Six

Ask Me What The Sword Is For (Hint: It’s Obvious)

Or: “In Which We Meet Are Not Killed Yet By The Blood Templar.”

“I swear to fucking God, boss. She killed thirty men – some with that fucking sword, some with her bare fucking hands.”

Attributed to a member of a London mafia group shortly before Blood Templar murdered all seventy four people in the building.

Jackson Stark did not like to think of himself as being bad with women, in the same way that he did not like to think of himself as being a fucking genetically engineered freak, or how he did not like to close his eyes and still hear the saws whirring when there was nothing else in the room.

Not wanting to think about things was Jackson Stark’s modus operandi. It made life a lot easier. You didn’t get anywhere thinking too much, except back down the hole of thinking about the sound of your own heartbeat in your ears in the blackness -

Alright, calm down, he told himself. This is fine.

It wasn’t fine. He’d been getting Starfall vibes from this whole thing since the plane. They could dress it up however they liked – but it was Starfall.

It was all Starfall.

You never got away after all, he thought. He shook his head, trying to clear it of these negative thoughts. Unfortunately, thinking was all he could do.

“What’s wrong with you?” the woman with the sword said from next to him.

He looked at her. She, at least, made for a good distraction from his thoughts – up close, she was somehow much, much hotter than his initial examination. Her head was shaved apart from the topknot, but it suited the shape of her head. Her body was muscular and lean. She was strong – openly strong, instead of the play-pretend he remembered from the needles, all the fucking needles -

Stop it, Stark.

She had her sword on the chair next to her, one hand clenched around its hilt. Her voice – not as gruff when she was being quiet, but still low and gravelly – was entirely unlike the cloying, sickly sweet, pathetic -

Fucking stop it, Stark.

She was entirely unlike any woman he had known before. in SIN. Maybe that was why he was noticing how attractive she was – because she was entirely different from anyone else.

“I’m fine,” he said. He smiled at her. “Jackson Stark.”

“I know,” the woman replied. After a moment she sighed. “Blood Templar.”

“Cruel parents or LARP gone wrong?” Stark asked. He winced at her flat, unimpressed look. “Sorry. I’m told I’m too mouthy.”

“I wonder why,” Blood Templar said.

“Good afternoon,” the man at the podium began before Stark could say anything.

Something about him rubbed Stark the wrong way. The uniform didn’t help – black with white epaulettes, brass buttons, a high-collar that looked straight out of Spy Movie Villain 101… and what had he said his name was?

Captain Romero? Something like that. Fucking Starfall suit, I just bet.

“I hope you all had a pleasant flight in,” Romero said to them all.

“Not really,” Stark called out, blase. “And no one’s offered us a coffee!”

He winked at Blood Templar, but she was ignoring him. Not that he was surprised – getting ignored by the fairer sex was half his experience.

The other half being prodded by needles by the small, dainty scientist types they sent in so I’d be docile. He shook his head. Damn, I’m really stuck there today.

“Well, I’m so sorry,” Romero said evenly. He looked amused rather than irritated, which sort of took the fun out of taking the piss out of him. “We’ll see to that after the briefing.”

Stark said nothing, instead sitting back in his chair.

“For those of you who don’t know,” Romero continued, “you’ve been brought together to become what we call ‘Team Omega’.”

Stark frowned. He had heard the term bandied about a few times, but he hadn’t been given a real explanation.

“You may be familiar with the ‘superheroes’ that have been popping into the public eye in the last ten years or so,” Romero explained. “Some of you may have even encountered them. I know Mr Stark, and Mr Nerve, you’ve both encountered ‘Reflex’ – that is, Mr Daniel Spalding.”

Stark rolled his eyes. Yeah, if by ‘encountered’ you mean he punched me in the face.

“Our organisation, Earth’s Supernatural Protection, is dedicated to protecting the people of the world from paranormal threats,” Romero continued. “To that end, ‘Team Omega’ is a group of enhanced individuals – for want of a more colourful term – that we assembled in ‘31 to deal with… issues. The initial team proved the concept worked.” He paused. “However, certain setbacks meant that the team was disbanded shortly after the initial mission.”

Next to Stark, Blood Templar snorted. He glanced at her – there was something in her expression that told him that she knew exactly what had happened in ‘31 that caused ‘certain setbacks’. Though he had a pretty good idea himself, judging by the corpo speak Romero was using.

The Captain hadn’t stopped speaking. “Given the war, my superiors have decided to revisit ‘Team Omega’. Some of you were part of the first team.” Blood Templar must have been one of them, given her reaction. “Some of you are new recruits with extraordinary abilities that we desperately need. The missions you will go on are dangerous, but if you succeed, you will help us win the war.”

