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The only Constant is Change... |
| [Introduction]
The aging scientist's fingers tapped out a rhythmic staccato beat on his keyboard, making a final entry. Soon the research station would lose power, and then in the darkness, It would find him. A thin sheen of sweat covered his brow, born of nervousness rather than heat - the emergency generators had shut off heating to the complex several hours ago and his breath formed small clouds of steam in the cold air. He ran a bloodied sleeve across his forehead, then stopped and resumed typing. He had precious little time and someone needed to know the truth. Fifty-two years ago, we made the first discovery. The strange anomaly of genetic mutation and virus that created the original Shifters. Or 'Thropes,' 'Beastkin,' 'Changelings' - whatever the media prefers to call them these days, we made the first of them here. So it only seems fitting that they end our work here as well. As the Arena casters have been so fond of pointing out, a Shifter can only absorb the genetic pattern of one animal, and becomes bonded to its form. They can morph completely into this alternate form, or with practice, blend its elements together with their own, as has been the style in Arena combat these last fifteen years or so. To this day, they all believe that Shifters can only assume the form of natural mammals - lizards, insects, and the like being too foriegn to our own human biology. But our science here persisted in challenging these beliefs, and it has become our doom. Reptiles and Amphibians were not as difficult as we'd believed, though the subjects of our experiments here (God forgive us) show some peculiar side-effects of their new forms. Thankfully, the cold here keeps them sluggish, or I might be dead already. No, it is not these blasphemies that have all but destroyed us here - it is the Mythics. A small group of our subjects were given altered genetic material to absorb - combinations reflecting those of mythical animals. Most died, but three were able to process the genes and assume forms we'd previously heard of only in legends. A Gryphon. A Unicorn. And of course, a Dragon. The last can even breath fire - the lab techs were especially pleased with this development, until she incinerated them where they stood. The power flickered, causing the fluorescent lights overhead to buzz angrily. Heavy footfalls could be heard in the corridor outside. The scientist cast a terrified glance over his shoulder and resumed typing. He did not want to see which of his creations was coming to exact its retribution for his meddling. There are others here as well - there were many different species being tried, though many did not survive their genetic bonding, and others were horribly deformed by it. But above all, beware the Mythics - they are the smartest and most powerful of the Shifters here. Hot breath washed across the back of his neck, and the man knew he had no time left. His finger stabbed down on the touchpad, sending his final message flashing through miles of fiber-optic lines and off into the night. He prayed it would be enough - then, as the Mythic's claws ripped through him, he prayed God forgave him for the experiments he had helped create. Blood splashed across the screen. =*****= Synopsis: In accordance with humanity's baser instincts, the advent of Shifters lead to the creation of tournaments and prize-fights for zoanthropic competitors. Over time, the sports became a recognized and regulated affair, in which various fighters would assume their hybrid forms and battle for the entertainment of the gathered crowds (similar to boxing or wrestling). Tournament champions became celebrities in their own right, some surpassing movie stars for fame. Though a very small percentage of the population, Shifters are a part of everyday life. However, the emergency at the Northland Research Compound has prompted the government to take action. They have gathered several of the best and most prominent fighters and put them through a grueling series of military exercises. Believing that a Shifter would know best how to combat one of its own, they are trained how to fight for effect instead of entertainment, how to use lethal force, and quickly assigned to a strike team with a small contingent of Black Ops personnel. Two weeks have passed since communication with Northland ceased. The Shifter champions have been trained as best as time allows, and together with their squad of human marines, they have been dispatched to a remote arctic wasteland. Their orders: neutralize all hostiles and secure the compound - or destroy if necessary... =*****= Characters: Niles Ammon - Jackal Shifter Master Sergeant, Black Ops, "Echo" Company - ΚΙΣVΣ  Victoria Boston - Wolf Shifter Deathmatch Combatant, East Asia Division - .Wolfie. Simon Welsh - Panther Shifter Arena Fighter, American Legion - Wenston Rei Lorcat - Cheetah Shifter (Albino) Arena Fighter, American Legion - cyril Gemma Iwamura - Snow Leopard Shifter White House Aide, Department of Shifter Affairs - Professor Q  Thomas Churchill - Wolf Spider Shifter Northland Research Compound, Researcher -Derek Metaltron
