Gears of War: Haunted Echoes

[Deleted]

Chapter 14: Back on Track


"Keep walkin' ahead free of fear,

Long as the streets don't rumble 'n' sheer,

Hide behind cover,

Got lots of it here,

And blow 'em away with a grin 'r a sneer.


And when them grubs look up to peer,

At the ones in the cobalt blue gear,

Well we'll turn 'em to mush,

Keepin' safe the ones we hold dear,

Til we get back to days that're sunny and clear!"

- Excerpt of a Folk song by Nick Beamer, last of the world's great musicians

Abandoned way station, Outer Hollow;

1520 hours.

He awoke to someone shaking his body, the sound of his pistol cracking off a shot lingering in his mind. A bright light caused him to wince as the person's shadow moved out from in front of him. He felt like he'd been hit by a truck fret a night of heavy drinking.

"Hey, princess, time to wake up," a sneering voice came. Jonesy, of course. "You're our mechanic and we need lights. Your pet 'bot ain't gonna last forever."

Marov opened his eyes and stared at Jonesy's stubbled visage, his nose picking up a whiff of mint. Was the pilot chewing mints at a time like this? The thought forced a chuckle out of him, the spasm sending a shooting pain into his injured hand. Jonesy looked at him as if he were crazy. Maybe he was.

"Much as I like a little insanity, why don't you go off the deep end after you fix what needs fixin', yeah?"

"Give me a minute, smartass," Marov grumbled, pushing the pilot away as he stretched. A yawn escaped him, his hands coming up to his eyes to rub the last remnants of sleep away. As he stood up, bracing himself against the wall he had been laying against, he noticed someone had turned Spark's light back on. Ty, probably. No one else in this bloody mountain knows anything about machinery, Marov thought uncharitably, ignoring Jonesy's affinity for airborne vehicles.

A series of boops and whistles issued from the ought source, the bot's head turning to partially block out the light. Sparks' turned it's metallic head as best it could, looking cheerful despite it's inability to move, if a little worse for wear.

Marov reached up to scratch the thickening stubble around his previously groomed mustache, looking over at a wall where a screen that looked like it was just about to go out. Ty was hovering over it, no doubt trying to find something useful in the mining database; like a way to get out of the mountain. Marov's eyes nervously took stock of the room, heaving a sigh of relief when he spotted another door on the opposite side of the one they had ran through with a collapsing tunnel on their heels.

With the thought of a way out eating away at his melancholy mood, he went to the table Sparks lay on and began to carefully reapply the bandage around what had been his ring finger. A little stream of blood and a dull pain throbbed in time with his pulse, the wound looking healthy, with no sign of infection setting in. Grunting in approval, he wrapped a cleaner bandage around it.

"If there's one thing we have, it's med supplies," Marov muttered under his breath, continuing sarcastically as he remembered their ammunition predicament. "Maybe we can make a slingshot that shoots our needles."

Once his injury was once again covered, he pulled on the gauntlet he had shed earlier. A line of ripped textile and plastic along his knuckles matched perfectly with the shallow cuts along his other fingers. It was a wonder none of the others had been severed. He flexed his fingers experimentally, grimacing slightly as the movement tugged on the bandage. It would have to do.

With Sparks' pale radiance lighting up the small room, Marov took stock of the surroundings. A hexagonal formation of several gray walls stared back at him without emotion, their color as dreary as the barracks back in Jacinto. He chewed on his lip as he remembered the accommodations he had complained about - what he would give to be back there, sleeping in an actual cot instead of against a wall.

Against the wall opposite of his previously vacated accommodations was the pull out table they had made into a makeshift bed for Naleena. Nyvar and Jason were discussing something in low tones as they changed the former Stranded’s bandages, gesturing back and forth. Marov felt a smile tug at the side of his mouth as he watched the father and son pair, their gestures and postures almost identical.

“So, are we going to get some light, or are you just going to stand there all day?” a sneering voice came from Marov’s right. Jonesy was leaning against the wall with his eyes darting here and there; his tone suggesting he was very uncomfortable in the enclosed space. Marov looked up at the slate-colored ceiling, only a meter or so above their heads with a faint uneasiness; he didn’t blame the pilot for his nervousness.

“Yeah, gimmie a second, asshole,” Marov shot back, flipping the bird at the flyboy. With a chuckle from his object of insult following him, Marov shifted his bulk to the side of the table. The panel he had taken off when they’d entered was hanging loosely off the surface, connected to the ‘bot by a thick, plastic tie. He grabbed is and put it on top of Sparks, tsking at the carelessness absentmindedly.

With a few deft moves, Marov brought the screen online and to the main menu on the ‘bot’s side. A blinking battery indicator in the corner of the screen showed 3% left of Sparks’ power reserves.

“So you’re out of fuel, huh, little buddy?” Marov whispered rhetorically, receiving an answering boop from Sparks anyway. He thought that meant some kind of affirmative, so he nodded and chewed on his lip, racking his brain for an idea. A curse from Ty’s location at the console sparked a possible solution as he looked over.

“Ty?” Marov croaked out, suddenly aware his throat was dry. He took a swig from the canteen on his belt and tried again. “Hey, Ty?

“Yeah, what?” the other Gear growled out in irritation, not even looking up from the low-lit screen.

“That console have a dedicated power supply? Or is it routed through the mining base?”

The younger Gear flicked his eyes irritatingly down to the station, pushing a button and bringing a menu similar to the one displayed on Sparks’ side. After a few minutes of searching, Ty pulled up a schematic of the way station from the database. A few lines reaching down through the rock from their current location confirmed Marov’s suspicions.

“Looks like we’re hooked up directly into the immulsion, sir,” Ty replied, a hand running through his sweat and dust-caked hair. Marov momentarily wondered how he himself looked – probably worse. We’re dirty enough to pass for friggin’ Stranded, he thought with a grimace.

“Good, that’s what I thought. Here, grab Sparks and see if you can hook him up to the power supply. Might be able to recharge him that way,” Marov nodded, motioning toward the ‘bot with his injured hand.

“Me?” Ty asked, a surprised look in his eyes. “Why me?”

“Because I need to talk to our glorious leader about our objectives,” Marov yawned, looking over to see Nyvar pouring over the map he had given his friend earlier. His rough, mustachioed visage twisted into an amused smile as Ty picked the heavy machine off the table. “Plus, you were able to turn the lights on and off. I’m sure you can figure out how to plug the damn thing into a wall.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” the other Gear wryly replied, grinning slightly as Spark’s uttered a series of condescending beeps.

As Marov turned away, he wondered at the chemistry the young man and the ‘bot had. His eyes narrowed as he looked back Ty, idly wondering if the two were developing enough of a rapport to plot something devious. Last thing I need is the twerp and his pet floating trash can tag-teaming me back at base, Marov grumped in his mind.

With his heavy boots banging dully against the floor, he moved around the center island toward his friend, who had laid the map on top of a small, pull out table. There were a couple of indentations on either side of it which Marov guessed were stools, but with their heavy gear on, he doubted they’d handle the weight gracefully.

“Hey,” Nyvar said, not even glancing up at his friend, one gloved finger trailing along a particular section of the map. Marov glanced down to see X’s and O’s cluttering the once clean map; circles marking possible exits while the X’s marked…something.

“Hey,” Marov returned, sidling up to the opposite end of the table and gesturing his uninjured hand at the map. “What’s with the X’s?”

“Locust activity, blocked tunnels, Stranded outposts,” Nyvar replied, finally looking up with tired eyes at his friend. “Ty managed to get us a few of the last updates from the central facility. Turns out the deserters have been keeping the mainframe active.”

“Smart of them, with all the Locust around,” Marov nodded appreciatively at the soldiers’ instincts. Even if they were deserters, they still were a force to be reckoned with. “He find anything else?”

“Unfortunately, no. We got locked out a few seconds after we downloaded the maps. Looks like they have a tech expert with them.”

“Or the Locust could have shredded one of the cables connecting us to the facility,” Marov countered. Nyvar just shrugged, closing his eyes as he reached up to pinch his nose.

“At any rate, we have a couple of options on how to get in. Care to hear them?”

“I’m all ears,” Marov said, leaning his elbows down on the table and putting on an eager face.

“Smartass,” Nyvar scowled at the reaction, continuing with his Sergeant voice. “We’ve got two ways in. There’s a sort of lift we can gain access to in the tunnels. It requires us traveling for a couple of hours through Locust infested tunnels, but it doesn’t seem to be guarded very heavily. At least, the bottom doesn’t, seeing as the Locust don’t seem to be able to crack the codes. Ty says he can hotwire the thing to bring us up, though. Something about some programs he found in Sparks’ memory. Black Ops stuff.”

Marov nodded, remembering the conversation they had had several days ago, back when the bizarre journey had just started. Suddenly, he was more appreciative of their robotic friend, thinking back on the number of times the loyal machine had saved their asses. It was an embarrassingly high amount, unfortunately.

“And the second option?”

“We can get the hell out of these tunnels and enter in the front like we originally planned.”

“That doesn’t seem like it should even be counted as an option. Last time I saw, we were getting hit with a blizzard – freezing my ass off isn’t something I’d enjoy. Plus, who knows what kind of sh*t they have cooked up to keep us out with a frontal assault,” Marov sighed, wondering why Nyvar even brought it up.

“Well, yeah, but I was thinking we could throw the pilot at them. Solve both our problems,” Nyvar replied, looking over to the side. Marov followed his gaze to Jonesy, who was sullenly looking back at them. “But seriously, we still need to rescue those slaves and this seems like the best opt-.”

“Oh, no. No, no, no,” Marov said, cutting his friend off. “They’re dead. No way in hell the Locust care enough about them to bring them inside the nice warm caves. More than likely, they’re corpse-sicles outside the tunnel entrance. Plus, this mission is going to be hard enough without carting around a truck load of stinkin’ refugees through the snow, Locust, and whatever the hell else is out there, even if they were still around!”

“Look, Sy, I know you don’t like Stranded, but they’re people, too. The topic isn’t open for discussion.”

“But-.”

“Why don’t we do both?”

Marov and Nyvar both looked over at Jason, who was sitting next to Naleena with his armored back against the wall. His dark, serious eyes stared back at them, the teenage stubble on his chin reminding Marov exactly how young the younger Nyvar was. Marov was the first to recover from the break in.

“What do you mean?” Marov asked, pulling on one side of his mustache. “We don’t exactly have the people to mount an assault on both sides. Let alone the equipment.”

Jason stood up, shaking his head as he walked over to them, glancing down at Naleena as he moved past her pull-out cot. When he arrived at their tiny stand, he pointed at the tunnel entrance.

“A small team can enter here, sneaking in the back,” he said, the gears in his head almost audible as he continued, his face thoughtful. “Ty said he could do it without throwing out an alert, so we should be fine. Especially if we have someone keeping them busy up at the front.” The kid tapped the entrance on the outside of the network of tunnels with a gloved finger, the impact causing a slight rustling of paper. “We could impersonate a group of Stranded, or even a few Gears with intention of desertion, giving the other team time to do some damage. Having the facility as a fallback point for the refugees would be a boon either way.”

“One problem is I don’t think they’d be very trusting to a bunch of muscle-bound hulks all of a sudden showing up with a vendetta against the COG,” Nyvar replied, pointing out the obvious flaw in the plan. Marov nodded along with his friend’s assessment, though he had a feeling Jason had thought of that, too. Judging from the way the junior Nyvar grinned, Marov felt confident in his assumption.

“That would be true. However, we have a couple less muscled, and therefore less threatening-looking, people with us.” The kid hitched his thumb back at the pilot, who was glowering over at them as if it was their fault he was stuck miles deep in the ass crack of a mountain. Marov had to admit to himself it probably was, though.

“True,” Marov rumbled out, rubbing his chin as he stared at their wounded compatriot. “Still, Nal’s in bad shape. I don’t think we should leave her here, alone. Because we’ll need everyone we have to do any damage.”

“I thought of that, too,” the too-smart tone of voice retorted as Jason appraised their raven-haired Stranded girl. “With the armor she’s still wearing, she could pass for another Gear. If I carry her and head to the front with Jonesy, she should be able to add some kind of urgency to our situation. After all, even if they’re deserters, they’re still soldiers at heart – we’ve been taught to safeguard women, whenever we can.”

“I don’t know,” Nyvar replied to the plan, rubbing a bicep through the thick mesh sleeves he wore under his armor. “It’s risky. They could just keep you out regardless. Then we’d be without the distraction you mentioned and you’d be out in the cold. I don’t think she’d survive out there long, son.”

A flash of sparks interrupted Marov’s thought processes, causing them all to look over to where Ty was working on the ‘bot. Cursing, the younger member of Echo Three ripped a power cord out of Sparks’ side, stopping the inflammation of their highly expensive machinery.

“What did you do?” Marov asked incredulously as Sparks’ lights went dim, the room plunging into darkness once more. Jonesy started cursing up a storm, quickly followed by a crash as the pilot ran into something and fell.

“I just hooked him up, sir. Hold on,” Ty growled, a bang accompanying his voice. All of a sudden, Sparks started lighting back up, the bulbs blinking on as it started to raise up on its repulsors. “There. All fixed. Right buddy?”

Sparks beeped and booped cheerfully, extending a grasping claw and patting Ty on the head, comically rising and lowering on his repulsors to manage the action. A rumble of laughter from Marov’s side joined with his own as they laughed at Ty’s expression, which was one part proud and one part confused at what had just taken place.

“Looks like he agrees,” Naleena’s soft voice broke through the din, a wan smile on her paler-than-normal face.

“And I think I figured out a way to failsafe my plan, too,” Jason said with a sudden eagerness.

“Let’s hear it then, General,” Jonesy sneered from across the room, his arms folded as he leaned against the wall. Marov had a feeling the pilot knew his part in their plan wouldn't be pleasant, whatever they decided on.

[Deleted]

Chapter 15: Hollow Run

“You ever wonder where all these explosives are coming from, man? I mean, someday we’re going to run out of it. That’s a fact. And then where are we going to be? Using friggin’ dynamite? On second thought, I can’t wait!” – Baird, on the COG’s dwindling military assets.

In the tunnels, Outer Hollow;

1600 hours



“Bloody, damn assholes,” Jonesy said as he followed Jason and his cargo through the small tunnel they’d been in for the last hour. He wasn’t happy at all about being sent out of the safe waystation, where bats with razors for wings flitted around and rocks had a habit of submitting to gravity far too often for his liking. His zone was the sky, after all, not this ground-pounder sh*t he’d been dealing with the last however many days. “Damn caves. Damn COG. Damn Hoffman.”

“It’s not Hoffman’s fault you got yourself shot down, Jonesy,” Jason’s sarcastic voice sounded from ahead. Jonesy glowered at the kid, not enjoying being reminded.

“Yeah, well, if I wasn’t such a great pilot, we’d all be dead on touchdown,” Jonesy retorted bitterly, remembering “touchdown” as a maddening series of flashing lights, loud noises, and an extreme amount of heat just before he blacked out. “You know what the life expectancy of flyboys are? It seems like we die faster than you kids on the ground do. I’m surprised there’s as many of us still alive as there are!”

“World’s a crazy place, man. People just happen to roll with the crazy themselves. Some more than others.”

“No sh*t,” Jonesy sneered, looking down at his feet in an effort to stop stumbling. They had Sparks with them, but the ‘bot was conserving its power by only keeping one bulb on. It’d keep the Kryll away at the least, but it wasn’t so bright that he didn’t keep tripping over every crevasse in the friggin’ mountain. “Speaking of insanity, I’m surprised your dad and his two buddies felt the need to adventure into the mountain with just an old kerosene lamp to keep them company. If that sh*t runs out in the middle of a Kryll swarm, they’re f*cked.”

The kid didn’t reply, leading Jonesy to believe he was ignoring him. The pilot didn’t blame him, though, seeing as how he’d probably be pretty nervous if the last of his family was risking their lives like that. If he had any family still alive. Jonesy quickly moved his thoughts back over to griping to avoid that dark cesspit of thought. It wouldn’t do anyone any good.

With his muttering keeping his attention away from the heavy, almost cloying ceiling above their heads, Jonesy examined his armor. While his scrawny frame barely filled the suit out, it still amazed him how the recon suit rendered his outline almost indistinct. Granted, they were underground, but even when they’d been traveling through the forest on some stupid errand to save a bunch of asswipes in a slave camp filled with a dozen or more Locust, the armor had had that effect.

“Shame we can’t coat our Ravens with this sh*t,” he whispered sullenly, thinking of his downed bird somewhere in the forest surrounding the mountain. “Still, even if we did, we’d have to work on the sound. Stupid rotors.”

Time passed slowly underground, the surroundings staying the same rocky path after stalagmite after pit of abyss he almost fell into. Occasionally, a red, glowing light gently pulsed from some kind of underground potato or seed. Biology wasn’t high on Jonesy’s list of priorities, so he didn’t do much but look at it as if it were dangerous. Given what things crawled around in the Hollow, he wasn’t prepared to find out either way.

That didn’t stop Jason from calling a break though, directing Jonesy to keep Naleena company while he examined it. Jonesy just shook his head at the kid’s weird brand of crazy and complied, sidling up to the wounded woman and sitting beside her.

“So how’s the chest, lady?” Jonesy asked with his usual tact. The woman frowned slightly with her puffy lips, her eyebrows drawing down and then raising again with the smile that followed. Obviously, she understood his particular behavior.

“I’m coping. It hurts, but I don’t feel like I’m dying. That machine of yours did good work. I can’t even imagine how much it’d help a community of Stranded if we had one.”

“Yeah, well, we kind of need them for the war and stuff. Locust trying to wipe us out. Good a medic as they can be, we try to use them to more for busting down doors or scouting,” Jonesy rattled off sarcastically, leaning his head back against the stone wall. Some kind of insect with too many legs was skittering across his field of vision, disappearing behind a cluster of roots. He shuddered at it, transforming the action into a fake shiver as his companion arched her brow.

“Damn, it’s cold down here,” Jonesy groused loudly, rubbing his arms. Even though he had faked the shiver, it was still chilly. He supposed that meant they were getting closer to an exit, and while that cheered him up, he wasn’t looking forward to wading through hip deep snow for a couple of miles.

“I’ve got a blanket in my pack if the poor, wittle pilot needs one,” Jason’s voice sounded from somewhere around the bend, followed by a chuckle. Jonesy twisted his mouth into a sneer at the words and flipped the bird in the voice’s direction.

“I’m kind of chilly, too,” Naleena whispered softly, scooting closer to Jonesy. The pilot looked over, the woman’s leaning position giving him an almost full view of her shapely cleavage. He looked away quickly, feeling his face burning with embarrassment. Well, at least my cheeks won’t catch frostbite, he thought wryly to himself.

With a grumble, he put an arm around his companion, looking up at the ceiling as she snuggled closer to him. The contact of her small body was almost electrifying, the warmth of their thighs touching and her bosom against his side getting a rise out of him. He cursed silently to himself, hoping she wouldn’t notice his predicament. Dammit, it’s not my fault I haven’t even looked at a woman since the war started, Jonesy groaned inwardly, feeling extremely uncomfortable with the moment.

A few minutes later, he felt her breathing slow, the warmth from her exhales sending goosebumps along his arm as it disturbed the hairs there. Great, she’s asleep. Wait, should she be asleep with this kind of injury? Or was that head wounds? Why do I care this much? A whirlwind of thoughts were rushing through Jonesy’s mind as the crunching of gravel announced Jason’s return. The pilot looked up to see the Gear’s face smirking at him, softening as he looked to Naleena’s sleeping form.

“Fell asleep, huh?”

“Yeah. She’s tired. Hell, we’re all tired,” Jonesy said, trying to gently take his arm out from around her back. When he failed to do so, he gestured with his head toward her at Jason. “Get her, will you? My arms falling asleep.”

“Chivalrous as usual,” Jason wisecracked, kneeling down and pulling the woman forward. Jonesy quickly extricated his arm from behind her, wiping away dirt and gravel from the mesh underlay he was wearing.

“I never claimed to be perfect.”

“Coulda fooled me with your attitude,” Jason chuckled softly as he grabbed the woman under her legs and pulled her up with a grunt into his arms. With that lovely note, they continued their trek through the tunnels. Jonesy idly wondered if the other team was having as much fun as he was.


-----------------------------------


Marov coughed, tightening the bandana he’d had to tie over his mouth earlier. His eyes were watering from the fumes the Imulsion all around them was giving off, but he soldiered through it, careful where he set down his foot. Earlier, Ty had stepped in the wrong place, his foot breaking down through the crusty ground and entering the fuel for a second before Nyvar reached over and pulled him out. The man’s boot had been eaten almost all the way through; Marov had shuddered at the thought of what the Imulsion would do if it had touched Ty’s skin.

