Saturday, April 28, 2007

Just 'cause - Chapter 16 - Benzin

With a few final gestures, Krueger - hunkered down out of sight at the entrance to the pen's command center - armed the charge he'd attached to the center's heavy steel entrance seconds before. His Hand fatigue shirt was now open, exposing the sparse personal gear he'd smuggled into the base with him. Trinity was on overwatch, holding a secret weapon, so to speak - Krueger had managed to disarm the IFF attachment on the Hand USP she was carrying, and she fully intended to make the most out of that little surprise. Krueger crawled up behind her and tapped her on the shoulder; without turning around, she opened a channel to Algernon's cochlear implant.

"Trinity to CHANCE, ready when you are."
"I rigged some barrels of petrol. They should make for a nice little fireball."
"Anything else?"

She could hear Algernon's smirk through the commlink.

"Cover your ears, love. This will be loud."

Seconds later, Trinity had to acknowledge that, in some cases, "loud" could constitute an euphemism.

---

BOOM!

---

In comparison, the Krueger's door charge was a mere whimper, outclassed and well aware of that; it still blew right through the door lock, slamming the heavy slab of metal open. Trinity didn't wait for the dust to settle; with the entry successfully seduced, she was in like Flynn, filling the three officers inside with a whole magazine from her USP. However, she spotted a different uniform inside the smoke, and in that moment of hesitation, the last Hand officer in the room had the speed to set up a stand-off. Trinity kept her gun on the officer's head, but the presence of a human shield was complicating matters - unless...

"Don't shoot him," Krueger said, rushing in beside Trinity with his custom S&W 500 revolver. "Hello, Gregor."
"Krueger!" Gregor - the human shield - shouted, before the Hand officer discouraged further communication with his USP.
"A stalemate, no?" the Hand Officer said, a weird hybrid of an Argentinian-German accent seeping through his English.
"The door, Trinity. Cover the door," Krueger said; after a moment of hesitation, Trinity slipped a new magazine into her handgun and turned around, standing back to back with Krueger.
"Can you hear them?" the officer asked, listening to the gunfire as if it was a Bach masterpiece. "My men. They will deal with the other intruder...and then they will be here. You will not survive."
"We're not going to surrender," Trinity barked.
"I'm not talking to you, woman. You, on the other hand - you are Dr. Krueger, yes?"
"I am. And?"
"How would you like to work for us? You are...resourceful, I believe, is the word."

A second passed with nothing but the firefight outside.

"How much do you offer?" Krueger said.
"Bastard," Trinity said; Krueger's voice was cold and steady when he replied.
"I'm a mercenary, Trinity. That's what I do, I look at the offers and take my pick."
"If I wasn't watching the door, you'd be dead."
"Probably, which would be why I have you covering the door. Now, how much, Herr Hauptmann?"
"I believe the going rate is 20,000 US Dollars per month..."

BLAM!

The Hand officer crumbled to the floor, with a neat entry wound between his eyes and the back of his head split open like a post-Gallagher melon. Gregor - that is, Vice-Admiral Gregor Orban - crumbled against the next wall, his neat Russian uniform now holding the Hand officer's innermost thoughts in the form of scattered neural tissue. Trinity didn't budge from her position, but her tone was quizzical when she found the strength to speak again.

"What took you so long?"
"Had to line up the shot."
"Did you consider it?"
"Of course. But I have standards."
"No Nazis?"
"50 grand."

Well, at least something to rely on, Trinity mused.

It was probably good that Gregor Orban was still trying to come to terms with 3.5 kilojoules of kinetic energy screaming past his head, because Krueger busied himself with the computer system in the command room; after a few keystrokes, he managed to override the counter-insurgency cache's security, opening a wall panel with un-IFF-ed weapons. Trinity took the opportunity to holster her USP and upgrade to an MG4 Squad Automatic Weapon.

"Now, Admiral...what was that about the missiles?" Krueger asked, still hacking his way into the main system.
"What...what do you mean, Krueger?"
"Don't play with me. You sold me the missiles, then you subcontracted with these assholes to bring them back."
"That's not..."
"And then they double-crossed you, took your boat and the missiles, and now we have to kill a lot of people to fix your mistakes." External counter-insurgency measures? "For shame," Krueger added, activating the cryptic command - and with it, several automated machine gun turrets around the command post that began to engage all IFF tags outside. "I rather like how these Hand of Glory commanders think," the good Doctor said. "So afraid of mutiny that they make sure everyone in the command post can fend one off. Well, of course, it's horrible for the soldiers, but it does make our job considerably easier."

As if in response, Trinity's MG4 started barking.

