Bast cursed as she slid the shuttle's door open. "Why don't we have weapons on this damned thing?"
Garrus looked back over his shoulder at the two Organization operatives as they leaned out into the slipstream. "We didn't think we'd need them! The Bekenstein police don't arm their shuttles!"
John gripped the nearest seatbelt like an impromptu safety strap and squinted into the wind. Hock's gunship was a bristly, wasp-like shape which was just visible in the distance. With his free hand he pulled out the gun that Persephone had slipped him during the party. He aimed as carefully as he could.
"Why isn't he shooting?" yelled Bast, just as a few spears of light stabbed towards them from the gunship.
John managed to hang on as Garrus jinked the shuttle out of the way of Hock's gunfire. He brought his gun back on target and fired off a few rounds on general principle. He saw a couple of his shots hit home, but they sparked harmlessly off of the gunship's superior armor.
"Shit," he muttered, and pulled himself back in. Bast got in a few shots of her own before cursing as well and sliding the door closed.
"Nothing we have on board will scratch that fucking thing," she snapped. "What do we doooooohhhshiiiit-"
John's stomach did a whoopsy-do as Garrus dropped the nose of the shuttle and raced for the ground. Another few laser-like tracers arced through the space where they'd just been. "We'll try to lose him," said the turian. "That gunship is faster, but we're just as agile."
"Hang on, Garrus, we're coming back to help you," said Shepard's voice from the console in front of the turian.
"Get that graybox to safety, John," replied Garrus. "We can take care of ourselves."
"Glad to see somebody's confident," muttered Bast. Both she and John strapped themselves back into two of the rear seats. They'd done so just in time, because Garrus suddenly rolled the shuttle up to the right as the smoke-trail of a missile shot past.
"Not getting hit by a missile again, no sir," Garrus muttered...just as the entire shuttle shook with a loud bang from the left rear. "Oh, spirits."
"Is that bad?" yelled John over the rattling that now filled the shuttle's interior.
Bast nodded. "Left rear thruster, probably got tagged by a stray shot."
Garrus didn't waste time in cursing, he just clung to the controls like grim death and tried to bring the shuttle back under control. With the thruster gone, the craft kept yawing hard to the right. And the trees below were getting ever closer.
"Um, maybe we could-" began Bast, just as another bang sounded. This time it was from their right rear.
"Well, that tears it," said Garrus. He sounded only mildly peeved in spite having just lost his engines. "Crash positions, you two."
The trees that John could see through the front windscreen were now at their own height. There was a huge *clang* as they smacked into a tree-top, and the blow made the shuttle tumble to the right. That was quickly followed by a series of loud, percussive strikes on their hull as they tore through more trees. It felt like they were inside of a tin can being pounded on by giants.
Somehow Garrus was able to still control their descent. John had a brief moment of wonder at the turian's piloting skills before the ground reached up and smacked their shuttle hard in the nose.
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John picked up his head. The whole shuttle was jammed headfirst into the ground like a carelessly-thrown dart, and its inside was now canted at a shallow angle. He could just make out a strip of sky through the top of the windscreen outside; their impact had thrown up a huge pile of dirt that now covered most of the shuttle's nose.
Garrus sat crumpled forward in the pilot's seat, and as John began to unbuckle himself the turian raised his head with a groan. "Well, that hurt almost as much as taking a missile to the face," said the turian.
"You okay?" gasped John.
"Yeah, I'll live. But I think my foot's broken. I'm not walking very far, that's for sure."
John turned his head. "Bast?"
The silver-haired operative gave a groan of her own. "Broken arm on one side and a snapped clavicle on the other. At least, that's what it feels like." She looked over at John and gave a pained smile; a bit of blood trickled from one corner of her mouth. "And I bit my lip. Sorry, John. I'm not gonna be worth much. How are you?"
John felt like he'd been beaten with bats, but he was functional. His strengthened skeletal system had kept him from getting too badly injured. "Doing okay," he said aloud.
Bast sounded genuinely curious. "Why aren't you more hurt?"
John gave a weak chuckle. "When we get out of this, I'll give you Dr. Jelan's number." He unbuckled his restraints and managed to control his slide forward down the shuttle's sloping floor. He braced himself against the pilot's console as he and Garrus peered out of the little bit of windscreen that wasn't covered by earth. The wasp-waisted form of the gunship cruised overhead and did a single circle, then darted off out of sight.