The enormous cavern they were in held slim walkways through a veritable sea of Imulsion. Every now and then, the fuel bubbled and made a gurgling noise as they passed, as if it were alive and matching their progress. That thought didn’t set well with Marov, who was bringing up the rear in their three man convoy. Still, the only redeeming quality of all the Imulsion was they could conserve their lamp's kerosene, since the stuff gave off a lot of sickly, yellow light.

Ty, holding the now extinguished lamp, was in the middle, following Nyvar as they made their way through the cavern. The younger man’s gait was awkward every time he stepped down on his corroded boot, much to his annoyance. Marov tried to fan the fumes from his eyes as they went and failing miserably.

“So, if there was so much damn Imulsion down here, why did we even fight the Pendulum Wars?” Ty asked, his voice muffled through his own makeshift bandana.

“Hell, I don’t know. It was probably just because war’s what we do. We wouldn’t know what to do with peace,” Marov gabbed bitterly, checking his Lancer’s ammunition. He had only two extra clips outside of his full magazine – they couldn’t handle a prolonged firefight. Which was another reason they had to take the facility; the deserters no doubt had a cache of weapons stashed somewhere.

“Politicians,” Nyvar called over his shoulder. “The greedy bastards wanted all the fuel. Doesn’t much matter how much of the sh*t there is. People like that don’t learn how to share.”

“Prescott doesn’t seem as bad as that. He was in the army, wasn’t he?” Ty replied.

“Yeah, he was in the army alright. Didn’t do much beside send good men to die, but he was in the army. Man never saw frontline combat,” Marov growled, the bandana momentarily sticking to his lips. He reached up to pull it away, letting in a blast of Imulsion flavored oxygen. He almost retched as the smell stuck to the back of his throat.

“Besides, he became Chairman during this war. He didn’t have the time to focus on scrabbling for the Imulsion. Might be the only reason anyone still thinks of him positively,” Nyvar scoffed, marching over a rise. As soon as he did, he stopped and held his hand up in a fist, backing up and falling into a crouch. Marov watched Ty bring his weapon around in a scanning maneuver, crouching down as well in case there were a sniper watching the ridge. For his part, Marov turned and brought his weapon up to cover their rear. Nothing behind them, at least.

“What is it, Sarge?” Ty whispered.

“Bloodmount,” Nyvar hissed back. Marov felt a pat on his back and turned around to see Nyvar gesturing for him to join the two looking over the rise. When his eyes broke the plane, they went automatically to the beast shuffling along beside a Drone. A clinking was audible over the bubbling Imulsion as the chain around the Bloodmount’s neck scratched the ground and lead to the Locust’s clawed hand.

“What’s the plan, ‘Seph?” Marov asked as he checked the safety on his Lancer again.

“Let ‘em pass. Looks like they’re heading for that tunnel,” their leader pointed at a large, dark entrance that looked as though it went deeper into the Hollow. “The Imulsion should mask our scent, at least.”

Marov nodded and resolved to wait awhile, leaning back against a stalagmite that was shooting up from the ground beside their path. His Lancer rested against his chest as he stared up at the ceiling. What he saw nearly paralyzed him with fear.

“We don’t have time to wait, ‘Seph. We need to go, now!” Marov hissed nervously, getting up slowly as he kept his gaze locked on the many eyes of a Corpser slowly unwinding itself from a large hole in the roof. He didn’t know if slow movements would help, but the thing wasn’t dropping on top of them yet, so he continued the motion.

“Wha-? Oh, sh*t,” Nyvar replied as he followed Marov’s gaze. The Corpser was almost completely out of the hole now, its clawed extremities clutching the roof like the spider it resembled.

“Why isn’t it attacking already? It’s staring right at us,” Ty whispered with fear, slowly rising up to his feet.

“The Imulsion, maybe? How do the things see, anyway?” Marov asked, watching the monster cock its head back and forth at them. A dry, slithery hiss emanated from its cavernous mouth as it sliced through a stalactite hanging from the ceiling directly above them.

“MOVE!”

Marov wasn’t sure who yelled it, but he immediately jumped out of the way, over the rise. A sound he never wanted to hear in a cave again thundered from behind him, the ground shaking beneath him. He jumped to his feet as quickly as he could and ran after Ty, who was already heading directly at the Bloodmount and its master.

A stream of shots flew over Marov’s shoulder as Nyvar opened fire on the Drone, Ty and Marov doing the same. He heard someone yelling over the sound of Lancer fire and realized it was his own voice, fueled with anger and fear as the Drone twitched in its death throes. The Bloodmount, driven mad by the smell of blood and machine gun fire, dug into the corpse of the Locust, blood flinging everywhere as the thing’s teeth and tiny claws ripped into the body.

They were a few meters from the grisly scene when the ground shook again. Marov looked back to see the Corpser splash into the Imulsion, screeching in pain as it landed in the fuel. It quickly ran forward toward them, the fury in its many eyes directed at them. As one of its claws lifted, Imulsion sloughed off, revealing the tip of its extremity melted off.

“F*ck!” Marov yelled, returning his vision forward as an acid-eaten leg slammed into the ground, narrowly missing him as he jumped to the left. Ty ran past the Bloodmount, jumping in the air as best he could despite the heavy gear as the animal swiped a claw at him. With its fanged mouth ringed with the blood that gave it it’s name, it turned back to Marov and lurched forward toward him. There was no way he had enough time to bring his gun up and kill the thing. Dying to a friggin’ Bloodmount miles underground wasn’t exactly the way I thought I would go, Marov raged in his mind, futilely raising his weapon anyway.

Just as he was about to become the Bloodmount’s next victim, a claw from the Corpser pierced through its body and dug into the ground, pinning the abomination. Marov’s eyes widened as he tried to shift his body to the right, careening off of the claw and tripping to the ground. He threw his Lancer ahead of him right before he hit the ground so he wouldn’t get a face full of chainsaw. The dying screech of the Bloodmount rang in his ears, almost deafening him.

“How many times am I going to have to pick you off your ass?” Nyvar’s voice rang out as a strong hand pulled him to his feet. Marov just grinned despite his leg starting to radiate pain from the bullet wound. All this running wasn’t doing it any good.

“As many times as I have to pull your ass out of a fire,” Marov shot back, scooping up his weapon as he moved toward their destination – a small tunnel the Corpser couldn’t hope to follow them through with its size. Ty was standing there, looking back at them and waving them on. Marov was glad the other Gear had sense enough not to piss away the last of his ammo on the Corpser’s hard carapace.

They ran the last couple of meters into the cave just as the Corpser jumped at them, banging into the wall in impotent rage. Marov took the opportunity to look back just as the thing sent a large claw into the opening. He pushed Ty and Nyvar to opposite ends of the wall and launched himself forward as he did so. Curses filled the air as the other two soldiers tripped and caught themselves on opposite walls.

Marov, on his hands and knees, crawled as fast as he could, feeling the impact of the Corpser’s claw hitting directly behind him. A scream of frustration from their giant adversary caused Marov to roll over and look back, out of range of the madly scrambling digit. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he gulped in air, ripping the bandana from over his mouth. Ty rushed over, quickly followed by Nyvar, their combined strength enough to drag him further away from the monster. Marov felt dizzy, everything starting to go black as fumes filled his throat and the pain in his leg flared.

"Just a little further, man. Elevators are in sight."

Marov nodded as best he could, his vision narrowing to a pinprick as the Corpser's eyes stared at him, it's hellish mouth wide open in a yell.

[Deleted]

Chapter 16: Into the Fire


“I made a deal with the devil, literally. I work for them and we stay alive. The rest of the world can fight if they want, and die. Sera’s a right b*tch that way.” – Parker Wilson, talking to his fellow deserter, Tyrel LaBlanc.

Elevator platform beneath Lethia Imulsion Facility;

1710 hours.



“C’mon, Ty, get that elevator down here.”

Marov was leaning against a breaker box, his sight flickering as he fought to stay awake. His labored breathing pulsed in time to the pain shooting up from his injured leg. Nyvar was squatting with his hands trying to rewrap his injuries in a new bandage. Marov growled as Nyvar put too much pressure on the wound, instantly clamping down on an instinctive yell.

“Sh*t, don’t these things ever give up?” Nyvar yelled over the loud banging coming from the tunnel, looking toward the tunnel that they had just vacated. Dust from the ceiling fell around them as the Corpser futilely pounded against the wall. Damn animal’s probably too stupid to realize it can’t dig anymore, Marov thought, his eyes clenched closed.

“You’re good to go, Sy,” Nyvar said, slapping Marov on the knee plate and standing back up. Marov nodded and reached down to tug his massive boot gently over his foot, hoping he’d be able to stand up. Nyvar offered a hand, which he took, gritting his teeth against the expected pain when he stood on his injured foot. The thing still hurt like hell, but he’d be able to hobble along instead of being carried.

Grimacing, Marov moved over to grab his Lancer, which was laying on the ground next to Ty. With a surprisingly minimal amount of pain, he picked it up off the floor and clutched it to his chest like he would a child. The weapon was precious, and not just because they couldn’t be built in the same numbers they’d been able to before. It had saved his life more often than his friends had.

“Aw, hell. Where’d it go?” Nyvar’s voice asked incredulously, suddenly loud in the silence.

Marov turned to look down the hallway and saw no sign of the giant spider thing. His thoughts went instantly to the roof, quickly followed by his eyes as he scanned the ceiling. No holes like they’d seen in the Imulsion field.

“Ty, get that lift down here, now,” Nyvar ordered, walking over to the edge of a cliff and looking down into the abyss. He shuddered, as if he saw something down there he didn’t like. “I don’t want to stick around to see if it brings back friends.”

“Sh*t!” Ty hissed as sparks flew from the elevator control panel, the yellow pinpricks of fire dying away as soon as they appeared. “Just a few more seconds.”

“Think they can climb up from that cliff, ‘Seph?” Marov asked, making sure to stay far away from the edge, especially with his unsteady gait.

“Nah, nothin’ but Imulsion down there. Doesn’t look like there’s any room to dig a tunnel, either. I just want to get the hell out from under the mountain. Spent enough time down here.”

“I hear that,” Marov said feverently, glancing back at Ty to see him hold two wires together, a tongue sticking out of his mouth in concentration. That insignificant detail surprised a grin out of Marov, despite their situation. It seemed so out of place.

“Got it.”

A creaking moan sounded from above them as the elevator, causing Marov to wince in pain. The sound felt like it was drilling through his skull. Hopefully no one up top was in listening range, he thought as he looked up the shaft. The platform was slowly clanking its way down to them, the underside scoured with bullet rounds.

“Looks like someone must’ve just escaped the grubs,” Nyvar said softly, coming up to stand next to Marov and hefting his gun up to the cage surrounding the elevator. “Doesn’t look like they made it, though.”

Marov stared at the cage and saw what he meant; a human skull was implanted in the grate, the spine woven in and out of the chain links. Pieces of cloth clustered around the sight, dangling forlornly from the grate. He felt the urge to throw up at that, turning to the side and bracing himself against the stone wall with one hand. It reminded him too much of his daughter’s fate for his liking.

“You alright, Sy?” Nyvar quiered worriedly,

“I’ll hold together ‘til we get this thing done,” Marov replied as a fresh wave of pain hit him as he moved his foot wrong. Nyvar frowned at him, but nodded anyway. Not like there’s much we can do down here, Marov thought.

Trying to put his mind away from the gruesome display and the pain screaming through his leg, he checked his Lancer, noticing the chainsaw’s chain was off its resting place. Working with a practiced ease, he returned it to its rightful place and revved it up, watching as the teeth buzzed around in a satisfying way.

“Alright, our ride’s here,” Nyvar broke in as soon as Marov turned off his bayonet, walking toward the platform. It didn’t look like the safest elevator he had been on, so Marov walked toward the middle, next to the central pillar in the center of the platform. The pillar was flecked with rust and grime, a few scorch marks from unfriendly fire showing through it all. A click from his earpiece followed by Nyvar’s voice caused him to turn around and look at his friend.

“Jason? You read me?” Nyvar asked, a couple of fingers to his right ear as he initiated the circuit.

Nothing but static filled the channel. Nyvar frowned at that, bringing down his hand and looking up the shaft, as if his kid would be waiting up there for him. Marov bumped his friend’s shoulder with his own.

“Kid’s resourceful, ‘Seph. He’ll make it,” Marov whispered softly. Nyvar just grunted, as if he wanted to believe that, turning around and bringing his Lancer up to his chest. He nodded to their new tech expert.

“Take us up, Ty.”

“One second,” Ty replied from the breaker box. A moment later, the platform shuddered and started rising slowly. Ty jogged over to them, jumping on just before the elevator rose into a safety cage. “What would you guys do without me?”

“You did good, Ty,” Nyvar said, patting his younger friend on the shoulder. Ty beamed at the praise, looking up in embarrassment, but Nyvar was already looking into the mid distance and working his jaw in worry.

“Let’s just hope we don’t have a welcoming party up there waiting for us. This thing made a pretty annoying noise when it started heading down,” Marov grumped, letting his weapon drop to his side in a one handed grip. The pain in his leg was starting to go away, shifting into a dull throb that pulsed in time with the blood in his ears.

“According to the schematics I saw before they locked us out, the elevator is deep in the facility, at the end of a mining cart track. No point in watching this end, especially since no one but Locust are in the tunnels. They couldn’t use the controls without the plans Sparks gave us,” Ty replied, bringing his own weapon up to his chest.

“These are Gears, son. There’s always reason to watch an entrance, regardless of possible entry. What I’m confused about is why the Locust just haven’t sent a Corpser up the shaft,” Nyvar wondered aloud.

“Probably because we’re so close to the surface. No room for a Corpser to dig - and the tunnel entrance we just came through is covered in Imulsion. They’d just end up like our friend back there,” the younger Gear responded with confidence, looking up at the top of the shaft again. Marov looked up to and wagered they were almost there, wishing they could just take a few days break to sleep – he was suddenly aware how tired he was. He closed his eyes momentarily, trying to enter a trance that Ven had always been talking about.

Memories of the giant swam through his consciousness, a bemused smile almost always on the South Islander’s face. He smiled faintly as he remembered Ven trying to teach Ty how to cook over an open fire during one of their missions. The kid had burned everything he had been given, looking so serious as he tried to repeat the motions Ven had with a skillet. Still, the big man had just patiently watched and laughed at each attempt, imparting words of questionable wisdom about fate and its dislike of Ty’s cooking.

Damn, I haven’t thought of the lug in awhile, Marov thought, sadness momentarily weighing down on the happy memory. Then a host of new memories combated the melancholy away, washing through his mind. Suddenly, he wasn’t so tired.

When he opened his eyes, he saw Ty squatting on the edge of the platform, looking down through the safety cage and Nyvar grinding his jaw as he watched the younger man with concern. Marov grinned at the picture, despite their situation. Ven would probably say something stupid about ‘rising out of the depths of hell’ or some other mystical bullsh*t, Marov thought with fondness.

“Alright, check your gear. Be ready just in case we find something up there,” Nyvar commanded, a click sounding from his own weapon as he turned the safety off. “And don’t shoot anything until I give the order.”

“Imulsion fumes, Corpsers, and now an entrance with possible hostiles? We made it this far. Let’s see if we can make three for three today,” Marov scoffed just before his eyes crested the plane, ready to move out.

------------------------------------


Outside of the mountain, 1 km from Facility;

1710 hours



White. That was the first thing Jonesy noticed as they came to the tunnel exit of their not-so-friendly mountain. Pure, friggin’ cold, whiteness.

“Did we really have to come out here?” Jonesy whined piteously, already feeling the chill dig through his armor and imbed itself in his bones. He stumbled slightly as gravel and snow shifted beneath him, starting a miniature avalanche down the shallow incline. They were at the foot of the mountain, flakes of snow gently falling to the ground. Jonesy glared at the dancing balls of cold as they swirled around him and wet his mesh underlay.

“Yeah, we kinda did,” Jason replied with a sigh, shrugging under the weight of Naleena and his own weaponry. As treacherous as it was outside, Jonesy had been forced to carry the Stranded woman’s Longshot, which was slung over his shoulder. Though he had wanted to try the weapon out the last time they’d seen the open sky, its weight was rapidly cooling that urge. It felt heavier than anything he’d ever had to carry during Boot.

“How long til we hit the facility? I could use some A/C right about now,” Jonesy asked, blowing into his thinly gloved hands to try and warm them up. He didn’t know how much longer they’d be able to stay out here before they froze to death. The sobering thought clicked with something back in his mind. Shivering, loss of muscle control, sluggish thinking, frostbite, death. Hooray for hypothermia.

“We’re only a kilometer out. We should be able to start seeing the towers soon, over the trees in that direction,” Jason nodded a bit to the left of their heading. Jonesy glared through the white and tried to spy the large, metal Imulsion containers. He thought he saw a faint smudge of gray through the wintry trees, but he couldn’t be sure. Snow really wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

He suddenly wished he could just fly above the clouds and see the crisp, clear daylight. It was a sight that took his breath away each time he flew that high during Frost. When was the last time I even got to do that? Back before the war, probably, when we were fighting each other instead of these damn beasts. Sh*t, I must be getting old at thirty two, feeling all nostalgic like this.

Jonesy remained wrapped up in his thoughts for awhile, absently putting one foot in front of the other as he followed the slightly taller, younger, and more fit soldier through the icy air. Puffs of his breath fogged his vision every now and then, his nose and cheeks starting to go numb. He was suddenly jealous of Jason, able to get more heat from Naleena’s body and the effort of carrying her. He hated being scrawny, sometimes.

A few minutes later, a sound he’d forgotten existed washed into his consciousness – the sound of the ocean beating against land. That meant they had to be close, since the facility was situated directly alongside the water. He looked around, spotting the towers now that they were close enough to see through the snow.

A flicker of dark brown in between the trees caught his attention from his peripherals. He looked over quickly, freezing with a familiar fear as he saw a familiar face. Make that a familiar face and a couple of soldiers he hadn’t seen before. His fingers itched to hold one of the door guns of his Raven, always torn between piloting her himself or blowing grubs away from above.

“Jason,” Jonesy hissed, looking over to his companion and realizing the man was still going. “Hey, kid,” he said a little louder, moving as slow and quiet as he could. Luckily, Naleena spotted Jonesy waving for their attention, her mouth moving as she looked up at the young Gear.

“What now, Jonesy?” Jason asked, his brows turned down in an expression that made him look just like his dad. Jonesy cringed and held a finger to his lips at the kid’s voice broke through the small tufts of wind, pointing down into the gully he had spotted trouble in.

The kid followed his finger, eyes widening as he saw Parker walking through the gully on a well-traveled path, his ever-present cigarette smoking in the frosty air. Two big men in full Gear regalia, looking more taken care of than Parker’s own set of armor, waltzed behind him, their Lancers held loosely against their chests.

“Sh*t, what’re we going to do now? He’s heading right for the facility,” Jonesy whispered hysterically, gripping the pistol at his side to comfort him. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to be working, this time.

“Damn, I should’ve thought of this,” Jason replied quietly, sounding like he was beating himself up about not coming up with the perfect plan. The kid had to learn plans never survived contact with reality. “He’s seen all of us, too. There’s no way we’re getting in without him recognizing us and putting a bullet through our heads.”

Jonesy started to hyperventilate, panic fueling his racing thoughts as he gulped in large amounts of snowflakes. Everything was going down the sh*tter. They were going to be stuck in the f*cking cold or be forced to go back underground, if they could even find the exit they came out of. Jason must have caught on to Jonesy’s very visible panic, because he spoke again with an air of authority about him.

“Calm down, pilot. We just need to think this through.” The kid looked around for a moment before continuing. “Sparks?”

A quizzical beep sounded from midair right next to Jonesy, causing him to jump in fright. His heart was hammering in his chest as the bot uncloaked itself, cocking its “head” at him.

“Sparks, can you establish a channel with my dad? We need to let him know what’s going on up here.”

Sparks floated for a moment, looking toward the facility and cocking its head again. Jonesy shuddered at the motion, the act reminding him too much of a close encounter with a Berserker he had had when the things first burst out of the ground. A drooping series of beeps followed after a few minutes, a clear negative.

“Damn,” Jason said, blowing out a breath and closing his eyes. Jonesy saw Naleena’s lips form a solid line just before she began to speak, as if she were trying to hold in her anger.

“We can just walk in. Parker won’t shoot us if he sees I’m with you,” the dark-skinned Stranded said in a breathy voice; Jonesy remembered her lung had been punctured. It must hurt like hell to breath outside in the cold. “He cares too much about me, even if he doesn’t know it himself.”

