VoPC/End of the Road
From Unofficial Handbook of the Virtue Universe
((Note: Resident Evil-ish themed ))
((Note: First story I've EVAR written! :O))
((Final note: Name adapted from Resident Evil Outbreak File# 2 scenario: End of the Road. ))
Contents |
PROLOGUE
Date: February 21st, 2009
Time: 3:32am EST
Crey Geneticist Luke Lennox limped through the blood smeared corridors. He can still hear their faint eerie moans. Holding a silver briefcase in his hand, he hurried as fast as he possibly could with his injuries towards the nearest sliding door, breathing heavily. The underground levels of the Crey mega-lab were huge, too much for an injured man to traverse around.
It had been some time since he’d seen an actual normal employee, well, normal in a sense—most paranoid from the existing scenario. The ones he did meet were killed by his Smith & Wesson .45 ACP, he couldn’t take any chances of anyone trying to confine his precious cargo.
He felt tired, too tired—the virus was getting to him; the more he worked his body, the faster it coursed through his veins. He needed to rest, but at the same time, he had to convey the briefcase to Crey Industries. The concealed virus within the briefcase could mean a fortune for Luke; its regenerative characteristics and rarity would be extensively beneficial for himself and Crey.
Coughing, he’d slump down onto one of the laboratory walls; clutching his bloodied leg, wincing. The bite had gotten worse, but he couldn’t surrender to the virus’ grip just yet. Splotches of blood soaked into his pant leg, he had to keep hold of himself longer, despite his wound. He mustn’t turn into one of—them. Homicidal and mindless beasts, he thought, poor bastards, they never had a chance.
The thought of his reanimated colleagues terrified him, he watched as they tore apart a Mob Specialist, opening his insides and feeding on his entrails like it was a buffet. No, no—he can’t think about it anymore. Luke stood up, wobbling onto his legs; groaning, he began to examine his surroundings, his eyes widened in haste as he realized what division he came upon: He was inside an experimental research lab. The area was filled with stasis tubes, creatures of different shapes and sizes were housed in each of the cylinder prisons, inert and dormant, waiting to be awakened.
Suddenly, one of the tubes broke. A young blonde woman with long wet hair flopped onto the steel plated laboratory floor, water following her trail. She staggered up without uttering a sound. She was beautiful, yet fearsome at the same time: Her milky white eyes were fixed on Luke, red and black veins branched around her entire body, excluding her head; finally, her hands were two organic claws, each blade attached was 9 inches in length.
Luke, gripped with fear, continued to observe the mysterious female. What was it? Was she prematurely created? It didn’t matter. The woman paced towards Luke, her movement abilities were phenomenal, she didn’t stagger or falter, and she definitely wasn’t one of those zombies—fortunately. He collapsed down onto the floor once more as she approached him, too frightened and astonished to even run.
As she reached him, she bent down and cocked her head slightly, studying him. He was speechless; such a beautiful creation, power and beauty through mutation, went through his mind, he quickly shrugged it off and continued about his goal. Moving his hand gradually towards the briefcase, he began to slowly raise himself from the ground, he never knew what happened until it was a split-second too late. Hissing, she lifted her dominant claw and with a swift swipe, lashed at his neck; decapitating him. A crimson stream shot out of his jugular vein. He died, with the briefcase still clutched in his hand.
Chapter 1
Date: February 22nd, 2009
Time: 10:26pm EST
John Starkweather, who stood awake all night, was typing rapidly onto his organization’s mainframe supercomputer, studying the recent Crey laboratory incident that occurred early yesterday afternoon at Steel Canyon, announced by the Paragon City News. He smiled to himself, this definitely wasn’t another “common disease,” this had to be something different; bigger and better, perhaps. The CDC stormed the scene, and John wanted to check up into it. Crey, trying to comfort the general populace, took action by sending one of their rapid response teams.
They didn’t return.
After long hours of typing and failed attempts to infiltrate Crey’s confidential files, he finally breached its countless firewalls. It seemed like ages to hack into the company mainframe, plus, his fingers were tired. Cracking his appendages following the hours of typing, he began searching into the most recent outbreaks: “February 21st, 2009” Ah-ha, the truth. Clicking a small digital link, he started listening to an audio recording of a male employee of Crey Industries; faded lifeless moans were heard throughout the background.
“Date: February 21st, 2009 Time: 6:46pm EST
Honey, it’s Alex. I won’t be coming back for dinner tonight. I know, I know—you’re probably worried about me. Just… just be strong, ‘kay? *shuffling noises seem to become stronger, as does the moaning* Stand back! I’m warning you! *sounds of gunshots firing emits loudly over the audio recording, a bloodcurdling scream, then dead silence*”
Zombies, he thought, why must it be zombies? He leaned back against his soft, leather black chair. John believed that this outbreak could benefit himself and his organization. Sure the virus had some side effects, but through proper engineering from Dr. Angelo Pacheco; his top doctor and scientist, and Tomoshibi Umbra; twin brother of Kuragari Umbra, he figured he could evolve a simple virus into another ingredient to his perfect super soldier serum. Its regenerative abilities would make his growing army far more unyielding and durable to physical attacks. Nonetheless, he still hated zombies, always reminding him of those damned George Romero horror films. What the hell, he thought, just don’t get bit and your all good, John. Shifting back to his normal position, he started typing once more with his sore fingers, searching a cause for this epidemic. He found his answer.
“R-Virus: The Regenerative Virus, R-Virus or R-Pathogen for short. It is a protein crystal with its own DNA sequence, which when inserted into the cell, makes contact with the cell's membrane. Absorbing the virus in its DNA, the virus proceeds to take over the cell's functions. Then the cell releases the virus, infecting any neighboring cells. The virus kills and replaces the dead mitochondria in the infected cells, with a replica of itself. Then it combines with other cells to produce enough energy to power the motor neurons and lower brain functions. It also bypasses the entire circulatory system, and the heart and lungs become useless, and can be disposed of. The symptoms of infection are increased hunger.
If damaged, the host rapidly mutates due to the R-Virus and becomes hyperactive. Inside of an hour, the decayed skeletal and muscular system are reconstructed and become stronger and more durable. As long as the host’s brain hasn’t been destroyed.
Elongated exposure to the virus will cause an increase in intelligence, large increase in agility and aggressiveness are developed. As a consequence of this rapid mutation, cellular division comes to a critical point where the carrier cannot regenerate without eating and can be permanently killed. Crey researchers and scientists have dubbed victims of long term exposure as ‘Red Devils.’”
Turning off the computer’s main CPU, John picked up and holstered his P90, which was set evenly on his lap. Fast zombies, he thought, perfect, just what I need. He checked his ammunition clips, 5 magazines, not one missing. 250 rounds altogether. Every round had to count, the possibility of sheer masses of undead roaming the facility made him rely on accuracy. Not to mention the few unneeded survivors that may be prowling around the labs. He knew he couldn’t do this alone, support was vital.
Clicking his cold, black communicator, he called in five select covert operatives.