Nice speech, Stark thought. Wonder how much fine print there is.

Romero tapped a button on his podium, and the projector activated. It showed a map of a small town.

“Your mission is pretty straightforward,” the Captain said. “This is a town called Stormhall in the state of Florida. Small place, built around a couple of villages, and best known for being the location for a Starfall Innovation National research building.”

Something in Stark’s ears buzzed. Starfall. They want me to go to fucking Starfall.

Romero kept talking, no doubt wittering on about the details of the mission that he wanted to send them all on. It didn’t matter, though; Stark’s ears were buzzing so hard that Romero might as well have been speaking Dutch.

He felt a poke on his shoulder. Blood Templar was scowling at him.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

“Pay attention, idiot,” she hissed.

Stark nodded. He forced his concentration back to the here and now as best he could, and focused on what Romero was saying.

“There’s an… we’ll call him ‘an asset’. He’s stuck in one of those research buildings, and the enemy recently landed a division of Union Guard there in hopes of securing themselves a foothold and getting their hands on that research.”

Stark scowled. Aeclisse with SIN research. It was a terrifying thought – what might those lunatics manage to accomplish?

Romero carried on explaining. He talked about the ESP troops supposedly on the ground already, then talked about their mission.

“Your team, led by Agent Clark, will locate the asset, terminate any high-ranking targets of opportunity you happen to run into, extract yourselves and the asset alive, and return to base for the ‘you didn’t die’ party.” Romero looked inordinately impressed with himself for explaining it all. “Any questions?”

Yeah; can you just shoot me now and save me the fucking trouble? Stark thought, but he bit his tongue.

Clark raised her hand. Outside of the (somewhat infuriating) context of her aiming a gun at his head, she looked very the picture of cold seriousness. He must have seen a dozen women just like her as part of the guards at Starfall.

Must have killed all of them when I escaped

No. We’re not thinking about that.

“Sergeant Clark, isn’t it?” Romero asked.

“Yes, sir,” Clark said stiffly. “When you say ‘esoteric agents’, do you have any specifics?”

Oh for God’s sake, who gives a shit? Stark thought as Romero answered. He didn’t bother paying attention to the answer. It wouldn’t matter anyway.

When Romero finished speaking, Blood Templar raised a hand. Stark gave her a sidelong glance – she looked just as serious as she had before.

“So our job’s to kill anything between us and this target?” she asked.

“And get him out alive,” Romero added. “We can’t have him being killed.”

“Gotcha.” She snorted. “Child’s play.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Romero said, nodding. “Any other questions?”

Stark sighed. He felt stupid, but he had to at least make an effort with this shit, didn’t he? He raised a hand.

Romero pointed at him. “Mr Stark, yes?”

“Who exactly is this ‘asset’ we’re meant to be getting?” Stark asked. Romero gave him a confused frown, and Stark scowled. “If we’re going into a SIN building, I kinda want to know who we’re doing that for.”

“I imagine you would,” Romero replied evenly, his expression not changing.

“Some of us have shit with SIN,” Stark continued. He could feel his temper rising. “I’d rather die than go anywhere near them again.”

He could feel Blood Templar staring at him, her expression unreadable – probably annoyed. But at this moment he found, to his own surprise, that he didn’t give a flying shit. He hadn’t realised until he was here, now, listening to this prick talk about Starfall like the things they’d done didn’t matter… that he was still angry.

“If you’d rather die,” Romero said, his expression still a small frown, “that can easily be arranged.”

Stark blinked. Romero’s expression was still stoney, but something in it reminded him of the scientists who’d come into his room, talking in cold voices about the changes his body was undergoing, about how he was going to become faster… stronger…

I really am right back where I fucking started.

He felt his resolve crumble into nothing, and he swallowed whatever clever retort he had been about to make.

Then the elf-woman with the purple skin laughed, the sound not unlike an electronic plushy being strangled on low battery.

“You have not changed, Romero,” she cackled. “I think I shall enjoy being a member of this group once more.”

Romero chuckled. “Well, that’s something at least, Ms Silverhand. Good to be working with you again.”

Stark looked away and crossed his arms.

Nice to know everyone’s so fucking chummy, he thought.

***

The rest of the briefing was the exact same shit. People asking stupid questions, people asking boring questions, people asking boring and stupid questions… Stark didn’t pay attention to it.

If he was being honest with himself, he had always known that he was going to get found eventually. Starfall hadn’t let him go easy the first time. Well, that was a lie – Starfall hadn’t let him go at all, he’d had to shoot his way out. Small wonder, then, that he’d ended up back in government hands. Smaller wonder that the first thing that was going to happen was that he was going to be sent right back to Starfall to rot.