“You think we can trust him that far, Nal? He took the people you were leading hom and led them straight to slavery, or worse. What do you think he’s going to do to you?” Jason sneered. Jonesy thought back to the mustachioed Gear filling them in while Jason’s father had been recovering from his injuries. It felt like so long ago that everything had happened, as if almost a year had gone by since he lifted off from Jacinto.

“We don’t have much choice, do we? We’ll freeze if we stay out here,” Naleena returned just as caustically.

“I’m going to have to agree with her,” Jonesy began, instantly quieting down as they both glared at him. He rolled his eyes – so it was going to be a lover’s spat, then. They didn’t have time for all this romantic bullsh*t. “We’ve gotta hurry if we’re going to do anything. Our genocidal traitor is walking up Lethia Promenade,” Jonesy quipped, jokingly referring to the stretch of concrete surrounded by gray buildings and the ocean on one side.

“Let’s move then,” Jason said without any further ado, apparently resigned to the plan Naleena had given them. Jonesy followed as the younger man half slid half jogged down the last bit of slope leading to the path Parker had just walked down.

They slowed down when they came to the concrete, Jason bravely calling out to the threesome. Unfortunately, that was probably the wrong thing to do at that moment. The two soldiers on either side of Parker quickly turned and opened fire without waiting for an order. Jonesy ran toward the nearest cover, a tank probably filled with something explosive, and ducked behind it. He felt like he was going to piss himself as soon as bullets started pinging into the other side of the tank, knowing at any moment he’d be sent flying, on fire, through the air.

“Hold your damned fire. Hold it. Stop!” Parker’s voice yelled over the sound of gunfire. Instantly the air ceased spewing metal slugs, much to Jonesy’s relief. He looked over to where he had last seen Jason, praying he wouldn’t find two mutilated bodies lying on the ground. However, contrary to his fears, Jason was standing up behind a metal wall with his Lancer in his hands. Naleena was standing, surprisingly, bracing herself against the wall with a pistol in her hand.

“Who the hell are you?” Parker yelled angrily. Jonesy pictured the man’s scraggly beard and red face, but was too chicken to look over and probably get a round between the eyes.

“It’s me, Parker,” Naleena’s voice called out, again a surprise to Jonesy, who thought she was supposed to be near a comatose state. Still, her voice wavered and her face, what he could see behind the white bandanna she wore, was an unhealthy pale. This wasn’t the best environment for her to move around and yell in.

“Naleena? Sh*t, girl, I thought you were dead, along with those assh- wait. Who's with you? Where's the others?”

“The pilot and one of the Gears you saved from the crash site,” Jason yelled, his voice strong. "We're alone. We got seperated."

“Give me a reason I should believe you,” Parker returned, his voice suddenly filled with malice. “You assholes were sent to capture this facility, weren’t you?”

“F*ck that,” Jonesy yelled, slowly coming out of cover with his hands up. The two Gears tracked him as he moved, but they didn’t open fire. He didn’t know what he was doing or why he was doing it, but it seemed like the best way to get Parker to trust them. “I just wanna live. If that means deserting, I’ll take it.”

Jonesy watched Parker’s face, the man’s eyes glaring over at him as if debating whether to order him into chopped meat or not. The two big men kneeling beside him just stared unblinkingly down their sights, one a big black-skinned man and the other a white guy with a bandanna similar to Naleena’s covering his face. They both looked like they’d take the shot without a twinge of humanity, though that could have just been a façade.

Naleena came out next, supported by Jason, who had clamped his Lancer back to his back to avoid looking like a threat. Jonesy watched as the kid’s jaw clenched at the sight of weapons pointed at him, his eyes flickering between the two and then to Parker.

“Please, Parker,” Naleena begged, wincing as she drew in a breath and falling to her knees. Jonesy would have normally thought the display was overly dramatic had it been in a movie, but right then, it felt all too real to him.

“What happened to you, darlin’?” Parker asked, his face all of a sudden written with concern as he moved forward to them. One of the Gears moved forward with his weapon still aimed at Jason, policing the various weapons he carried. The other, dark-skinned Gear did the same to him, a hint of sympathy in his eyes quickly hardening to a cold stare as Jonesy noticed it. So these guys weren’t totally inhuman.

“Grab her,” Parker directed to the Gear in the bandanna. “Bring her to the med lab. See if Hanson can do anything to help her.” The traitor turned to Jonesy and Jason, now both weaponless and standing next to each other with their hands on the back of their heads. “Throw these two in one of the labs. I’ll decide what to do with them later.”

“Sh*t. Out of the frying pan,” Jason whispered to Jonesy, receiving a growled “quiet” from their jailor.

“Hey, I’ll take the fire to all this cold stuff,” Jonesy retorted, getting a cuff on his ear from the big black man. Though he was outwardly pleased by the heat they were going to be able to stay in, worry still gnawed him. How were they going to get the message to the others that Parker was here?

[Deleted]

Chapter 17: Death’s Roulette

“Understand what you see on the battlefield is reality, my friend. Once you have accustomed yourself to hell, it can only be that much better when you finally fall in battle. Just, if it is within your power, face me to the sky when my soul leaves this shell. I enjoy staring at the clouds and if it is to be my last sight, I would leave gratefully.” – Ven Salora, in a conversation with Tyler Fais as they look over the cloudscape from the door of a Raven.

Inside the Lethia Imulsion Facility

1749 hours

Marov fought hard not to give into the urge to look down, concentrating solely on Ven’s old shotgun clamped across Ty’s back. He had memorized every detail of it in the past five minutes, down to the individual grooves where Ven had carved his initials into the barrel. Since they had stepped out onto a forlorn looking mining cart track in the middle of a cavernous room, Marov had had a hard time breathing. The weight of the Lancer on his back and the way the armor was made forced him to hunch over forward, keeping his diaphragm from drawing the amount of air he wanted. His brain was screaming at him to straighten up and breath in a deep lungful of oxygen, but he squelched the impulse. Being off balance would be fatal.

While he wasn’t especially afraid of heights, normally, walking out over an abyss on a rickety mine track was severely testing the limits of his bravery. The all pervading gloom didn’t help much either. Still, the beat up kerosene lamp was casting a cheery point of fire for them; an acceptable detection risk, given what they were walking on. One wrong step and they’d be kissing grubs.

They stopped suddenly, Marov looking over Ty’s shoulder to see an old mining cart sitting on the track. Nyvar looked back at them and rolled his eyes at the delay, moving to the side of it and grabbing onto the cart’s side, gingerly moving himself across the extremely small amount of rail while practically hanging from the cart itself. Marov kept expecting the cart to tip over and send his friend into the darkness, but it only creaked as Nyvar moved past it to safer ground.

Creaks and moans came from beneath them as the metal shifted under the weight of three full grown men in standard Gear regalia, Ty and Marov quickly following Nyvar’s lead and continuing on their hellish road. They had considered caching their armor back at the ledge, but they didn’t know if they would have the opportunity to come back through here, especially with the mine cart obstacle. The confidence Marov had felt was starting to slowly wane, his heart catching every time Nyvar or Ty tilted a little too far to one side as they tried to keep their balance.

“Could you please walk straight?” Marov hissed, both of his hands out in an attempt to keep his balance. “You’re going to give me a heart attack.”

“You think I’m trying to freak you out? I’m scared sh*tless right now. Don’t go making it any worse.” Ty retorted angrily through clenched teeth, fear lending itself to the irritation plain in his voice.

“Hey, shut up and kill the light. I think I hear something up ahead,” Nyvar paused, giving Marov the opportunity to bend to one knee and grab on to the relatively solid tracks. However, in doing so, he accidently peaked over the side to see nothing but darkness. Then the lamp’s radiance went out. Sh*t, sh*t, sh*t, I hate this job, Marov cursed silently, squeezing his eyes shut. As soon as he did, he heard what caused Nyvar to stop.

“Nothin’…ere…like I said. Grubs...stupid…work the elevator,” a voice said from the gloom, a shaft of light popping out of a hole in a wall that was to their left, where another track was suspended.

“We need to hide.”

“We can take them,” Ty responded, reaching for his Lancer. Nyvar grabbed the younger man’s wrist, shaking his head.

“Firing off shots in here would be too loud. We’re too close to the main bed of the facility. Indicators off. Marov, get in the mine cart. I’ll try to hide behind it. Ty, since you’re the youngest and most fit, you get to the support under the bridge and hide behind that,” Nyvar quick fire ordered in a whisper, the three man squad instantly following the commands, with a small groan from Ty and being forced to suspend himself over space in his armor.

Marov reached the cart and lifted a leg to get in, grunting as his codpiece hit a little too hard on the cart’s chassis. I’m going to feel that in about three seconds, Marov thought, crouching down until he was completely hidden. He heard Nyvar’s whispered curse as he got into position, the rails creaking under the stress of the combined weight of the cart and the three Gears.

Marov heard the men quietly chatting to themselves, gradually getting louder. His heartbeat was thumping in his ears as the adrenaline coursed through his system, his lower stomach beginning to ache from the abuse he’d just put it through. Echo Three couldn’t be found now, not if they wanted to finish the job here.

The light washed over their hiding place, Marov wincing slightly and crouching lower instinctively. No cries of alarm. Always a good thing, Marov thought, closing his eyes and focusing his hearing on the patrol’s conversation.

“Sh*t, I hate detailing this part of the factory. Gives me the willies, it does. All that space below us and you can’t even see worth a damn,” a thin, reedy voice complained.

“Maybe if you’d stop dicking around with the doctor, Riddley wouldn’t give you this kind of hell. You know how he’s always eyeing anything with a skirt. Bastard’s awful territorial for such a pansy ass p*ssbucket,” a deeper, gravelly voice said.

The name sparked something in Marov’s consciousness, but he couldn’t connect it with anything. His eyebrows beetled together as he tried to remember where it sounded familiar from.

“F*ck him. You here me, Rid? F*ck you!” the other yelled into the darkness in response, frustration evident in the tone.

“Real classy, *sswipe,” the deep voice said, disgusted. “Maybe if I push you off, Parker’d give me one of those Stranded b*tches to play with.”
Parker? Marov’s thoughts raced with the pounding in his blood. He heard a quiet grunt from beside him where Nyvar was, no doubt putting the pieces together, as well. Riddley had been one of the Stranded in the convoy they’d followed. Parker’s convoy.

“Hey, hey, don’t talk about them Stranded like that. We’re here to protect them!”

“Ha!” the deep voice boomed, starting to fade away, the light once more flashing over Marov’s head. “You really believe that? They mine the sh*t for more Stealth generators and we give em a place to stay. That’s it. They’re tools.”

Marov chewed on a few hairs of his mustache, running the comments through his head. While he agreed that the Stranded were only worth it to be tools at the very most, he didn’t like the idea of what they were being used for. Another thought occurred to him – that Nyvar would probably be working out a way to get the slaves out as well as their own skins. Marov sighed at that, hating his friend’s “save-everyone” attitude, sometimes. Stranded weren’t worth it.

“What’re we building all these damned stealths for, anyway? Not like we have ‘bots to put ‘em on. And where they hell are they going?” the thin voice said, echoing Marov’s thoughts.

“You wanna know? Why don’t you go ask Riddley. I could give a sh*t, long as Parker keeps the grubs away like he promised.”

“Yeah…it. Damn…ubs….killin’ sh*t.”

Marov kept crouching, ruminating on the new developments as he waited for Nyvar and Ty to get back on the main platform, first. A flurry of sound as Ty heaved himself up the support accompanied a grunt as Nyvar reached down to help the man up. Marov’s bad leg was starting to throb harder, so he stood up and braced his chestpiece against the rim of the cart to help Ty up the rest of the way.

A click sounded from Marov’s left, a phantom pressure the size a gun barrel would make formed on his temple. He froze where he was, not daring to move. Ty looked up, confused at first, but then looked over and saw who was aiming a gun at Marov’s head.

“Don’t,” a thickly accented voice said as Ty reached quickly for the Lancer on his back. The voice was faintly stirring up memories in Marov’s mind. He’d heard this voice somewhere before. “You stay right there while I give a call to my friends down there.”

“Akun? You’re alive?” Nyvar’s voice ground out, sounding surprised and irritated at once. Marov’s eyes flicked to his left, seeing nothing but the outline of a shaved head and a hooked nose. His drew in a sharp breath, remembering the scout who had helped them find their families back during the Pendulum Wars. But Akun had been listed as KIA when the Hammer came down, along with the rest of his regiment in Barstad in the Ostri Republic.

“You know my name?” Akun replied uncertainly, though his gun did not waver. Marov idly noticed the man’s Tyran had gotten a lot better in the intervening years and thought himself crazy for coming up with such an inane thought while at gunpoint. “Who are you?”

“Joseph Nyvar. Two-Six RTI. We met back in the Pendulum Wars. You helped us-.”

“Track a group of UIR who kidnapped your family. I remember,” Akun said with confidence. “But that is old business.”

“You owe us, Akun,” Marov dared to say, noticing the man’s face turn toward him. “If you remember who we are, you have to remember what you said. That you-.”

“That doesn’t matter anymore. Honor means nothing in this world,” Akun interrupted coldly. “Riddley will want a report, soon.”

“Parker’s working for the grubs,” Marov blurted out, pulling out their trump card.

“What?”

“I said,” Marov hissed through clenched teeth, calming his voice, “your precious little leader is working for the things that killed most of Sera.”

“Bullsh*t,” Akun yelled, spittle impacting Marov’s cheek, causing him to wince. “The COG were the ones that destroyed Sera, not the grubs. My whole regiment, the city we were in, we were annihilated by the Dawn satellites. And the COG pulled the trigger. They didn’t even try to save us! Three days was not nearly enough time to get to the safe zone, even if we weren’t pinned down by the Locust!”

“The COG had to save what we could. Asset denial was the only-.”

“I don’t believe that. And I don’t believe you,” Akun said quietly, backing up with his gun still trained on Marov. The outline of his free hand reaching up to his ear was all he saw before the man spoke again. “Riddley? I’ve got three ven’ta scurrying through the back entrance.”

“Locust?” Riddley’s voice replied, as annoying as the man had been ugly when Marov had last seen him.

“COG personnel,” Akun corrected, kicking Nyvar in the side. Ty grunted as the walkway started to squeal, his face white with the effort of holding on so long with heavy armor on his back.

“Bring ‘em in. Parker’s back with a few guests, so- oh, there ya is, Parker! Akun’s on the radio with some Coalition *sswi-.” BANG.

Akun recoiled at the gunshot echoing over the comm channel, his gun ever so slightly moving away from his prisoner. With that chance, Marov turned and reached for his sidearm before freezing again as the gun realigned on him. Sh*t, there goes that, Marov cursed.

“Akun?” Parker’s gravelly voice queried over the radio.

“Yes, sir?” Akun replied without a trace of emotion. Marov knew that meant the man was unnerved. The foreign Gear had done the same thing back when the only monsters were other humans.

“Riddley’s experienced a sudden fatality. You’re my new second in command,” Parker said menacingly. “Now, what do you have for me?”

“Three Gears, sir,” Akun reiterated, still as emotionless. “Old friends from the Pendulum Wars.”

“Friends, huh? I assume you know their names?”

“Nyvar and Marov, I recognize. There’s another with them who’s younger who I do not.”

A chuckle came over the comm channel as Parker heard the news. Marov didn’t like the sound of that, especially since Jason and the others were supposed to be in the facility by now. Were they captured, or worse, killed? Parker would surely recognize the three.

“That’s just damn brilliant,” Parker said, suddenly jubilant. “Bring ‘em to the showers. I’ve got a few guests they might know.”

“Yes, sir,” Akun said, the link clicking off before he could finish the sentence. “Marov, you come here. Nyvar, you can help your friend up. Just don’t try anything. My aim is just as good as it was.”

Marov swallowed, cursing their never-ending bad luck. It was like playing Gorasnayan roulette with this mission, with all the chambers loaded.

--------------

Lethia Imulsion Factory;

1810 hours

Jonesy was frightened as he and his escort waltzed through the dirty halls of the facility, two former Gears looking the worse for wear on either side of him and Jason ahead with the same treatment. It was almost claustrophobic again, with the mountains of men next to him, the malfunctioning lights blinking on and off. But that wasn't the reason he was about to piss his pants; for once, he had something more terrifying than his irrational fear of the underground world.

He didn't know when Parker would just turn around and shoot him; there was something in his gut hauntingly queasy at the fact that at any moment, Parker would snap, just like he had with the greasy haired guy they met when they first came in.*

Jonesy had been previously happy with the arrangement as they made their way inside, out of the cold. He had thanked whoever was listening as his hands defrosted into something resembling human temperature, feeling rushing back into his body with the gentle hum of air conditioning. They were captured, but with the plan to draw attention to the front succeeding spectacularly, Jonesy hadn't been all too worried. His mouth started working of it's own accord, making comments about the state of the facility since its occupants arrived and suggesting a few off-color remarks regarding their attire. The big black Gear holding Jonesy smiled a few times at the jokes, cuffing the pilot across the back of the head to keep up appearances.

However, before they could make it to the lab that would serve as their holding prison while Nyvar and his team took over, they had run into a small snag. A Stranded in patchwork Pendulum-era COG regalia strutted up with an almost happy air about him, gleefully speaking into a walkie talkie about capturing some prisoners sneaking in the back way. Three thuggish-looking men flanked him, one leaning against the wall and the other two moving off into a side room with a panicked glance at Parker.

As if that hadn't been enough of a reason for Jonesy's insides to turn into a cold, hollow space, what came next definitely shocked him into silence. Parker calmly walked up to the man in the middle of his speech, pulled out the snub pistol at his side, and blew a hole through the man's throat. The man, Riddley, as Jonesy found out presently, reached up to his throat with his eyes open in surprise. His mouth was shaped in an O as he tried to speak and coughed up blood instead, falling to the ground on his side.*

Parker reached down for the walkie talkie on the floor, bringing it up to his mouth and resuming the conversation without another look at the bleeding man on the floor. Jonesy had just stared as Riddley's life spilled out on the floor in a pool of crimson, draining slowly into a crack in the foundation. What the hell? was all that spun through his mind at the sight, finally taking his eyes off of the body to shoot a worried glance over to Jason.

The kid's face was drained of color, his eyes almost as wide as Riddley's when he had been shot. Then Jason seemed to cough and gag, his hands tied behind his back and his arm held by their other guard, lurching to the side and spewing the small lunch they had eaten before leaving the cave system. Jonesy felt his own gorge rise, but years of experience kept him from hosing the nearest wall with chuke. Parker looked over at the retching noise, saying something about showers before disconnecting and motioning to the two astonished men, who had since come out of their room, to take care of the body. The third stunned man he told to bring the prisoners to the showers.

And now they were almost there, judging by the architecture. COG buildings had a boring sameness about them, almost all built in a uniform fashion with the showers nearest to a water source. Jonesy's boots started thudding into tile as they burst through a swinging door that had a few old bullet holes in it. The current occupants plainly had cleared the facility with force.

The sound of the ocean was loud in the room, this part of the building no doubt directly on the jetty. Sea spray clouded the small windows, the same overcast sky staring back at him with a dreary exasperation. An intermittent dripping sound reached his ears over the cresting of the waves from somewhere in the shower room, the guards' breathing loud in his ears. His mouth, previously numb with current events, slowly worked itself into vocalizing words.

"Th-this doesn't look like the lab," Jonesy's voice cracked on the last word, betraying his fear at their situation, his joke falling flat.

"Shut up," the big black man said, a frown on his face.

"Or what? You going to shoot me?" Jonesy returned hysterically, a big, crazy smile on his face. Had he finally snapped after all that had happened? Or was his defense mechanism still trying to shield his mind from madness? Regardless, the laughter that followed confused him, realization that it was his own scaring him more than the caves.

"I don't want to, but I've killed Gears before," the man said, pain in his eyes. Jonesy kept laughing. "Look, would you shut that damn mouth of yours? Stop it!"

A massive fist smashed into Jonesy's face, stilling his laughter for a second before his chest started to heave with more giggling. His jaw felt like it was falling apart and his abdominal muscles hurt from the hysteria-fueled mirth, tears dripping down his face and stinging where the black man's gloves had scraped some skin off.

A thud in his side sent a pain through his nerves as the man kicked him, but Jonesy was slowly fading into unconsciousness anyway. With his gibbering resounding in his ears, he fell into a twilight state, watching through bleary eyes as Jason tackled the black man, sending him out of his field of vision. He could faintly hear yelling and then a solid smack, a body falling on top of him and rolling him over. He was staring up at the ceiling, looking out through the windows at the clouds. If only he could soar through them one more time.

