"Use the drones!" Citram boomed, pushing one of her pilots out of the way to commandeer one of the six drones surveilling the target and squads. She attempted to use it to send a mayday signal to Charlie squad while her other pilots were doing the same with Alpha, Beta, and Delta.
Too late.
To safeguard against the event that any of the operatives or devices were compromised, Citram did not have a direct link to the devices. All except for Saedah's. Her commands were rerouted through eight different locations, with an untraceable proxy originating from a different planet. In the event of interference through standard communication channels, the commands could be relayed via lights on the self-destructible drones. This had been set up by Saedah, after one particularly FUBARed mission.
Citram watched in helpless horror as the squads were ambushed. There were sprays of blood in the air and pools of ruby liquid staining the ground. She could hear the pop popopop of gunfire and see muzzle flashes on every display. The counterstrike was too precise to be anything other than planned; the op had been compromised.
That became obvious when their audio connections were jammed. Complete silence echoed heavily in the large room. No one breathed for fear of interrupting the silence. The stillness of the room was a silence born of disbelief. Disturbing the quiet would give the horrors unfolding before them life.
The visual feed from the overwatch drones was still active. However, the toll was heavy as her fomenters were blind and deaf. They had been betrayed. They had been ambushed in one swift, precise stroke.
The Alliance Mercs had been waiting in areas of the surveillance buildings, shielded from scanners, apparently.
"How the hells were they missed?!" She slammed her hand against the DebCon, causing the 3-D display to shimmer for a moment, like dustmotes through a sunbeam. One camera caught the emblem on an opposition fighter. White on black, it depicted twin snakes in a circle, each eating the other's tail, pierced by a central sword, and x-shaped crossing arrows.
"Mercs." She growled, low in her throat. As a Ceurish true-blood, her temper was always lingering just under the surface. She forced her eyes closed, and breathed out. She needed to have a level head.
Opening her eyes and re-assessing the situation, she looked for options. There were always options.
She had tried. She really had tried to warn them.
Still, she had no choice but to watch as sixteen men and women fell, one after another. Two, quite literally.
Two Mercs climbed out of the ventilation shafts toward Charlie Squad. Therin, standing guard and trying to locate the source of the distorted and echoing gunfire, was no match. The Mercs had pounced with such ferocity and speed that Therin had not even been able to sound an alarm. The other two, Maryse and Berga, were halfway to their objectives. The Mercs looked over the side and shouted at them.
Citram felt heat rush to her face and the oh-so-familiar rage coursed through her body like electricity. Her arms and fingers tingled even as her muscles tensed in primal response, preparing for a fight. The room watched the Mercs smile and laugh as the knowledge dawned on Berga and Maryse: death had come.
The Mercs cut the cables.
The drones were yet out of range of picking up the audio, but Citram could imagine the snapping sound as the line was cut, the screams as Berga and Maryse fell, and the wet, sickly sound of their impact...
"Sound the alarm." Her voice was scratchy but somehow level. Her throat felt like she was trying to swallow an orange whole. Her tone was devoid of emotion, save cold rage. She took several deep breaths and steeled her frayed and rampant nerves. She forced her stomach to settle, and cleared the lump from her throat. "What you will see next in this room is classified." She looked each of her underlings in the eye. "Understood?!"
"Yes, sir!" they responded in unison, showing no hesitation.
"Very good. Jayke, make records of what happens while I am gone."
"Yes, sir." The short, wiry teenager clipped, facing the screens.
"And keep trying the fucking lines!" As Citram made her way to the elevator, the Big Voice sounded, announcing protocol instructions over the PA system.. The Base was on lockdown.
Though the mercs had killed all members of Delta, most of her remaining Fomenters were being taken alive. They were bloody and bruised, but their bio scans were showing life. They still had a chance. Small and weak as it was, it was still a chance.
The Triad would not get away with this.
***
Vorn had his fork halfway to his mouth, hidden away in the private room in one of his favorite eateries under the Dome, when the Big Voice started reciting protocols. He looked at Mac, who wore a matching expression of trepidation.