After a few more questions, Romero dismissed them all. Clark immediately got her squad of thugs to surround Stark and the others, and they were bustled out of the briefing room with very little fanfare.

“This is all scheisse,” the guy in the black coat said. Was that a German accent?

“It’s fucking crazy,” Stark said, more to say something than to agree with the man.

“Ja,” the German said. “It is certainly not a mission I would have chosen.”

Stark snorted. “I would have chosen to stay at home and fucking sleep.”

“Ha. Noob,” the thing that looked suspiciously like a cave troll from one of those dumb fantasy movies said in its gruff voice.

Stark rolled his eyes. He glanced to his left – Blood Templar was there, her sword slung on her back. He moved closer to her as they walked.

“So, uh, I was wondering -” he began.

“Don’t,” she said. “Not a word.”

Stark blinked. “But -”

“Ask me what the sword’s for,” she said, jabbing her thumb at it. “Hint; it’s obvious. And I’ll be happy to demonstrate if you don’t back off.”

Stark held up both hands with a weak smile and moved away from her.

Yeah, that’s about as well as I could have expected that to go, he thought. Still, he couldn’t help but admire her – even when shooting him down, she was effortless, sharp, cool. He smiled and put his hands back in his trenchcoat pockets, but the smile faded as they reached the door labelled ‘Male Barracks’. She was cool and sexy, and she wanted precisely fuck and all to do with him.

Yeah, he thought. Figures. At least she’s honest, though. Better than most of these fucks.

One of Clark’s goons opened the door and ushered Stark and the other men into the room. Stark took in the dull white wallpaper, metal beds with crap mattresses, bare-bones bed tables and the barred windows, and let out a hissing sigh.

So much fucking Starfall vibe, he thought.

He turned to look at the door – only for it to be closed in his face. After a moment, there was an audible click.

There was a moment of silence, then the German man spoke. “So, they will have locked that door, ja?”

“Probably. No sense taking chances with people like us.” This came from the bulky man in the black combat suit that Stark had been talking to on the plane. He remembered someone – Clark, probably – saying that the guy had been called Nerve.

One of Starfall’s, Stark thought. Like me.

He had moved to sit on one of the beds, and looked at Stark with a thoughtful expression.

“Starfall?” he asked.

Stark nodded. “Uh… Bounder. Gen Fourteen. Finished ‘29.”

“Nerve, Gen Thirteen. Finished ‘28.” The other man was frowning. “They said you picked a name?”

“Jackson Stark.” There was an awkward pause, and Stark chuckled. “I, uh… thought it sounded cool.”

“You are both Starfall supersoldiers?” the German man asked.

“Yeah,” Nerve said. He frowned. “That’s why you were asking.”

“Yeah,” Stark said.

Nerve nodded slowly. “I don’t blame you.”

There was a tense pause, before the German man coughed.

“Johan Steiner,” he said. “They call me ‘der Hexenmeister’ back home, but in Englisch I’m told the best word to use would be ‘Warlock’.” He chuckled. “It is, at the least, a touch shorter.”

“You a magician?” the cave troll said. “Wanna magic us up a beer?”

Steiner chuckled. “I will do so, if you give me your name.”

“Troll,” the thing said. At Steiner’s dumbfounded expression, it laughed.

Well, Stark thought, that’s predictable.

“Well, Herr… Troll,” Steiner said after a moment. He raised a hand – and suddenly a tankard of beer was on the bed table nearest the troll. “Drink up. In fact, gentlemen – we should all drink up.”

Another beer was suddenly on the bed table closest to Stark, and he sighed. He picked it up and took a swig.

“Not bad,” he said.

“I aim to please,” Steiner said. He took a swig from his own tankard. “And if we’re going to work together – and with our rather dangerous-looking colleagues of the fairer sex – I’d rather we were on decent terms.”

Troll laughed. “You scared of the girls?”

“Anyone with half a brain should be,” Steiner said, his voice suddenly cold. His accent had become discernibly thicker. “I know of Shayla Silverhand, the Fae Assassin, only by reputation. But I met the Blood Templar once, und escaped from her only because she was busy fighting Anathema at the time.”

Stark leaned forward. “What can you tell me about her?”

“The Blood Templar?” Steiner scratched his chin. “Not much.” He gave Stark a wolfish grin. “Though I’d say if your infatuation is more than simply admiring her looks, you ought to give it up while you’re ahead, mein neuer Freund. It would not end well.”

Stark sighed and took another swig of his beer.

“Well,” he said, “that’s just the story of my life.”

***