"They're ditching the tags!" she shouted over the racket of her gun; in response, Krueger intensified his attempts to get into the main systems control.
"Where's the crew?" he asked; the Admiral straightened the tie of his bloody uniform. "In the boat. But they disarmed us, and there's no way out."
"Let me worry about the dock gates." Krueger looked up briefly, and met the Admiral's glance. For a moment, there passed a glimmer of something between them - mutual respect, warrior's camaraderie, however you wish to call it. When it passed, the Admiral knew what to do; he stepped up to the intercom microphone and switched the external loudspeakers on.

"This is Admiral Orban speaking. Prepare for launch!"

---

Half man, half shadow, Lothario Algernon raged through the submarine pen, dodging gunfire and shifting from place to place in the blink of an eye. He had never pushed himself quite this hard; selectively bending the Fringe to his will was sending ripples through the realm, calling all spirits even vaguely nearby to him - but he could deal with that. With another shift, he dissolved into smoke as another Hand soldier let loose a burst from his rifle. Instantly, Algernon appeared behind him, stabbed him through the neck with his trench knife and faded back into nothingness just in time for the bullets of other soldiers to riddle their former comrade with lead. All said, it wasn't a very effective way to kill a lot of soldiers: although he'd racked up a solid five in the minute since the explosion, more were pouring out of the barracks by the second. Soon enough, there'd be so many bullets aimed at him that one would find its mark.

Then, the automatic machine guns opened up. Algernon used another shift to fade into the shadows, then shifted back out, trusting his dark clothing and the general confusion to keep him hidden for the moment. He wondered briefly how the turrets could track their targets so accurately - because he could've ended up as one of the targets -, then saw several of the Hand soldiers throw away their IFF pendants, leading the turrets to destroy the tags. Clever, really, but Algernon quickly realized that this was, at best, an ill-considered move - now that the soldiers were no longer tagged, they were valid targets for their own weapons.

It didn't take long for Algernon to show the assembled Hand soldiers that - considering the trouble he'd given them with just a knife and a Colt - he was even worse equipped with an assault rifle. As if that wasn't enough, the Hand soldiers realized a bit too late that, without the IFF system, their flamboyant close-range attacks were quickly turning into a deadly crossfire. The soldiers relied too much on their guns cutting out when aimed at a comrade.

Now, the soldiers couldn't, and the guns didn't.

A vicious hurricane of lead raged throughout the submarine pen as Algernon continued his fringewalking dance; for every soldier he killed himself, two more succumbed to friendly fire. As if that wasn't bad enough, Trinity had also dialed in her shots, sending short controlled bursts through the hall and cutting down those few that sought to escape the melee. Finally, it was done - Algernon and Trinity ran out of targets, and Algernon stopped his whirling dance to take a look around. He was standing in a pile of bloody corpses and hot brass; the steady stream of reinforcements from the barracks had ceased after the slaughter. He felt numb for a moment, then raised the rifle in his hands one last time and emptied it into the door controls, locking down the major access way from the base proper. His last shots spent, he dropped the gun; out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Trinity, Krueger and a man in a uniform approaching and merely sighed to himself. Everything was up to him now.

As the others rushed past, he closed his eyes, listening to the banging on the blast doors. More soldiers. Something in him wanted to this.

For what it's worth, nobody felt like arguing the point or his decision; Trinity, Krueger and the Admiral merely rushed past him, heading for the stairs that led downward and into the submarine. There had been another slaughter here, overshadowed by the struggles of our heroes; the Hand guards were dead, pummeled and stabbed by the Russian seamen. To judge from the injured and dead being carried into the bowels of the submarine, the Russians had lost three of their own for every Hand soldier. Several officers rushed to the ladder to help Admiral Orban down; they extended the same courtesy to Trinity and Krueger, but the XO had already snatched the Admiral away for a private status report when the psionic amazon and the gunrunner hit the floor grating.

"Take them to the bridge," the Admiral said, and that was that; the Russians looked dangerous, especially with the blood on their hands, and nobody felt like belaboring the point. The walk took a minute, taking them down twisted little corridors, built for people who weren't as tall as Trinity; but she managed, though her and Krueger's Hand uniform did raise some eyebrows - and improvised weapons. They were here at the request of the Admiral, no doubt - and it was keeping them alive.

On the bridge, Krueger couldn't help but take a few steps around to get the full impression. He'd never missed his digital camera quite that much.

"Prepare to dive!" the Admiral said as he stepped onto the bridge; after a few quiet moments, he was back in control and gave Krueger a knowing smirk.

My ride is bigger.

"Ready to dive!"
"Take us down to 20 meters, 5 knots ahead."
"Da, Admiral!"
"Now we'll see how good you are, Doctor."

The submarine was flying blind, so to speak; with the entire pen clad in sound-absorbing material, sonar was effectively useless for the moment of truth. All they could do was pray and wait and pray again, threading the needle in total darkness. Every breath was their last one, every blink of a signal light the hull breach warning that hadn't reached the klaxons yet.

