- Well, perhaps there’s a silver lining to your showing off. - Tom’s voice once again sounded out in Dirk’s earpiece. - The extra ammo will come in handy in the next part.
- Awaiting further directions.
- Make sure to stick to them this time, yeah? - Tom quipped back sarcastically.
- Yes, sir. - Dirk answered in a proper soldierly fashion, not letting any emotion slip through.
- Firstly, look up. What do you see?
He did as he was told and saw a plume of red smoke rise over the city skyline somewhere off in the distance.
- This is your rendezvous point. Your next objective is to reach it with the retrieved cargo intact, while either avoiding or neutralizing enemy partisan cells on your way there. You’ll have half an hour. Going beyond this limit will count as automatic failure and grounds for immediate dismissal of your application.
“Thirty minutes…” - Dirk thought deeply about that number. “It’s hard to tell from this angle, but it’ll probably be a crunch to get there on foot within that limit.”
- For the purposes of this trial the AO is considered an active warzone, so civilian casualties and damage to the infrastructure are considered acceptable, within reason of course. - Tom explained carefully in a professional tone, but spoke in a hushed voice next, his communicator crackling a bit as if struck by interference. - There are hidden objectives spread along the way. Look out for them. - his voice then returned to normal as if nothing happened. - The enemy will have the numbers on you, so use your ammo sparingly. Not that I suspect you will have a problem with that. Oh, and you can use whatever weapon you have on hand. - he mocked in a rather friendly manner.
Dirk looked towards Jason, now still as a rock. He was probably embarrassed about his outburst, but didn’t show it one way or the other. He seemed ready, though, already warmed up for the next part by the little scuffle on the rooftop, his muscles brimming with latent energy.
- Just so we’re clear, the trial starts here and now. No cheating.
- Roger that, Chernobog on the move. - Dirk confirmed and with a nod to Jason equipped his Ouroboros pistol, getting a firm grip on the suitcase in his other hand.
- So I guess that’s where we split. - the mannequin whispered, Prusk apparently still listening in to the conversation. - Good luck old man, keeping my fingers crossed.
Old-dog smiled, but every little muscle in his face screamed how fake the notion was. She wouldn’t be able to see it, thankfully, but he was indeed hurting deep inside. He felt a pang in his Ego - The one organ in his body that only grew stronger with age.
He really thought of himself as different, as someone who not so long ago gave up all hope, self-esteem and desire for change. Then those close to him pulled him back up from beneath the muck.
Might have pulled him a bit too high up, elevating the old “Ares” more than he deserved. So even if it hurt like a motherfucker, what Tom did was earned.
Or at least that’s what people in his situation should think, alongside reflecting on their actions.
Dirk frowned, Ego swelling.
He wasn’t a nobody schmuck that should follow orders like a blind calf. He led this country’s best swords once upon a time for crying out loud!
“You may be a nice fellow, Tom, helping me on the side.” - Dirk thought, leaving the premises of the high school in a hurried sprint. - “Still, Have fun, my ass. Quite corporate of you to have your own bingo card under the table, grading how I use my ‘freedom of choice’. I’ll play your game regardless.”
Unknowingly to himself and Junior Executive alike, limitations awoke something that lay dormant within the “retired war god”.
“I’ll ace it to boot.” - a competitive streak pulled at his heart, one that he hadn’t felt since boot camp, which made him smile. - “Hope your feed leads back to your superiors”.
Jason was the only one who saw that and that image, once more, made his morale skyrocket beyond the artificial dome under which Ouroboros facility resided.
Ever since their exodus started, the man that saved him all those years ago was slowly emerging from a damp cocoon. His self-confidence, the vigor in each step, the dexterity with which weapons performed in the old soldier’s hand.
All of it made Jason the happiest he had ever been.
More than any relationship, apartment or stable employment… This! All this was the missing piece! Like a childish fantasy coming true.
Him and his hero, fighting together.
As the reinvigorated duo ran across the streets, with spark and purpose carrying them along, mannequins rummaging through the streets suddenly froze. Few of them resumed their march as before, but those that didn’t…
- Tom, you crafty bastard. - veteran responded appropriately, seeing at least a dozen automatons bee-lining towards them in a mad dash.