Garrus reached for the console with a little pained grunt. "John? Hock forced us down. Looks like he's going for you."
"Got it," replied the Spectre's voice. "You okay?"
"As good as ever," replied the turian. "Just watch your own butt."
John's brain was losing its fuzz from the crash. "He couldn't know which aircar had the graybox. Why didn't he land?"
"Maybe he dropped somebody off to check us out," said Bast from behind them.
"Who would he trust?" asked Garrus.
"Dunno," she replied. Her face was a mask of pain. "Maybe a security guard we missed?"
John nodded. "We should make sure." He checked his weaponry. As far as guns went, he had one pistol with maybe six shots left, and that was it. He'd given all of his spare thermal clips to Shepard before the vault break-in. "You two wait here. I'll reconnoiter."
"Want my gun?" asked Bast. "Not gonna do me much good right now."
"Keep it," replied John. "Um, just in case." The last thing he wanted to do was leave a fellow operative without any weapon at all.
He slid open the side door to the shuttle and found it half-obscured by piled-up dirt. "I'll comm you the all-clear," said John before he boosted himself up and out of the crashed shuttle. The door slid shut behind him as he turned to survey the situation.
A line of smashed and half-broken trees stretched behind them, showing the path of the shuttle's crash. Around the nearly-entombed shuttle there were still more of those trees. They looked like birch, with mostly white bark broken up with black markings. Their leaves were a pale green-gold color which shone brightly in the sunlight that filtered down through the canopy overhead. All in all it was a very nice-looking place...except for the gnawing feeling of something off that ate at John's guts.
He crouched next to the downed shuttle and slipped out his pistol to double-check its current load. Six shots left. He risked a peek over the top of the shuttle and saw nothing but more forest beyond. After another quick scan of the area, he figured it was safe enough to try opening a comm channel to Garrus inside the shuttle.
But as he touched his forearm, he saw nothing but a few sparks instead of the holographic display he expected. John stared at his ruined omni-tool in dismay for a moment before some sixth sense made him leap to the side.
A shot pinged off of the shuttle's door, right where he'd been crouching.
"John!" yelled Bast from within the shuttle.
"Stay inside!" shouted John.
A low chuckle emanated from the forest around him. "Yes, you should listen to him, my dear. I'm still going to kill you all, but at least then you'll have some chance."
John knew that voice. He gathered his feet under him and did another scan of what part of the forest he could see. "Leng! Why are you working with Hock? This is a Cerberus op!"
There was a moment of silence, and then Leng's voice sounded again. "I know. I'm just making sure that the operation succeeds while also making equally sure that you die."
John was pretty sure of the direction of Leng's voice. But he needed to get the bastard talking more so that he could get a better fix. "Hock is going to shoot down the other shuttle, you know," he said with a casual air that he did not feel.
"I would say more 'force down' than 'shoot down'," replied Leng. "He wants 'his' graybox intact, after all. Don't worry your pretty little head about it. Hock will die by my hand before he can do any actual damage to those in the other shuttle. After I kill the three of you, of course."
John was now even more certain of Leng's location. He couldn't see anything, but he could certainly hear the blathering asshole. "And what will your boss think?" he asked.
"The Illusive Man will not care as long as Shepard and Kasumi are able to perform their duties. And the only one who knows I've allied with Hock is you, so...I guess that just gives me one more reason to kill you Organization scum-"
John drew his pistol and fired three shots right at Leng's most likely position. He rolled right after doing so and scrambled under the elevated tail of the shuttle. Once he had gained a bit of cover he re-checked his pistol.
Three shots left.
Leng's voice was very amused. "I will admit, you were close. But not quite close enough, I'm afraid."
John aimed at the most likely source of the voice and fired twice more as he backed up along the side of the shuttle towards its nose.
One shot left.
"Again, not bad. But not quite accurate enough."
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John took a deep breath. This bastard must have a cloak similar to Kasumi's in order to keep himself so hidden. He had to draw Leng out; his only hope was that Leng was enough of a grandstanding asshole that he'd go for the bait.
With great deliberateness, John held his gun out to one side to make sure Leng could see it, then threw it away with a flick of the wrist. He used the big, obvious movement to obscure the other, smaller movement with his other hand as he plucked something out of his lapel pocket, an implement which he'd taken from Hock's vault. He gripped that other object tight in his left hand as Leng's voice sounded out again.