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| Icy wind whipped across the tarmac, blasted from the whirling rotors of an MH-53J "Pave Low III" heavy-lift chopper. Master Sergeant Niles Ammon bowed his head resolutely against it, waving one arm as he bellowed orders to the troops under his command. Single file in perfect formation, they leapt up into the chopper's interior, stashed their gear beneath the foldout jump seats and belted themselves in. Niles allowed himself a grim smile, admiring the precision he'd drilled into them. As the last of his troops strapped in, he cast a quick glance around. In minutes, the MH-53 they were "borrowing" would lift off from Eielson and carry them the few-dozen miles it would take to link up with the rest of his new command at Fort Wainwright, as well as the pair of AH-64 Apache Longbows that Command had promised him as escort. Just entering his forties, Niles felt he was entering his prime. He was tall, muscular and lean. His skin was a dark tan, thanks to his middle-eastern descent, and he kept his head shaved to avoid trouble with the various forms of headgear he was often required to use. His men were trained sharper than he'd ever seen them, his missions were executed flawlessly, and he was being considered for a promotion. The emergency that erupted at Northland RC had stirred his blood - this was a chance to really show Command what he and his men could do. Being a Shifter, he was certain he'd be assigned to tackle the crisis. And he'd been right too, but not in the way he'd imagined. "You're being redeployed, Master Sergeant. Effective immediately, you and your men are to report to Eielson Air Force Base, Alaska. You are to drill in arctic combat and infiltration tactics." Niles grinned. "The Northland facility, sir?" A grim-faced general pushed a manila folder across the desk to him. "Affirmative. At roughly 2100 local time, we lost all contact with Northland. Because of your... unique abilities, I recommended that you be assigned as part of the recovery team. You'll be linking up with the others at Fort Wainwright, after your climate drills have ended." "Which unit will be joining us, sir?" "They do not have a unit designation at this time." The older man held up a hand, forestalling further questions. "Everything you need to know is in that file. Look it over on the flight up - your plane leaves in five hours and I imagine you'll need some time to prepare. Dismissed, Sergeant." Niles had looked over the files carefully, and what he'd found left him disappointed and angry. Actors! Command is sending us into hostile territory with actors and cheap prize-fighters for backup! He wanted to snarl, but such an action was unbecoming of a professional soldier, a status he'd worked very hard to obtain. He'd become a Shifter fairly late in life, and though the miracle of personal transformation did fascinate him, he detested what most had chosen to do with their gift - to make spectacles of themselves in front of crowds or on the silver screen. Perhaps it was a personal protest when he'd signed on to become a Navy Seal, and later, to the shadow that pulled strings in every military tapestry and usually went by the name of Black Ops. He was fiercely proud of the soldiers under him, and the idea that they would have to share a critical and dangerous mission with untested Shifters who'd never had to kill in their life sparked an anger he rarely felt. =*****= The MH-53 boomed along just above the snow-covered treetops, raising a sparkling white cloud behind it. Niles studied the reports once more, trying to understand what they might be facing at Northland. The "Mythics" had been marked as a special priority, thanks to the researcher who'd sent that final message. Dragons, unicorns, gryphons - what kind of fairytale bullshit is this? he thought, thick brows creasing. The "Gryphon" was one Jonas Langston, formerly a washed-up athelete. He'd volunteered for Northland's Shifter research, unaware of the kind of experiments they were doing. His transformation was quite recent, for there were only four days of observation listed in his file. A picture of him before and after morph revealed amusing similarities in facial features - the sharp hawk's eyes especially - but what the researchers had dubbed a Gryphon appeared to be a bad photo manipulation, like something from the Ugly Zoo. The graceful, sleek creatures depicted in fantasy were a far cry from the mutant he saw in the photo. As a man however, Langston was nothing impressive. Just one more bulky, dull-eyed football jock. Of more interest was the "Unicorn" Shifter. Bastion Webber was exceedingly tall and thin, with a shock of unruly blonde hair and features that might have been carved by a Greek sculptor. He looked far too pretty to be a man, and Niles was unable to stifle his chuckle at thinking Webber was probably queer. Unlike the Gryphon photo, Webber's Shifted form looked exactly like an image out of fantasy. The scientists at Northland had done a much better job on this one, though the pages of observational records showed that Bastion had been in their care for much longer than his compatriot Jonas. Then there was Kristen Vost, the Dragon. As Niles looked at her photo, he wondered if perhaps the scientists had simply let the Dragon out of her, rather than forcing it in. Her gaze was level but challenging, like she was daring the camera to take her picture. Deep scarlet hair framed features as fine and hard as porcelain - Niles studied the picture for a long moment before he realized he was losing focus, and flipped over to the draconic half. If Webber's form had been fantasy, this image was a nightmare horror. Not that the Dragon was ugly - rather, it was beautifully terrible. He likened it to watching a shark devour a seal - absolutely deadly, but fascinating. The woman's face became a ripple of razor-edged red scales, her brows tipped by pale ivory spikes which grew longer as they reached the outside of her features. Slender sinuous muscles rippled under the scales, thickening at her shoulder blades where her large bat like wings protruded, leaving no doubt in Ammon's mind that they were completely functional. Her file was very