Argonaut growled, ready to scrap, but this many enemies wouldn’t pose much of a threat to the old man.
Dirk simply grabbed the handgun with both hands, taking point, moved it close to his face and started firing. Two shots per every mannequin, a “double tap” as they called it in movies. He first hit the lower joints to incapacitate the targets, then finished them off with an easy headshot.
Before the magazine emptied, all the machines-turned-bloodthirsty already littered the pavement, reduced to scrap. The fight ended before it even began, and with their momentum conserved, the duo took a hard right into a nearby overpass.
It was crowded with mannequins who despite the commotion continued carrying out their pre-programmed civilian mimicry routines. Probably Tom’s desire to see how well Chernobog would fare in places without freedom of movement, unlike the third floor of high school.
- Argonaut, ice-breaker! - Dirk announced while pressing a button on the magnetic leash.
Responding to the enigmatic request, the regenerator growled, taking charge.
Now with their positions swapped, the hulking man in front curled his arms close, leaned forward, and proceeded to ram all the mannequins in his way.
Like bowling pins, they fell to the sides, some over the railing and down into the busy road below. Cars zooming by would take care of those. Most, however, were trampled by Argonaut, who cut through their ranks like a knife through butter.
Thanks to Jason’s unstoppable charge, they were out and on their way in less than two minutes, but their record tempo afforded them a mere glance at their new surroundings before another onslaught began. It seemed like their examiner didn’t have any problems with matching the pair's reckless tempo.
Something flashed in the distance.
In one explosive motion, Argonaut stomped his foot into the ground, stopping himself in place, then immediately dashed back to Dirk, covering his silhouette with his own body, intercepting a hail of bullets right into his own back
“Four shooters, three o’clock.” - Chernobog ensured himself of what he managed to absorb in the split-second before the barrage. - “Automatic weaponry, subpar accuracy and penetration at this range.”
The identified quartet occupied a nearby rooftop, spraying and praying in Dirk’s general direction. By sound alone, the old veteran quickly realized, however, that this group differed from all the others thus far. While his previous opponents acted rather unorganized, merely trying to overwhelm him with firepower, those four displayed an unexpected amount of coordination. They fired interchangeably and never all at once, turning what could have been just a simple suppressive fire into a gapless, endless stream of lead by covering each other's reloads.
Either their directives got updated, or somebody was meticulously pulling their strings now.
Most other candidates would have probably fallen victim to this ambush, with no good cover in sight, but for Chernobog and Argonaut as his bulwark, it was almost hand-crafted to be passed.
“Throwing another freebie my way? Tom, you’re way too nice for your line of work.” - the soldier sneered, grabbing the DMR and planting it under Jason's armpit.
Using the regenerator's forearm as a bipod and the reft of the limb as an impregnable meat-shield, he peered over his bulging shoulder. Bullets whizzed by, but Jason proved an impregnable wall. Without him, Dirk couldn’t have aimed as long as he did.
If one could even call it aiming.
Due to his rifle being much lower than usual, he had to almost fire a weapon built for precision from the hip, with the only aiming apparatus to aid him being his trained eyes. Moments like those made him feel a bit old, missing how much better his vision used to be just a couple of years ago. Nevertheless, the retiree emptied his lungs, stabilized the rifle and pulled the trigger.
Not once.
But six times in quick succession, as if firing an old-timey revolver.
The first two, one after another, missed, but landed close enough for Dirk to adjust his aim little by little. Once he really got a feel for the trajectory of the bullets, calibrating it was pretty easy.
The shootout at high noon was over, and Dirk was the victor..
- A few years ago four shots would have been enough. - Dirk grouched a bit. - Aging sure is–
Complaining earned him a kick to the ankle from Jason. As his muscles spasmed involuntarily from the impact, he sucked some air through his teeth, barely stopping himself from snapping at Jason as he usually did, but bit his tongue. There were too many eyes watching them, he could feel. He’d give the boy an earful later, but for now he’d have to stick to the script
.