A noise close to his ear caused him to turn his head, the sound of Jason groaning around a bleeding nose and a rapidly swelling eye. Jonesy looked away, unconcerned, as if nothing were wrong in the world. All of a sudden, he felt himself picked up from behind and put on his knees. His muscles weren't under his control, so he fell forward until someone grabbed him by the hair and pulled him upright again. He blinked his eyes as Parker walked in, a bald, tanned man with a facial tattoo leading Nyvar and the rest into the shower.*

He closed his eyes, yelling and the sound of a struggle in slow motion rushing into them as Nyvar saw his son. Another smack sounded out from his right, his eyes opening to see the Marov on his knees next to him, with his hands behind his head. Jonesy looked away and up as Parker strolled up to him and fell into a squat.

"You hear me, pilot?" Parker asked, his voice sounding distant one second and then too loud the next. Jonesy just nodded, blood dripping from his lip onto the floor. His knees felt cold, looking down to see water running past him and into a drain. It registered dully in his mind, so he just looked back up as Parker slapped his cheek and looked to the side to glare at someone. Probably the guy who beat me up, Jonesy thought dully, surprised at his cognition.

"Don't, Parker! Stop it!" a piercing voice ripped into Jonesy's mind, causing him to squeeze his eyes closed at the sound. It was Naleena's voice. He opened his eyes again to see the woman struggling against the black man's heavily muscled arms. The shriek seemed to clear Jonsey's head, everything rushing back into clarity.

"Stop?" Parker chuckled at that, pulling out his snub and waving it at Jonesy and the others. "Why should I? We've got 'em all, delivered right up to the doorstep. The same COG that got your mother killed by the Locust. What are they to you?"

"They aren't the same people who killed my mom!" Naleena yelled, following the scream up with a bite to the black man's forearm.

"Sh*t!" the man said, letting go of the injured woman. Another man tackled her, forcing her head into the ground and holding her hands behind her back. Naleena struggled futilely, cursing at Parker.

"You're just like them," Parker said with disgust, leaning down to grab Naleena by the hair and drag her up to look at him. "After everything I did. After I f*cking raised you myself!"

"You got my friends enslaved by the Locust! You sat and watched as they worked in that mi-." Parker sneered and slammed the girl's face into the tile savagely, stopping her midsentence.

"You f*cking bastard!" Ty yelled, slamming his head into his handler's groin and jumping to his feet. With his hands free, the young man rushed Parker only to be stopped by three rounds to the chest. Nyvar screamed in rage, both he and Marov viciously trying to escape. However, their handlers were more careful with them, holding tight. Jonesy looked at them, watching unease creep into their faces.

"Anyone else wanna try me?" Parker asked, holding his arms out in wide invitation, his eyes seething with rage and blood vessels standing out in his neck. "No? F*ck the theatrics."

Jonesy stared at the barrel of the snub pistol as Parker pointed it at him. Time slowed down as Jonesy remembered everything in his life at once, the hysteria clawing at his throat as he closed his eyes and thought of flying. A gunshot rung out, and he fell into blackness

[Deleted]

Updated with second half of Chapter 17.

[Deleted]

Chapter 18: Opening Salvo


“Sir, we’ve got reports of some kind of glowing Corpser out in the woods around Echo Three’s location. We picked it up by satellite; figured you’d ought to know. I just hope it’s a trick of the light and not some kind of new weapon.” – Aide on task for monitoring Echo team’s location via Sparks’ transponder.

Lethia Imulsion Factory;

1830 hours.


The fading echoes of the gunshot rang out in the confined space, painful enough that Marov had to squeeze his eyes shut against the sound. It didn’t help that the muzzle the bullet had whizzed out came from directly behind him, where Akun had been standing. What was going on?

Marov opened his eyes and watched events play themselves out in slow motion. He instantly turned to the left toward Jonesy to see the pilot fall to the side, making a splashing sound as the body hit the water leaking from one of the shower columns. Jason’s eyes were wide as if he couldn’t believe what was transpiring, Jonesy’s head falling within inches of the kid’s knees.

An ache hit Marov’s stomach like a hammer blow; a fellow soldier dying so close was agonizingly painful. It was especially horrible given the fact that he couldn’t do anything about it; he had failed to protect one of his comrades. His eyes started to sting with suppressed tears.

With the thought of failure echoing through his mind, his eyes moved from the body to Parker’s own form standing a few feet in front of Jonesy, an expression of surprise on the man’s face, quickly turning red with rage. A large dent in the man’s chestplate showed where the bullet had hit, but not penetrated. Marov felt a familiar feeling of hatred at the Stranded, his fingers itching to activate a chainsaw bayonet and rip Parker into pieces.

A three round burst came from somewhere to Marov’s right side as the handler holding Nyvar realized what happened. The shots blasted passed Marov’s head as he ducked down, swinging his tied arms away from the suddenly slackened grip of his own handler and rolling away to the middle of the floor. Gritting his teeth as more bullets started flying through the air, Marov examined the situation.

Akun had taken out Nyvar’s handler and was using the body as a meat shield, rounds chipping away at the rapidly dissolving corpse. The man’s pistol was firing off shot after shot at Parker and two other men hiding behind shower columns that lined the center of the room in a row. The man that had been holding Marov was dead, too, a hole in his forehead and glassy eyes staring at nothing.

A score of rounds impacted the floor beside Marov, so he rolled into cover behind an elongated tile wall, hoping it was sturdy enough to withstand bullets. Breathing hard, Marov looked around for something sharp, spotting Ty’s still form a few inches away from him. Naleena was a few feet away, still within cover, unconscious or dead. The black man that had been holding her captive moments ago was nowhere to be seen.

Marov resolved to check on her as soon as he checked on Ty. Someone had moved the kids out of harm’s way and it hadn’t been any of Echo. Thanking whomever it had been under his breath, Marov crawled over to Ty awkwardly, pushing himself across the slick floor with his legs.

When he reached the body, he jerked himself up to his knees, promptly falling to the side as his leg flared with pain. Sh*t, where’s that natural painkiller when you need it, Marov griped in his mind as he rolled over until his hand reached the knife at Ty’s waist. Pulling it out quickly, he stared ahead as Akun dropped the body he had been using as a shield and took cover behind a privacy wall for the showers. Nyvar was next to him sitting against the wall, his hands already free and holding a Pendulum era Lancer. Judging by the lessening amount of return fire, Nyvar was making good use of it. Spotting Marov, Nyvar pointed his thumb at Akun and mouthed “friendly”.

Nodding, Marov cut through the plastic ties and slid Ty’s knife into his own empty sheath, turning to check on the kid. He rolled Ty so the man was facing the ceiling, seeing a thin line of blood dripping from the man’s side where the armor was weaker. Two other dents were mute testament to the armor’s capabilities, though the force of the bullets was enough to knock the kid down. Marov remembered Ty hitting his head on the tile; a quick check showed a swelling bump on the back of the younger Gear’s head. A concussion then, Marov thought as he chewed his lip, reaching over to Naleena and rolling her over. Her nose was bleeding, her usually fair face already ballooning into the realm of monstrosity. However, she still had a pulse, so he grabbed her and pulled her closer to Ty.

“Hell, nothing we can do until we’re free. Hold on, Ty, Nal,” Marov said, propping the two against the wall. With that done, he turned back to Nyvar, who was holding up Marov’s pistol. With a quick flick, Nyvar sent the weapon skipping across the tile into the waiting hands of Marov. Armed with at least one weapon, Marov swiftly checked the magazine, saw it was full, and slammed it back in with a clack. The bone on the hilt felt chilled against his hands. While he wasn't a superstitious man, Marov hoped it was from sliding through the water and not something else.

Grunting against the pain, Marov hunkered his armored form against the shower wall, favoring his uninjured leg as he peeked out in a break in the fire. One of Parker’s mates was behind one of the shower columns in the middle of the room, hidden from Nyvar and Akun. Fortunately, the man’s leg was sticking out in Marov’s field of fire. Smiling fiercely, Marov pulled the trigger, feeling the slight kickback of his snub pistol as the bullet exited the chamber and embedded itself into the enemy’s leg with a small shower of blood.

Crying in pain, the man fell completely into the open, Marov’s pistol sight lined up on the man’s head. However, a burst of fire forced him back into cover, tile chipping away into the air as he covered his ears from the sound. Marov growled at the interruption in his kill, waiting until another lull to lean back out. The felled man was laying on the ground, blood oozing into the flowing water; obviously dead. More shots came from Marov’s left as Nyvar and Akun opened fire on Parker’s location. Suddenly, a radio behind Marov squawked on, sending a chill down his spine.

“I need reinforcements in the shower, now! Akun’s gone rogue. Get your asses down here!” Parker’s voice yelled out, accompanied by an echo from the radio.

Marov turned, dropping his pistol to his side and his other hand unsheathing the knife again as he turned, ready to kill something. Sparks’ unnervingly lifelike vid screens stared back at him, one of them still broken from the start of their little journey.

“Don’t do me like that, you damn robot,” Marov growled out loud, glad to see Sparks was still alright despite everything.

“Roger that, Parker. We’re on our way,” the reply came, the robot still picking up on Parker’s comm line. Marov cursed, thinking quickly and waving at Nyvar to watch the door. His best friend nodded, turning his Lancer at the entryway, ready to fire.

“Smoke out!” Akun yelled, a smoke grenade with the chain trailing it flying through the air and out of Marov’s sight. A bang sounded as the device exploded, smoke quickly spreading out in the shower room. Parker and the other man started coughing, Akun opening fire at one of them; Marov wasn’t able to see which.

“That’s it!” Marov cried out, remembering Sparks’ mission in this FUBAR’d diversion. “Sparks, did you plant the dynamite?”

An answering doodle came back, sounding affirmative. A compartment in the bot’s side opened up, a mechanical limb pulling out a detonator and holding it out to him. Marov took it and showed it to Nyvar. The other man shook his head.

“Not yet. I don’t know where Jason is!” Nyvar yelled over a renewed bullet storm. Marov gritted his teeth and nodded an affirmative, looking around his cover to look for Jason. With no one in sight, he motioned to Nyvar.

“Give me some cover fire!”

Akun and Nyvar blind fired their Lancers into the smokescreen, letting Marov rush into the center of the showers. A room to his right caught his attention, so he rolled into it, instantly regretting it as more pain shot through his leg. He fell again, catching himself on the ground with his hands, his eyes drawn to the missing ring finger, covered in a dirty bandage. How am I going to wear my ring, Marov questioned himself despite the situation. Brushing the thought from his mind and breathing hard, Marov crawled to the edge of the wall and peeked out, his gun leading.

A shot slammed into Marov’s shoulder, glancing off the armor and embedding itself into the wall. Marov gasped, falling backwards into cover to avoid anymore fire.

“Sh*t! Marov?!” Jason’s surprised voice echoed in the small space.

“God dammit, Jason, would you look before you shoot? You almost took my head off!” Marov groused, closing his eyes in relief and against the pain shooting through his leg. More stuttering fire came from the main room.

“Sorry, sir!”

“How’re you doing?” Marov asked, moving around the corner to see Jason with blood running down his head and a pistol in hand. Jonesy was lying on the floor next to the younger Nyvar, surprisingly alive, judging by the rise and fall of the pilot’s chest.

“I’m fine. Jonesy fainted,” Jason said with a straight face, seriously looking down at the pilot. Marov snickered and went back into the small alley-like hallway that connected this room to the main showers.

“Stay here and brace yourself. I’m going to set off our surprise.”

“Yes, sir.”

Marov grunted, limping down the hall and looking for Nyvar. He could see his friend’s legs, Nyvar still sitting against the wall in cover. Marov threw a piece of tile at them, hoping the other man would check where it came from.

“He’s alright. Brace!” Marov yelled as soon as Nyvar investigated the flying shard of tile. Nyvar nodded, so Marov clicked the detonator.

BOOM!

The thundering crack of the explosives lighting up all over the base ripped into the small room with enough force to cause cracks to appear in the ceiling. Dust fell everywhere, Marov’s ears ringing as he took his hands off of his head and looked through the gloom. All the lights that had been cheerily illuminating the area were now off, something sparking and giving off a ghostly flash every now and then. Plainly, Sparks had put one of the explosives near their area; Marov hoped it hadn’t messed with any of the factory’s pipes or tanks, remembering Matheison’s warning.

“Marov?” Nyvar’s voice said from the gloom, worried sounding.

Marov breathed in and coughed as the dust and lingering smoke from the grenade entered his lungs. All the lights save one that was spitting out sparks were dark – the generator must have been hit, which wasn’t good since it was absolute zero outside. Hopefully there was a redundant generator somewhere in the base, or they wouldn’t have the facilities to house the slaves at the mine. Marov didn’t want to go back to the caves, regardless of how warm they might be in the right conditions and he didn’t think the others would disagree with the notion.

“I’m still around. You and Akun?”

“We’re good. Looks like the wall fell in on Parker’s side. We’re going to go check it out.”

“Ty and Nal are in the corner across from you. See how they’re doing. I’ll check Jason. And watch the door; we don’t know how far Parker’s reinforcements were when the TNT went off.”

“Yes, sir,” Nyvar replied sarcastically. Marov grinned at his friend’s joke. With Nyvar and Akun checking things out, Marov heaved himself up and leaned against the wall for a moment, wincing and catching his breath. Trying to ignore the pain in his leg, Marov moved down the hallway into the room where Jason was and called out through the darkness.

“Jason?” Coughing returned his call, followed by a croaking response.

“Yeah, I’m here. I’m good.”

“How about Jonesy?” Marov asked concernedly, hoping the pilot hadn’t died after living through everything else. That’d be another cruel casualty of this stupid war – just the thought of it sent a hopeless wave through him.

“One sec,” Jason replied. A moment later, he continued. “Jonesy’s still out, but he’s breathing. What about my dad?”

“He’s okay. Try to wake the lazy flyboy up. I’m going to check out the situation in the main showers. Meet us there when you get him up,” Marov returned, feeling somewhat better as he moved back down the small alleyway to the main showers. The windows cast eerie rays of light into the room, dust and smoke moving across them in a hypnotizing dance, joining the snowflakes that were making their way through the broken glass. It was starting to get cold in the room.

The sound of the ocean lapping against the pier was the only sound aside from the light that was spitting out sparks like an angry Wretch. Not that there were anything except angry Wretches. Marov checked his magazine again at the thought; six shots left in the clip. They needed to find some ammo, soon.

“Nyvar?”

“Over here,” came the reply. Marov moved toward the voice cautiously, peeking around the corner with his pistol leading. His eyes were starting to adjust to the darkness, Nyvar’s armored form crouched next to the collapsed wall. The wall that had been the end of the shower room was now so much rubble, wiring sticking out here and there. The destruction reminded Marov of the general feel of Jacinto; run down and broken with whom knew how many bodies buried under the destruction. He closed his eyes and pinched his nose, taking the time to pay respects under his breath, regardless of who was underneath. Being buried alive was no way to die.

“Parker?”

“Dead, dying, I don’t know. Trapped underneath the wall, at least. We won’t be seeing him again,” Nyvar replied, standing up and stretching. Marov’s friend turned and stared at Akun, who was watching the entryway into the showers. The man’s Lancer was an older model of the chainsaw variant, the teeth all but ground to the chain. Marov frowned, wondering how much Akun had had to use the melee alternative to have that much damage to it.

Nyvar waltzed over to their old foreign comrade, holding out his hand, which was white with loose plaster and dirt from the explosion. “Thanks.”

Akun stared back at Nyvar, looking down; Marov had never noticed how tall the foreigner was, or how threatening the man looked even coated in the white dust. It made the former Gear seem wraith-like, as if he could disappear and ruin someone’s day without letting the victim know he was around. Finally, after a moment, Akun took Nyvar’s hand and shook. Nyvar smiled, and then frowned as he looked at the destruction. The light that was sparking revealed shower stalls broken and tile cracked. Who knew what the rest of the facility looked like.

“Matheison’s not going to be happy about this, Marov.”

“Hey, it was your kid’s plan. We can blame him in the report,” Marov teased, moving away from the wall toward the area where he had left Ty and Naleena, his pistol ready to fire at anything coming through the entryway. Parker’s reinforcements had to be coming any second. “How’re the others?”

“We moved them over there,” Nyvar said, gesturing over at a shower stall, in cover should someone come into the showers. Marov walked over and saw that the two were still unconscious, crouching down and checking their pulses. Ty’s was steady, for now, but Naleena’s was weak. The combined stress of her gunshot wound and the rough treatment from Parker wasn’t good for her. She needed a medic, soon, so he stood up and walked toward the main entrance into the showers, intent on finding the med lab. All COG bases had them; a side-effect of constant war that Marov was suddenly glad of. “Jason?”

“Fine. He’s waking up Jonesy,” Marov whispered, listening intently for any footsteps outside the door as he leaned against the wall next to it. “Naleena’s pulse is weak, man. We need to find the clinic here.”

Without even a gesture, Nyvar kicked open the door and looked left and right, Marov right behind him. Nothing jumped out or fired at them, the silence suddenly seeming sinister.

“Clear.”

“Copy that,” Marov said, peering down the hallway to the right, seeing nothing but a dead end a few meters down, a lone light winking on and off at the end. He and Nyvar moved down the left side, moving slowly, their boots crunching on loose gravel. The soundlessness of the hallway made the noise loud in Marov’s ears as they came to a turn. Nyvar motioned over his shoulder to stop, his fist in a ball.

Marov froze in place, listening intently. The sound of a steady scratching came from around the corner. Adrenaline started flushing through his system, seeing everything through a slow motion film as they both turned the corner, Nyvar low and Marov high.

Nothing. The hallway was empty. Marov’s eyes moved this way and that, searching for the scratching sound. It was unnerving to hear a sound with nothing to show for it. They moved further into the hallway, carefully passing by a hole in the wall that led directly for a dip into the ocean.

“Sh*t, maybe we used too much dynaminte,” Marov said, peering out over the pier, the white froth of the waves at odds with the gray sea. He looked up to see it was still snowing, little flurries of flakes wandering across the lighter gray sky. Everything was a monotone in the Frost.

“You think?” Nyvar whispered back, taking one look before shuddering and continuing down the hallway. “I’m already getting cold. We’ll need to seal off this area somehow, keep the cold out. First things first, though, let’s find that med lab. Nal won’t last long at this rate.”

Marov grunted in reply, tripping over a stone and catching himself on the wall, his Lancer held out in his right hand. His leg was still throbbing and his missing ring finger was starting to do the same. Naleena wasn’t the only one who needed competent medical treatment. Their whole team was one more injury away from breaking down, held together by adrenaline and the will to survive. However, that could only get them so far.

The scratching noise was still present as they reached the end of the hallway that opened up into two different directions. They peaked around the corners, careful to keep as little body outside cover as possible. Just dust and echoes of the scratching sound returned their gazes, the hallways dark – he wished they still had some of those glow sticks. The hackles on the back of Marov’s neck rose up. It felt like something was watching him, butterflies bouncing around in his stomach as they went right, Marov walking backwards to cover their rear.

Their indicator lights threw off a haunting glow as they made their way down the next passage. They passed a few doors, but none of them had the red cross that signified the medical bay. Just labs filled with beakers and broken scientific equipment for who knew what was all they saw as they looked through the windows. Where were all the people?

“’Seph, that scratching noise is getting louder,” Marov whispered, still staring into the darkness behind him. He wished Akun and the others had come with them, now. This freaky facility with no opposition was grating on his nerves.

“Hold it,” Nyvar replied in a low tone, Marov instantly freezing and looking over his shoulder where his friend was pointing. “It’s coming from the room just ahead. Sounds like a chainsaw.”

Marov gulped, the sound finally registering in his consciousness. The whine of a Lancer’s chainsaw had a distinct sound to it, but it was grinding against something and had masked the signature.

“Let’s check it out,” Nyvar continued, moving forward with a deliberately slow pace, careful to avoid any gravel. Marov followed in the same pace, his pistol held pointed to the ground. They reached the edge of the room, Nyvar moving swiftly into the lab. Marov followed and nearly had a heart attack when something in the back of the room fell to the ground.

“Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!” a female voice called out over the whining chainsaw.

“Who are you?” Nyvar replied, keeping his gun focused ahead of him. There was a lamp in the corner of the room throwing up shadows from nearby test tubes and equipment. Marov looked over to the side and saw another collapsed wall with a Lancer sticking out from under the stones, a hand gripped on the chainsaw mechanism. The chainsaw itself was spitting out sparks as it struggled futilely against a thick metal girder that had fallen close by.

“I’m a doctor. Dr. Hanson. Are you with Parker?” the voice replied somewhat shakily.

“Used to be,” Nyvar answered cryptically. “Stand up where we can see you, doctor. Marov, get the Lancer and turn it off.”