Within a few mere minutes, five figures revealed themselves in the Villains of Paragon City’s weakly lighted facility.
Marcos Diaz, 44 years of age, stood out with a Camel cigarette clinging onto his coarse lips. His right cybernetic arm hoisted a 5.56x45mm FAMAS over his shoulder. His left automated arm extracted the cigarette from his lips, and then retracted it, blowing puffs of smoke through his mouth. His ethnicity was Hispanic
Selena Santiago, 26 years of age, grinned at John. Dark wavy hair hung over her shoulders, light brown skin was covered with glittery lotion, and dark browned eyes were lined with makeup. She had the appearance of a party girl; not very common in the VoPC. She held her Heckler & Koch HK416N with both hands, aiming the barrel ground level. Her ethnicity was Hispanic as well.
Codename: R4V3N, unknown years of age, stood there blankly at John. He never spoke. Never even tried to socialize; he just did his job. He constantly veiled himself with a gas mask and wore the VoPC special operation uniform, the only noise he ever expelled was breathing. He had a 5.72mm Socom Pistol holstered and a silenced Heckler & Koch HK53. Unknown ethnicity.
Ryan Hall, 28 years of age, stood next to Marcos, gripping the long body of his Bane Spider mace. Ryan and John knew each other well in Arachnos training camps. Ryan followed him like a like a brother, perhaps it’s because they were close friends during boot camp. He was amped up and excited, having done rarely any assignments by John himself. His ethnicity was American.
Akira Sasake, 27 years of age, naïve and gullible, served in the U.S. Navy Seals for 2 years; unfortunately, his foolishness led to the death of 4 Iraqi civilians, as he believed they were connected to Al Qaeda insurgents. He was gripping his G36 assault rifle unusually tight. His ethnicity was Japanese/American.
(( A special thanks to Resident Evil wikia! ^_^ ))
Chapter 2
Date: February 22nd, 2009
Time: 11:18pm EST
The CDC, Crey personnel and even Longbow swarmed the facility. John, scanning the colossal sized building, searched for an opening, anything that can fit a normal human being. Unfortunately, there was none. They’d have to enter in by infiltration; which shouldn’t be hard at all. John and his small band of operatives walked casually towards the entrance of the building and sure enough, a male Crey Public Relations agent asked for their identity. The black garbed uniforms gave a sure sign of something clandestine, but it wasn’t his business to get into it.
“Identification, sir.” spoke the Public Relations agent in a monotone tone
Smiling, John displayed a bogus NSA identification card; it’s entirely unnoticeable and genuine to the agent, unbeknownst for its dark uses. Nodding without any form of expression on his face, he let them through into the building. Longbow agents began studying John almost automatically, a vague image of something more sinister perhaps?
“Thanks, sweetie.” spoke Selena as she waved and winked at the Public Relations agent. His only response was an empty nod, uncaring for the Hispanic woman. It was obvious she was a high maintenance girl, her pampered nature and makeup screamed it out. “Weirdo.” uttered Selena, leaning close to Akira’s ear. She felt a certain bond with the shy operative, even though his feelings for her were mutual.
“Y-yeah…” his attention was focused on the infrastructure before him; its size was phenomenal.
Akira, as usual, stepped cautiously into the building first. Holding his G36 shakily in his hands, he hated zombies more than John, the thought of it almost made him soil his pants, too much zombie flicks for a man like him. Checking his scanner, there was no sign of life or even a trace of the virus. Lucky him. He held his right thumb up, signaling the rest to pass into the mega lab. They shaped a “V” type formation, their guns elevated, just incase Akira made another wrong affirmation; fortunately, he didn’t.
As they entered, the entire squad detached their gas masks, excluding R4V3N. The masks were hot, humid and discomforting; but very resourceful in dark areas.
The interior of the lab was bright; its sleek steel walls reflected the squad members, professionally cleaned by multiple janitors. The ceiling itself was dome shaped, created from glass. It’s glossy, lustrous appearance shone upon the operatives, the moonlight gleaming on the clear metal flooring and marble staircases. John, staring up, glanced at the near limitless floors; all showing no signs of movement whatsoever.
The bottom level was a wreck, papers scattered abroad, computers smashed down onto the floor, and chairs knocked over. Not from zombies, but panicked fleeing employees. There were, however, corpses of Longbow and Crey staff dispersed around each level; clearly, there was a battle around here. Zombies versus Longbow. Nobody won. Marcos scanned the bodies with a cigarette still attached to his mouth, something was bizarre about this: Crey staff members either died by fatal bullet wounds to the head or were burned alive; however, Longbow agents died by bites or torn open brutally and fed upon. It bugged him and he felt terribly wrong inside. His "lucky" fortune spared himself and his fellow comrades repeatedly from ambushes, bombardments and assassinations. Some believe he's a Meta, while others say he just has plain good luck.
“Commander, you… you might wanna come see this!” spoke Akira in a hasty, yet frightened tone.
John turned his head over to the scanner; which was banded to Akira’s forearm. Red dots began to hurriedly appear, a small “bleep” noise following its appearance. Before long, just about the entire scanner was overflowing with bright red dots; distant moans became stronger and stronger. Silently cursing, John cocked his P90 and aimed at the nearest “corpse” by his position, which was 6 feet away. It was a Longbow Nullifier; he was motionless, his left arm had been literally eaten off. Grunting, his remaining arm sprung to life; lifting himself from the ground, revealing his grotesquely mauled face, his broken teeth snapping. Firing a round, the bullet buried itself in his decaying skull, puncturing his brain and dropping him like a ragdoll.
Akira, in shock from the unexpected reanimation of the Longbow Nullifier, didn’t notice the two recently resurrected Longbow Guardians staggering behind him, their mouths gapping wide, seconds away from tearing a chunk of his shoulder off. R4V3N and Ryan caught attention of this, resulting in both men firing a round at the two undead targets. The bullet from R4V3N’s HK53 zoomed past Akira’s ear and connected with right Guardian’s forehead; brain matter splattering the wall behind it. The kinetic force mixed in with chemicals from Ryan’s mace eroded the left Guardian’s head completely; leaving a bloody stump in its place.
Marcos was struggling with a zombified Longbow Warden; small doses of radiation bled out of its decayed skin pours, releasing sickening green ooze from its eaten flesh. His right robotic arms literally smashed through the Warden’s gut, the other end of his cybernetic hand was covered with an assortment of entrails. The Warden didn’t even flinch. Grabbing a hold of Marcos’ shoulders, it tried to clamp its dirty, bloodied teeth into his neck. Only to be stopped by an iron fist to its face, his entire fist blew all the way through the weakly layered head with ease, bone and brain matter drenched Selena’s tactical vest, who just finished unloading a couple rounds on four reanimated Longbow agents.
“Hey! I just cleaned this!” yelled Selena, irritated. Marcos gave out a smirk, he loved causing trouble for her, making her squeal was a cruel hobby of his.