"That can not be good." Mac drawled in his unique accent, remembering the last time Citram had sounded that particular alarm.
"Sparks and infernos… Let's go." Vorn and Mac stood in unison. Vorn snapped the chin-piece to his helmet in place and tapped the tabletop to open the WaitApp so that he could pay the tab.
The real, human waitress - their regular - ran in. She shook her head, closed the app down and began pushing them out the door.
"Don't worry about the tab, guys. Just come back when this is over!" she yelled. Vorn stumbled for a moment in shock before regaining his balance. This was why this place was his favorite. The family operated business treated him like any other patron.
It was refreshing.
The two stepped out of the small eatery and into barely controlled chaos. Enforcement personnel were already directing the foot traffic, though it was now moving at little more than a crawl. The transportation signals were all slowly blinking red, giving off an eerie, pulsing glow throughout the shadowy caverns. Automatic transports had stopped running on the upper tracks. People were queuing into bottle-necked checkpoints before access to or departure from the trains. Broadcasts were pushed to every electronic device in the base, giving instructions on what to do. It was orderly, for the most part. The military efficiency was something those in the subterranean base had grown accustomed to.
Vorn heard the distinct clicking sound of Citram checking the communication line.
"I've got my bike, but you…" Mac waved his hand at the Skin. "It can't take the weight of us both." If he had brought the monstrous and flashy beauty that he rode as Flux, on the other hand…
"Go. I'll catch up." Vorn promised, ready to start running.
"I'll meet you there, then. I need to suit up first." With that, Mac sprinted off around the corner of the squat diner. Vorn used the Skin to assist his own breakneck pace back to HQ, leaping over gawking pedestrians. It didn't matter that all base-dweller pedestrians were militant, to some degree. When any of the Ghosts appeared and used their Skins, there were always stunned onlookers.
Citram tapped her earpiece and heard Vorn talking with Mac regarding their return. Good.
The elevator opened to the Ghost's dorms. She sprinted through the common room, up the stairs two at a time, and through the door to her suite. She came to a stop before a metallic blue heavy-duty locker. Swinging open the cabinet doors to her Apollo Skin, she exposed the scratched, dented, and charred armor she had not worn in far too long. Her hands shook slightly as she reached out to touch the blue-tinted metal.
She had never donned the Skin so fast.
She looked down at her helmet, painted to resemble a fox's skull. The thing was creepy, as all Skin helmets were designed to be. Physically, it would be impossible to see out of the eye sockets, since the helmets were designed to conceal the exact species encased within. Instead of a direct view of surroundings, the interior linked with the HUD through a connection to a node behind her right ear. The suit would then send visual information that created a full-range field of view via the cameras of her helmet. The HUD prevented any shortcomings in depth perception, added several peripheral and rear-view mini screens, and had many useful features that increased accuracy and overall survival rate. It had been an odd experience the first time she stuffed her head into the black maw. The first few seconds as the link was established had been terrifying.
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The HUD came to life as she pulled it over her head and fastened the seals. The electronic gauges engaged, calibrated, and began scanning for threats. Requiems constant signal was registered, and she took a moment to check his location through an enlarged semi-transparent map that overlayed half her view of the room. Flux's signal was offline, as per usual those days.
"V." She hissed, "ETA?"
"Five. We're in the Sands and the trains are stopped. Don't want to mow anyone down." He grunted and Citram had to wonder what he was doing. "Mac had his bike, so he'll be getting there any minute." Vorn paused, huffing slightly as he twisted mid leap to avoid a kid that ran around his mother. "What's going on?"
"I'll brief you when you get here." That was all she would say. Vorn was familiar with that tone, and did not press the matter further. It did, however, increase his unease.
When the connection died, Vorn jumped to run along the rooftops. He could see the flashing lights of Mac's bike ahead as the man weaved through the pedestrian traffic. The siren on his bike competed with the still-blaring Big Voice. With his bike, he was able to clear a path quicker than Vorn could.
"And why did you not just run behind him?" he asked himself out loud.