“I’ll get back on ya for this, just you wait.” - He promised in his mind, while regaining their previous tempo.
- Good pace, weapons and gentlemen. - the long-time-not-heard voice of the one behind the trial reached Chernobog’s earpiece. - Magnificent job on noticing and taking care of a single side-objective. Your wit allowed you to obtain bonus points during the final evaluation. - he announced with all too much flair.
Dirk let the mockery slide, remembering what is exactly expected of him.
- Roger that. - the soldier said, as the soldier should.
- I am here to inform you that you are making very good progress, 31% of the path towards the objective has been left in the dust. Think you can keep it up?
- Sir, yes, sir. - the veteran responded, downing another automaton with a quick handgun flick.
- Splendid. The board of directors is watching your progress quite attentively, as you are the only one currently left in the city.
That offhand comment made Dirk’s blood run cold.
“There is no one else left in this house of cards? Not a single soul taking tests?
Nobody to keep the robots occupied?” - his mind went into overdrive.
- Looking at your heart rate monitor, you caught on quickly. - Tom’s grin was audible.
But Chernobog kept on running with Argonaut in tow, not sparing a single glance behind him. After all, there was no need to. Dirk’s worries born of the Junior Executive’s words made themselves manifest right in front of him.
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
The sea of mannequins, previously benign, now stood frozen in time, their bodies stiff as stone. The only moving heads were their heads, as they followed the two men with their cold gazes.Every single move, they watched.
- The previous mishandling of your test has been rectified. - the white-collar worker continued. - You are indeed an excellent shot when you put your mind to it. Ouroboros medical company applauds your impeccable skills…
All the mannequins assumed default poses and turned towards the pair.
- Now show us their full extent.
The last thing Dirk could hear, before all hell broke loose, was the blip of his connection to Tom cutting off.
- Argonaut, “paragon”!
That command carried little substance, but it gave Jason an excuse to act in a more complex way than a simple, mindless bodyguard. With the reins released, Dirk acted first. He spun around quickly, but with great precision, hitting the nearest mannequin with the edge of the case, its universally most durable part, to cause the most damage. As he ended in a full crouch, this seemingly pointless flourish was accompanied by four shots, each downing a single target. What was once a battle of wits and positioning had now devolved into a full-blown close-quarter brawl.
But this scenario hardly intimidated the duo. Dirk’s precision and his weapon’s penetrating power grew exponentially with each step the mannequins took his way, and any enemy that entered Jason’s immediate striking range would soon feel the destructive power of his strikes.
A deafening roar filled the fake city streets as the giant slaughtered everything in a large radius around him, unafraid of striking his “master”, who ducked below the cyclone of doom that were now his arms.
Every single spot across the regenerator’s bulked-up arms wrought destruction upon the endless tide of machines - his claws tore gashes in their metal chassis, his open palms mauled like mallets, his fore-arms batted them across the street like simple baseballs.
With pure force and momentum, the two men cleared their clinching range, giving themselves a few seconds to move up a priceless meter or two.
But the thoughtless machines kept pouring out like water from a faucet.
As Argonaut swung with wild abandon, Chernobog flexed his leg muscles and kept following him, crouched low, yet somehow keeping up. Whenever a stray robot snuck through the big fellow’s defenses, it was Dirk who was his lifeline, dispatching hostiles with precise shooting.
Soon they managed to grasp a good rhythm. Swing after swing, shot after shot, they started to pick up the tempo. Mannequins crashed into nearby buildings and empty mags clacked on the pavement, like instruments of war playing a symphony of carnage.
If Dirk wasn’t as focused as he was, maybe he would have caught the few moments when his earpiece crackled to life, Tom Holder on the line, present, but silent, struggling to find the right words to describe the absolute devastation he saw through the cameras. The only sound he could make was his barely stifled laughter of disbelief. He didn’t feel that excited over anything in years.
Tom would never admit it, but if any of his superiors were to start a betting pool over this hecatomb taking place in their facility, Tom would go all-in on Chernobog and his human weapon right then and there.
But with soaring highs came crushing lows, the junior executive realized as he gazed over to another monitor.