Ryan glanced up at the innumerable amount of floors above his current location. The living dead swarmed each level of the facility; their moaning was agitating and deafening. It never ceased, and he didn’t like it one bit.
Something caught his attention on the first floor, he grinned slightly to himself, an elevator. Only 20 yards away. He turned towards his fellow companions, he shook his head as he saw Akira with his hands clapped over his ears, trying to drown out the moans, it didn’t work too much. It didn’t matter anyway; he just wanted out of this hellhole.
“John, look, an elevator!” Ryan pointed.
Nodding, John indicated his team to pursue him towards the elevator entry. Zombies approached them from the left and right, a few dropping from the higher floors, plummeting to their death. The collected squad began unleashing rounds aimed at head level, clearing those in the way. Bullets tore through the undead attackers like paper-mâché, outbursts of brain and gore showered throughout the clear metal floor; coating it with crimson and chunky cranium substances. There was dozens, maybe hundreds of creatures following their path, so every zombie they exterminated; two more seemed to appear in their stead.
15 yards
The zombies began to huddle closer to the group; some of them crawled over the recently departed Longbow agents, their teeth bared, wanting blood. Bullets still igniting wildly into the crowd, muzzle flashes glowed continuously, trying to beat back the attackers. John unstrapped a fragmentation grenade, threw it into the heart of the crowd and shielded his face, a large explosion detonated and blew a handful of them back; buying them more time.
10 yards
Ryan bashed his Arachnos mace over the skull of a Longbow Rifleman, his cranium caving in, killing him. Unwarily, a female Longbow Guardian clung onto his arm, Ryan glanced momentarily and elevated his mace, but he was too late. She bit into his forearm, tearing a chunk of his muscle along with her, chewing it sloppily in her mouth. Gritting his teeth, he plunged his mace down onto her skull, annihilating her head entirely. He lurched back and covered his bitten arm, defending himself by swinging his mace wildly into the crowd with one hand; bashing the walking dead in pure rage, most strikes hitting other appendages other than the head. If he was going down, it’ll be by fighting.
5 yards
Akira fired a round from his G36 accurately into a reanimated Longbow Minigun’s eye socket, a spray of blood and meaty bits of brain fell onto the floor seconds before she does. R4V3N kept himself calm and impassive, maintaining close watch for any zombie who dares get near by introducing them with a shell from his HK53, he couldn’t help but feel a little wary of Ryan’s bite, he was going to turn into one of them soon, it was the inevitable. Selena, Marcos and John kept the invaders at bay by raining firepower upon them, the ill-fated zombies dropped like flies.
Arrival
Finally, John thought, no more screwing around. He speedily pushed his thumb down onto the elevator recall button.
No response.
Dammit!, John thought. Time was of the essence, the undead were dangerously near, and they required an opening to the underground laboratories. He attempted to pry the elevator doors open with his bare hands, his efforts were fruitless; both doors were bolted shut. Looking to his right, Ryan was having a harder time swinging his mace; he could see him sweating profusely. He can’t take much more, the fear and rage Ryan unleashed surged out on the undead. That idiot, what is he doing?! Stormed through John’s mind. Unexpectedly, to his dismay, he watched Ryan charge head on at the undead assembly.
“Ryan!” cried John
He was too late. Ryan swung ferociously into the bloodthirsty crowd; a Longbow Officer grappled his prevailing arm and cleaved a substantial amount of muscle from it. Ryan stood there hopelessly; he closed his eyes and awaited the foreseeable, thinking of his happiest life moments before he died. Five zombies snatched his arms along with his abdomen and started gnashing on his torso, compiling above him, impatiently ripping apart their well earned treat. Selena stood there traumatized as they ravaged open his belly, tearing out an assortment of innards, watching them consume his now tattered face, both eyes departed from its sockets. She felt sick inside, wanting to vomit, but she didn’t.
After the dead finished feasting on Ryan, they turned their concentration once more to the five man squadron. John, inspecting the building architecture, searched for any other available elevators, he spotted an additional one: 2nd floor, at the right rim. The dead loomed nearer—their eyes lusting for more flesh.
They were low on ammunition, but they had to make due with it. Lifting their weaponry, they ineffectively resumed fire upon the undead horde. All hope seemed lost, until two fragmentation grenades were flung in the air, by the structure entrance. Heavy explosions discharged by the grenades hurled the zombies left and right, mangling their bodies all the more. The determined flock of undead continued to press onward in the direction of John and his team, seemingly unaware of their reanimated comrades getting killed. The unidentified assistant lobbed four more grenades into the lifeless multitude; large-scale explosions bombarded the walking corpses, heaving them into pillars, office desks and other bulky items within the facility.
After a few minutes of enduring gunfire, each and every zombified Longbow combatant on the first floor was either dead or virtually incapacitated.
After the hazy residue from the grenades cleared, John saw who their ‘unidentified assistant’ was.
It was Trooper Harris. His clear, pale bald head shown in the moonlight above. He was armed to the teeth with a selection of grenades which included: Fragmentation, incendiary, stun and smoke. Due to the amount of handheld bombs, he was armed with a .50 caliber Desert Eagle with only 2 clips.
“Harris?! How did you know I was here?”
“Edgar told me you were here, so I came to check up on you, sir.”
John nodded. He didn’t know who this “Edgar” was. Along with Harris’ other “friends” inside his head. John and generally everyone who knew him thought he was schizophrenic. Nevertheless, he proved to be an excellent fighter against meta-humans and any who opposed the VoPC.
The whole team dropped their present weaponry and scavenged any unadulterated guns that haven’t been disabled by shrapnel or covered in contaminated blood. Fortunately, Longbow Riflemen around the damaged lab carried the same type of rifle, the FN SCAR. Akira came out ridiculously loaded with ammunition, hell, he was so packed he had enough rounds to start a large battle. Smiling, Marcos took hold of a flamethrower, still gripped onto a Longbow Flamethrower’s cold, dead hand. Selena, John and R4V3N plainly picked out a random rifle and armed themselves; not overloading their vests with magazines. Of course, R4V3N outfitted his FN SCAR with a silencer, so he can silently pick off zombies without gathering any undesired attention. (Stating the obvious.)
Noises of running footsteps came upon Harris’ ears.
Longbow and Crey reinforcements began to pour into the infrastructure, heavily armed with an assortment of rifles, flamethrowers, grenades, missile launchers and handguns. It was clearly understandable what they came to do: Eradicate reanimated hostiles. Almost immediately, they began opening fire. The riotous noise of automatic weapons firing was boisterous; fortunately, they didn’t realize John’s infiltration unit.
Now was his chance
Ascending up the marble staircase, the squad took this moment to rush towards the elevator; en route for their primary objective. Reanimated Longbow arched down in defeat, bullets shredding through their already torn fabric, high velocity missiles decimated towering floors; sending large masses of debris plummeting down.
This once beautiful mega-lab turned into a warzone.