“Alright, just don’t shoot me,” Hanson’s voice replied as Marov moved over to the broken wall and holstered his pistol. He gingerly pried the fingers off of the Lancer, wondering on how easy it was to just ignore the hand as if it were so much trash. Seeing bodies every day must have hardened him to it. With the chainsaw attachment switched off, Marov pulled the Lancer out from under the rubble and tried to check the clip. It took a second to eject it, the container dented as it was – half a clip left. Marov sighed, even though he was glad he had a Lancer in hand.

“Alright, Doctor, what are you doing out of your lab?” Nyvar questioned in his Sergeant voice, the gun still trained on the woman. Marov noticed some blood at the corner of the woman’s mouth and a bruise on her cheek, her clothes disheveled and strands of her dark brown hair hanging from a halfway demolished bun. The lab coat she wore looked like it had seen better days, looking stained with old blood and new dust in the light.

“I- I- he- that man tried to…” she started, staring over at the collapsed wall with anger in her eyes. “He tried to rape me. Serves the bastard right that he’s dead. You tell Parker that if he can’t control his men, he better hope the next injection I give him isn’t full of barbiturate and potassium.”

“Parker’s dead, ma’am, or we’d fight you for the privilege,” Marov replied, lowering his gun when he saw both of the doctor’s hand were empty, Nyvar doing the same. “But we’ve got injured and we need your expertise. They’re in a bad way.”

“You’re those COG soldiers everyone was talking about?” Doctor Hanson asked in an unsurprised tone, rummaging around in the pockets of her lab coat. “Bah, I’m too old for these petty rivalries. Just take me to your friends. I have a few pharmaceuticals I carry with me in here somewhere.”

“Alright, I’ll lead. Doctor, stay between me and Marov at all times,” Nyvar said, gesturing with his rifle toward Marov. “Let’s go before we find any other romantic exchanges in dark labs. And grab that lamp.”

Marov complied, looking for the cord to the lamp before discovering it was battery powered. He raised his brow at that, wondering where the deserters here had found batteries. He turned it off to conserve power and followed Dr. Hanson through the doorway. When he looked to the left to watch their backs, he thought he saw something disappear around the corner. He brought his Lancer up one handed, watching the corner intently as they moved down the hall to the right. A shuffling sound came to his ears over the party of three’s footsteps, instantly setting him on alert. It sounded like a-.

“Wretches!” Nyvar yelled before opening fire. Marov took one look over his shoulder at the doctor, who fell into a crouch and covered her head, before something hit him in the chest. He fell backwards and tripped over Hanson, falling onto his back as something punched his chest, a screeching sound in his ears and nauseating breath filling his nostrils. Dropping his Lancer, Marov grabbed the thing on top of him, his hands holding nothing but air even though he felt the rough skin of a Wretch.

Roaring in anger, he twisted until he was on top and slammed the thing into the ground as hard s he could. A yelp sounded out, loud in the small hallway, so Marov pulled back his fist and punched downward. Pain assaulted his hand a second later as he hit nothing but concrete.

“Sh*t! Why do these things have to be invisible?” he yelled, his other hand holding what he thought was the thing’s throat. Gritting against the pain and the struggling form underneath him, he grabbed a nearby stone and brought it down with all his might, this time hitting something. Another yelp and he brought the stone down again and again until the thing stopped struggling. He looked up after he finished his grisly job to see Nyvar firing at a very visible Wretch on the ceiling.

“Oh, c’mon, that’s just not fair,” Marov groused, reaching for his Lancer and kicking the Wretch’s body that he had kill to the side so he wouldn’t trip again. He turned down the hallway the invisible Wretch had come from, seeing nothing. “Sh*t, I can’t see anything!”

“The light, Marov. Use the lamp!”

The lamp? Then Marov remembered what happened when light hit the stealth generators. He reached to his side where he had fastened the lamp to his belt and finding it missing. Then another weight crashed into his chest, forcing him up against the wall. Something scratched across his forehead, screeching across the goggles he had there. Oh, you asshole, you do not scratch my goggles!

He brought his head snapping forward, connecting with something slimy and soft, another yelp of pain echoing into the hallway. Free for the moment, he brought his chainsaw into play, bringing it down in the direction he thought the Wretch was in. For a moment, he thought he had missed before it caught onto something around waist height, blood and sparks flying everywhere as the Wretched turned into so much mincemeat.

“Haha! How do you like that, asshole?” Marov yelled, the generator on the Wretch failing as his chainsaw ripped it in two. Suddenly a bright light came from the other side of the hallway where Hanson had been crouching. Marov brought up a hand to shield his face from the light, seeing the lamp in the doctor’s hands. She held it up for him, but he just shook his head and brought his Lancer up and aimed down the hallway. Sparks flew from three different forms as their stealth generators overloaded, the Wretches becoming all too clear. He opened fire as soon as he saw them, careful not to expend all his ammunition.

“Hell, I liked them better when I couldn’t see their ugly as sh*t faces,” Marov yelled over the kicking of his Lancer, watching Wretch after Wretch fall to his shots. When all three were dead, he turned back to see Nyvar chainsawing the last Wretch on his side into pieces, yelling and muscles bulging. Marov collapsed as the adrenaline in his system wore off, sliding down the wall as his leg gave out from under him. He leaned back against the wall, breathing hard, swiping weakly at the sweat dripping down his face. He didn’t know how long that fight had taken, maybe a few minutes, but it had felt like he’d gone through a full thirty minutes of sparring. Sh*t, I’m getting old, Marov thought as he gulped in massive amounts of air.

“You’re an absolute mess, soldier,” a feminine voice came from his side. “How long have you had that injury to your leg? And that hand? Here, take some of this ibuprofen. It’ll keep you going until we get you to the lab.”

Her dainty little hand forced a few pills into his large, gloved hand and Marov brought them to his mouth gratefully, swallowing them down dry. He gasped in more air as soon as they went down, nodding thankfully toward the doctor.

“Thanks, doc,” Marov said breathily, feeling bits of Wretch meat in his mustache. He’d have to clean that later, again or just shave it off and be done with it. “Hell, I don’t even care if it’s poison that you gave me at this point.”

“I’m not so cruel. Besides, I’ve always had a soft spot for soldiers,” she replied, staring at him with a small smile on her face. Everything went dark as the lamp turned off, Marov’s eyes struggling to adjust. A hand appeared in front of him and he took it gladly, Nyvar pulling his friend to his feet.

“You’re married man, stop flirting with the doctor and let’s fix up Nal and the others,” Nyvar said with a bloodstained smile on his face. Marov was too tired to punch the man, so he just nodded and leaned against the wall.

“Nal? You mean Naleena Viscar?” the doctor’s voice asked quizzically.

“Viscar? Dunno ‘bout that, but Naleena’s her name, sure enough,” Nyvar replied, moving down the hallway and kicking the Wretch corpses to the side. “I’m more concerned about all these Wretches. Where’d they come from?”

“Parker and his associates have been experimenting with cloaking technology on small animals and Wretches are stupid enough to capture down in the tunnels. I think he’s trying to find a way to cloak a human, but I was never privy to his plans. They must have escaped from the cells after that giant explosion,” Hanson replied, giving the information away easily. Marov figured the woman didn’t have a high opinion of Parker and the rest.

“And how do you know even that? Pretty large step in logic for a doctor of medicine,” Marov replied with forced skepticality, already knowing exactly what Parker was experimenting for.

“’I hear things, especially from these animals when they’re on the surgery table. Anesthesia is just as good as alcohol when it comes to getting someone to talk.”

“Fair point. But let’s just get back to the others before more of these ‘experiments’ show up to ruin their day,” Nyvar said forcefully, moving with purpose around a corner, retracing their steps perfectly. Marov took one last look around before following the other two, alert for anymore Wretches.

[Deleted]

Updated with second half of Chapter 18.

[Deleted]

Chapter 19: Simple is Relative

“They’re bringing the Hammer down on us and we’re stuck here. That’s the reality, so deal we’ll with it. We will do what we do best; hide. We’ll find the strongest, deepest hole we can, kick out any grub bastard already living in it and let their asses fry instead. After that…well, the COG is going to regret leaving us out to dry.”

- Special Forces Captain Akun’la’tunad, six hours before the Hammer of Dawn’s asset denial

Lethia Imulsion Facility;

1920 hours.


“Be advised, Akun, we’ve got Wretches loose in the building,” Nyvar said through his radio, one hand up to his head and his finger pressed against the ear canal. Marov looked back to their flank, staring into the darkness. A few shafts of light from where the dynamite had cracked the walls and ceilings were showing through, casting a surreal atmosphere to the scene. The soundless hallways, aside from their footprints, made it seem as though the facility was dead; a withering relic near the sea. It fit perfectly with the rest of Sera, the world and its cities all seeming to be a giant tomb. But was it a tomb for humanity or the Locust? Marov brushed aside the morbid thought as a reply came through the channel.

“Wretches? The experiments got out?” Akun replied through the channel, Marov’s earpiece picking up the signal. He pressed his own ear, to be able to hear better than to actually transmit anything, the space once occupied by his missing finger bizarre to experience.

“Looks like. You know anything about what Parker was doing? The Doctor says he was trying to create a cloaking field for a human…or a Locust,” Nyvar said evenly, Hanson sighing in the background.

Silence came from the other end of the comm, the three of their breathing clearly audible over the subtle wash of the ocean. Marov winced slowly, feeling as if something big were about to happen, adrenaline starting to worm its way through his system again. He kept expecting to hear a keening wail from around a corner, the calling card of Wretches everywhere. Then the moment passed, leaving Marov feeling even more on edge than he had been. He really wanted to leave this facility and all that it implied and just go home to his wife and remaining daughter.

“You recovered Hanson? That’s good; Naleena seems to be getting paler and paler here. Hurry, Nyvar,” Akun said evasively, clicking the mic off and avoiding the question. Marov turned to his best friend and raised an eyebrow, watching the other man chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“You sure we can trust him?” Marov asked in his customary blunt way. Better to get everything out in the open when it came to these decisions – no sugarcoating of the truth was going to help anyone.

“I wouldn’t have left Jason with him if I didn’t. Akun’s honorable and he helped us against Parker. I don’t think he’s as against the COG as he wants us to think. Just got a lot of baggage, like anyone else.”

“Mr. Tunad helped you kill Parker? I always did like the man, even for such a grim personality. Never made a sound when I had to stitch him up after one of the experiments got out, even without any numbing agents,” Hanson interjected as the moved into the hallway that lead to the showers. Marov looked over at her, dust caking her features with sweat rivulets running through the muck; she looked positively Stranded. The comparison wasn’t a flattering one, he had to admit, thinking back to the threadbare women and children they’d failed to rescue back at the convoy.

He sighed, expelling the memories as best he could, looking down at his own arms and noticing a few more rips in the mesh underlay he was wearing under the scout armor. What had once been camouflaged material was now covered in bits of gore and white plaster. His skin itched under the armor and he yearned for one good, hot shower. Scratch that, even a cold shower will do, he thought, closing his eyes for a moment and imagining the water running over his body. When was the last time he had gotten to use so much water recreationally?

“Long as he tells us what’s up when we get there, he can stay as silent as he likes afterwards,” Nyvar grated out, clearly stressed by everything that was going on. Marov figured it was time to make another one of his trademarked witty remarks.

“Used to be such a talker, too. Couldn’t get him to shut up after we found your wife and Clara,” he said jovially, proud of himself for being able to say his deceased daughter’s name without his voice cracking. Nyvar looked at him sharply, the frown on his face grudgingly turning into a half smile. Happy memories were a commodity, one Marov used with deadly accuracy. Ven had been good at that, too, always saying the right thing at the right time.

“Yeah,” Nyvar said simply, turning back to the front as they neared the door. “Akun? We’re coming in. Hold your fire.”

They stepped through the bullet strewn door, Marov holding the door open for the Doctor from behind. She ignored his chivalrous actions, heading straight for the two injured members of their party straight away. Marov just shrugged and decided to let the doctor work, walking over to where Jonesy was sitting against a wall, staring out through the cracked windows at the sky. The man had a peaceful expression on his face, the lines from the constant sneer completely dissipated, though bruises marred the otherwise pale skin. Marov nudged the man with his boot, holding his Lancer across his chest in a relaxed manner, not even feeling pain as he stood on his bad leg. The doc’s medicine seemed to be working.

“How you doin’, man?” Marov said quietly, without the customary acid in his tone, knowing now was not the time for banter. The pilot looked up at him through a blackened eye and smiled humorlessly.

“Fine, I guess. Just feel a little weird. It’s so quiet here, peaceful even,” Jonesy said, leaning back with his hands behind his head and straightening out his legs in front of him, a pack underneath his back supporting him. “The sky looks beautiful from here, man. Nothin’ happening down here’s gonna change her. Maybe I’m just still in shock, but there you go.”

“Yeah? Well, we got ourselves a doc now. A real one, flesh and blood, even if she’s a little less polite than ol’ Sparks. We’ll get her to take a look at you after she’s done with Nal and Ty,” Marov replied, leaning against the wall. The moment felt surreal to him, Jonesy’s words echoing in his mind like something mystical Ven would say. God, he missed the man.

Jonesy didn’t reply, the pilot staring outside at the swiftly moving gray sky. The snow had stopped since Marov had last been in the showers, though the cold had hardly gone away. He left the man to his own devices, walking over to one of the shower heads and taking his doo rag and goggles off. He ran his uninjured hand through his sweat and blood matted hair, taking the opportunity to turn the showerhead on and washing his headwear. Once his effects were reasonably clean, he put his head under the water, feeling the freezing cold spray run along his scalp. The temperature of the water woke him up from the surreal mindset he had been in, everything sharpening into clarity. It was amazing what a little human convenience could do psychologically.

He wouldn’t be able to wear the doo rag until it dried, but the goggles were made of plastic, so he shut off the water and dried his goggles with the inside of his cloak on the stealth armor. Stuffing his doo rag in an empty ammo pocket, Marov popped his neck and stretched a little bit, feeling better. The reminder that he had no more clips of ammunition other than the half full one that was currently in his Lancer followed him as he walked over to where Nyvar was talking with their foreign friend, their heads down and close together. They both looked up as Nyvar caught sight of Marov, ending their conversation.

“Don’t stop on account of little ol’ me, now, boys,” Marov said jovially, fitting his goggles on his forehead and running his gloved hand through his hair once more. Nyvar smiled and waved him over to the top of a privacy stall where a map sat. Marov raised an eyebrow at the piece of parchment, recognizing it as the one they found in the mountain.

“I hope you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking, ‘Seph.”

“Yes and no,” Nyvar replied, scratching behind an ear and pointing with the other one at an X on the far side of the map’s borders. “We aren’t going back down into the tunnels, but this is where those slaves we found are being held. We need to get them and bring them back here. I sent Sparks to recon the area, already, so he’ll be back in around thirty minutes with some information.”

“Nyvar, they’re dead. If the cold hasn’t killed them already, the Locust definitely have,” Marov replied heatedly, looking to Akun for support. “Right?”

“The Stranded are carted between the mines and here every week. They have temporary housing near their work to shelter in during the nights. Parker escorted them back and forth with a couple of his men at a time. I always told him it was a bad idea, that there were Locust roaming around the hills, but nothing ever came of it. Now, I know why and I’m going to help those poor people if I can,” Akun said, staring into Marov’s eyes with some kind of righteousness in his own. Marov sighed and shook his head, motioning around the area with his Lancer.

“With what army? In case you hadn’t noticed, everyone in our immediate party has been needing a casevac since we got here. There’s no way we can blow through as many Locust as there were guarding the mine last time we were there. I say we try to contact Matheison for reinforcements, hole up, and let some fresh faces take a crack at the mine.”

“Akun reckons he can talk his people into helping us. He’s been on the radio with them while we were gone, trying to calm them down. Turns out, he wasn’t the only one that disagreed with Parker’s leadership. They’re holed up in the med lab, waiting for orders. Plus, they have a Centaur in the garage,” Nyvar teased the last with a grin.

“A Centaur?” Marov asked flatly.

“Yes.”

“Does it work?”

“Yes, it runs,” Akun supplied helpfully.

“I’m sure it does. What about the cannon?” Marov asked, feeling the catch coming on with every fiber of his being.

“It works, too,” Akun replied, looking straight at Marov. “…We just don’t have any shells to fire it.”

“Of course not,” Marov sighed, turning around and raising his unencumbered hand in the air, the faint hope that he’d get something out of the pointless side mission disappearing into thin air. He was starting to get irritated. “Just once, I’d like to have something work perfectly on this mission. Just once!”

“Marov, I need you for this op,” Nyvar said, breathing in a deep breath and setting his shoulders as though he was going to go regardless of Marov’s answer. That was never a good look when impossibilities were being bandied about like free candy.

“They’re Stranded,” Marov complained, pointing a finger at Nyvar threateningly to try to talk his friend out of it. “They’re animals. They’ll turn on you as soon as you save them!”

“They’re people, Marov. Just like you and me. Would you leave Naleena there if she were working in the mine? I know you wouldn’t.”

“Naleena’s different. She’s decided to fight,” Marov said bullishly, dark thoughts starting to take hold of him. “They’re just rotten, the lot of them. They deserve whatever the Locust do to them.”

“They’re not the ones who killed Clara,” Nyvar replied heatedly.

“Joseph, stay away from that,” Marov said brokenly, fury and sadness warring across his mind. He clenched his fist, wanting to punch Nyvar in the face for even mentioning her name like that. ‘Seph seemed to notice, taking a step back and then steeling himself, looking back into Marov’s eyes with the same stubbornness he had had throughout life.

“You’re coming with me to save those people, Sy. No one deserves what the Locust do to them. Not even Stranded. They’re women and children, man. This is an order.”

“That how it is?” Marov replied hollowly, staring at his best friend in the whole of Sera. He didn’t want to do this. They’d earned a break after everything, all of them. Their mission was finished, they didn’t need to go gallivanting across Sera and rescue every pocket of humanity that didn’t care enough to stick together. Why couldn’t Nyvar see that? Marov was so tired of all the bullsh*t they had gone through.

“Yeah, that’s how it is,” Nyvar said in return, setting his mouth in a line. “Akun, talk to your people. We’re going to need them to break what Parker started here, save those women and children, and kill every Locust in our way. Simple as that.”

Marov sighed, resigning himself to the inevitable and trying to come up with a plan where they all wouldn’t die. He glanced around at the others, watching Hanson inject Naleena with something and wondering where she’d gotten a syringe and needle. Oh, right, her pockets, Marov thought, moving his gaze to where Jonesy was talking quietly with Jason. The younger Nyvar’s face was as much a mess as the pilot’s was; Marov was surprised that he hadn’t noticed the injuries earlier. One of the kid’s eyes was swollen into obscurity, almost matching Jonesy’s own, while a bit of dried blood stained his nose.

All that was left of their already small party was steadily wearing thin. Everyone had lost something on this mission, be it physical or mental. Marov grimaced as he realized this was Jason’s first combat op; a particularly bad one with his entire squad wiped out. Who knew how that was affecting the kid, even if Jason had kept confident and aware of the situation until now. Right then, he just looked like an exhausted, old man, aged too much by what little war he’d seen. Damn shame.

Marov felt a tap on his elbow and turned around to see Hanson looking up at him, her hair drawn back in a reasonably tidy bun. Her face searched his for a second, as if he were a puzzle to be worked out – he didn’t appreciate the scrutiny.

“Something on your mind, doc?” Marov asked guardedly, backing up to lean against the wall again. His leg wasn’t hurting at the moment, but he figured he should give it as much rest as possible.

“A lot of somethings, unfortunately,” Hanson replied, pointedly looking around the room. “You, most of all. I heard your little argument with your friend and-.”

“Let me stop you right there, miss. I’m not looking for psychological help here, especially not right now.”

“You have a problem with Stranded. That’s fine,” she continued on with her eyebrows drawn down, unperturbed by his steadily increasing glare. “But that’s still not excuse for allowing them to be stuck out in the cold and with those beasts. If I didn’t have to look after your people and maybe even some of my own, I’d be volunteering straight away for this mission, pacifist or not. Those damn grubs don’t deserve no humane treatment, but Stranded do, wild as they are. Hell, even euthanizing them would be a mercy at this point, something I’ve no doubt you can provide cold heartedly.”

“You don’t know what they did,” Marov replied through clenched teeth, resisting the urge to punch her. Why couldn’t people leave well enough alone with all this sh*t? “They killed my daughter.”

“And you’re just going to let more daughters in this world die, just because of your one loss?”

The words stopped the heated reply that was on his lips cold as the temperature outside. His mind went blank at that, at a loss for words to combat the piercing accusation. She poked a finger into his chestplate, ramming her words home with each successful tap. He hardly felt it through the armor, but it had the same effect on him.

