they do. With any luck, you can kill Hawthorne and hike your way out of the no-go zone. Call it in, and we’ll retrieve you.”

Blueshift opened the door. Through it, Fisher saw nothing but dirt and grass. When he bent down, he could spy blue skies, white clouds, and a shining sun. There was even a calm, pleasant breeze through the doorway. Some part of his brain rebelled against there being a whole world where it knew a room had been just a few hours before.

“Looks nice,” Sam said, and set her helmet on. Then she did the same for Jack and checked his seals. Next to Fisher, Sabra set her helmet on and the eyes lit up. She raised her hands and slowly flexed them into fists and out again—inhale, exhale. It might as well have been a growl.

He nodded to her. “You okay, Sab?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “But I’m prepared. I’m ready to heal the shit out of Monkey.”

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“That’s one way of putting it,” Fisher said. “Time to save the world.” He took one last look around the facility, fought down the part of his brain that insisted he was stepping off a cliff, and stepped toward the portal.

“Welcome to the avalanche, kids,” he said, and stepped through.

----------------------------------------

“Christ and Allah,” Sabra murmured. “What happened here?”

The sun was shining, the sky was clear, and the ruins were overgrown. They had emerged from the remnants of a doorway in what had been, decades ago, a village on the edge of the Caucasus—now it was only a graveyard. Nature had just about reclaimed the last remnants of human habitation, greenery wrapping around the skeletons of houses and husks of burnt-out vehicles.

Once, the village had a name. People had lived here once. Fisher doubted anyone remembered this place now. The Collapse had burnt away so much of the world that some things were just forgotten. The pleasant midday sunlight felt offensive. It should’ve been overcast.

“SHIVA happened here,” Fisher said. Not too far away, there was the mountain that SHIVA had been built under, obvious from the glittering scar that Throne had left it with. He’d just about cleaved it in two.

“This close? In the shadow of SHIVA like this?” Fisher continued. “I bet this place was wiped out before anyone knew what happened.”

Sabra nodded slowly.

“I’m going to destroy it,” she proclaimed. “It can’t be left lying around like this.”

“It’s the size of a city, Sab. I admire your dedication, but...”

“I’m very good at breaking things, Pavel.”

“Yeah,” he said, chuckling. “Maybe you are.”

“Looks like we’re all good,” Sam said. “Comms check—you all reading me?”

The check came back affirmative, and that was that.

Sabra led the way with a strange sense of grace, leaving the rest to just follow in her wake. It forced everyone else to double-time it. Revenant kept close to Sabra, with Jack somehow keeping pace despite the fact he seemed no more aware of the world around him than he had back in Melbourne. Already Fisher’s lungs were burning, his side aching.

“You good?” Sam asked.

“I think I just realized that this saving the world business is a young man’s game.”

“If you fall over, I’m not helping you up.”

He laughed, and it helped.

Eventually, the rolling landscape gave way to a long downward slope, a straight run over rocky, battle-scarred terrain to a sheer cliff face and the vast metal blast door set into it. In the sunlight, the edges of a vast crystalline abyss glittered. The shot Throne had taken to breach SHIVA’s defenses had scarred the world irrevocably.

It must’ve been a hell of a fight. A real Golden Age fantasy, but there was a saying about that. The ground was littered with the wrecks of SHIVA’s servitors, as overgrown as the village had been. Even in death, fear of the machine god had kept people from trying to plunder its secrets.

Until now.

Monkey had found enough space to set his aeroshuttle down. There he stood, with the Engineer’s staff raised high, like Moses parting the sea. There was a low rumble on the air, and Fisher realized that the vast door was opening. The stone was rolling free, and the tomb may not have been empty.

Sabra heard it too, saw the metal sliding upward. “Let’s not fuck around with any of this. Rev?"

"Unleashing the core would alert the Concordiat to our presence," she said. "I am unable to comply."

"Fine. Sam, take the shot."

“You’ve got it,” she replied, slinging her rifle free, and moved to find a suitable firing position. She set up on a rock, adjusted her scope, and took aim. Even with her face against her scope, Fisher could read her smirk.

“This takes me back,” she mused. “Sayonara, Wukong.”

The sound rippled out through the valley. Sam’s shot took Monkey in the torso, and Fisher saw something spray out of him. The man staggered forward, turned, and collapsed onto his back. Sabra was as still as a hawk peering at prey. The door continued to rise.

“Target down,” Sam reported.

“Make sure he’s dead,” Sabra said. “Something doesn’t feel right.”