Adrenaline coursed through the team’s blood, not in a sense of panic, but excitement. Marcos lit his newly found flamethrower and torched a bundle of reanimated Longbow Guardians that were 4 feet away from the elevator. Sighing deeply, hoping the elevator worked, John pressed his index finger onto the elevator recall button.
Success!
A tiny ring of an elevator opening was released.
It was bloodied inside, a corpse of a Crey Field Agent laid there; his entire head was blown off. John, looking intently down at the floor, found a bloodied shotgun shell...
Someone else entered the underground facility before them.
Marcos was the final one to enter the elevator; he was too busy waiting for Akira to properly fix his grossly overloaded vest. Just before he stepped in, a still aflame Guardian siezed hold of his shoulders, plunging its rotting teeth into his collar bone. He screamed, twirled around and immediately pushed his attacker aside, breathing heavily. Shaking his head, Harris unholstered his Desert Eagle and fired a large caliber round into the zombie’s partially battered skull; half of its head literally blew off, leaving the lower segment of its jaw still intact.
The twin elevator doors fastened shut, descending down towards the only working subterranean facility level: B1 laboratory…
Chapter 3
Date: February 23rd, 2009
Time: 3:27 am EST
Their decline down into the B1 Labs took approximately 34 seconds. R4V3N kept close watch on Marcos, his index finger clutched onto his assault rifle’s trigger; checking for any sign of symptoms. Nothing happened. It was too early for anything to show. Harris mumbled incoherently to himself, while Selena and Akira glared at him, trying to make out what he was saying. John copied a futuristic digital map of the entire facility onto his handheld H.U.D., which was latched onto one of the elevator inner shafts. He studied the vast quantities of underground levels: B1 laboratory, B2, B3—the list goes on. Subsequent to continuous reading, something peeked his interest, B20 Experimental Research Center. Lightly touching the holographic map, he set B20 as his checkpoint. He figured the viral capsule was there.
The elevators came to a screeching halt and the twin doors opened.
The alert squadron stepped out of the elevators, guns raised. Lights flickered on and off in the blood tarnished corridors, reinforced metal doors and blood-splattered walls around the vicinity were filled with bullet holes. Selena felt her heart beat rapidly; she felt scared, the bleak shady passages only strengthened her fear. Shinning her hip holstered flashlight onto the floor, she slowly tip-toed past the bullet riddled corpses. She noticed empty shotgun shells flourished throughout the metal flooring, whoever was here did a nasty job on the scientists and employees.
Staring ahead, she became aware of a skinless man, hunched over, watching them. His smock indicates he was a scientist. Mutation appeared to have melted his skin away, muscles and bone exposed themselves: His eyes were replaced by two empty pivots; distal phalanges were sharp like blades. He reached his hand out in earnest; he hasn’t gorged on his fellow scientists in a while, the feel to devour others was unsettling.
“Commander…! We have company!” shouted Akira.
“It’s only one little insignifican- what the…?!” said Marcos as he was caught off guard seeing the once stationary zombie actually -run- towards the undercover operatives.
Red Devils
Harris was first to open fire, pulling the Desert Eagle’s trigger and sending a high powered round blasting through the unwavering zombie’s leg; his foreleg blew completely off, just an instant before he reached the squad. The lower section of his leg laid frozen on the ground, but he still crawled forward, driven to get one last meal. John advanced towards the restless zombie, casually. Placing his right boot above his hairless head, he smashed his foot down, crushing the skull messily, and leaving vile organic matter in its place.
Sounds of shrieking and lifeless moans cried out in the distance.
They know they’re here.
Dark, dim shadows crawled across the metal walls, reflecting slow paced reanimated Crey workers shambling down the corridors, with a select few Red Devil victims. The dead briefly surveyed the area, checking for those who dared enter their sanctuary, willing to thoughtlessly lay down their lives. Lazy, dull eyes pierced the operatives, they found their next snack, and they’ve been hungry. The crowd of undead stumbled toward the armed handful of troopers, raising their hands, as they emitted moaning, hungry wails.
Harris leaned next to John and whispered silently in his ear, “Sir, Edgar says we should leave.”
“For once, I actually agree.” nodded John in accord.
Bolting towards the nearest metal door, Marcos scarcely avoided being slashed by one of the Red Devil’s claws that had scurried at their position; its vacant eye sockets turned towards Marcos, not by vision, but scent. Pitching its bony arm towards the door, it abruptly strives to snap shut, the Red Devil’s arm jamming the door. Flailing, he swipes his trapped arm, hoping to get a bit of meat to chew upon, his attempts were desperate. There was no way in hell John was about to let some decomposed living corpse enter his little transitory haven, so he thrusts his boot down upon the door, snapping the arm completely off.
The blood-crusted arm shook violently before eventually stopping, brown thick substances bled from the appendage, letting it soak into the metal. John lightly kicked the arm, just to make sure it was completely dead for good measure. He was overwhelmed by the stench smell from decaying flesh; it was coming from the severed limb.
Shooting a look over his shoulder, he began to quickly examine his surrounding; he stood in a ransacked medical treatment center, papers and a variety of pills were scattered abroad, also there was a dark figure bent over at the rim of the room, wearing a blood stained white medical outfit.
A zombie
His dead anxious eyes weren’t phased by the heavily armed squadron of troopers in the area. Staggering out of the shadows, he opened his bloody mouth and gurgled out a hiss of hunger; his throat had been torn out. He raised his right hand at the soldier nearest to him, which was Akira, who was only a yard away.
Backing away, Akira raised his rifle, finger on the trigger. He was cut off by a mysterious dark gunman from the opposite end of the walking corpse; it was too dark to make out who it was. The gunman fired and Akira snapped his head around, just in time for the now headless corpse fall backwards from directly in front of him.
John promptly turned his head to the gunman; who was holding a visible Armsel Striker shotgun. The dark uniform he wore registered for the first time. VoPC Covert Operative. He stepped forward two steps and a grin played across John’s face.
“Argonaut, how did you know we were here?”
“I overheard the conversation at HQ. So I came here, cleared the way, and found you. Anyway, we have a job to do, sir.”
“Roger, an-“ suddenly, John was cut off from… crying. Heads turned towards the exit of the medical center, it was coming out from one of the rooms in the corridor. The team walked across the door cautiously and scanned the perimeter in haste. Zombies were too busy smashing their decayed hands at the entrance of the medical center, believing their meals still abode there.
The sound came more strongly. A door marked “Lounge” stood there, closed. With a bewildered look, John pushed the door open. The room was dimly lit, couches, dispersed coffee mugs and a vending machine stood there.
In the middle of the room, there was a six year old girl on one of the couches, clutching a five year old boy, who cried on her chest. She was acting as a temporary mother for the boy, probably her younger brother who she cared for deeply. Tears ran freely down her little brown eyes. Selena couldn’t help but feel empathy for the little girl; she sat down next to her and the boy, smiling.
“Hi, sweetheart. Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you. My name's Selena. What’s yours?”
“Abby.” replied the girl in a small tone. Tears still dribbled down her face. She tightened her grip on the boy, and he reciprocated the act. He looked up curiously at the stranger, still clutched onto his sister. It was then she noticed blood across the couch. Hopefully it wasn’t theirs.