"I believe talking to yourself is a sign of mental illness." Kitty spoke up, inserting a typical insult. The AI was exceptional at being snide.
***
A jingling alert sounded, informing Citram that Mac had just entered the dorm. She could hear him as he climbed the stairs and ran past her room. She didn't bother to shout for him. There was no time.
This would be easier when they were all together.
Citram practically sprinted back to the surveillance hub. As she burst through the door, her underlings paused. The newer recruits looked at her with shocked eyes and a touch of fear. Since she had been given subordinates, she had taken to wearing her Skin less and less.
"Remember. Classified." Her unmodified voice caused eyes to widen. Realization slammed into her subordinates with varying degrees of severity. Some took it as a matter of course, and it was a credit to their adaptability. Others seemed to feel it as a physical blow. Regardless how they took the new development, they all looked at her with newfound respect.
"Yes, Sir!" they repeated, going back to work. Citram walked to the back of the dark room, pressed a series of buttons on the panel of an 'inactive' terminal, and watched as the surface moved away. Below was an arsenal that she had carefully accumulated over the past several years.
One of her workers whistled as she started pulling weapons from the hidden cache. She started filling her empty holsters, sheaths, and bandoliers with pistols, knives, daggers, grenades, magazines, and several other little trinkets. The last of which was a gorgeous custom-built long-range precision rifle, which she slung over her back. It even matched her Skin.
"Alert Raze that Inactive teams on NaBoht are to return to base until further notice." She shouted out commands, pointing to individuals as she did so. This served to mute the din that had built in the room. "Contact the safe houses on Higarin," She pointed to a stiff brunette that jumped under the attention of Penance, "and the agents stationed there," She pointed to a middle-aged male that nodded and swallowed hard, "and get them off the damned planet!" She looked around the room, again the center of attention. "Move it!" she roared.
The room burst into activity.
"Can anyone make contact?!" The room collectively shook their heads, not daring to stop their assignments or look up. Some of the fomenters on Higarin were still moving, visibly screaming and moaning. Bloody trails spread out from a medium Durham-class personal cattle-hauler as the fomenters were collected. The hauler was unmarked, unregistered, and not particularly remarkable, aside from the crimson trails. This was a ship that would be easy to lose. She motioned towards the first operative who made eye contact, who immediately understood.
An APB would be out for that Durham hauler in moments.
"Jayke!" The young man was immediately standing before her. "Contact HUSH. Get me on the line with Crisit." He nodded and ran back to his console. A mere moment later, he was back, holding the com out to her. Through the HUD she commandeered the signal and waved the com away.
"P-Penan-ance?" the quavering, stuttering voice on the other end asked.
"Yes, Crisit. I have a situation here." She started, tone collected and even.
"Oh dear." He breathed. He was the Librarian of that particular HUSH location. How he ever got the position, she was unsure.
"I need to know that my latest refugee is… safe." She commanded. She couldn't keep the venom out of her voice.
"Latest refugee, huh?" the confused idiot paused. It seemed his supremely simple brain couldn't handle the strain. Citram started counting; one idiot thinking, two idiot thinking, three idiot- "Oh. The girl! She's been staying to herself mostly. No trouble. No trouble."
"You misunderstand, Crisit." She had to swallow a growl. "With whom has she been speaking? Where has she been going? What has she been doing?"
"W-well, Lady Penance, she's been working the textiles, you see. She keeps to herself. Work and home, she goes. Just work and home. Lots of time at home."
"Com records? Tracer records? Sparking hells, Crisit, you cannot be this naive."
"B-But I… I… Lady Penance…?" Hurt thickened his words. She would definitely have to relieve him of the stress of his responsibilities as a Librarian. She cursed mentally, making a note to go through the records and track down whoever promoted this dolt to such an important and sensitive position.
"Forget it. I can get the records myself." She snapped. "Be warned, Crisit. I am displeased." She heard a faint yelp as she disconnected the link.