In one of the back alleys, a side objective just popped up. It shouldn’t have been surprising, as the man set them up himself, and yet it crept up on him like the evening sky after hours of playing.
A group of slightly larger mannequins with a faint, pale glow waited off in the distance, just barely differing from the crowd, busy with acting out their roles as high-value targets. They stood out, but just barely, and that’s what worried Tom as he bit his lip.
He had to be just subtle enough when setting them up to not tip off his superiors, and that subtlety was just about to bite Chernobog in the ass. After all, there was no way that the soldier would be able to see the objective in his zen-like state of death-dealing fury.
Tom crammed in as many bonus points as he could into the trial, but they just barely made up for Chernobog’s penalties from the previous trial. Missing just one would mean failure for the mercenary… And a missed recruitment quota for Holder.
“Shit, I am sorry, guys.” - the Junior Human Resources Acquisition manager thought with disappointment. So much potential was about to be wasted, not to mention the pay cut that was about to hit him.
But just as the Ouroboros employee had fallen into the pit of despair, he was yanked right out of it by the sight of the target losing half of its body in a flash.
- W-what? - he couldn’t believe his eyes.
With incredible urgency, Tom zoomed in back to the duo, and saw the giant human weapon, whose body was glowing gold like a Christmas tree, holding a large stop sign by its very end, it’s head bent and covered in mechanical lubricant from his latest high-value victims.
“But Argonaut’s supposed to be a dumb weapon! How did it-”
The realization came to him suddenly, like a flick to the nose.
Instinct.
Pure combat instinct.
It was the same thing that turned Chernobog into a spinning whirlwind of bullets. As the giant swung its improvised battleaxe, automatons fell in droves, making the Ouroboros repair bill skyrocket to new heights.
Still, at this point it didn’t even matter. The display of sheer battle prowess before Holder was something priceless. Truly unbelievable.
It was yet another golden egg that City-24 had laid for Ouroboros during this turn of recruitment. A walking proof that the campaign was well worth the money, even if Ouroboros had to spin lies upon lies about the virus and their fake vaccines to get the ball rolling in the Imperial lands.
Every other side objective that appeared was quickly obliterated by Cheronobog’s impeccable sniping skills and Argonaut’s unmatched strength. Finding refuge under the umbrella of his bioweapon’s ax swings, the old soldier could aim in peace and fire at every odd-looking automaton that appeared tens, even hundreds of steps away. Or at least he did, until something finally stuttered in their well-oiled war machine.
The weakest link broke at last.
The stop sign.
Swung around with so much force, crashing and cleaving targets much tougher than it should be able to, it snapped, sending its mangled head into the air.
In that brief moment when Argonaut’s range got cut in half, the automatons flooded in, trying to repay the trespassers upon their manufactured kingdom for their cruelty.
A tide of metal crashed into them, reaching out for the crouched Chernobog with cold, uncaring hands. Things were looking grim.
A myriad of claws descended upon him like the talons of a hunting hawk, but he did not remain idle, dodging away by going even lower.
In the nick of time, he did a split in the middle of the street, throwing his DMR to the floor with one hand, and tossing something else from within his coat into the air with the other.
It was a pistol. An old looking handgun.
With blinding speed, the soldier-for-hire caught it midair, spun it and mag-dumped the small crowd that formed around them. Before their scrapped chassis could even fall to the floor, Argonaut adjusted. Now instead of an ax, the metal pole left over from the sign served the mountain of muscles as a wicked bat. Where he’d lost in range, he compensated in the speed of his swings, each strike a blurry mess of scrap and oil.
“That crazy gun-work… I think I’ve seen it before…” - Tom contemplated the aerie similarities. - “I think it was that Russian.”
As the parade of destruction continued, the Junior manager noticed that it was almost coming to its end. Their way of marching forth was so surreal that time passed for him faster than when watching any other applicant. The man and his bioweapon were perfectly in sync, covering each other’s weaknesses as if they’d been born to do it. Chernobog wouldn’t be able to break through without Argonaut’s strength, while Argonaut would be bogged down without Chernobog’s support. A perfect symbiosis to fight against the ticking clock.