They waited.
And waited.
And made it.

It's not like in the movies, where the brilliant execution of clever orders yields a ship-wide cheer for the commanding officer; instead, there were sighs of relief, held breaths expelled and a few drops of sweat wiped off brows, but the crew soldiered on as the sonar came alive.

"Increase speed to 15 knots," the Admiral ordered, then turned to Krueger and Trinity. "I suppose you want a refund now, or?"
"Well..." Krueger began. "I would insist, but as timing would have it, I am not the rightful owner of those missiles anymore. You'll have to ask my friend here."
(Friend, huh?) Trinity whispered.
(Why not?) Krueger replied.
"You must understand," the Admiral said, "that we were desperate. We haven't heard anything from THESEUS since..."
"Sec," Trinity said, interrupting. "THESEUS?"
"Of course."
(What is it?) Krueger whispered.
(He's family.)
(Oh.)
('Oh' indeed.)
"Erm...no harm, no foul," Trinity said. "All I really wanted was to make sure the missiles are destroyed, really."
"Speaking of which, what's taking Algernon so long?"

---

The soldiers did, eventually, break through the blast door; they found Algernon meditating in the middle of the pen, somewhat removed from the slaughter. His legs were folded and his eyes closed; he was at peace, unconcerned with the bodies or the fire that still ravaged the remains of the fuel depot. There were six of them, five soldiers and one officer - all decked out in Stormtrooper gear, and the only ones who had stayed behind to secure the base instead of evacuating. With utter professionalism, they lined up before Algernon's calm form, an impromptu firing squad should he try anything.

"Ganz ruhig, Arschloch! Keine Bewegung!"
"I'm afraid I don't speak German," Algernon replied, not moving a bit.
"I said don't move!"
"No problem."
"Where are your friends?"
"Gone."
"Where to?"
"I don't know. But if you hurry, you might still catch them."

The officer stepped forward and slapped Algernon in the face with his pistol. The fringewalker tumbled to the ground, rubbing his jaw; finally, he opened his eyes and gave the Hand soldiers a derisive glance.

"Now get up!"

He got up.

"Any last words?"
"Are you familiar with the Zen koan of the Strawberry?"
"...?"
"There was once a man who was being chased by a ferocious tiger across a field. At the edge of the field there was a cliff. In order to escape the jaws of the tiger, the man caught hold of a vine and swung himself over the edge of the cliff. Dangling down, he saw, to his dismay, there were more tigers on the ground below him! And, furthermore, two little mice were gnawing on the vine to which he clung. He knew that at any moment he would fall to certain death. That's when he noticed a wild strawberry growing on the cliff wall. Clutching the vine with one hand, he plucked the strawberry with the other and put it in his mouth. He never before realized how sweet a strawberry could taste."
"So you want a snack, then?" the officer shouted; his men laughed. Algernon returned the smile.
"No, I want you to enjoy this moment."

It was a gesture, nothing more, but in the flash of an eye, six mercury blades found their way into the soldier's hearts, passing through their heavy armor like butter. The Hand team crumbled to the ground, sputtering their last; Algernon looked up to find six lingering spirits before him, brandishing their blades and eyeing him with a strange malice.

"A deal's a deal," he said; with another gesture, he called the Fringe to him, turning both the vivid blood and the gray concrete around him into stark black and white. Shadows spilled out from his coat as his full power found release. One by one, the spirits faded away until Algernon was alone once more; he bowed down to the still conscious Hand officer and whispered in his ear.

"Your main fuel tank took the small explosion...but I don't think it'll survive the fire."

And with that, Algernon was gone.

---

The tense atmosphere on the bridge was almost unbearable - it had been five minutes now, five minutes of staring at the screen that showed the periscope view of the Hand base. Five minutes of nothing, potential never quite being released. The air was thick with failure.

"Somehow," Krueger began, "I don't think Dr. Algernon is a demolitions expert."
"And you are?" Trinity replied.
"Name a pyrotechnics license. I have it."
"Forget I asked."
"I'm just saying, maybe we need to go back, make sure..."
"He'll manage. And we can't go back."
"We can't hold this position, either," Krueger shot back. "We've got places to be, right, Admiral?"
"The boat has, anyway," the Admiral gave back. "Fyodor, do we have a Viyuga ready for launch?"
"...Admiral?" the XO said.
"Please prepare one, Fyodor."

Krueger gave the Admiral a strange look, prompting the inevitable question from Trinity.

(What's Viyuga?)
(Cruise missile. I hope to God he's not using the nuclear warhead...)
"Nuclear!?" Trinity shouted; after drawing a few strange looks, the Admiral shook his head.
"Bunker buster. The side effects will be minimal..."