"Backwater idiots!" She growled. "Jayke!" The boy was like a bloody jack-in-the-box as he jumped up from his console. His eagerness to succeed, learn, and be useful was what made him one of her favorites. "Place a shadow on Crisit, and select a team to pick up our informant. I have a need to speak with her." She visibly witnessed the chill run down his spine and goosebumps spread over his exposed forearms.
It was at that moment that Flux entered the room. He was all sharp angles and shadows, with tendrils of Solid Shadow shrouding and swirling about his body, dissipating a few centimeters from his Skin. His armor was a solid, deep black that seemed to swallow the light around him. His symbol was that of the Drakkar. His armor composed of stylized dragon scales, each outlined with the same dark shade of gray as the Drakkar upon his shoulders and back. His helmet was adorned with an intense image of a snarling Drakkar. His call sign was Flux. His symbol and the name of his ship was the Drakkar.
If he found himself in a pinch, his suit would send out a high-powered burst of fast-spreading Solid Shadow; a dense cloud of black smoke that had helped him to both intimidate and escape.
He was shadow.
He stood silent for but a moment, taking in the snippets of speech from around the room and what was still visible on the screen through the smoke and fluttering debris. His helmet slowly turned to gaze in Citram's direction.
She shook her head and watched as he tensed, shoulders and fists tightening.
Then Vorn was there, as if conjured from thin air, standing behind Mac. His gaze was glued to the screen.
To the fallen bodies.
To the gaping hole in the side of the building, 3 stories below the roof. Smoke still billowed out of the shadowed cavity, but it was beginning to clear.
Silence engulfed the entire room as two of the drones finally came within range, waiting for the smoke to clear. Waiting to see what had happened.
Waiting to see what would happen.
"Flux." Citram turned to Mac. "Get med-bay ready for incoming."
"Citram-" he started, but was interrupted.
"What we see when the smoke clears will determine whether we level the whole Dark-blinded city or go on a rescue mission. Either way-" She froze at a deep growl from Vorn. When he lifted a shaky finger to point at the displays, she found herself turning slowly, not wanting to see.
The smoke cleared enough to see a tall red-clad woman. She was twirling something around a finger, looking into a pile of splintered wood and rock. Another person was there, a stocky man, but he stayed in the doorway, mostly obscured in shadow.
Then Citram saw fabric among the rubble. And blood. And flesh.
Gods, she thought. That can't be...
The body turned its head to look at the woman, the motion sluggish and labored. Blood sprayed from the unfocused face.
Citram's heart rate sped up and her chest tightened.
She leapt to a console and used the camera to zoom in on the scene. She prayed to any celestial spirit who might be listening, any who might take a small measure of pity on them all. She prayed that it would not to be what, and who, she feared it was. The scope of the camera narrowed in on the room and a colorful string of curses leapt, unchecked, from her lips.
The figure bathed in blood was Saedah.
The woman bent down to speak to him. The drones could not pick up the words, and her face was turned away just enough to thwart lip-reading. Then she stood and stomped on his un-pinned arm.
Citram flinched. Vorn turned away, cursing, and considered kicking a hole through the empty cache box. Mac stood still, hardly breathing, watching Saedah try to kick at the woman.
"Flux." Citram growled, her words barely more than a whisper. "Get the med bay ready."
"Fuck that, Pen." He turned on her, broken out of his stupor. "I'm not staying behind for this." He pointed to the display.
They glared at each other for a long moment. Which was a bit ridiculous considering the suits. None of the Ghosts noticed the incredibly curious gazes of their onlookers, glancing from the Ghosts to the displays.
"Fine. " Citram breathed, flicking her hands at him to rid herself of the irritant. "Just make sure med bay is ready when we get back." He nodded, and kicked the door out with much more force than was necessary. It was a show of anger that she hadn't seen from Mac in a long time.
She turned back to the screens. Saedah was kicking, trying to dislodge the woman, who was… choking the living hells out of him.
With her foot.
"They'll all burn for this." Requiem said with a chuckle, in a curious tone that sounded almost pleased. His words were in a higher pitch than she expected to hear from him.
Citram only nodded, not needing to look his way to know he had turned to follow Mac.