An army of two.
It has been so many minutes since Dirk started this whole wordless combat of theirs. They had to focus, both of them, if they wanted to make it in time with all the possible odds stacked against them.
The Ouroboros-issued handgun ran out of ammo long ago and with Jason’s impromptu weapon being broken, Dirk no longer had the cover necessary to use the DMR in close quarters. All that was left was the Makarov he won off Misha.
But that little fella also had just a mag to spare. It wasn’t looking pretty. Not to mention the worst part. Dirk’s ragged breath.
The exercise provided by Diesel and the solo-operation in the school were comparable to a walk in the park, when juxtaposed against this marathon of slaughter.
“I’m gonna be so fucking sore after this.” - the old dog thought, while intercepting another swing from the automaton and breaking its neck with centrifugal force. - “Not to mention the cramps.”
He might have complained deep inside, but he didn’t even try to hide the wide smile on his face. Since it was just Holder watching, Dirk could let his feelings show a bit. No one would judge him for such childish behavior.
Even as sweat almost fell into his eyes and dampened his clothing, they were making progress in the most dire of circumstances, and that reminded him of the days of old.
But this march down the memory lane was just about to reach its crescendo as their objective appeared in sight.
The duo rounded a corner, and at last bore witness to the source of the red plume of smoke - a singular, large flare stuck into the empty plateau.
Or rather, it would be empty if not for the two imposing statues of the snakes eating their own tails, and the larger than usual automaton, almost rivaling Jason in bulk, with a large ballistic shield, standing between them and the flare. It seemed to be defending their extraction point, barring their entry.
Dirk could simply order Argonaut to hold the machine down, while he delivered the briefcase and put an end to this whole charade…
But that wouldn’t be very in the spirit of “the old days”.
Even if he were to get in line and behave like the bottom-feeding grunt he presented as around half an hour ago, there were some values he always adhered to, even in his boot-camp days.
Firstly - he’d get the job done, no matter the personal cost.
They left the other automatons slightly behind, so Dirk could easily grasp the DMR in both hands, throwing the briefcase to Jason, who intercepted it without issues.
Secondly - he’d achieve the objectives as cleanly as possible. Out of respect for those working to clean up his mess.
The automaton revved up, ready to tumble. It took a might step forward and-
Chernobog fired away from the machine, seemingly into the ether. A salvo flew through the air, then hit something behind the machine, then did so again and again with a metallic dink. After the third series and another dink, something struck the large machine straight in the side of its head. The ballistic shield slammed into the pavement with quite a ruckus, and the body soon followed.
Dirk wasn’t too sure at first about this whole maneuver. He didn’t play around with ricocheting bullets as much as Jess did, after all, but it seemed that her teachings from way back when stuck with him through the years.
- That was clean. - Jason whispered, breaking character.
- Thanks, I didn’t think it would work. - former soldier responded in the same volume.
- God of war at his finest.
- Oh, fuck off. - Dirk scoffed, just as the pillar of smoke from the flare started to fluctuate. - Back on Broadway yet again.
The younger man chuckled softly, before returning to his assigned role within their play.
Something moved within the red smoke, and what emerged was none other than the man of the hour, the engineer of their toil…
- On the behalf of Ouroboros medical company, I, Human Resources Acquisition manager Tom Holden, salute your skill and perseverance!
With those words, both men started approaching each other in a metered step.
- What happened to the “Junior” in front? - Chernobog asked, dropping the neat soldier's act as all the clamor caused by automatons ceased with Tom’s appearance.
- Let’s just say that my impeccable social skills were recognized and rewarded adequately. I also fed the right footage to the right people.
He extended his hand.
Without looking at it, the mercenary deposited a briefcase handle into it. They both smiled at each other.
- Congratulations on your promotion. - the soldier said, while shaking the bureaucrat’s other hand.
- Thank you. Congratulations on your employment. - Holder responded. - Would you consider grabbing a beer on the off-hours?
- No, thanks. I’m a recovering alcoholic.
Both men laughed, finally being able to speak honestly and aloud.