To everyone's relief, the question of which warhead to load became purely academic at just that moment.

---

BOOM!

---

"!" Trinity said; the rest of the bridge crew agreed.
"Problem solved," Krueger said with just the tiniest hint of a smile on his face. "One less hill in Brazil."
"I think it was a mountain."
"Did you measure it?" Trinity glared; Krueger shrugged. "Also, it rhymed."

Deciding not to bother fighting against that kind of logic, Trinity simply turned to the Admiral.

"Now, where do we stop?"
"We can't surface until we hit her home port."
"Which would be?"
"Let me ask you a question," the Admiral said with a smile. "Have you ever thought about visiting Vladivostok?"

Sunday, April 15, 2007

Just 'cause - Chapter 15 - Feuer Frei

The problem with screaming down a "Should be a three-lane highway" road - while being pursued by a pair of genetically-engineered killer children - can be traced to a phenomenon invented straight after the road and the horse cart: the traffic jam. In theory, the police cruiser - a Chevrolet Trailblazer with the cop package - should have had a speed advantage on the Hand of Glory jeep. Unfortunately, Rowena was far too busy swerving through traffic to take much advantage of that - although the addition of her cruiser's signal lights at least inclined some drivers to clear the road for her. If there was one good thing about the whole situation, it was that Freyja and Freyr couldn't open fire on her.

Then she saw the back window of the car next to her explode into a million little pieces and remembered that the kids were sociopaths.

She swerved the car onto the road's emergency lane and kissed guardrail - a horrible grinding sound, but it let her bypass the worst of the congestion. With another yank, she brought the car clear of the rail, let out a long-held breath and switched to fifth gear, bringing the car up to top speed.

---

"We are losing ground."
"I know, sister. Hold on."

---

With gained distance and an emotional disagreement with meeting high-speed death, Rowena decided to even her pace a little bit and make a plan. Driving shoulder all the way was definitely out, so she resolved to pull back onto the street at the next opening. Well, there was the opening, and then there was the two-ton Hand jeep screaming at her small car with murderous fury. The banging-up of Rowena's ride continued apace with the driver's side as the two vehicles fused into one screaming behemoth, just soon enough to force Rowena's cruiser back against the rail and onto the next exit. The gestalt rode the exit ramp like a Flipper trick shot, bouncing from guide rail to guide rail in a festival of sparks. Rowena had the sense to drop her seat back just as another shotgun blast crashed through the side windows and showered her with glass.

Frantically trying to reach something, she finally found the USP on the passenger's seat, grabbed it with her right hand and sent a double-tap through the shattered window. That, at least, seemed to keep Freyja down and allowed Rowena to briefly look up over the dashboard to see where they were going. That done, she snapped the seat back up, dropped the USP out the window and used her free hand to quickly fasten the seat belt.

Then they crashed right through the barred front door of an abandoned factory.

---

Mark was having the un-time of his life watching Brazilian TV. Great, another telenovela! - Pass, he thought, and switched channels until he got stuck on a local news broadcast. He didn't need to speak Portuguese to figure out that there was a car chase in progress, as filmed from a news chopper.

As a hitman, Mark had learned to trust his instincts. He snapped up from his chair, then looked to Gray.

"Start the chopper," Mark said, grabbing his guns.

---

Rowena never blacked out - the adrenaline was burning little holes into her veins, and she could follow the world spinning around her car with terrifying clarity. The airbag deployed faithfully, arresting her forward motion - she fought it off even as the car twisted, flipped and squeezed into the factory's main hall. Finally, it came to a skidding stop.

She left yesterday's peaches in the car.

With some effort, she managed to unhook the safety belt and climbed out of the, well, wreck. The sirens were slowly fading into a slow death, sounding like the distant footsteps of a giant until, finally, the wreck's electronics gave in. For all the damage to her ride, the Hand jeep was even worse off. It was overturned, its axles broken and its engine compartment caved in where it had met a structural beam of the factory hall. She could make out Freyja buried underneath the jeep, apparently still breathing. Rowena reached for her PT92s and found the holsters torn from her shoulders - her fatigues were torn up, with several bloody lacerations all over her body. This would start to hurt soon; for now, Rowena had to press her advantage. She drew the stiletto from her boot and set to make sure Freyja would never wake.

She'd barely taken three steps when she saw the jeep shudder; a horrible groaning sound echoed from the vehicle until it finally rolled off to the side, even more twisted from the forces that had been brought to bear against it. Freyr stood there, his eyes bleeding from the effort; lifting a whole car was a dicey proposition for all but a few Avatars, and a bootleg physical adept had to push his limits to even move one. He looked like he was burning everything he had to stay upright; without thought, Rowena flipped the stiletto around and hurled it, but it wasn't intended as a throwing knife - she did manage to stick him in the leg, but that was more annoyance than serious damage. He growled, furious like a wounded dog, and grasped his G36.