“That’s a pretty name, and what’s his?”
“Mark, my little brother.” replied Abby with a crooked smile. ‘Pretty’ was the nicest thing she heard all day.
“Oh, where are your parents?”
“Dunno. Daddy and mommy said they’d be back, they didn’t though.”
Selena frowned. Two children of such young ages shouldn’t be left unattended in a large facility, especially one crawling with flesh-eating zombies. Selena reached out her hand to check if the kids had bites, Abby recoiled and Mark hid his face back onto Abby’s wet tear ridden shirt.
“I just want to have a look at you.”
Abby turned her attention down to her little brother, he nodded.
Selena examined the boy and girl, and sure enough there was bite marks. Adult sized. One on Abby’s lower leg, and one on Mark’s shoulder. The children probably fled here. She wanted to leave them at peace, but John… he wouldn’t let it go.
“How long have you been here, Abby?”
“Hours.” smiling, trusting the woman, “Can we go with you?” Abby believed she would go home with her brother, and live happily ever after, disregarding the virus entirely. It usually doesn’t work like that …
Selena only gave a quiet smile. John suddenly placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, “There’s nothing more you can do about it. Except one thing.”
Selena glared at John, she begged in her mind he would say to leave them. She didn’t want to see more children die! He silently placed his hand on her FN SCAR; she knew what she had to do. Turning his head to Akira, he nodded, “Wha-? I… um… y-yes sir!” he too didn’t want to kill kids, but to “improve” yourself, you had to.
Akira and Selena raised their guns. The children shrieked, Abby held strongly onto her brother, with tears pouring down her face. Head bowed, seeming to assure him that everything would be alright, even though it wasn’t the truth. Mark was crying grievously on his sister, waiting for the dismal end.
I can’t do this
Both operatives gripped their triggers tightly
This is for their own good will
Gritting her teeth, Selena was about to pull the trigger as well as Akira, until Selena was pushed away by R4V3N and Akira by Black Argonaut. Both cold, heartless men raised their guns and pulled the trigger. Snuffing out their little lives…
No remorse.
No feeling.
No empathy.
No emotion.
It seemed like hours passed once the children died, even though it was only a mere ten minutes. A long silence of guilt came upon Akira and Selena -- at least they weren’t the ones who pulled the trigger, that was the only sliver of innocence they relied upon. Both operatives sat patiently on a couch, pondering about the dreadful act they just witnessed. The most disturbing part was a majority of the team shrugged it off, like it was just another day.
R4V3N, Black Argonaut, Harris and John were found sitting at a coffee stained lounge table, carefully studying the digital map that was laid on the sticky counter by John. They noticed B1 was less significant in structural design than the rest of the underground levels, of course, deeper into Crey’s underground labyrinth, the more illegal and confidential the experiment.
“According to this map, we only have to surpass the security corridor, and then we reach another elevator. Sounds easy, huh?” spoke John pointing his index finger at the B1 sub-level of the digital map
“With the dead distracted, it should be, yes.” nodded Black Argonaut
“Well, um, wouldn’t there be like… traps, sir? Like in the movies!” uttered Akira from afar, guess his moment of silence wore off.
“Maybe, but it’s nothing we can’t handle. We’re doing nothing sitting on our asses here, so let’s move.” John sat up from a cold and rather uncomfortable metal chair that was of antique design.
As R4V3N stood up, he peered at Marcos.
Marcos was savagely eating his saved up nutri-bars, he didn’t even notice his animalistic behavior. Tossing the wrapper to the side, he slammed a dirty refrigerator open and pulled out an old piece of lasagna, consuming it cold. He gathered the attention of the entire squad, who looked at him, puzzled.
Marcos, your symptoms are showing.
“What?” spoke Marcos, confused
“Hungry much?” spoke Harris, plainly.
R4V3N curved his head with a disturbing silence, his finger still held firmly on his rifle’s trigger, inaudibly checking if he should shoot Marcos now, or save a bullet for him later. John shook his head; he knew what the hushed operative wanted to do.
Marcos bluntly assumed he wasn’t turning into one of those creatures, he didn’t particularly think his luck would let him turn into one of those vile, disgusting inferior beings.
“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Señor Starkweather, you… you don’t think I’m becoming one of /THEM/, do you?”
John nodded.
“Hey… maybe, maybe I’m lucky, eh? I mean, I… I won’t turn out to be one of them… right? RIGHT?” Marcos’ voice gave the impression of fear, confusion and panic. He reconsidered; maybe he –was- becoming one of them…
“Forget it. Let’s go Marcos -- I want you to do a task for me.”
15 minutes later the ironically unlucky Hispanic soldier was on the lead, warning the team if any undead hostile came near their position, so much for his lucky charm, eh?
He was petrified with fear, sweat poured down his cold, pale forehead. He could hear unearthly moans in the distance, but it wasn’t getting any closer; evidently the dim-witted zombies believed their victims were still holed up in the medical center. It eased up his grip on his assault rifle—just a little.
Looking up at an angle, he noticed they met the end of the corridor, the door ahead of him was marked “Security Clearance.” It sat there, daring them to come in; he didn’t feel right about this either.
Ignoring his charm, he gripped his icy, clammy hand on the handle and opened the door.
John and his squad found themselves in a bare metallic circular room. A small card scanner stood silently on a barrier at the edge of the tiny region; which led directly into a bright long passageway. Everyone could tell this spelt ‘trap’ all over the place, especially since none of the members were former Crey employees.
Selena tapped Marcos’ shoulder, sending him a signal to move on. Hesitating momentarily, he decided it was best to move on, like he had a choice anyway. Ignoring the card scanner, he stepped into the bright hallway.
Nothing happened.
Heh, maybe his luck was finally turning. Maybe he won’t turn into a zombie. Maybe, just maybe, he’ll get a date with Selena. Nah, too old.
The clang of boots meeting metal emitted across the hallway.
Still nothing.
A 6 inch thick iron door slid open from in front of them, revealing an enormous glimmering steel plated room, with a slumped down cyborg in the middle, inactive.
It was, in fact, bare and had only two slanted sinister eyes, its sleek polished humanoid shape stood waiting for… someone or something.
Marcos stepped watchfully first into the colossal room, unbeknownst to him, this was all he needed to spring the trap.
A red siren screamed out in alert to warn the deactivated mechanism of the invaders presence; almost instantaneously after the sirens, a red scarlet glow overwhelmed the whole mega-lab, alerting any survivors of their company, if there was any, that is.
A robotic female voice spoke emotionlessly into the megaphones above
“Activating Project ‘Lightning Storm’”
The once stationary machine shot to life, the sexless automation clenched and unclenched its fists, checking if the wires were connected completely. Shooting its silver glistening head up, it began to scan the invaders, searching through their strengths and weaknesses in Crey databases – none of them were registered within the system.
“Activating hologram.”