Sam shrugged and squeezed the trigger again. Monkey's body spasmed. “Definitely not moving now. First one was for Jack,” she added. “That one was for me.” And she fired again. “And that one was for Jocasta, you son of a bitch.”

Whoever that was, Fisher didn’t have a clue. He nodded to Sabra and Revenant. “Come on,” he said. “We still need to grab the staff.”

They were halfway down the slope when Monkey began to move.

He rolled over onto his front, and picked himself up. At first clambering awkwardly, as if surprised, and then with more confidence. And he began to laugh, hooting like an owl, as he got to his feet. Even as far away as he was, Fisher could see the dark threads weaving through the ragged holes in his chest.

Sabra broke into a run, moving faster than Fisher could hope to keep up with. Revenant took to the air, shifting her weapons into gear, as Sabra roared, “Sam!”

Another shot rang out, and Monkey pitched backward—but it didn’t punch through, and he didn’t fall. He spun his staff and green light boiled around the head of it, lashing out toward Sabra like the scourge of a coruscating whip.

She ducked to the side, but it killed the momentum of her charge, and the crackling arc lashed back and around to strike her, pitching her into the dirt. Revenant’s golden fusillade rained down around Monkey, not a single bolt striking true. He ignored her and leveled his staff at Sabra, struggling to rise. Technology had failed the first time—how could they have ever expected it to work on the second?

And what was he doing? Nothing. Because he was too old, too fat, too tired—

Not again.

Just like before. Just like Katherine.

Not again.

Just like Mark.

Not aga—

The words heralded unbearable white noise in his head. He raised his useless hands and yelled, yelled so hard that it felt like he’d shake himself to pieces, that his eyes would pop out of his skull. And something else stirred behind his eyes, like he was screaming into a cave and there was something there and it heard him and its song was so much louder than his voice.

The song ripped through him like a current, from his brain to his spine, each and every vertebrae popping with that resonant intensity, and then to his wrists—and there it stopped and, impossibly, leapt the gap.

Fisher’s hands detonated, plastic and metal scattered before him, frozen in that single moment. Fisher whirled his arm and distance shortened, twisted, curved. The space between Sabra and Monkey now led to the space on either side of her, and the beam of energy took the path of least resistance and curled around her, arcing into one of aeroshuttle's engines and blasting its wing half away.

Only then did it occur to Fisher what had happened, and he laughed. He laughed like a child and, down by the doors, Monkey heard him and took aim. Fisher swiped and gestured, recalling old battles and older moves, twisting distance into knots and straight lines into arcs, but he knew he’d already be too late.

Shit, Fisher thought, but it was like he was looking at someone else.

Something ripped into him and through him. Something burned, smelling of ruined armorweave, and sickly of meat. He pitched backward, hit the dirt, and then Sam was standing over him, snapping shot after shot at Monkey. She shouted down at him, but the words didn’t make any sense.

The chaos stopped, and words replaced it. Sam was ripping things from her pack, swearing. Revenant landed by him and took the medical supplies, crouching down next to him. Sabra, her armor smoking, loomed over him, looking down at him with her impassive, leonine helmet, like some deity passing judgment.

He thought of scales and hearts.

“Go,” Fisher said. “Just go. There isn’t time.” He waved with his stumps, trying to indicate the open door. That’s why we’re here, he wanted to say. Don’t give me that humanism shit now, Sab—go!

Maybe he did actually say it, he wasn’t sure. But Sabra nodded and turned, running for the door, with Revenant keeping pace right behind. Fisher turned his head, looking up at Sam. She was still swearing, working at his lower torso. Pain began to flood through him, rolling out from his belly. It was almost comforting.

Well, this is it.

“How bad is it, Sam?”

“Oh, you’ll be fine,” Sam said, and she sounded cheerful. “You’ll be just fine.”

Fisher sagged against the ground, felt like he was going to slide through it, and forced his eyes to remain open. He wanted to laugh, but something deep in his body betrayed him, and he just wheezed. “That bad, huh?”

He caught his eyes as they closed again, wrenched them open—but that simple act was so exhausting. This time, he let them close. Far away, Sam snarled, “Don’t you dare! Don’t you fucking dare!” She slapped him, but the sensation of it began and ended at his cheek. “Move or die, soldier—come on!”

He managed to open them about halfway.

“I’m sorry, Sam.”

And Katherine.

Mark.

Sabra.

Jack.

Octopus.

More, so many more. But the names didn’t come easily now. Everything was so far away.

“Take care of the kids, Sam,” Fisher whispered, but he didn’t know if she could hear him, or if his lips even moved.

And with that, Pavel Fisher closed his eyes.