Rowena started to run.

Shots followed her as she sprinted up the stairway to the factory's mezzanine; she found cover behind a large printing machine and considered her situation. With the stiletto wound, Freyr couldn't jump high enough to reach her here; she crawled over to a large tool cart and pushed it toward the stairs, where it came crashing down and got stuck in the railing, blocking that way up. Rowena crawled back to the machine and crouched down; all she had to do was wait for the laws of biology to catch up to Freyr's injuries.

There was a loud clang above her; Rowena saw Freyr's G36 tangled in its dummy line over a structural beam, used like a grappling hook. The Hand's efforts to improve its field technology were admirable, but inconvenient, to say the least. Rowena growled in frustration; however, she took a deep breath, stood up and got a running start toward the handrail of the mezzanine. With one gargantuan leap, she reached the tangled up G36 and latched onto it; even a psion had to follow the rules of physics occasionally, and Rowena was - with all due respect for her figure - a good deal heavier than Freyr. The beauty of this plan didn't hit Freyr right away, though Rowena's foot did. With a twitch of his muscles, he released the winch on the dummy line, giving it as much as he could - but Rowena still hit the ground and hooked the line into a nearby pulley, then took off with the G36, pulling the line taut. Freyr slammed into the ceiling, with only his arm thin enough to slip between beam and roof; his arm was painfully hyperextended, and Rowena really put her back into it. She found another pillar to secure the line and wrapped it up into a nice, solid knot. She couldn't figure out how to detach the G36 from the line without cutting it, but a small, shiny piece of metal caught her eye - the Stiletto. She went over to collect it, picked it up and weighed it, enjoying the sight of Freyr struggling to free himself.

"Enjoying the view?" she shouted, a grin on her face. Freyr kept struggling, but even he knew that this wasn't a good situation - disconnecting the line would drop him all the way onto the hard factory floor, and he wasn't nearly fresh enough to try and soak that impact.

"Du Dreckfotze!" came a cry from the jeep; Rowena saw Freyja climb out of the wreck, her left foot sitting at a horrible angle and her pale little face ripped to shreds from a close shave with the windshield. At this moment, Rowena was glad to have flunked German. She took off again, sprinting for the G36, while Freyja painfully reached behind her back to grab her shotgun. With the G36 in hand, Rowena racked the bolt and aimed down the reflex sight. "Eat me," she said, and pulled the trigger.

Nothing.

Freyja cracked a grin, as much as her face was still able to express anything; she grabbed a small pendant dangling from her neck and waved it around.

"You can't shoot us with our own guns. That's the point."

Rowena's frustration unloaded itself with a primal scream. Brandishing the stiletto, she ran towards Freyja, intent on doing a little improvised stabbing therapy. Freyja brought up the shotgun; Rowena had enough self-control to jump aside, but the gun breathed flame, and the Hand fatigues she was wearing were only flame-retardant to a point. Screaming and hollering, she crashed to the ground, tucking and rolling to put out the fire. Freyja's shotgun cycled with a hearty manual ker-chunk! and ejected the sizzling hot Dragon's Breath shell. Rowena got up from the ground, with new pain to show for her efforts, and spotted two things. One, the burst of flame had set fire to some of the stored materials in the factory - the place would be lit up in minutes. Two, she'd dropped the stiletto, but there was a small piece of loose rebar lying next to her. She heard Freyja's shuffling footsteps closing in; the girl levelled her shotgun at Rowena.

"Any last words?"

Rowena's hand snaked out for the rebar...

"Sua mãe é uma puta!" Rowena shouted; using the rebar, she whacked the gun away and sweep-kicked the girl right in the ribs, leaving her to stumble backwards. Rowena righted herself, stepped on the shotgun's dummy line and favored Freyja with another series of kicks before snaring the line with her foot and kicking up the shotgun into her own hands.

"Can't shoot me..." Freyja managed to say, but Rowena simply whipped the gun around and gave the Child of Eve a taste of composite stock, shattering her jaw. Freyja tried to reel the shotgun in again, but Rowena saw that coming; she turned on her heel, laid the shotgun on her shoulder and used it as lever to toss Freyja over her head, letting her hit the ground with full force. The little body of the Hand soldier was shattered almost beyond repair now; Rowena grabbed the dummy-lined shotgun, wrapped the cable around Freyja's neck and put the shotgun back into its sheath. Without further words, she stabbed the rebar through the trigger guard, painfully pinning the gun to the girl. Finally, she gave the dummy line winch in Freyja's sleeve a good kick, shorting it into retrieval mode.

Rowena couldn't calm down until she'd seen the little bitch choke to death. Centered again, she noted the rising flames with faint detachment; Freyr began to shout from above, still stuck between beam and ceiling.