“Didn’t think of that, did you? Didn’t think how far you depersonalized Stranded in order to turn a blind eye when people as helpless as your daughter died. When you could have stopped it? Never thought how they feel, how human they were despite how they live? Disgusting. Now’s your chance to do your duty as not just a COG soldier, but a human being, too, and you complain? Save them, Gearhead, or you’re exactly the same as the ones you hate.”

Marov looked down at the doctor’s stern face, his daughter’s face clear in his mind, mixing with memories of Naleena when she’d been shot. Tears blurred his vision as he remembered the faces of the women and children in the convoy, Ven’s words as they passed out their ration bars to the poor sods. The faces of the victims at the mine. They had all seemed faceless to him, then, but now...Hell, he didn’t know what he saw. All the stress that had been building up snapped within him, rushing out. He squeezed his eyes shut and drew in a shuddering breath, gritting his teeth to hold back the sobs.

Sh*t, why did the doctor’s words have to be so right? Those slaves didn’t deserve what was going on against their will, just like everyone was saying. He bit his lip, willing himself to calm down and soldier through his breaking point, just like he’d been taught back in the Pendulum Wars. Damn, it’s as hard now as it was back then, he thought, almost wishing for the old days. Back when the enemy was familiar enough to understand their reasoning for fighting. Nothing was so simple, these days.

“I got it, doctor. I get it,” Marov said, nodding to reinforce his point. Hanson looked at him with sympathy in her once angry, smoldering eyes. She understood what was going on in his head better than he did. “This war…hell, I’d forgotten the Octus Canon. Seems like so long since it even mattered.”

“Good boy,” she smiled, wrinkles showing her age as she patted his cheek, even though she couldn’t have been more than ten years older. Marov started at her touch, the feel of her skin on his reminding him of how much he missed his wife. That thought lead to how the Stranded would feel not being able to experience the sensation of a loved one’s touch if they all died. Humanity needed that simple action, giving them the will to go on – that thought steeled his will.

“Aw, hell,” Nyvar’s voice said aloud, breaking Marov out of his reverie. Those two words never boded well in that tone.

“What?” Jonesy asked, apparently out of his stupor, standing up and walking with Jason over to their little group.

“My men want to make a deal in exchange for their help,” Akun said seriously, not looking pleased at the prospect.

“What could we give them that would be worth anything?” Marov asked incredulously. It wasn’t like they were rolling in valuable possessions at the moment.

“They want a promise that they’ll be able to get out of here before the rest of the COG shows up and brings them in for charges,” Nyvar supplied unenthusiastically. “I just don’t have the authorization for that and we can’t contact Matheison without spending a day on repairs and another day waiting for reinforcements. The Stranded don’t have that long, especially if Parker doesn’t show up like he’s supposed to.”

“So lie to them,” Marov said, coming up with the easiest solution.

“I can’t do that, Sy’,” Nyvar replied, looking down at the ground. He looked angry with himself, as if the problem was his fault alone.

“Then we’ll do it ourselves,” Marov smiled, watching Nyvar’s head come up with a start. “Echo Squad’s not failed a mission yet. Let’s grab their ‘Dill and raid the armory on the way out. Easy enough.”

Nyvar stared at him for a long moment, looking around at the assembled faces. He, Akun, Marov, Jonesy, and Jason were the only non-seriously injured ones able to face this last mission. It was a hell of a team up, Marov had to admit; they’d all proven themselves capable over the last few days.

“Yeah. Easy enough,” Nyvar replied, a smile on his face. It was overtime, now.

[Deleted]

Chapter 20: Fading Echoes

“I don’t care if it was within my orders or not, those people needed to be saved. Even if things didn’t turn out like I thought they would, I don’t regret my decision in the slightest. I’m not going to just leave people to those things if I have the power to keep it from happening. That’s why I kept fighting after E-day, after all. That’s why I fought to protect them. We aren’t a bunch of Locust, uncaring how many of our own species die in this war. We’re human, with all that implies. We stick with one another to win this war, or we all die together. Either way, that’s humanity.” – Sergeant Joseph Nyvar’s closing report.

Outbound from Lethia Imulsion Facility, en route to Stranded Slave Mining Camp;

2000 hours.

The Centaur bucked and jumped as Marov floored the accelerator, enjoying the adrenaline pumping sensation of driving a weapon of mass destruction at high speeds through a screaming snowstorm. The turret on top of the giant, wheeled tank bounced around on the roof. The restrainers had long rusted off from lack of care by the occupying forces of the Imulsion facility, turning the cabin into what Marov thought the inside of a drum might sound like. The constant banging of it was irritating but they needed to move quickly in order to complete their volunteer work.

The forest they were rushing through was full of young trees that had only seen a few seasons, instead of the massive oak and pines that had been around before the Hammer strikes. As a result, the massive treads crushed the saplings like toothpicks, much to Marov’s delight. He imagined each one of them to be Parker in all his smug, assholish glory. Damn, I’m glad he’s dead, Marov thought as he ran another tree over, the tank’s bright lights banishing the growing darkness. At least he could be happy one Stranded was dead, even if he was about to save a bunch of other ones.

He glanced back for a moment, looking at the people he’d spent the last week or so traveling across the countryside with, along with the new-old face of Akun. Nyvar was armed to the teeth with a Retro Lancer and Ven’s Gnasher slung across his back, a boltok on one hip, and a snub on the other. His belt was full of knives and a couple of bolo fragmentation grenades, jostling as they ran over another bump in the forest. Lastly, the man had acquired a helmet from the armory they had raided. The blue eye slots stared out at the world with cold impassion that belied the man’s reason for being out here. Some non regulation paint had also been applied to the outside of the helmet, a Death’s Head Emblem in the center of his head seeming to be dripping black blood. Charming, Marov noted as his eyes scanned to the next armored form.

Akun held Naleena’s custom Longshot across his lap, holding it in place with a firm hand while a Hammerburst clung to his own back. Electing to only carry one snub pistol on his hip, the other was strapped with a respectable amount of Ink and Incendiary grenades. He would be the team’s supplier of ammunition, as well, using some of the same netting as Nyvar was wearing to hold clips to each of their weapons on his armored body. A large knife was sheathed in the man’s boots just in case he had to get in close contact with the enemy. Marov had shuddered at the sight of it, remembering the skill with which the man exceeded at close range combat. The flashing and dancing of his knife work was as frightening to behold as it was beautiful. Had they been facing anything but Locust, Marov might even have felt sorry for the enemy. The man’s normally naked scalp was covered with a thick leather hat rimmed with fur as a bastion against the cold, the edge of a couple. A pair of goggles rested on his forehead in preparation for his work.

Jason had decided on a captured Boomshot, a regular Lancer, and a snub pistol on his hip. A helmet of his own was sitting next to him, a twin to his father’s. Much to the boy’s chagrin, he wasn’t trained with anything but the most recent variation of the Lancer and snub, but the Boomshot didn’t take much practice to be good with. All the kid had to do was point it in the general direction of the enemy, pull the trigger, and watch as the area was incinerated. A Gutpuncher attachment to the Lancer was in one of the bandoliers across his chest with the ammo for it taped, strapped, and netted to his body. Jason would be their artillery, such as it was. Of course, that much demolition gear cuts both ways, Marov thought as he chewed on his lip. One stray shot and there’d be nothing but a crater left.

For his part, Marov had stuck with his current batch of weaponry; the Lancer he’d found in the facility and his custom snub pistol belted to his right leg. As the driver, he was the most lightly armored, as well, remaining in the stealth armor they’d taken from the Raven so long ago. As well, since he was the most injured, with his leg all but ready to give out, it didn’t pay to be running around in the snow with the rest of Echo.

The Centaur lurched up the hill with a steady rumble, Marov tightening his grip on the wheel, focused ahead as the end of the mound came into view with perfect clarity. He braked at the apex and cut the tank’s external headlights, the glow from the small settlement of slaves hardly visible through the storm outside.

“We there already?”

Marov looked back at Nyvar’s voice and nodded, not entirely sure what to say. This moment, right before the shells start flying; that’s when it hit him the hardest. There weren’t a lot of humans left, and his best friend was going right into the teeth of an engagement. But maybe that’s what Nyvar was thinking, too. Why he’d dragged them out here to save the Stranded. All those best friends, wives, and children were sitting out there next to the grubs, being killed daily. Even if they were scum, they deserved to have a better chance than being left here. At least, that’s what he kept trying to tell himself.

“Alright. This mission has gone on long enough. Let’s get out there and finish the job,” Nyvar said, standing up in the cramped cabin to open the hatch. The screeching wind that had been buffeting the vehicle blew down inside, almost making Nyvar’s voice inaudible as he continued. Even with the earpiece, Marov strained to listen as the temperature inside dropped to an uncomfortably brass ball freezing level.

“Stick the plan and meet us at the rendezvous, Marov. We’ll see you in forty.”

Marov gave Nyvar a thumbs up, turning back to his console to huddle away from the wind and snow whipping into the compartment. A vibration coursed through the vehicle as Nyvar climbed down the ladder to the ground, Akun and Jason following quickly behind. The sound of the blizzard cut off to a more comfortable pitch as someone closed the hatch. Marov looked back at the empty seats that had just been full of life and hoped it wouldn’t stay that way. He shifted gears and backed his way down the slope, heading for the rendezvous.

---------------------------------------------------------


The smell was still there. The smell from the helmet he’d scavenged from the armory. Another soldier had worn it; had even decorated it. The faint smell of imulsion, earth, and unwashed hair wafted into his nose every time he breathed in. It felt alien, especially compared to his normal policy of wearing nothing but his thinning hair. But with the cold, it was a necessary evil.

Nyvar wondered if the man who owned it was dead or simply trapped in the cafeteria Marov had locked the outlaws in. That had taken some persuading on Akun’s part, but there was food and the stoves still drew power from the imulsion. They wouldn’t freeze or starve. Of course, they weren’t happy about the deal Nyvar had given them, either. Jonesy or one of the others, would set them free with Sparks before any COG forces showed up and then lock themselves in the armory. Nyvar didn't trust the Stranded soldiers as much as Marov might think.

Another breath as he struggled up a hill, the scent invading his numb nostrils again. Even through the helmet, it was cold. The wind was a chill that cut to the bone where his armor didn’t cover. He expected the others felt the same way, but were too focused on their mission to worry about it overmuch. With luck, they’d be out of the cold within the hour. Nyvar glanced at his watch as he reached the top, shining a small flashlight into its dark screen as he crouched. The watch was solar powered, but being underground and trudging through the overcast sky had almost killed the batteries. 2020 hours, it read, around the glare. He hurriedly shut the flashlight down and stuffed it in his pack. Mentally counting down the time, he grabbed his Lancer from its magnetic clamps and brought it to a rest on his knee.

He could feel the cold metal through his gloves, gladly grasping the softer, less frozen hand holds. Through his helmet, the Lancer looked and ethereal blue, small ice chips coming away when he ran his fingers across the chainsaw. Nyvar hoped the gun wouldn’t cease functioning if he had to use it. With even more luck, he wouldn’t have to.

Ten more seconds until the first phase of their mission started, his ears straining as he listened for the signal. A moment earlier than planned, a red light pierced the gloomy, white landscape to his left. The echoing sound of an explosion came to him half a second behind as he stood up with a grunt and charged down the hill. Slipping in his haste, he tumbled down the last few feet and stood again, shaking off the snow on his Lancer. Embarrassment momentarily brought heat back to his face before being swept away by the night’s chill once more.

The gap of a frozen river, which would have been nothing but a dark field to his naked eyes, lay ahead of him. He turned left at the end of the tree line, jumping to the bank of the river a meter below. The crack of the ice momentarily froze the blood in his veins. No crash or splash heralded his bitter end, so he blew out a breath he hadn’t known he had been holding. At least the wind's dying down, now, he thought grimly. Carefully moving toward his destination, he gulped in a healthy amount of the atmosphere in his helmet. Nyvar was almost getting used to the smell, now. It made him feel less alone in the bitter darkness, if nothing else.

The loud crack of a twig to his right broke the dead, night air. He turned to the noise and crouched, his Lancer leading, cursing himself for not even noticing the wind was totally gone. Fat snowflakes fell lazily to the ground around him, as peaceful as can be. Breathing in deep, slow breaths, Nyvar waited for a hulking form to breach the horizon of the bank. The forest seemed to grow completely quiet, his blood hammering in his ears and his pulse in his neck. Sweat, despite the conditions, trickled down into his eye. He barely blinked, still looking straight at the river’s bank. A flash of grey darted to his left. He turned toward it, swinging his gun around as he tracked it.

A primal fear he didn’t even experience when faced with a Locust anymore took hold of him as he looked at the animal in front of him. Icy, gray eyes fixed his own with a cool stare, freezing his finger on the trigger. Suddenly, the wolf’s ears tilted to the left. Then it snapped its head that direction and snarled. Nyvar flinched back, startled, as the wolf jumped up the bank and tackled something into the bushes on the bank. A single shot from a boltok and a startled yelp came back as reply. Nyvar jumped to his feet, bringing his gun to bear on a Locust.

Fur the color of the dead wolf’s pelt threading through the grub’s armor, looking even more bestial. It chuckled deeply and fired another shot into the still body of the animal, squatting to the ground. A knife appeared out of the drone’s thigh sheath, the serrated edge darkly colored at its edge. Nyvar frowned darkly at that as he brought his gun up, intent on making sure the hunter didn’t add another pelt to its armor. The grub hadn’t seen him yet, so intent on its prey.

Unfortunately for it, another wolf flashed in from out of Nyvar’s field of vision just before he could pull the Lancer’s trigger. The large form slammed into the Locust’s back, knocking them both to the snow strewn ground. The wolf savaging the thing’s back with tooth and claw was a fair sight bigger than the one Nyvar had just met. Black blood stained the snow as the animal’s jaws chewed into the Locust’s tough hide with more than a little difficulty. A deep bellow filled the air as the Locust screamed, twisting on the ground to try and get the wolf off. It succeeded, throwing the poor animal into a tree. A yelp not dissimilar to the one from its mate came from its stained jaws, slaver dripping down into the snow.

Nyvar, free to take his shot now that the wolf was well away, fired a three round burst into the grub’s side. The Locust roared and faced him, reaching to its side first in rage and then in confusion as it realized there was nothing to grab. The pistol must have fallen during the scuffle, Nyvar surmised. He pressed his advantage, pulling the trigger and putting another round through the grub’s face for its efforts.

An echo of the shots faded in the dead air as Nyvar lowered his weapon, a whisper of wind beginning to thread through the trees once more. A flurry blew past him, leaving behind a few pristine flakes that stuck to his metal plates. Wiping them away, Nyvar looked around for the wolf and saw nothing but snow and ghostly blue trees. He shrugged; hope building inside of him at the thought that a few animals had survived the Hammer strikes.

Quickly climbing up the bank to examine the grub’s body, Nyvar checked for anything useful. He was in luck, another grenade and a clip for his shotgun were his prizes. The knife, on the other hand, he twirled back and forth for a moment in thought, chewing on his lip to decide if he should keep it. Noticing again the dark edge and the body of the wolf, he stood up and threw it into the woods as hard as he could with a brief flare of anger.

Drawing in a sharp breath, he pushed the Locust’s dead body into the bank. It thudded noisily as it hit the river, blood running through the rivulets and cracks in the ice. Hiding it as best he could, he moved on down the stream. One dead grub down meant one less running around and killing more wildlife, Nyvar reflected as he jogged, his breathing slow and controlled. Sera would heal, eventually. But first, I have to rescue the human survivors, he thought stolidly. Nyvar ran with renewed vigor to his position, the howl of wolves accompanying the returning wind behind him.

-----------------------------

Jason smiled grimly behind his new helmet, pointing his Boomshot at the target in front of him. With a pull of the trigger, he sent destruction hurtling through the air to impact the first of his objectives. What had once been an abandoned Troika turret was now nothing but slag. Snowflakes flurried into the glowing metal, hissing away into steam as the turret groaned and fell with a clatter to the cement beneath it.

That was the signal for the others to go about their own missions. He glanced at his watch, the numbers easily readable in the illumination provided by a portable light that had been set out for the slaves. Twenty one minutes out from eight o’ clock and one defense already destroyed. The Locust would be stirring any minute now.

According to the recon Sparks had conducted a scant hour earlier, there were three different encampments along the perimeter of the mining facility. The huts were directly in the center, surrounded on all sides should some unfortunate soul decide to brave the cold. The few unburied bodies he had seen on the way in were mute testament that some of the slaves had made that decision. Their blue skin and white eyes staring into the wintry chill of eternity had unnerved him.

Jason squeezed the grip of his weapon tighter, his teeth gritting. The Locust had a lot to pay for, and he was happy to return the favor. For a moment, he was tempted to wait there, standing in the snow as Locust swarmed his position. Then, cold logic returned with the wind and reminded him he’d maybe get one shot off before he died. Dying won’t help anyone here, Jason thought morosely, turning away from the destruction to run toward the next encampment. After he finished reducing the next one into a glowing crater, he’d retreat to the rendezvous and wait for everyone else.

With his boots sinking into the snow, he had to crab walk even more, jumping from one foot to the other. With all the gear covering him, he soon slowed, out of breath and sweating. Young as he was, carrying a weapon built for a Boomer was trying. Maybe this is why all the vets have arms as big as my head, Jason speculated dryly, a smirk appearing on his face. Breathing in a deep breath, he traded his Boomshot for a Lancer, the familiar feel of the gun reassuring as he looked around. The two eye slots in his helmet offered less view than he would have liked. Taking it off and clipping it to his belt, he examined his surroundings.

Trees littered the area, mounds of snow building on their limbs and around their trunks. One of the mounds sloughed off a branch to add to the pile beneath it as he watched. The thought occurred to him that he might share that fate if he didn’t keep moving, looking up warily and continuing on. Feeling was already leaving his face, except for where his nose ran. Itchy as hell, Jason growled uncharitably in his mind, running the back of his glove across his nose. Not bothering to look at the residue, he unclipped his helmet at shoved it back on his head.

“Damn buckets,” Jason muttered as he hopped humiliatingly through the forest, glad no one was around to see him.

A few minutes later, he reached his next destination, crouching behind a tree. There was Locust activity veritably buzzing around the encampment. Two sentries stood watch on top of a prefabricated building, goggles shielding their eyes as they scanned the forest. Their silhouettes were almost black against the glare of the portable lights set up around the encampment. Longshots, looking like the toy guns Jason once used to play with back at Jacinto, were cradled in their arms. Fur lined the closest sentry’s armor, rippling in the wind, though the drone’s arms were bare to the cold, from what he could see. If only I had skin that could stop a knife, Jason griped inwardly, I’d be able to take this stupid helmet off in this kind of weather, too.

Three more of the enemy soldiers were rummaging around in the center of the small encampment, stacking boxes of ammunition next to the large Troika mounted against a wall of sandbags. Snow had piled up against the bags, forming a deceptively unstable ramp, as one Locust found out when it walked down. Sinking to its thigh in the snow, it growled and twisted, loosening itself from the icy clutches. Jason could almost hear the deep, evil laughs the creatures made when entertained as they paused and stared at their comrade.

Checking his gun to make sure it hadn’t frozen over, Jason touched the communication device in his ear and clicked it on and off twice. An agonizingly long moment later, an answering click came back over the channel. Akun was in position, then, and ready to fire. Jason’s stomach knotted as he breathed in a couple deep breaths, psyching himself up for what he was about to do. Dad trusts this guy, he thought as he stood and abandoned his cover. That’s good enough for me.

He ran in shooting.

-------------------------------------

Ensconced on a branch on the other side of the encampment, Akun looked through the modified Longshot’s sniper scope. With a foot braced against a helpful limb and his back against the main trunk of the tree, he was in a perfect support position. Woodcraft sniping, as his old sergeant used to say back in the Pendulum Wars. He smiled faintly at the memory, twisting a knob on the scope’s side to clear up the sight, almost tasting the s’mores the Tyrans had invented.

With his adjustments completed for the moment, Akun brushed his hand against each of the bullets laid out across his belt, counting. Twenty four rounds, with another one slotted in the chamber. Good enough, he thought with a grunt, peering through the scope to watch a grub fall into the snow. His trigger finger itched to pull as he sighted up the drone’s head. With half the target buried in snow and convulsing around as it tried to free itself, a headshot was the best bet. His instructor would have frowned, but nodded at him to take the shot had he been over Akun’s shoulder.

Quickly moving away from the struggling grub, he shifted the scope to one of the sentries patrolling on top of a building. He could see its breath fogging in the air as it moved, ignoring its thrashing companion. An intent enemy is a dangerous enemy, whispered a voice from his past. That one would be his first target. The other sentry was glancing down to the pit where the Troika lay, hardly moving unlike its counterpart. Akun leaned back, sighing and shaking his head as the glass fogged up. He wiped it with his thumb as two clicks came over his headset.