A flash of light submerged the grey mechanization for a split-second, changing the visual systems and appearance the robot took form of. Surges of electricity powered the artificial hands, sparks of overcharged currents spewed out randomly, and most importantly, it became something entirely different.
An exact duplicate of Freedom Phalanx’s Synapse.
John knew within seconds that this wasn’t going to be a push-over.
In no doubt, he researched on him, being one of the Surviving Eight – reading about how he was blasted with high electric voltages, turned into an unwilling test subject for Crey Industries, and how he escaped the facility by shorting out electric currents through the entire laboratory. John never expected for Crey to make an android of him though, probably more powerful due to its metal properties, but nonetheless, he was prepared.
The Synapse-bot charged at breakneck speed towards Marcos first, who was crazily firing rounds at the machine, all with no advantage; it seemed to absorb the bullets. Its metal hide took the rounds with ease; no simple method of combat would take down an expensive illegal government project such as that.
Slowing down once reaching the infected operative, it lifted a charged synthetic arm and battered his face in. The shock from the kinetic force and powerful electric bolt had him stagger back, his vision blurred. Teeth were strewn out across the now bloodied metal floor, even his luck can’t save him now.
The rest of the agents fired their weaponry at full blast towards the Synapse-bot; it ignored them, even if they were showing progress as its robotic arm exposed itself through concentrated fire.
Lurching back once more, a crimson and blue electric current coursed through its wires --powering up for the final blow. The robot lifted both of its arms and unleashed an awe-inspiring lightning bolt at Marcos. White hot pain coursed through his veins, his nerves fried as the overcharged bolts swam through his bloodstream and reached his central nervous system. Blood bled through every crevice within his body, still in shock, he convulsed on the metal floor and within seconds he died with smoke dispensing out of his skin pours.
It turned towards the squad calmly, even though bullets were still trying to pierce its torso region, artificial blood bled profusely throughout the simulated body. Scanning the crowd, it began to cybernetically inspect their threat levels and gather identification in seconds.
Almost automatically, it turned towards John Starkweather; his history and leadership rank within the Villains of Paragon City made him a prime target. Plus, Crey wanted him dead due to theft and extorting their equipment for personal gain.
The Synapse-bot wasted no time and charged at him lightning fast, it’s hands powered extensively with electric currents, ready to hammer him to a pulp. Slowing down just previously before reaching arms radius, the android lifted both of it’s hands above it’s constructed body and soared six feet in the air, arcing overhead; attempting to collide with John’s collar bone.
In just a millisecond before getting plowed, he sharply side-rolled to his right ((R1 + L1!))*, avoiding the electromagnetic appendixes. Counter-attacking the robotic opponent, John leaped in the air over the curved machine, and formed a 10 inch edged icicle in his hand, stabbing it in the backside while twisting his body in mid-air ((X!))*.
Static electricity surged throughout it’s system as the machine malfunctioned from the icicle lodged in it’s backside, false blood poured through the wound. Quickly snapping out of a convulsed state, the single-minded automation fixed itself once more at the invader, driving in the direction of him, sparks flashing madly throughout the damaged manufactured spinal cord.
Smirking, John dashed towards the Synapse-bot, activating his own form of boosters Arachnos granted him. I guess he should thank them for his little gift, even though it had its disadvantages in certain combat situations. Both fighters charged at headlong velocity towards each other, but who would make the first move?
Lifting his elbow at face altitude, John shattered it’s perfect white bleach jobbed fabricated teeth, sending shards flying abroad ((∆!))*. The kinetic force mixed from both individuals sent the Synapse-bot flying head first into the clean metal building wall; consequently, demolishing it in, remains of metal were scattered on the flooring.
Slowly removing itself from the crater in the wall, the indomitable robot was still set on John. It’s rubber makeshift face was seriously bloodied, large gashes of lacerations and metal fragments stuck through assorted areas in the facial region. Sure, John’s elbow was bruised, but noticeably, the machine took far worse damage. Sparks emanated violently from random sections of the body – it appears that Mr. Starkweather hit something vital, processing chip perhaps?
The visual screen tried to focus on its objective; however, the internal CPU was so damaged, static and appearances of John approaching appeared on the display – just in time to see a fragmentation grenade forcefully propped in its mouth ((O!))*.
Hand-springing adjacent to the nearly totaled mechanism, John and his somewhat unharmed crew shielded themselves from an explosion that detonated seconds after he forcefully shoved a grenade inward the nearest and easiest opening he could spot; which was the mouth. After the cloudy residue cleared, the Synapse-bot was sprawled across the floor, its head was utterly disintegrated and shrapnel scraps pierced the torso and internal systems; a crimson puddle encompassed the unresponsive body.
Carefully looking through his remaining team, Akira and R4V3N were punctured by shrapnel from the grenade or from the robotic remnants of the duplicate. Akira held his leg, which was bleeding profusely from whatever hit him, small whimpers of pain mewled out as he struggled to move his injured leg. As much as he hated visiting Dr. Pacheco, this one was a must, he despised getting shots and constant reminders of working on ‘light duty’ by the doctor, but hey, it’s for the best. R4V3N, on the other hand, seemed to physically ignore the 4 inch metal piece that stuck out of his shoulder, his mind probably screamed out in pain, but he refused to show a weakness that Akira gave away.
Everyone knew they didn’t have to worry about Marcos resurrecting from the dead, the thing fried his brain and turned it to mush. Hell, probably killed the virus while doing so!
A monotone female voice bled into the megaphones above
“Activating emergency teleportation systems in 10 seconds…"
John detected an elevator 50 yards away from their position. Not wasting time, he sprung into action and charged towards their escape. He knew Akira wouldn’t make it, his movements were lamentably sluggish, limping and wincing every step he took, his assault rifle hung lazily on his right arm. R4V3N pried the metal shard from his shoulder, burning pain spewed out of the wound; his movements were delaying by the moment as warm blood flowed freely from the wound.
“8…”
John’s incredible speed made him the first one to reach the elevator, only a black blur trailed behind him; so fast it basically looked like he teleported towards the double doors. The darkened haze though, unnerving yet subsidiary, was created from the darkness of Astoria and John’s depraved acts, but by some means, it made its mark on him. Perhaps it’s his history in that shaded murky part of Paragon, or just another manifestation of his evil.
“4…”
Clicking the recall button, the twin doors opened, waiting for him to enter patiently—and so he did. Selena, Harris and Argonaut chased behind John, running into the elevator seconds before the countdown reached its end. Peculiarly enough, there were footprints on Argonaut’s cape; someone must’ve stepped on it multiple times, he should just tear the damn thing off, such an annoyance to have a cape at times.
“1…”
As guessed, the teleportation systems transported R4V3N and Akira out of the facility in a flash of light; hopefully they reformed at a safe location, far from any zombie or robotic nightmare. Maybe they didn’t, for all they knew, they materialized right into a spinning pair of blades—doubtful though.