"Freyja! Freyja! Schwester!"

Rowena looked back at the corpse, then up. Her voice was brutally even when she spoke again.

"Burn," she said, then walked out.

Freyr cried out further, but got no response; finally, he drew his combat knife and eyed it with a strange sort of detachment.

"Schwester..."

---

Gray's chopper hovered over the burning factory; with the Shop leader himself flying the bird, it fell to Mark and John Done to do the spotting. Done watched a HoG half-track ride down to the factory's front gate. Without further ado, he reached into his little box of guns and retrieved a Milkor MGL grenade launcher.

A risky shot. But if it came down to it, he'd take it.

---

When Rowena burst out of the factory through a window, she rolled to a stop and slowly righted herself. There was not a thing in her body that wasn't hurting, all adding into a dull roar throughout her nerves that had her brain going "Yeah, I get it, PAIN!" She was bloodied and blooded, stumbling over the concrete and aching for this day to end. Seeing a row of HoG soldiers at the gate almost broke her.

She was so far beyond frustration that she just stopped walking.

Leutnant Pantoja climbed out of the half-track, then walked in front of his men to face Rowena; he held up his hand, signalling them to hold their fire.

"Where are the children?" he asked in his accented English.
"All grown up," Rowena replied, flat and monotone.

"LEUTNANT!" came the scream from behind Rowena, and when she turned, she saw the definition of grotesque - Freyr, burnt and shattered and missing a good deal of his right arm. Rowena realized in horror that, unable to reach the wire, he had cut off his own limb. His legs were shattered from the fall, and he walked unsteadily, from pain or a concussion or...take your pick, Rowena thought, for Freyr was broken as a doll could be.

In response, Pantoja grabbed his sidearm and shot twice.

Rowena opened her eyes to find that she was, against all odds, not dead. Freyr, however, now had two more reasons to finally give up and die. She looked at Pantoja with a confused expression, but the Leutnant just holstered his gun and nodded to his men. The Stormtroopers unmasked, all natives of the area. The only one there who was close to the master race was busy gurgling his own blood.

"I let you escape once," Pantoja said. "I can do it again."

Rowena nodded to him; he replied in kind. He wasn't sweating at all when he turned to his men, who secured their weapons and jumped back on the half-track. They faded into the distance with a roar, as if they were trying to wake up the city to its wounds. Rowena simply stood, dumbfounded; she remained so while the chopper landed, up until Mark hopped out and ran up to her with a first aid kit.

She looked up; he froze in his tracks a meter shy of reaching her.

"I'm...I'm dizzy," she finally said; in lieu of letting her collapse, Mark grabbed her arm, laid it on his shoulders and helped her walk back to the helicopter. Even seeing Dennis Gray at the controls couldn't faze her anymore; instead, as they sat down, she laid her head back and closed her eyes.

"No sleeping on the job, kiddo. C'mon, stay with me."
"I'm awake," she said, her eyes snapping open, but she kept her head rested back. Shortly, her eyes wanted to close again; she tried her best to fight it off while Mark began to dress the worst of her wounds.
"I'll need you to tell me what the fuck just happened here," Mark said, "and then I'll buy you a drink."
"I'm not legal..."
"Do you think anybody cares down here?" Mark asked; Rowena's mind briefly flashed pictures of the two Children of Eve and their small, mangled corpses.
"Point."
"Are you hungry?"

Rowena smiled.

"I could eat..."

Saturday, April 14, 2007

Just 'cause - Chapter 14 - Out of Control

There was no peace left in Rocinha, all sold out, spent and wasted. The air around Rowena was acrid with smoke and death. As she worked over the bodies of her newest victims, she felt filthy. This was no way to fight - you brought your own guns, your own gear. You didn't loot.

She didn't have time for that bit of dignity.

She rooted through the pockets of the dead guards, desperate to scavenge as much ammunition as she could find. The USP had 11 shots left, so she couldn't dump it quite yet, but there were two banged-up Taurus PT92 - Beretta knockoffs - with several spare magazines, an equipment choice which was more in line with her fighting style. The AK was dry as a bone, but she'd heard the distinctive rattle of Father Kalashnikov elsewhere on this battlefield and slung it over her back. A small stiletto bootknife completed the list.

Still - there was something else bothering her. Out of habit, she tapped the sweet spot of her cochlear implant, hoping against all sense that someone would pick up. All she got was the sweet synthesized voice of the implant, telling her with perfect calm that it was operating in low-power mode. Before Rowena could make sense of it, it also cheerfully explained that the offending feature - active Bluetooth communication - had been automatically disabled two hours ago.