His adrenaline spiked at that noise, his throat drying out as he breathed in quickly in succession. Reaching up to his ear, he returned the click and brought his eye to the scope once more, looking at the battleground. Movement to the left of the encampment drew his eye, the armored form of the Nyvar kid moving in to complete his task. Akun swiftly brought his sights on his first target, slowing down his breathing. The grub noticed the movement in the trees as well, starting to bring its gun up as if in slow motion.

The crack of his shot was masked by Jason’s opening up, blood misting into the air as the sentry’s head exploded into a shower of gore. It splattered the snow, the body falling to its knees and then tumbling into the pit. Cries of anger and disbelief, faint from where he was, but loud enough to hear over the shooting came to his ears as he reloaded.

Pulling back the bolt, he ejected the spent shell, pulled out a new one from his belt, and injected it into place with a click as he put the bolt back into position. The spent shell vanished into the leaves, but Akun’s attention was already back at the battlefield, zooming in on the other sentry. Mere seconds had passed, but the grub was quicker than he looked, both in mind and body and was already searching for his position, crouching to avoid the fire from Jason.

Unfortunately for the grub, Akun wasn’t about to let it find the time to add a new breathing hole to his brain. He sighted up on the grub’s body, cracking off his second shot with practiced ease, the kick from the gun already starting to bruise his shoulder. With the angle he had shot, the bullet slammed through the thick neck, right above the clavicle, blood spurting into the air. The grub dropped, out of commission, if not dead.

The heat of the barrel steamed in the cold as Akun ejected another round and grabbed for his next shell. He pulled a bullet from its sheath in his belt and dropped it with shaking hands. It fell into the night, irretrievable. He cursed at himself, fumbling for another shell as he tried to still his hand. Cold and precise, son, that’s how a sniper works, the voice of his sergeant whispered in his mind. Akun replied darkly in the same fashion, slamming the bullet into the chamber and looking through the scope again. Too much time wasted.

The situation, with the sentries on the roofs gone, was to the kid’s benefit, but the Troika was already being fed and filling the air with bullets. Akun watched as Jason jumped and rolled into cover behind a fallen tree. Bark filled the air as the Troika’s rounds ripped into the flimsy cover, Jason returning fire blindly with his Lancer.

Akun dragged his sights onto the Troika, but a building was in his way, blocking his shot of the operator. Gritting his teeth, he scanned for targets, finding nothing. Shift position. Find a clear angle. Always be moving.

“Yes, sir,” Akun muttered into the air, sliding his weapon across his chest with the sling and starting down the tree. He had to do something before Nyvar’s kid died. Akun wasn’t about to let another of his squad become a casualty. Not after the Hammer.

---------------------------

Cursing into the steadily colder night, Jason crouched lower as another hundred rounds roared through the spot just above his head. His cover wasn’t going to hold much longer, and then, neither would he. Hissing in pain, he moved to the right along the fallen log, using his good hand to fire blindly over his cover. His right arm dangled limply beside him, blood dripping down it from a chunk he was missing on his forearm. The cold had already numbed most of his body, but he could definitely feel the pain as his nerved screamed. It was warm there, steaming a little in the cold as he dropped his weapon to the ground to take a look at it.

Pulling out a strip of cloth from a small pouch on his belt, he wrapped it up, wincing and growling through gritted teeth. Blood soaked through the flimsy bandage, but it stopped leaking down his arm for the moment. He moved the arm slowly, every pulse sending a new pain through it. It worked well enough, if painfully. Dad’s going to have a cow, Jason thought, which naturally lead to what he thought he remembered cow tasted like. It had been awhile since he had eaten beef.

The silence as the Troika stopped firing brought him back to the battle at hand, a worm of worry gnawing his mind. The only reason the Troika would stop firing would be for friendlies to be in its way.

"Sh*t,” Jason said, just as a grenade bounced off his cover and disappeared into the snow next to him. He leaped to the side just as it exploded, thrown even further by the blast. His body impacted a tree and stopped so suddenly his head snapped back and slammed into the trunk, too. Blood flood his mouth as a stinging pain registered in his lip, falling to his hand and knees. He spat, a headache slamming into his head as forcefully as he had hit the tree. Jason closed his eyes, momentarily blinded by the pain, cold assaulting his face. Where was his helmet?

The sound of a Hammerburst round ripping into the bark behind him set his ears to ringing as his training took over. His body jumped to the right in a roll, the heavy gear on his body rattling and making the jump little more than a hop. More shots impacted the snow around him, one slamming into the Boomshot that was surprisingly still attached to his back. He could hear the clang as it hit the metal and ricocheted into the night.

Jason scrambled on his hands and knees behind a tree that put something in between him and where he thought he fire was coming from. His breath came out in peaceful white puffs, a counterpoint to his ragged breathing. Pain lanced through his arm, his head, and his lip with every movement, more shots thudding into the bark. He was going to die here, in the snow, like the bodies he had seen on the way in. Oh, god, Jason thought frantically, checking himself over for anything that could help him.

His panicked actions unclipped the heavy grenade launcher on his back, the weapon falling to the snow outside of cover. Bullets slammed into it instantly, clanging as it danced in the snow like a marionette. Jason watched it, then grabbed one of the grenades for the Boomshot and threw it around the tree at the hail of bullets. They stopped as the Locust roared. Jason could feel his pulse pounding through his head, making his headache even worse. He had to think of something, anything to get him out of this.

He looked over at the Boomshot, his eyes wide open and his breath coming faster as adrenaline swept away his pain on an icy hot tide. He snatched it up, rolling out from cover and firing it as soon as he saw the Locust stand up from where it had rolled to avoid his fake grenade. It roared again as he pulled the trigger. An explosion lit up the night, forcing his eyes closed as something wet hit his face. When the storm had passed, he opened his eyes and stared. Where the Locust had been was only bloody chunks, an arm missing its hand laying a meter from the crater. Jason laughed.

Tears ran down his face and froze as he doubled over and giggled hysterically, dropping his weapon. The laughter scared him, but he couldn’t stop, the convulsions bringing him to his knees. He laughed so hard he retched into the snow, bile and a digested candy bar from lunch coating the ground and his left glove as he held himself up. Why was it so funny, Jason thought as he looked up at the remnants of the fallen log that had been his cover. A black silhouette against the light from the encampment stood on the log, a Longshot cradled in the man’s arms. A voice in his ear crackled to life.

“This is Akun. We’re heading to the rendezvous.”

Jason looked up and got to his feet shakily, barely able to keep himself up. The headache was back, along with the other pains. Akun grabbed his arm and helped him as they moved to the center of town. Marov would be there soon, and there was still a job to do. His vision was unfocused, but he put one foot in front of the other and kept moving. Two Locust bodies lay in the snow, holes drilled through their bodies in mortal areas. Jason could have sworn they were already turning blue. The thought made him smile through the pain.


----------------------------

Nyvar ducked behind a building as the sound of booted feet smacked against the concrete. The familiar growls of Locust broke through the night as he looked around the corner to see the back of two grubs moving down an alleyway. Clutching his Lancer tighter, Nyvar moved after them, careful to keep quiet as he could with his heavy boots. Thankfully, the sound of explosions and firing were enough to overwrite his muted footfalls.

Snow, which was piling steadily along the sides of the alley, still fell. Boot prints from running drones had turned the alley’s middle into slush, dirt mingling to change it brown. When he looked up, he saw the low clouds burning with an orange glow, a couple of Reavers flashing by. Something was afire nearby. Nyvar feverently hoped it wasn’t his son burning. If everything was going according to plan, they’d meet in the square at the designated time.

Slowing as he came to the end of the alley, Nyvar kneeled to the ground and checked his watch. Frost covered the glass, forcing him to wipe it away with a thumb. Five more minutes until the rendezvous. Hope you’re ready for this, Marov, Nyvar thought grimly. Picking up his Lancer into a two handed grip once more, he looked around the corner into the square. One of the doors to the slave quarters was open, a thin woman with a gaunt face looking out with dead eyes. They lit up when Nyvar waved from the dark alley, the woman bringing a hand to her mouth in surprise. He checked both ways to make sure he was clear before rushing across the well lit square and entering the woman’s doorway and closing it behind him.

A squeal of fright quickly muffled was the first thing that greeted him in the dark room. Light filtered in from the outside through the windows evenly spaced along the side facing the square. Nyvar’s eyes steadily grew accustomed to the gloom, women and children, both boys and girls, staring back at him with fright in their faces. One of them had buried their face in a mother’s skirts. I must look like one of the grubs, big as I am, Nyvar deliberated, disturbed by the thought.

“Why are you here?”

Surprised by the soft voice, Nyvar looked over at the owner and saw his wife standing there.

“Kat…” Nyvar muttered, letting his Lancer fall to his side in a loose one handed grip. He reached toward the woman, pulling back abruptly as she cringed away panic in her eyes. When the light from the window hit her face, he realized his mistake. Her face was similar, but her hair was a deep brown and the scar he’d kissed so many times wasn’t on her cheek. Gripping the handle of his Lancer and balling his other fist, Nyvar fought the wave of self loathing swarming through him. Kat was dead. I know she’s dead, but I’m still hoping and scaring these poor folk. With effort, he calmed himself and looked back up at the woman.

“I’m a Gear. I’ve got a team here and we’re getting you all out.”

Gasps filled the room at his words, frightened voices treating “Gear” with as much fear as they would use “Locust”. One woman spat at him. Nyvar winced, remembering who he was talking to. Stranded, condemned to death just for being outside of Jacinto. They had all the right to be afraid and angry.

“You’ll get us out? And bring us where? To your precious city?” the not Kat asked, heat coating her tone. Nyvar shook his head.

“That’s your choice after we get out of here. Right now, we’re bringing you to Lethia. There’s some Stranded there. Might be some of them are family to you. Any of you like to stay with them, they’ll be leaving to get to the nearest Stranded camp.” Nyvar paused, scanning the room and seeing hope where a moment before had been disgust. He continued, “But if you want to come to Jacinto, I’ll make sure you get there. COG forces are en route to the factory already. You’ll be taken care of. Fed, even. Now, I need to know how many of you are there. Are the other buildings being used as shelter?”

“We’re all that’s left, such as we are,” the woman sneered bitterly. She looked down at her tattered shift and boots, Nyvar’s eyes following hers down. He drew in a sharp breath as he realized she wasn’t wearing boots. Those black things were her feet. When he looked into the crowd, he realized almost every one of the occupants were frostbitten somewhere. A bandaged hand on a child missing three fingers, more dead feet, a little girl missing an ear. Nyvar gritted his teeth in anger, looking back to the woman’s face. She looked back at him with a fierce expression on her face.

“The Locust killed the others,” she said in a low voice, “or might well as have. It’s cold as a b*tch’s heart out there. Those who didn’t die from the Frost died from exhaustion. We’re the strong ones. The weak ones never had a chance.”

“No one else is gonna die, ma’am,” Nyvar replied heatedly, just as the door opened behind him. Cursing, he turned around, his Lancer already coming up into firing range. Something hard slammed into his nose, throwing him back into the crowd of children, his Lancer falling to the ground somewhere.

Luckily, the children had managed to get out of the way as his heavily armored body thudded against the floor. Warm blood ran down into his mouth as he reached for his sidearm, ripping the boltok pistol out of its holster. He fired at the massive form, punching a hole into its body and forcing it back. Nyvar fired again, scrambling to his feet with a yell. One more shot ended the grub’s struggles, its wheezing from a punctured lung cut short. Three rounds left, Nyvar thought quickly as another Locust rushed in, shooting.

Screams pierced the air, one of the Hammerburst’s rounds punching into Nyvar’s chest armor with enough force to send him back to the ground. This time, he landed on someone, a sharp crack announcing a newly broken bone thanks to his weight. Nyvar prayed it wasn’t a child, at least as he rolled off, rounds spraying into the air and sending shards of wood to rain down on his head. He returned fire with his Boltok, stopping the hail of bullets for a few seconds. Clicking dry on the pistol, he dropped it smoking beside him and grabbed his snub.

The whine of a chainsaw interrupted the scene, a roaring cry coming from the Locust who had been shooting as blood flew into the air. It crumpled as the Lancer reached the midpoint of its chest and stopped whirring, stuck on a rib. Nyvar wiped the viscera off of his face as Jason’s hand extended to pull him up, Akun cursing as he tried to remove the Lancer from the drone’s body. With a heave and pushing down on the body with his boot, the sniper removed the weapon and dropped it to his side.

“I prefer killing when I don’t have to smell the aftermath,” Akun said, breathing hard. The man looked around, staring at the huddled Stranded in each corner. “My, god.”

“Is everyone alright?” Nyvar asked, nodding at Akun in thanks for the timely rescue.

“As alright as we can be,” the woman who had spoken with him earlier replied, holding his Lancer in her arms with difficulty. She shoved it at him, the weapon thudding into his chest as he grabbed it. She backed away quickly, looking down at the other Stranded. The kids were remarkably quiet, though tears danced in more than a few eyes. Nyvar’s lips tightened as he thought about what that meant.

“How are we getting out of here?” she continued, looking back up at him and brushing hair out of her face.

“Through the tunnels,” Nyvar said, matter of fact.

“You’re insane.”

“Maybe, but you aren’t getting out of here any other way. That mine leads to the facility underground. We don’t have enough vehicles to get you out and I sure as hell aren’t going to ask you to walk through the snow,” Nyvar returned, helping a little boy up and gesturing for the rest of the Stranded to do likewise.

They complied, quietly and without fuss, used to obeying orders. I hope they never have to hear another order like this again, Nyvar thought, knowing it was a futile hope. Sera didn’t work like that these days. He checked his watch, directing Jason and Akun to go outside and make sure it was clear. One minute until the rendezvous. Hopefully Marov was having a better time of it than they were.

------------------------------------------

The Centaur lurched as Marov spun the wheel and hit the brake. An explosion slammed into the snow in front of him, splattering his windshield with the white stuff. He cursed as the drumming sound of bullets ripped into the back of the armored tank’s chassis. Taking his foot off the break, Marov slammed his foot down on the accelerator, the tires catching and thrusting forward, over a hill and catching some air. Grimacing as his stomach flew into his throat, Marov braced himself as the Centaur came down hard. The seatbelt snapped as his armored form lurched forward and slammed his head into the dash.

“Another goddamned thing I have to thank the Stranded for. Can’t they at least keep their sh*t in good condition? F*cking Reavers!” Marov roared as he wiped away the blood from a new cut on his forehead, pressing the gas pedal again. The tank bounced around as Marov neared his destination, aiming directly for what should be the last encampment if everyone had done their job correctly.

The Locust must have warned their companions he was coming, because the Troika was already manned and pointing at him. It opened up as soon as he came into range, the bullets a counterpoint to the pinging coming from the Reavers on his back.

“C’mon, baby, hold together,” Marov growled as a round cracked into the thick windshield, sending a spider web through the glass. He shifted gears and hit the boost, topping out at the max speed setting for the Centaur. The Troika stopped firing right before he hit it, the grub smart enough to tuck and roll out of the way. The impact sent Marov’s body forward again, but he kept himself from adding a new bruise and ripped through the encampment, sending boxes of ammunition flying.

He braked quickly, the Centaur coming to an abrupt stop with a squelch of the tires. The Reavers shot over him as he did so, already looping back for another run at him. Now would be a good time to vacate this deathtrap, Marov thought, thoughtlessly unbuckling the ruined seatbelt and grabbing his Lancer as he stood.

The hatch opened with little difficulty, snow falling gently into the vehicle as he made his way out of the top. Marov slipped down a couple of rungs on the frozen ladder as he hurried, dropping down into the snow with a grunt. Gripping the Lancer to his chest, Marov ran toward the entrance of the mine a few meters away. He entered the cave, slipping on the cold ground and steadying himself with one hand. Back underground again, Marov grumbled inwardly.

The sound of a Reaver’s chain gun brought him out of his funk, the bullets slamming into the still running Centaur. Nothing but dents would come of it, but it would serve as the distraction Nyvar planned to make. Marov looked down to a pouch on his belt, opening it to check the detonator inside. Patting it and returning the velcro to its original spot, Marov glanced at his watch. 2040 hours.

“Where are you, ‘Seph,” Marov asked the empty air, looking back down the mineshaft to make sure reinforcements weren’t on their way for the Locust. He didn’t hear any boots or bestial grunts so far, but he kept an ear to the darkness as he looked back outside. The Reavers were coming around for another pass. If they followed the pattern they usually did, they would eventually descend and-

“Sh*t,” Marov muttered, just as a Reaver slammed into the top of the Centaur, screeching through a massive maw filled with rows of sharp teeth. Unthinking, Marov pointed his Lancer at the monster and opened fire, running toward it to get under it and out of its line of fire. Bullets ripped into the snow around him as he ran, the grubs on top reacting to his suicidal charge.

The sound of rushing air warned him a moment before an explosion hit the ground behind him, the other Reaver descending to take part in its mate’s fun. Marov tumbled forward into the snow, sliding under the Centaur and losing his gun in the process. Spitting out the white slush, Marov turned over onto his back, pointing his Snub at the Reaver’s spindly legs and opening fire. He didn’t expect to cause any damage, but damn if it didn’t feel good to shoot it in this hopeless situation. I’m not about to die without a gun in my hand, Marov thought fiercely as the Reaver speared its way across the cement closer to his position.

The screech of metal rending forced Marov to bring his hands to his ears and squeeze his eyes shut. The Reaver on top was punching through the chassis with its razor sharp claws, no doubt. What am I going to do now? I have the only damned detonator, Marov thought swiftly, glancing at his watch. 2042. They should have been there by now.

A scream matching a child scratching a chalkboard added to the cacophony as the chain gun opened up again. Marov looked around confusedly, wondering what the grubs were doing. A moment later, his question was answered as a thunk entered the storm of sound and an explosion shook the Centaur above him, the sharp crack of the blast setting his ears to ringing. That sounded like a Gutpuncher. The Reaver above him screamed in agony.

“Sy, where the hell are you? We’ve got Reavers crawling all over your damn tank,” Nyvar’s voice cut through the ringing as his earpiece crackled. Marov reached up to his ear and responded with a quick bark of laughter tinged with hysteria.

“I’m underneath the Centaur, ‘Seph. Mind telling Jason to let off a few more of those grenades, please? Don’t fancy hanging around down here all night!”

“Underneath the ta-. You know, whatever. Cover yourself,” Nyvar replied, his voice growling an order for Jason to fire again. Another thunk and an explosion rocked the tank, the Reaver giving off one final death screech and falling to Marov’s left off the front of the hood. The smell of charred flesh entered his nostrils. Hell, I’m hungry enough to almost enjoy the smell, Marov contemplated with a weird sort of clarity despite the situation.

--------------------------

Thunk.

Another grenade sailed over the tank and hit the other Reaver broadside. Jason quickly reloaded and moved to cover as a missile cratered the area he had been standing at. Grabbing the last frag in his belt, he made sure it was ready to fire before peeking back out to check his range.

He needn’t have bothered. With a last screech and limbs almost falling off, the Reaver lifted off minus its two riders who had died to a previous round. Blood streamed from it as it went, screaming into the night. Suddenly, it was quiet and peaceful, only the sound of the Centaur’s engine running interrupting the silence.

“Bout time you guys showed up,” Marov said through the comm channel, picking himself up as he scooted out from under the Centaur. Jason noticed the man stood on one leg and leaned against one of the monster wheels. Concern for his father’s best friend urged him forward, seeing Akun leading the Stranded toward the mine out of the corner of his eyes. Nyvar slapped the man on the back as they reunited, Marov wincing in pain, but smiling nonetheless.

“You look like you’re about to fall apart, old man,” Jason replied playfully, his smile widening on his face as the adrenaline drained out of him. He felt sick, broken, and hurt, but with everyone still alive, he also felt perfectly fine. This is what being a Gear is like, he thought as he strode up to the man that was almost like an uncle to him.

“Those the people?” Marov asked, his smile dropping off his face as he saw the pathetic forms of the Stranded.

“All that’s left. Weren’t for us, there’d be more corpses in the snow tonight,” his dad replied.

“I’m glad we could help them then.”

“You have the detonator?”

“Yeah, right here,” Marov returned, patting the pouch that carried their ticket to closing the mineshaft behind them. Locust forces were probably already on their way here from other areas. They needed to keep them off their backs long enough to get to the facility. The grubs could dig through, given time, but Jason figured their party would make it in time.

“Move the vehicle a little closer, then, and we’ll hightail it outta here.”

