Suspire/Good Soldier
From Unofficial Handbook of the Virtue Universe
Contents |
Precipice
01 June, 2008, 1703hrs
Our Lady of Perpetual Mercy Cemetery, Founder's Falls
Paragon City, Rhode Island
The chasm at Grant's feet was yawning and rectangular, a pit cut directly into the soil so dark and black that she couldn't make out the bottom. Fat, heavy drops of rain that fell in contant, but languid rhythm slowly softened its earthen lip that the soldier had to stand back from the precipice, lest she be sucked into it, like a small ship at the mercy of a whirlpool. As she did, so Grant looked upwards, scanning the sky for movement amid the heavy, gunmetal clouds. There was a black spot, a hero perhaps, buzzing overhead like an ultrapowered fly haunting an old corpse.
Grant's lips pressed more tightly together and she turned her eyes downward, manually straining her irises until she could make out the matte shimmer of a black coffin at the bottom of the grave, or was she imagining it? It didn't matter, she concluded, it was her sixth sense that was important - the one that detected no sentience, no spark of black magic stirring within the coffin.
Flesh And Black Blood
05 November, 2006, 2336hrs
Barca Plaza, "Dark" Astoria
Paragon City, Rhode Island
"Suspire 1, this is Suspire 2. What is your status? Over."
Grant barely picked up on the sound of the radio, even reverberating through her skull, beneath the thundercrack of gunfire. Before she had even processed it, Sullivan's voice appeared over the radio to answer.
"Suspire 2, we are under attack! Repeat, we are under attack!"
A beastial roar filled the air and Grant twisted to face it. A nine-foot mound of rotting, humanoid flesh, inflated and bubbling by decay and black magic thundered towards her. Grant braced her rifle against her shoulder and pulled the trigger. Her firearm lurched against her shoulder, once twice. Chips of flesh and black blood erupted from the charging corpse, but it didn't slow for a heartbeat. Granted checked her periphery for somewhere to take cover, but found nowhere. A split second later, she felt impact, like a runaway train pounding through a boomgate and toppled to her back, the undead monster crashing over the top of her like a rotting, stinking wave.
Wonder
"Was beginning to wonder if we'd ever see you again," mused a low voice from behind Grant's shoulder. She didn't tense at the sound, even instinctively, as most soldiers would. It was an occurance she had foreseen.
The voice's owner stepped up beside her. A dark-skinned man on generous side of six feet, approaching seven, with the powerful, bulging muscles of predator cat. He was in the olive-green suit of the Army rangers, decorated with bars representing years, their best years, of service.
"You weren't at the funeral."
"Plane was late," replied Grant.
"You didn't want to face the crowd."
Grant looked up, her brow knitting in the formative stages of anger. She had hoped to meet the man's eyes, but he was looking forward and down, toward the coffin.
"It's okay, Grant. Nobody even really thought you'd make it out here at all."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means," the man finally turned his gaze towards her. Grant averted her eyes. "We thought you'd be too wasted to find a flight out of Cambodia."
"Are you here to give me a guilt trip?"
The man raised an eyebrow. Grant tried again.
"A guilt trip, sir."
Ghosts
Her gun had skittered away, Grant could sense it nearby, like a person could feel their limbs without looking, but she dare not search visually. The abomination was clawing at her face with its thick, clumsy arms, but her outstretched boot kept it at bay. Glowing green balefire, burning in the monster's eyes and the from within its throat, practically blinding Grant as he fingers inched towards the steel salvation located just inches beyond her reach.
No use, she told herself. Grant's teeth grit and she planted her hand steady on the ground. Grating against all her instincts, the soldier searched for the tranquil spot in the back of her mind- the patch of human potential, which could reshape the world through nothing but utter resolve.
The world came alive. Ghosts of familes, of mothers and fathers with their children stood around the hall, echoing the last moments of their life. By the Up 'N Away burger stand, a little girl with a red balloon was standing on her tip-toes to see the menu while her father waited with the patience of a saint. From within the confines of her mind, she listened as the busy mall food court became filled with the cries of people being torn asunder by old, vengeful gods and their undead lackeys. She found the girl again, except this time she was screaming as Astoria turned to Hell.
Grant opened her eyes and focussed deep into the pits of green flame through which the monster appeared. She looked right through them to the creatures brain, and the half-dormant spark that kept the creature moving. The soldier gathered her resolve and she squeezed.
It was the monster's turn to scream.
Peacemaking
"Was Sullivan a good man, Grant?"
"Yes, sir. He was," she replied with a robotic droll. It was a little act of defiance, one she doubted he was oblivious to. "The Major saved my life."
"We wouldn't want to see you like this. Drunk, washed-up. Civilian."
"Hungover, sir. They wouldn't serve me on the plane."
The man turned looked to Grant, who glanced back just in time to catch something in his eye. Pity?
"I made a few calls for you, last week."
"No, sir. I'm not going back into the service, my skills are shot to shit."
"This isn't the service. Peacemaking."
"Peacekeeping? You want me to join the United Nations?"
"No Grant. Making. I've got a friend, extra-governmental."
Grant sighed.
"It's not mercenary Grant. Just... give her a call. For me."
Grant nodded, and returned her gaze to the grave.
Wisps of Smoke
The creature was writhing in agony over the top of her, unable to strike further, but the burn in her thighs and lower back told Grant she couldn't hold him away much longer- and the psionics weren't deactivating the creature the way she hoped.
"Suspire 1, this is Supire 2. We're under attack! They're coming in through the walls and floor! Oh god, Emerson is down!"
The radio crackle was punctuated by gunshots, and Grant felt her heart race to a flutter. She struggled to hold on, maintain discipline, but felt her psychic energies growing dimmer as panic overtook her. Suspire 2, the second team was being torn apart while she laid here, trapped beneath this oversized creature.
"Sullivan!" she yelled, feeling flecks of spittle leave her mouth. Her fingers reactivated, crawling towards the SMG. Her legs were buckling, the rotting monster was coming in closer.
When suddenly, it twitched, spasmodically. Grant blinked, thinking she had imagined it. Another peel of thunder echoed through the hall and the creature lurched again in response. Was it her psionics? No. A third crack and the creatures' head erupted, spraying thick black mucus, the remnants of a rotted brain across the floor. Like a light switched off, the body stopped moving all at once and Grant guided it to one side, so it sloughed off to the floor beside her.
Sullivan stood a few yards back, thin wisps of smoke curling upward into the air from the muzzle of his SMG. He had maneuvered to one side to fire more safely, and from the trail of bodies, Grant could see where he had fought off his assailants and come to her aid.
"You okay, Grant?"
She wiped gore from her cheek and stretched out towards her rifle.
"I'm okay, sir."
"Hurry up, we've gotta find Suspire Two."
Good Soldier
"Any idea where you'll go from here?" asked the man.
"Any idea where you're going from here, sir?"
He quirked a smile. "A better place, I hope."
Grant nodded solemnly. "Put in a good word for me when you get up there?"
"I already put in a good word for you down here. The rest is up to you."
Grant let her eyes fall closed, momentarily. "I'll do my best."
The man laid a hand on her shoulder, but even with her psionics, Grant didn't feel his touch.
"I got somewhere to go, Grant."
Grant filled her lungs with air, but held it there, as if it could make time stand still.
"Godspeed, sir."
"Good soldier," he responded, more softly.
Grant looked to where the man, her friend Major Michael Sullivan had been standing, but found herself alone in the cemetery, with only a coffin and a headstone to mark his passing.