Rowena wanted to shout out her frustration, then discovered that she didn't have the strength to spare. She was beat, from the fight, the long march before that, the fight before that and a variety of other things. It was past noon already, and her last meal had been the goddamn peaches from Krueger's reception. She sat down for a moment, with the steady gunfire in the distance almost lulling her to sleep. It was in her joints and muscles, a strange cold fire drawing the strength out of her very blood - the hunger, the pain, the exhaustion.

She rested her eyes for a moment.

---

Three men and a cell phone.

Well, two men, to be exact; with Done off to pass the waiting time with some training, it was all Mark and Gray sitting in their suite at the Hotel Glória. Mark was well on the way to finishing his second beer - the thought of having Shop agents of all people looking for Rowena didn't leave him with that fuzzy, reassuring feeling he'd hoped for. Truth be told, he was beat, and the last time anyone had known about Rowena's location was two hours past. It was worse because this one was, very much, Mark's fault - they had tagged the truck with Rowena from above, but he had insisted on being there for the assault - and the round trip with the chopper had given Rowena the time to break out and get away, fading into Rio's hills and complicating the search massively.

And of course, he'd taught her everything he knew about disappearing. That was the terrible beauty of the Typhoid Mary protocol - after escaping enemy custody, an agent really didn't have any idea who was following him or what he might've taken along for the ride. The only option was to go to ground and pray that the first ones through the door would be the rescue team.

"I wonder," Gray began. "If this search stretches on, it might take a few days. The trouble is, we can't sleep."
"There's a reason we strip-searched you..." Mark said.
"And yet you can't be sure. As for me, I'm certain you're armed, but I don't know if you'd try to kill me."
"What, because we're the good guys?"

Gray laughed bitterly.

"You killed me and forced me to watch the ticking bomb. I don't know if you're supposed to be the good guys, but I do know that you're not a nice man. No, the variable is whether my help is worth anything to you."
"Not if it comes with more strings than the New York Philharmonic."

After saying that, Mark raised the bottle for another gulp, but stopped and cocked his head back towards Gray.

"Killed 'me'?"

Gray shrugged. Mark emptied the bottle.

---

The gunfire was closing in on Rowena; she snapped awake - yes, awake, for she realized at once that she'd been asleep for a bit. She was still hungry and hurting, but at least her body had had time to mobilize its reserves. Still shaky on her feet, she made her way onto the roof and watched over Rocinha. There were fires in the distance, muzzle flashes on distant rooftops and cries in the streets. From up here, she could barely make out the main road leading into Rio - and the flashing police lights parked there, no doubt several riot units standing by to clean up the mess.

If she stayed here, they'd find her and arrest her. Rowena crouched down for a moment and considered that - it was a way out, definitely, but that would make it easy for the Hand to collect her again. She needed backup, not rescue - and the only place where she could find a local Archer safe house and the requisite agents was in downtown Rio.

Rowena started running, jumped to the next roof, rolled to land and continued, heading for the police lights. Below her, the streets of Rocinha seemed uncannily like the arteries of a diseased heart. Running with blood, too.

---

Carlos Pantoja had a problem.

Let us first consider who Pantoja was, and let that begin by saying how he looked: sweaty. Although he was a native of South America, he'd never gotten used to the heat. He also had a habit of sweating when he was nervous, sweating when he was scared, sweating all through the day. It made him look like he was constantly trying to come up with an excuse to defend himself; every sideways glance of his was interpreted as Pantoja having "shifty" eyes. The only thing that had gotten him into the Hand of Glory officer corps was his childhood friendship with some rich white boys in Chile - the only thing that kept him there was his flawless operational record. His brown hair was dirty, if short enough for military service, but it seemed like the well-tailored fatigues with 2nd Lieutenant bars on the shoulder were the only thing that fit him, haggard as he was. He wore the sunk face of a desperate man. He couldn't fail.

But his plan was falling apart. The escapee had entered Rocinha as planned, opening up another front for the Hand takeover of the dwelling. But the denizens of this...this shantytown...had proven more resilient than anticipated, and with his cautious commanding style, Pantoja wasn't making any progress. And now the escapee was headed for the highway, looking like a Hand soldier running away from the fight. Pantoja understood morale. This was bad.

"Do you need assistance?" Freyr asked; Pantoja turned around and regarded the Hand child soldier with a mixture of fear and disgust. The boy was unnaturally calm and courteous, even though he technically outranked Pantoja as a Major.
"We are still probing their defenses, Herr Major."
"And not getting anywhere," Freyja said. As Freyr's sister, she looked uncannily like him, but she was a bit more...aggressive. "It looks like we have a Deserteur."
"You cannot desert from an Army you're not part of, Sister," Freyr said.
"Like I said, it looks like. Proper appearance is paramount, Brother."

Freyr nodded.

"What shall we do about it, Sister?"
"The only way to deal with a Deserteur is to shoot him, of course," Freyja answered. "And I think it's time somebody lead this battle by example."