"What's this? No more shots? Such a pity."
John finally decided to speak. "Pity you're not more of a man to show yourself."
A delighted laugh echoed in the trees around them. "Are you really trying such an obvious ploy? I suppose it's all you have left. But never let it be said that I'm unsportsmanlike."
There was a flicker at the other end of the shuttle as Kai Leng shimmered into visibility. He held a pistol of his own. Leng held it out to his side in an exaggerated fashion to show John that there was no clip within it. The Cerberus agent tossed it aside in the same general direction that John had thrown his gun.
Leng had ditched the gray suit he'd worn while confronting John at the party. Now he was dressed in black-and-gray armor that looked oddly flashy to John's eyes. He'd also donned a pair of high-tech sunglasses with white slits where his eyes should be.
"I see you don't have a weapon," said Leng in a hissing tone. He reached behind him and drew a meter-length katana from his back. Leng held the blade in front of him as he moved in a slight crouch towards John. "Too bad for you. At least I got to know your first name before I killed you."
John said nothing.
Leng smiled. "I've got an extra sword. I'll sell it to you for one of those fancy gold coins of yours."
John stood straight like a black-clad scarecrow next to the downed shuttle. Hidden in his left hand was the object which he'd taken from Hock's vault. He gave his Smile Number One at the cybernetic ninja bearing down on him.
Smile Number One was the one that said Your Ass Is Mine.
"I'm good, thanks," said John Wick as he gripped his purloined pencil tighter.
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Shepard peeked around the edge of the shuttle at the hovering wasp-like shape of the gunship. "I'm open to options, people," he said. They'd put down in a clearing in order to avoid the fate of Garrus' shuttle. The gunship had been right on their ass the whole time, and now hovered over the clearing.
All of them were now using the shuttle as improvised cover. Cammy
Hock's amplified voice boomed out over them. "If you have the graybox, bring it out now. I'm giving you two minutes before I open fire."
Persephone checked her pistol. It was a useless maneuver, but she knew it would help calm her. "We've got no heavy weapons. Nothing that will dent that damn thing's armor."
Shepard growled. "This is the last time I go into combat with nothing but a damn pistol." He took another peek. "Okay. I'm the fastest one here, so I'll try to draw that bastard's fire while you all get away."
Mackie's face was set in a furious scowl. "Fuck that. We've got plenty of energy available, we just need to figure out how to deliver it."
Shepard's blue eyes met Mackie's. "You thinking of hotwiring a couple of pistols?"
Mackie nodded as he gave Shepard a puzzled look in return. "How did you know about that?"
"I'm pretty well versed when it comes to blowing shit up."
"Got it," replied Mackie. Then he shook his head. "But that's only half of what we need. We still can't get near that damn gunship."
"I can do that," said Kasumi.
Mackie gave her a raised eyebrow in response, then shrugged. "Okay, ya beautiful bastards, gimme a couple of pistols."
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Garrus unholstered his pistol while he limped up towards the shuttle's side door. They'd heard enough of the exchange outside to know that John was in trouble.
"Don't do it," said Bast as he reached for the handle. "Leng would just chuck a grenade in here. John will be okay."
The turian growled. "The spirits you say. He's got no ammunition! How can he have a chance?"
Bast bared her teeth in reply, showing a bloody rictus. "Mr. Leng is about to meet Baba Yaga."
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Kai Leng skated closer to the black-clad figure of John 'Winston', or whatever his real name was. The Cerberus operative kept his sword-point aimed at the man's chest. Leng was curious about this lackey. It was clear that John was very high ranking within the Organization, but what was he truly capable of? Leng hoped that this fight would be a sufficient challenge. It would be a pity to find out that the mysterious figure he'd been chasing for so long was nothing more than a common thug.
He feinted a high downward strike at John's head. The man didn't take the bait, and instead barreled forward under Leng's attack so that he could ram his shoulder into Leng's chest. Leng got his other hand down to intercept the knife-strike that was certainly coming...
But there was no such strike. Instead John shoved him back with unexpected force. The man had clearly been given the usual Alliance military upgrades when it came to sheer physical strength. Leng kept hold of his katana, of course, and backpedaled while keeping his sword in front as a warding-off threat.
"Hmm...nice," he said aloud. "You've been trained, that's for sure. That will make this a lot more fun."
John didn't reply. He stood with his fists raised like a boxer.