Jason moved away as Marov grunted in reply and worked himself up into the Centaur again. His father followed him. The last of the Stranded were already making their way into the cave, Akun in the lead with a flashlight and his Lancer ahead of him. Jason jogged forward toward the girl his dad had claimed was the leader and stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

“Here,” he said, pressing his snub pistol into her hand. She looked at it and expertly checked the chamber and aimed at a rock near the mouth of the cave.

“Thanks, kid,” she replied, smiling at him and moving back to her place in the back of the line. Jason nodded and stared back at the Centaur, which was moving closer to him and the mineshaft. The massive tank came to a halt in front of him with an annoying squeak as the old breaks stopped it, the engine shutting off. Jason noticed the cracked windshield, bullet and claw holes, wondering how the thing was even still moving with such damage. The smell of its exhaust wormed its way into his nose, causing him to crinkle it. The sensation reminded him that his entire head as going numb. He looked forward to going back underground where it was relatively warm.

A scream tore into the night air, louder than any human mouth could make. Jason’s blood froze as he looked around for its source, his gun coming up and pointing into the night. Marov popped out of the hatch with his own Lancer leading, and then dropped it with a clang on the tank’s chassis, his mouth open and eyes wide. That look was never good. Another scream pierced the air, Nyvar rushing toward Jason from one of the houses and dropping crates of food on the ground in his hurry.

A rumble started, similar to the earthquakes he’d experienced for most of his life in Jacinto. He automatically looked down at the ground, and then remembered Marov’s face and looked up just in time for the first boulder to smash into the hood of the Centaur. Marov cursed as more rocks tumbled down over the entrance of the cave, leaping from the hatch and rolling across the cement as more boulders slammed into the tank. Jason made to run forward, but another large rock hit the ground in front of him, forcing him back.

“Get in the cave, Jason! Now! Go with Akun!”

Jason ran, not even replying, yelling at the others to move faster, rocks sealing the way shut behind him. Trapped underground, again.

------------------------------------------------

Nyvar looked up the mountain and saw a nightmare even worse than the ones he dealt with on a daily basis. The avalanche of boulders and snow were bad, as he and Marov quickly backed into the square to avoid, but what had caused it was by far a million times worse. A scream from a throat mutated far beyond what a normal Corpser could make assaulted his eardrums.

What had once been a normal giant spider monster was now a monstrosity of legs and yellow, pulsing flesh. A maw that could swallow a Centaur was open and emitting the horrible, pained screech. Nyvar could only describe the growths that poked out of the Corpser’s legs to be tentacles, spewing yellow liquid that melted huge patches of snow as it came down.

“What the f*ck is that?” Marov asked as they ran away from the tide of destruction, boulders slamming into the houses that had once held hundreds of slaves. The timber buildings crackled like so much kindling, sending splinters the size of his hand hurtling through the air. The sound was tremendous.

“Hell if I know,” Nyvar coughed out as dust rippled through the air, the reverberation of death slowing down enough for him to look back at the devastation. The mineshaft was no more than a pile of giant rocks, while the square was filled with rubble. A tree had speared one of the houses that escaped the deluge of earth. The monster that had started it all was nowhere to be seen.

“Is it dead?”

“I doubt it. Nothing ever goes right for us,” Marov replied, falling to his butt on the ground and setting his Lancer to the side. Nyvar was surprised to see that he had kept his own in hand. Instinct was amazing to him, sometimes.

A rumble from the ground knocked Nyvar off of his feet as the haunted scream came from the center of the slave camp. A massive, pale yellow leg pierced the rubble, followed by nine more. Tentacles slithered and waved around the bloated body of the Corpser, splattering more of the liquid on the rocks. The stone hissed and steamed as it melted.

“Sh*t. I hate being right,” Marov said, pointing his gun at the thing. Nyvar stood back up and helped his friend to his feet, putting an arm around his shoulder. Marov limped on his good leg, supported by Nyvar as they kept running away from the thing. Nyvar didn’t know how they’d be able to fight something so horrible with just their Lancers.

“Uh, ‘Seph. I hate to tell you, but that thing’s looking for something, and I don’t think that something is its hat,” Marov said, stopping and leaning against a tree. Nyvar looked back unhappily and saw his friend was correct. The Corpser was skittering around drunkenly, glaring balefully into the night.

“You still have the detonator?”

“Yes.”

“Please use it,” Nyvar said just as the monster found them. He cursed and fired a volley at it, watching the bullets pierce the skin with a sharp popping sound similar to a firework. Nyvar frowned, trying to remember where he’d seen something like that before. Sh*t, that’s just like the Kry-

“Fire in the hole!”

An explosion rocked the mountainside as the rest of the dynamite they’d found in the tunnels blew the Centaur and everything around it sky high. The Corpser thing roared in rage, pustules on its skin exploding outward in a display of goo and light. The rocks that had been launched in the air came down on one of the pustules and then Nyvar found himself flying backward into a tree, gravel pelting his face. Light dazzled his eyes as he fell into the snow, a wave of heat roaring over him and burning his skin where his armor didn’t cover.

Sight and hearing slowly came back to him as he lay there, steam rising all around him. Blurry shapes cleared up into trees and rocks and other debris. Nyvar smelled smoke and an even more acrid smell not unlike imulsion. The stuff clogged the back of his throat and made him hack and cough, a similar sound coming from somewhere to his left. Hadn’t Marov been on his right? Nyvar pushed himself to his hands and knees and then rolled into a sitting position against a tree. It hurt to breath, a gift from his impact with the very foliage he was leaning against. He looked over his body and saw his black underlay ripped and torn, his skin red and blistered.

“Never…volunteering…again,” Marov’s voice coughed out from his left. Nyvar looked over and smiled at the man, whose mustache was singed on one side, rolling his head back and closing his eyes as he relaxed for the first time in days. Static washed into his ear, voices suddenly coming in through the channel.

“Dad? Dad?”

“This is Akun. You alright, Nyvar?”

“Sergeant Nyvar? Do you read? This is KR-80, inbound from the Lethia Imulsion factory. Do you copy?”

Nyvar expended a breath, reached up for his right ear, and pressed down on the device nestled there.

“This is Sergeant Joseph Nyvar. I’m having an absolute blast down here. Please join me.”

“Copy that! KR-80 moving in for pickup.”

“Dad!”

Nyvar pulled out the device and let it hang from his shoulder, grabbed a flare from his belt, popped the cap, and flung it as far away as he could from himself. That ended up to be a few meters, but the green smoke and light were where trees had been previously. Nyvar laughed.

“That’s endex.”

[Deleted]

Epilogue

Former Locust Slave Camp;

2130 hours.

Ty looked down from the open port of the Raven as they came in for a landing, holding tight to one of the hand holds in the crew bay. Green smoke surrounded by what looked like a blast site billowed into the sky, indicating the LZ. The pilot expertly went in for a landing, only slightly jostling the passengers inside. Ty smelled imulsion on the wind as flurries of snow reached out for a kiss.

“I could have made a better landing than that,” Jonesy said behind him, irritable as ever. Ty couldn’t help but smile at the attitude in the man’s voice. He looked back at the pilot, seeing a delightful combination of insanity and mischief in the man’s eyes. Shaking his head, Ty stepped out of the Raven and went to meet the other two members of his squad. His smile faded as he realized Jason and Akun weren’t there.

“Where’s Jason and-,” Ty started, worried.

“They’re fine,” Nyvar replied, coughing as he helped Marov stand up. The other man winced, half of his glorious mustache singed off. Ty thought it best not to point that fact out to him yet. Instead, he went and put his own shoulder under Marov on the other side. The man tried not to put so much weight on his friends, instead deigning to limp along as best he could.

“I could get used to this kind of service,” Marov grumbled, coughing and then wincing more as he tried to make light of the situation. “Though I definitely don’t want to go through this kind of injury again. Oh, no, you get that thing away from me. Sparks! No!”

Sparks picked that moment to appear out of thin air with a needle in its manipulating arm, prepared to stab it into Marov’s arm. Ty grinned as he held the man still along with Nyvar. Marov howled and complained as the needle pierced his skin, struggling against their combined strength. Once the needle was out, the man gave Ty a black look.

“You traitor. I’ll remember this,” Marov scowled.

“I’d be surprised if you’d want to, Sy’. This adventure has been a little too exciting for me,” Nyvar said, looking old and tired for a moment. Ty frowned at that, wondering if the man was really as tired as he looked. Fear gnawed at his belly at the thought of Nyvar having to retire to behind the line duty. That meant Marov would be in charge if he didn’t shift out, too, and if he did, Ty would have to learn how to lead.

“You’re not that old, Sarge!”

“Not that old, my ass! I’ve been fighting since I was eighteen. That ages a man beyond his years, you know,” Nyvar grumbled as they finally boarded the Raven. They sat down Marov in one of the vacant seats beside Jonesy. Ty sat on the opposite side next to Naleena, who was looking better, if not perfect. She stared at Marov for a second before asking a question.

“Where’s my Longshot?”

“Uh. Akun has it. I think.”

“You think?”

“Yes. I think. Why don’t you ask Nyvar about it. He’s the one who gave it to the man,” Marov groused, closing his eyes as they lifted off. Naleena shifted her attention to Nyvar, who looked at her innocently and waved his hands in front of him.

“Look, I’m injured people. Talk to Ty. He told me to give it to Akun.”

“I was unconscious!” Ty replied skeptically. Naleena raised an eyebrow at the man, who managed to look sheepish.

“I’ll get you a new one. In fact, I’ll get you ten new ones. You get to pick the one you want. Being a Gear has its advantages,” Nyvar said quickly, smiling as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Marov was already snoring next to him. Ty smirked at the two as the Raven scanned the area one more time and flew off to the factory to rendezvous with Jason and the others.

“You think they’ll let me fly this thing on the way back? I mean, it’s not like they have the best pilot on this bird or something, right?” Jonesy asked aloud acidly, his perpetual smirk returned.

“Keep that up, and you’ll be walking home, you slimy asshole. You know how many Ravens you’ve crashed in the past six months? I’m not about to let you lay a hand on my bird,” a female voice replied over the loudspeakers.

“Gettner?” Jonesy asked, suddenly uneasy.

“The one and only, kid. Don’t think I didn’t hear that crack during the landing earlier, either. We’ll be talking privately after we get back to base.”

“I look forward to it,” Jonesy replied, rolling his eyes and leaning back in his seat.

“I saw that,” Gettner’s voice came again.

“What!?”


Jacinto Hospital, Jacinto;

0800 hours.

“What do you mean, they left?” Marov said from the stretcher back in the Jacinto Hospital. Nyvar walked with him, looking over at Jason and sighing. A doctor came up and ushered them into a waiting room as they took Naleena’s stretcher toward the back of the building. Nyvar hoped the girl would be okay. Other Gears more badly wounded then Echo were being shuffled into the emergency rooms. More empty lockers, Nyvar thought bitterly.

The room they were put in was comfortably furnished, with a couple of chairs against the wall, and a clean counter with only a hint of blood on it. Nyvar almost felt like everything was back the way it was before E-Day as he sniffed in the sterile smell of the hospital. A rumble in the earth dispelled that, another tremor rocking the building. Even though he knew the grubs couldn’t tunnel through the granite under Jacinto, he hated the thought of not having his gun on his person.

“They told me they were going to find their own way home,” Jason replied stoically. “Akun told me to let you know what an honor it was to fight with you one last time, but that he had a job to do. People to protect. The Stranded went with him, both the slaves and the ones from the factory.”

“And none of them wanted to stay and, say, get medical treatment?”

“Not from the COG,” Jason said, looking to the side with an unreadable expression. Nyvar felt for the kid. It was disillusioning when people disagreed with ideas you grew up with. Marov turned that anger right back at them, usually. Lately, though, the tough and gruff façade had been cracking.

“Better for us then. Less waste of resources,” Marov grumbled, stretching out on the mobile bed as if in response to Nyvar’s thoughts. The man’s left hand was covered in new bandages, replacing the dirty, soiled ones he’d put on in the field. Nyvar was surprised it hadn’t got infected through everything.

“Is that so? I wonder how you’d feel about one of the Stranded being your doctor?” a familiar voice called from the doorway. Nyvar looked back and saw Dr. Hanson standing there in a fresh set of scrubs, a pristine white coat and stethoscope hanging around her neck, looking intimidating as ever. He heard a sharp intake of breath from Marov and patted the man’s hand.

“C’mon, Jason. Miss Hanson’s got some words to say to Sy’, I imagine. Best not to be within earshot. Preferably outside the building,” Nyvar whispered to his son, smiling as that gained him a smirk. They left the room to Marov’s objections, walking side by side down the corridor. Blood was being mopped up by a tired looking janitor on the tile floor, moans of pain coming from various rooms.

Nyvar pulled a pair of COG tags out of his shirt, taking them off from around his neck. Ven Salora was the name stenciled on the silver disks in precise, neat letters. He sighed, rubbing a finger across a blackened corner. The man’s shotgun was in the barracks leaning against his bed, as clean and taken care of as if Ven himself were still the owner of it. Invisible Wretches were out of production, the Stranded were saved, but so many people had died, from the convoy to the big Southern Islander himself. Nyvar closed his eyes and sighed.

“You alright, dad?”

“Yeah,” Nyvar replied, clenching the tags in his fist. "Just thinking about empty lockers."

[ASGetty ((Zovo))]

Alright, I know I said I'd do this by chapter, but I decided that would be awfully intrusive to my reading experience; so, since i hit the half way point today I thought I'd give you my thoughts so far.

First and foremost, this is defiinitely an enjoyable story, I like the characters and I like where it's going; despite my misgivings which I'll get in to. This certainly wasn't a wasted effort, and with a little cleaning up it might even be worth showing to some more "official" people over at. . . whatever publisher holds the rights for the Gears of War franchise.

That said, here are some of the things you might consider cleaning. First, give Marov a rank, or a title, or something. The sheer number of times you refer to him as "Nyvar's best friend" in the narrative is, distracting at best and plain old annoying at other times. You need another way to refer to him, or at least just stop using that way.

Naleena, I liked her character. . . why did you ruin her? She used to be tough, no nonsense, and didn't take shit from anyone. But then once she decided she trusted the Gears, she completely loses her edge. She become this stereotypical woman character (wants to be like the boys, and tries boy things, but isn't as good as they are), and becomes really comfortable with the rest of the crew condescending to her regularly. I mean, her is a woman having no qualms about being refered to as "little lady" and "missy" by a pair of guys whom, 48 hours ago, she was willing to shoot in the face without hesitation. And her dialogue, what happened there?

She was awesome when you treated her as "one of the guys," the no bullshit warrior chick, but now it's like you want to emphasize her feminity in everything she says, or everything she does, and you do so in the least flattering way. I'm honestly expecting her to whine about breaking a nail. yeah, I get that she's out of her element, I ge that she's trying to earn the rest of the guys' trust. . . but she really seems like the kind of character who would do so on -her- terms. Not by putting up with their condescending, macho (*cough*Texan*cough*) crap. I saw the little survey on the other site of favorite characters and Naleena was pretty high on the list... at the beginning of the story that made sense. Not so much now.

Have one of the ladies around her read through this in it's entirety, I'm sure they'll agree and probably be capable of offering better fixes than I could.

Now, on to some stuff I'm gonna spoiler for those who haven't read it:

SPOILER: Click to show

What was the point of Ven's death? It didn't really affect any change in Nyvar; the dude has already lost everything, and really after a couple paragraphs of flashback, we pretty much just forget Ven ever existed. Marov doesn't seem to give a shit, Ty is unfazed, Naleena was busy doing her hair. . .

It just, seemed out of place and inconsistent for the character. He was the chill character, the cool head, the voice of reason. . . and suddenly he decides to just charge headlong into a rocket launcher? I mean, even if he thought he could get there fast enough, it was a really uncharacteristic choice. Felt like you sort of just got tired of the character and didn't know what to do with him so you wrote him out.

Now, on to Parker and his betrayal. That took me by surprise. I knew he had attitude issues, I knew he didn't like the Gears, but I didn't peg him for a traitor to humanity. Really a great twist that I didn't see coming. Then, the more I thought about it, I realize -why- I didn't see it coming. . . because it made no sense.

I would understand parker selling out the Gears hiding in the caves to save his own ass; that much made sense. He hated them. But selling the Stranded into slavery, he loved those people, he was all about protecting them, killing Grubs and dog-things by the dozen for their sake, and then he betrays them. . . that makes less sense.

For instance, the first time we meet Parker, his convoy of Stranded are under attack by the Locust. Assuming he's buddy buddy with the Locust in the area, why is he being attacked, and why is he killing the shit out of them? Maybe later he intentionally brought the Stranded into the ambush at the outpost gates. What a great way to make a slave transfer without blowing his cover. The Locust move in, lay down some covering fire, and make off with a bunch of women and children to work in the mines. . . Except, they don't. They ambush the convoy which is supposed to be bringing them a shipment of slave labor and they -kill everyone-. Why? Seriously, what the fuck?

The twist was great, but looking back on the events leading up to it, it suddenly appears like a last minute decision by the author (that's you) to keep a good characer in the story. Re-writing the ambush at the gates so that the Grubs carried off the Stranded, and simply disabled vehicles rather than setting everythign on fire, or something that makes it so later Nyvar and Co. can look back and realize it was a cleverly disguised -trade- and not an ambush would be a great addition.

Finally, and I'm not sure how to fix this, but the story is starting to feel a little episodic, formulated, and is losing it's organic feel as I go. Every chapter seems to have the same basic flow:

Character development, drama, tension, assorted violence, wind down, cliff hanger; then the next chapter starts the cycle all over.

Ultimately I'm looking forward to the second half and seeing where this all goes. Hoping some of my questions are answered and I get to eat my words.

[James]

I'm considering at making an effort of trying to read this. Yeah, that's right "considering" "an effort". At the very least I might pull out the odd chapter and just look at the actual writing alone.

But, can I also just say, reading Zovo's reviews are almost as much fun as reading a story itself.

[ASGetty ((Zovo))]

Sept 2, 2011 4:06:29 GMT -5 James said:

I'm considering at making an effort of trying to read this. Yeah, that's right "considering" "an effort". At the very least I might pull out the odd chapter and just look at the actual writing alone.

But, can I also just say, reading Zovo's reviews are almost as much fun as reading a story itself.

I aim to please?

It is worth giving it a read, BTW; even if you aren't into the whole Gears of War thing.

There are some really good examples of forward thinking and plot development which are enjoyable to read, though (and I forgot this above, Tam) it lacks subtlety, like the August assignment. A lot of stuff I could have figured out myself is sort of just fed to me. At one point, foreshadowing was executed by explicitly stating "this might be a problem in the future."

Don't doubt your readers so much Tam, you're dumbing it down.

[James]

Sept 2, 2011 4:18:44 GMT -5 ASGetty ((Zovo)) said:

Sept 2, 2011 4:06:29 GMT -5 James said:

I'm considering at making an effort of trying to read this. Yeah, that's right "considering" "an effort". At the very least I might pull out the odd chapter and just look at the actual writing alone.

But, can I also just say, reading Zovo's reviews are almost as much fun as reading a story itself.

I aim to please?

Geez, why don't you just sell-out already.

And yeah, if I can find the time for it, this is definitely on the radar, Tam.

[Deleted]

I did ruin Naleena; and you're probably going to hate her even more the rest of the story, for various reasons. I'll go back and fix that. It shouldn't be too hard to do, if I think of how she used to be at the beginning. Unfortunately, when I wrote this, my chapters were months in between where I did nothing, so that might be why there's such a change in her character, though there could be other reasons.

SPOILER: Click to show

Ven's death was a poor choice, both the direct death and the results afterward. The only reason I had him die is to show that people will die in this fic. To add tension, I told myself. Unfortunately, I made him have the worst death ever, and Lilam called me out on it, the same as you. I've considered going back and editing it to make it a more fitting death, as well as to make everyone remember his death more poignantly. This is good timing, since I'm in that process, at the moment , but I havent reached past chapter 4. That said, I think I do sort of "oh wait, Ven's dead, que memories" later in the story. Learned too late, though.

As for Parker, he's complicated. The reason the Locust blew up the convoy was the presence of the Gears. Parker didn't want the other Stranded killed, which is why he flew off the handle. The only way to fix this would to have an interlude with him escaping and making contact with the Locust to explain things. Locust aren't known for being logical, especially the forces sent for the slaves.

I'll fix Marov. He has a rank, Corporal, so I guess I'll use that.

The story, because I didn't write it all in one go, but with months between releases had a lot of cliffhangers. However, there are a few chapters in the second half that don't have cliffhangers, per se, because it starts getting "one chapter minutes after the last one".

Also, you might be thrown off from the shift in perspective.

Thank you, Zovo. I'll definitely correct this stuff.