The pair reached for their weapons - a Benelli M4 for Freyja, a G36 for Freyr.

"You may stay here, Leutnant," Freyr said, then the two took off to intercept Rowena.

Pantoja sat down and used his cap to fan some fresh air into his face. So much for the promotion, then.

---

She saw it coming, of course - there was nothing to hide about two figures in Hand fatigues leaping from rooftop to rooftop on an intercept vector. She counted the closing distance in streets, insofar as one could make them out in a favela. When they were three streets away, she raised her Taurus pistols in mid-jump and dove forward, favoring the two with lead. They scrambled, opening up their parallel paths into a funnel and flanking Rowena on both sides. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw them skid to a halt in synchronous terror and ready their guns; Rowena sprinted for the next edge of her roof, shots trailing her, then stepped over the edge in mid-turn, crashing through a plastic-sheet roof feet-first. The landing was harsh and painful, but she rolled to her feet and darted away, barely two steps ahead of the next shots. The boy was behind her, moving with a grace and speed unknown to anyone but physical adepts.

Well, physical adepts - or Children of Eve. Rowena cursed her rotten luck and sprayed some 9mm back around the corner, but there was no scream of pain - no hits. Worse, the shots added a ringing prick of discomfort to her ears. She stumbled backwards, feeding the shadows more lead, trying to purge Mark's nagging voice - Ear protection, kiddo! - in favor of running.

It was futile - he was upon her like greased lightning, trying to wrestle her to the ground. Rowena didn't have the room for her usual, kick-based close-combat style; instead she went dirty and fed him an elbow to the face, which - at least - startled him enough for her to get a clean shot.

It was a glancing hit, and Rowena knew that this was as good a result as she could hope for - he was slowed down now, burning his burst of power for showing off. All she had to do was hold him off for that time. He attacked again, this time with a knife, but she had enough time to snap her leg up and hit his face with a flashkick; for the briefest of moments, she considered dropping the pistols to get her hands onto the floor, but then held on tight and rested her weight on the muzzles, completing the rotation on her feet with her guns ready to fire.

10.0 on the E-score, Rowena thought, and nobody saw it.

To Freyr's credit, he had already started evasive maneuvers, but he still caught a stray bullet from Rowena's latest barrage when he tried to roll below it. He brought up his G36, but the gun had momentum. Rowena had enough time to flip around on her heel and gave him a solid back kick to the assault rifle, sending him and the gun flying. She squeezed the trigger again, but her PT92s were spent; she released the mags and sped backwards, watching Freyr reel in the rifle with an Archer-issue dummy line.

Wait.

She ducked under Freyja's shotgun blast and whipped her pistols around, but the girl had seen her guns run dry; Rowena sprang up, uncoiling the potential energy in her muscles, and wrapped her pistols around an overhead pipe, then used the momentum to send one foot toward Freyja and another one towards a hole in the roof. Fired up from the adrenaline, she swung herself on top of the pipe and jumped off just as it gave under her weight, backflipping onto the roof. Trusting her legs to do the detail work, she sprinted off again, slipping fresh magazines into her pistols. She could feel the shotgun blast that almost hit her, but there was a gaping nothingness ahead - just a small vertical pipe a few meters ahead, a possible stepping stone on her way to the next roof - if, through some freak accident, Freyja would miss the next shot, too. She turned around on her heel at the edge, fired a few more shots to throw off the Children's aim and backflipped away from the building.

10 is land. The rest is sharks.

That said, it wasn't quite a 10; Rowena had to make a million little adjustments to her weight distribution in the blink of an eye to stay on top of the pipe. She saw Freyja appear on the edge and jump the distance to the next building effortlessly. In response, Rowena sprung up lightly, skipping off the pipe's top and sliding downwards to the ground. Once there, she took off again, heading for what looked like a dead end - and wallwalking over the fence in it, leaving the confines of Rocinha for a straight shot at the police blockade. This posed a significant problem for the cops stationed there. Although Rowena was clearly armed and fleeing the scene, she also wore Hand fatigues and wasn't attacking them straight on, so they didn't open fire. The Hand didn't want them to interfere. So they didn't. They ignored Rowena.

Well, until she jumped into a police car, yanked the ignition and sped off. Then they opened fire, but that was a bit too late to have any real effect. The twins wisely decided that it wasn't worth tangling with the now-firing cops and changed their course to rendevous with Leutnant Pantoja's jeep. The Leutnant gave them a nice little grin when they came to him, shot up and fired up.

"Do you need assistance?" he asked, without a trace of irony.

Freyr glared at him, grabbed his collar and threw him out. The Leutnant landed in the dirt and heard the jeep drive off in hot pursuit.

Yeah. Definately no promotion.