"Old school, eh?" said Leng. "Okay. I can work with that..."
His next strike was a fast, deadly slash towards the man's right side. Leng knew what would happen next. The man would dodge backwards, giving Leng an opening to cut at the man's legs. Once he'd hamstrung the bastard, John would be helpless...
John didn't dodge.
Instead, he blocked the sword with his right forearm. The monomolecular edge of Leng's katana cut through the cloth of John's suit, then right through the armor underneath. It sliced deep into John's forearm, passing easily through mere flesh and tendon.
But Leng's sword didn't keep cutting, however. The ultra-sharp edge dug into John's arm-bone with a metallic squeak. The Cerberus operative had time for a moment of confusion. Given his augmented strength, the katana should have completely sheared through John's arm...
John made a quick, efficient strike with his left hand towards Leng's unarmored wrist. Leng felt a quite amazing explosion of pain in that wrist, and he grunted in agony as his grip on the katata loosened. John twisted his body to the right with inhuman strength, and the katana stuck deep into his arm went with that twist. Leng felt the handle slip from his hands and saw his weapon go spinning off into the brush.
Leng instinctively held up his left to keep John at bay while reaching behind him for his other sword. He saw a neat hole punched into his forward wrist, and he could also see that John held something in his left fist like an ice-pick. Whatever it was dripped red with Leng's blood.
John moved like smoke, flowing around Leng's block as if it wasn't there. He flipped the implement in his hand around as he struck forward towards Leng's throat. Its tip punched into Leng's larynx, and the operative gagged as his right hand fumbled for his sword's handle. He had to act fast before...
John drew his left hand back, leaving the pencil stuck tip-first in Leng's flesh. He hammered his palm forward in a massive blow that punched the pencil right through Kai Leng's throat.
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The gunship's main cannon emitted a rude noise like the world's biggest fart. However, there was nothing funny in the line of plowed earth which suddenly erupted in front of the shuttle. On the other side of the shuttle, Mackie was asking himself for the millionth time how he'd gotten roped into this whole mess.
"Thirty seconds," Hock called out.
Mackie handed a taped-up pair of guns to Kasumi. "Pull one trigger, then the other. Then make sure you get the hell away within twenty seconds. The timing on this thing isn't really exact."
The thief nodded as she handed Mackie the graybox. "Just make sure he doesn't actually get his hands on it."
"We will," said Shepard.
Kasumi nodded her thanks before vanishing into thin air.
"I'm the most armored," said Shepard. "I'll go out as the distraction."
Mackie took a deep breath. Well, if he died in the next few minutes at least he and Nathan had enjoyed a little bit of time together. And if he lived through this he was going to marry that sexy-smart analyst and spoil him rotten.
"Nah, it should be me," said Mackie. "Personal armor or shields aren't gonnna do much against that cannon. And he might shoot you, since you killed a lot of his guards. I'm just some random jabroni."
"I don't like it," said Persephone. "We should just wait for Kasumi."
"Ten seconds!" Hock's amplified voice still sounded surprisingly calm.
Mackie held out the graybox in front of him as he walked around the edge of the shuttle.
"Good," said Hock as he caught sight of Mackie and his offering. "Walk into the center of the clearing, keep both hands on that graybox."
Mackie could just make out the form of Hock behind the tinted canopy of the gunship. The man's face was set in a furious sneer that belied his relatively calm voice.
As the fixer reached the center of the clearing, Hock called out again.
"Stand there. The rest of you come out as well or I'll shoot a missile into the shuttle."
Mackie didn't look behind him as he stood still. He saw Hock's face become calmer; the other must be doing as told.
"This is nice," said Hock. "I have my graybox back and I have Shepard. Maybe you'll be valuable enough to make up for what you've cost me, eh?"
Shepard's voice sounded from behind him. "Fly away now and I'll let you live."
Hock's laugh boomed through the forest. "Really? I have to admire your bravery, if not your common sense..."
The gunship dipped lower. Hock squinted through the canopy. Mackie looked backwards and saw that the others were strung out in a line behind him. Cammy was leaning on Shepard, but her face was just as determined as the others.
Hock's voice got a nasty edge to it. "Well, well. Ms. Murali is also with your little gang? You're unarmored, which means you'll make quite the lovely explosion of blood when I shoot you. What do you say to that, my traitorous asari?"
"Swivel on this, you sadistic prick," replied Persephone as she stuck up her middle finger.