John knew the troops he lost would be replaced, easily. Rogue Arachnos soldiers either affiliated with Blitz or John; and Blitz—well, his “threats” against Paragon City seems to be failing, as he continues to lose followers daily. Rebellious Maltanese clandestine agents, villains, revolting Crey scientists and no matter what outsider that once belonged to an organization seemed to mend to his will; serving his cause, the better future. At any rate, that’s what he believed.
Pressing his index finger down upon B20, the dual doors locked shut and submerged down deeper into Crey’s abyss…
((*Inside joke between myself and the VoPC role-play text battles.))
Chapter 4
Date: February 23rd, 2009
Time: 5:48am EST
Silence.
They all knew they were nearing the end of their trip. Did they have any doubts of survival? Any thoughts of losing their sanity? Perhaps, but during their descent down to B20, no one said a word. All of them were prepared for the possibility of one of their comrades dying, the possibility of losing their own lives for one man, the possibility of killing one of their own.
The elevator doors slid open; level B20 was quiet, too quiet. Even the sounds of the team seemed loud as they cautiously stepped away from the elevators, scanning their new environment. As usual, the walls were bloodied and bullet shells littered the metal floor; yet, very few bodies were dispersed around the subsector. Presumably, only privileged top security employees were allowed here, with the exception of Crey Crisis and Eliminator guards.
Harris skimmed through the deceased Crey on the metal flooring. He was amused and rather surprised that a mainstream of the mangled corpses were Paragon Protectors and Crey Voltaic, Power and Cryo Tanks. Someone or something overpowered and sliced through those hard hitters like butter, furthermore he didn’t want to meet who, maybe Edgar did though, but he couldn’t let such a… strong entity within him take control.
Continuing his search, he found a Protector’s head literally cut in half, vertically; a Cyro Tank to his right died armless, blood loss was what probably killed him; and finally, a nude, bullet volleyed male corpse with two long biological claws, thick veins surfaced noticeably around the body, it laid on its stomach. Odd, Harris thought, might have to take a sample, Edgar and Harris don’t know what we can find. Stabbing the lifeless naked body with a bowie knife, Harris grimaced as a sickening black and red liquid squirted out of the wound, onto the blade and handle.
Multiple footsteps running towards their location and screams of commands emerged into the 4 armed operative’s alert ears.
Lifting their weapons upward, they aimed directly into the curved corridor in front of them, waiting patiently for any hostile subject to pop out. This wasn’t apart of the operation, everyone was thought to be dead; all they had to wait for now is who the survivors were affiliated with.
Within moments, three Longbow agents rushed out of the corridor in a hurry, followed by an over-panicked SWAT Officer, who was firing his Heckler & Koch MP5 madly into whatever was further on ahead of him, cold swear poured abundantly down his forehead and face, staggering back a small bit as the entity chasing them approached closer.
“Die, you sonuva-urk!”
Finally, it showed itself, a bare male human of oriental descent with claws charged at the SWAT officer in a flash, impaling him directly between the eyes, white matter oozing out of the officer’s eye sockets.
As the creature retracts the claw back, his head snaps to the side, just in time to see a Longbow Flamethrower unleash a stream of fire upon him. Ignoring the flames, the creature engages the Longbow agent while still ablaze. He leaped in the air, the glowing inferno masking his charge as he thrust his claw across her neck, separating the head and neck apart from each other.
A Longbow Rifleman buffeted the illuminated creature with the butt of his assault rifle, directly at the back of his head, hoping to knock it cold. Catching the aggravated beast’s attention, a claw suddenly uplifts from the Riflemen’s crotch, and mercilessly lifts up to the tip of his scalp. The nauseating sound of flesh splitting bleeds out, he died, literally ripped vertically in half.
The final terrified Longbow Guardian fired a shot from her AMT Automag, just seconds before his claws reached her leg muscle. The heavy bullet tore through the Asian attacker’s head like tissue, he went down, headless. Her breathing patterns were deep; she encountered a few of those experiments a couple times while underneath this deserted hellhole, she was the only one in her squad alive. Slumping down on the wall, she focused her attention at the unusual dark clad militant troopers; they definitely weren’t Longbow, CDC or FBSA perhaps? More importantly, why didn’t they do anything?
Black Argonaut was the first to move toward the woman; he crouched down next to her, face level.
“What happened back there?” spoke Argonaut in a monotone voice; he just needed to know what they were facing here.
“What happened…? WHAT HAPPENED?! Did you /just/ see what bloody happened there, mate?!” spoke the Guardian with a slight English accent.
“Easy, easy… just tell me what’s back in the labs—what was your team after?”
Calming down, she began to speak, “We… we were after a virus, some bloke created it for somethin’, dunno though. An agent from M16 came to assist us, ‘ell if I know where she is now! Then these… these ‘Projects’ came up and wiped out a chunk of my platoon, leaving a ‘andful of us retreating! Damn things are near invincible!”
Argonaut nodded and lifted his shotgun, centering the barrel head level. He got all the information he needed; not like it was much, anyway.
“What the-?! 'Ey, ‘ey mate! What’re yo-“ she was cut off from a loud burst as the slug blew through her entire skull, leaving a bloody stump in place. So much for being the ‘only survivor’ now.
“M16? What’re they doing here?” spoke John in a confused manner, dismissing what Argonaut just did, carelessly.
“Better keep watch, sir.” Selena said, quirking a smirk, “M16, I hear, likes to nose around into everyone’s business.” She pressed herself against the wall, sniffing and blowing her polished nails.
“Noted.” John spoke plainly, a bit busy checking his ammunition clip in his rifle, “We’re nearing our objective, let’s get going.” Lifting his eyes up, focused on the passageway ahead of him.
At a fast pace, the team scrambled across the curved corridor, hunched down, their gun barrels elevated at ground altitude. The chance of additional survivors in this section seemed probable, especially if Longbow and PPD deployed any other clean-up crews around; so forth, keeping an attentive eye was needed. He’d probably have to execute them, so any chance of jeopardizing their mission slims down, not to mention these new and improved Projects that created more of a problem.
The corridor was diverse in structure than other strips throughout the facility. A blood smeared lengthened glass window shone a brightly lit state-of-the-art chamber that held experiments in stasis tubes, even though some were shattered; additionally, a spiral staircase was fixed to the walls leading down to the main floor, where the cylinders were hoisted.
In the distance, the corpse of a male scientist was slumped against a wall, decapitated from a blonde Caucasian female Project that aimlessly prowled around a yard away from the body. She seemed so… absent to John. If he could somehow control these Projects, they could prove to be an excellent edition to his growing army. Then again, their primal instinct and homicidal nature proves difficult to control.
The screams of terror and sprays of gunshots could be heard distantly, it appears remnants of Longbow unwittingly met up with more of Crey’s monstrosities. And from the sounds of it, they were pretty far away, nothing to endanger the team, just another inconvenience to swat away.
Twin white sliding doors marked “Experimental Research Center” stood silently against the left corner of the bloodied hallway; a dim glowing green light hovered above it, letting anyone pass through. Whoever set up the security system was rash and irresponsible, as even invaders like him could pass through with ease. Huh, must’ve thought their ‘Synapse-bot’ took care of him.
Keeping a keen insight on the creature from other side, John cautiously stepped towards the sliding doors, eyes still focused on his target.
Momentarily looking down, he walked over the corpse of a disemboweled Crey Juggernaut, then once more at the woman, who still didn’t notice his presence. The sliding doors opened automatically, sensing heat signatures crossing by.
John lifted his FN SCAR and aimed at the creature’s temporal skull section, ready to drop her if he pulled the trigger. Before he did so, a hiss emitted out of the female and she charged towards someone at the opposite end of her, who was behind a wall. A quick bright flash lit up a small portion of the room, followed by a soft thud. The creature fell back with a visible hole lodged in between her forehead, whoever the shooter was wasn’t an amateur.
John paused for the moment before letting his rifle down, the memories of a small girl smiled brightly at him, it somehow creeped into his mind, but who was she? He held his gun tightly, watching in surprise when he saw a young, brown-haired woman, dressed in a red web-like apparel, armed with a FN Five seveN. She clicked her PDA and spoke inaudibly into it, probably conversing to her superior officer or rallying in support. John, not taking any chances, aimed his rifle towards the woman, but couldn’t find it within himself to shoot her, he couldn’t understand why. Better to take in prisoners anyway, eh?
“Freeze!” spoke John in a demanding tone
Almost instantly, the woman pointed her Five SeveN towards John, switching targets as multiple troopers also pointed their weaponry at her. She believed she could take them, just as how effortlessly she escaped Longbow, those red and white idiots weren’t sharp, too busy hopelessly trying to extinguish the undead.
She had gained access towards her objective via ventilation shafts that her slender body could easily slide through, having the fortune to miss out against the flesh eating living corpses, Projects and Red Devils she thoroughly studied in the Crey database. Just for good measure, she overrode the security systems too. Then again, contacting Longbow and using them as a façade was a smart idea, wrapping them up in battles against the zombies, while she focused on her primary goal.
She scanned the attackers once more, focusing harder at the man who yelled out, she frowned. John Starkweather. She knew a great deal about him, including personal information, just because who he is – and she wouldn’t ever sell out any private facts discerning him to anyone for unknown reasons, even to her superior officers who demanded it. Of course, they wouldn’t dare expel one of their best agents in the field just for some criminal.
“Put your gun down…now.”
“All right, all right. No need to get so bloody rushed.” spoke the woman with a British accent, slowly putting her handgun down.
John turned to Harris and nodded. Without hesitating, he was behind their British captive in a split second, his dominant right arm wrapped around her neck, while his left hand shoved a Desert Eagle into her backside, pressing deeply. Harris wasn’t really a quick runner, but teleporting was one of his specialties, so every now and then he’d hold a captive hostage for a ransom or equipment his Commander desired, which usually wasn’t cheap…at all.
A swift, powerful kick slammed into the back of Harris’ head, knocking him off the woman, onto the ground.
He stood up, dazed from the kick. Before him stood Ms. Liberty. Her red, blue and gold costume glistened brightly in the light, standing proudly, defending her foreign comrade.
“This is the end of the road, Starkweather! We’re bringing you and your goons in…”
Starkweather had to act fast, this was Ms. Liberty infront of him, not some two-timer superheroine that tried to stop John in another one of his raids or even a robotic duplicate. No, no this was a geniune Vindicator member that must be dealt with. John smiled sinisterly at the famous heroine of the city, I don't go down so easily...
"If that's how you want it, sure. Of course, to get to me, you'll have to go through them..."
A split-second later, Harris and Black Argonaut sprung into action and began hailing gunfire at Ms. Liberty, their fingers fully pressed down on the gun's triggers. Alas, the carrier of the Girdle of Hera doesn't fall THAT quickly. The belt Ms. Liberty wore had the abilities to deflect physical and mental assaults by meta-humans and average humans alike. It could be surpassed by much force, but by then... she already won the battle.
Both men stopped the onslaught of bullets as they ran dry, only to be greeted with an unharmed Ms. Liberty, her eyebrows furrowed as if mocking them
"You ready to give up?"
Dropping both of their weapons, both men ignored the heroine's words and charged head-on towards her, preparing for the worst...
...
John stood back eagerly watching chaos unfold between his operatives and the enemy -- this was splendid to him!
Sure someone from his side might lose, but John can call in support, right? Yeah, that's the plan for the time being. Besides, what's the worst that could happen? Lose the virus and retrieve it later on. However, he couldn't help but keep his attention on the foreign agent, there was something wrong with her.
He shifted his attention to Selena and the M16 agent, who were both duking it out soon after Harris and Argonaut started blasting their guns at Ms. Liberty.
...
Times were hard on Selena
The young hispanic woman spit out blood from her mouth as another punishing round kick connected with her pretty facial complexion, ruining hours of pampered make-up work.
The M16 agent stood triumphantly over her enemy, even with a few bruises herself, "Come now, dear. You can do better than tha'"
Selena laughed cruelly and charged at her opponent, flipping and torquing her body in mid-air, using her limber body to grapple the unknown agent with her quadraceps leg muscles and twist down; thus forcing the agent to crash into the steel plated floor, face first.
The agent grunted from the red hot pain that seared through her face, the bruises turned to bleeding wounds, but that didn't matter. Gritting her teeth, she got up just in time to see a boot sail toward her, hitting her directly in the face, and her slender form falling back to the ground.
It was Selena's turn of the tide now
"Puta, I don't have all day. Why don't you just go down?" She grinned at the wounded agent who was now bent on one knee, pacing around her, "No. Don't worry about it, baby. You seem so stressed, just relax a bit." A sinister motive comes into play as a knife unsheaths in Selena's hand, it's time to move in for the kill. Time for the huntress to gut it's prey. "...poor thing, left to rot here by your superiors. Doesn't it hurt, Sunshine?"
Pushing the agent down with her dominant foot, she crouched and leaned down next to her beaten opponent's chest, breathing softly with a grin on her face. "Now relax..." She straddled the agent's waist and nuzzled the side of her neck, suddenly getting her head up from the bloodied agent's neck, her knife raised.
The M16 agent was panicked, there was little time to escape her current situation. Wait, yes, that's it! Her hand struggled to grasp the FN Five SeveN that stood only a few inches away from her, she trained her eyes on Selena whose arms were visibly above her head, that same grin on her face.
Success!
"Baby, baby, ba--urk!"
The bullet tore through Selena's jugular vein, additionally shredding the larynx. After being tossed off by the agent she thrashed around on the floor, choking on her own blood, she shouldn't have been so cocky like that.
The M16 agent picked up Selena's bowie knife and glanced down with pity at the still thrashing operative. "Poor bird... poor, poor little bird." With a sorrowful look on her face, she ended Selena's agony and impaled the Hispanic woman's cranium, puncturing her brain and skull, leaving the bloodied knife in it's rightful place: Inside the owner.
((WiP))