Hock smiled as his finger tightened on the trigger of his control stick...
A nearby tree rustled, and Mackie could just make out a heat-shimmer blur in the air which leaped off of a branch and thumped solidly into the gunship's canopy. The vehicle's nose slewed downward as its main cannon farted out another spray of gunfire. Mackie dove out of the line of fire, and as he tumbled he saw Shepard throw his body in front of Persephone.
Kasumi shimmered back into visibility just long enough to slap a taped-up package onto The vehicle's canopy. She gave a truly evil grin and tossed Donovan Hock an ironic salute before flipping backwards off of the gunship in a smooth, graceful manuever. Mackie lay on the ground, staring up in wonder as Kasumi's lithe and cat-suited form arced over him.
If he had been into girls, this would have counted as the sexiest damn thing he'd ever seen.
Then he remembered the package and rolled so that he was face-down in the turf with his arms over his head. There was a quite amazingly loud noise as their makeshift bomb went off and turned the cockpit of the gunship into a tangle of metal, glass, and mangled flesh.
That was followed by an even larger explosion as Hock's gunship pancaked into the clearing scant feet from Mackie.
He cautiously picked his head up, then felt all down his body. "Okay, okay," he muttered to himself. "Still in one piece." He rolled over and looked behind him.
Cammy sat on the ground as she held her again-injured leg. She'd taken a tumble when Shepard had done his human-shield action. Persephone hovered over the prone Spectre, and Mackie could see a spreading red stain on the man's side.
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Karin Chakwas sighed as she probed the wound on Shepard's bare torso. There had been a lot of running about and yelling for a while, but now the Normandy's medbay was finally a place of peace and quiet once again. The only ones left were herself and the injured from the Hock operation.
"Jeez, doc!" gasped Shepard. "Easy, there."
She rolled her eyes. "Honestly. Here you are, a big strong N7 commando and you're acting like such a baby." She tossed her head towards John Wick, who sat nearby with a small smile on his face. The assassin had his right arm completely covered in a sleeve filled with medi-gel and other healing nanomachines. "This one here nearly got his arm cut off. You don't see him complaining, do you?"
"Yeah, and I got shot!" said Cammy from a nearby bed.
Bast said nothing, she just smiled. The operative's arm and neck were covered in a cast, but she looked otherwise healthy.
"Guess a broken foot is small potatoes anymore," added Garrus.
Dr. Chakwas gave them all her best 'Doctor in Charge' glare. "Enough from the peanut gallery." She bent over to examine the long, nasty gash in Shepard's side. "This was a gunship cannon?"
The Spectre grimaced as she began to apply staples to his side. "Yeah. Just a ricochet off of the ground, but it was still enough to go through the suit's armor." He looked over at Wick. "Too bad. I really liked that suit."
Wick shrugged. "I can always get you another one, free of charge. I owe you a lot. If that round had hit Persephone she'd be dead."
"Ehh, it was nothing," said Shepard casually. "It was my own damn fault for not chasing after Hock back at his compound."
John shook his head. "Not a good idea. Leng was working with him, and he had a cloak just as good as Kasumi's. He'd have ambushed us."
Shepard gave another hiss of pain as the last staple went in. Dr. Chakwas applied a thick bandage on his side and patted his shoulder.
"Now just lie there for a while. Baby."
"Harridan," replied Shepard, and the two of them smiled at a private joke between them. The Spectre relaxed with a sigh. "Yeah, you're right, Wick. I'm definitely glad that bastard Leng is out of the picture."
Cammy nodded. "You and me both, buddy." She peered at John Wick. "I heard you took him out hand-to-hand."
John nodded.
The turian pilot gave a big and very fanged smile. "Nice. That's a little bit of poetic justice for what he did to Mackie. You use a knife?"
"Pencil."
Everybody else in the medbay stared for a moment at John Wick. The silence was interrupted by the hissing of the medbay door which was quickly followed by the sound of a charging varren as Errol came bounding into the room. He was followed close behind by Gabby.
"I'm so sorry, he wouldn't stay put!" said the engineer. The varren let out a happy roar and bowled John Wick right off of his stool. John let out a pained gasp as the air was driven from his lungs thanks to Errol's weight on top of him. The big varren gave a plaintive 'wirfl?' into John's face. The assassin patted the beast's fanged snout.
"I'm okay, buddy. It'll all be okay now."