thin, recording only one day of observation and an addendum from the last scientist's message that she could reportedly breathe fire as well. Somehow, this did not surprise the Master Sergeant. "ETA, two minutes Sergeant," the pilot called out over his headset. "Best make some room back there. Your friends will be joining us soon." Niles looked out the nearest window, watching as the houses and streets of Fairbanks passed underneath them. All too quickly it seemed, the houses were replaced by the squat military construction of Fort Wainwright. He twisted in his seat, looking ahead to the helipad they were preparing to touch down on. As promised, two Apaches painted in the white and gray of arctic camouflage were being wheeled out to greet them. In the hanger's shadow, he could see others gathered, awaiting his chopper's arrival. "'Ey Pharoh," Private Douglass shouted from the jump seat across the cabin, "Don't be too hard on the new SOBs, a'ight?" "No promises, Glass," Niles yelled back, grinning like a jackal. The rest of the men laughed. With a loud screech, the chopper's landing gear hit the concrete. Time to greet the fresh meat, Master Sergeant Niles Ammon thought grimly, and threw the door open. |
| For possibly the first time in her life, Victoria Boston was actually on time. And astonishingly enough, she was the first one of the so-called team to arrive at the Fort Wainwright hanger. She pulled uncomfortably at the military BDUs, sneering slightly. She had suffered through the military crash course, finding herself more and more frustrated every day. She was not the type to take orders from anyone. She had always been independent and a loner and she hated that these people just snapped orders and expected her to obey. She had the urge to brush the hair from her face before she remembered that it was tied back in a braid and bound at the base of her neck as it had been for the entirety of her training. She hated that as well, because she was used to the silver locks being loose around her face. It had been a battle in itself to keep them from cutting off the two and a half feet of hair before training. A single gold eye glinted from a pale face, the other covered by an eye patch. She’d lost it a few years ago at a Hong Kong death match. Vick had started out as just another arena fighter, a wolf shifter who had gotten her ass kicked just as frequently as she’d done the ass kicking. What she had found was that the more she fought, the more she wanted to fight. She had been one of the earlier experiments, and the balance between her human side and her wolf side wasn’t as balanced as the ones that came after. Her silver hair and gold eyes were just two of the side effects, the other being the increase in adrenaline levels. She’d thrived on the fighting, even if they were just to knock outs. The more she fought, the better she got as well. It had reached a point where she was almost unstoppable fighting force, because she had thrown herself into battle with such a relentless fury that even injuries to herself hadn’t fazed her. She hadn’t cared about the broken jaws or the black eyes, as long as she took the other person down with her. And then someone had slipped her a tip, that there were some places in the world for “her kind,” to battle to death. Not in the United States of course. That was still wholly illegal. But China apparently didn’t care. And so she’d found her home in the Hong Kong death matches. It was that measure of insanity that had brought her here, back to her own country and into the military of all places. Apparently someone had contacted her agent about the possibility of enlisting her in a mission of some importance. The details had been kept from her and her agent, but eventually they had let slipped that they required shifters, and the needed them to be able to kill if necessary. And that was the single, solitary reason that she was here. So far, she didn’t care much about the other people they’d dug up. She hadn’t met whoever was supposed to be in charge of the actual mission, and neither had she been informed of the rest of the details. They had told her time and time again that she would be informed of everything once she was on the helicopter heading north. And that in itself should have worried her. It would have worried a normal person, even a normal shifter, because that meant that they wanted to make sure no one could back out once they heard all of what they’d have to do. Vick, however, was unconcerned. She thrived on danger, on battle, and she figured that if they hadn’t been told yet, it was because what they wanted them to do was very, very dangerous. It meant that the possibility of having to kill someone or something was becoming more of a certainty, and that just made her all the more excited to be here. She didn’t care about a duty to her country, or serving her nation, or any of that bullshit. She cared about satisfying her own taste for blood. She wondered if she wasn’t more animal than human anymore. She heard footsteps behind her, and knew as soon as she did who they belonged to. She shot a glance over her shoulder and threw a grin back at the man entering the hanger. Simon Welsh, one of the other “recruits” that the military had dug up, was sauntering into the hanger in his normal “I-own-the-universe” way that she had come to associate with him. It was part of what she liked about the black panther shifter. He was just as cocky as she was, and that was a hard thing to find. “Helicopter not here yet?” he asked. She shook her head. “Damn soldiers can’t get anywhere on time,” she grinned. |
| “Well, what do you expect, it’s the military,” Simon huffed and went to stand next to Vick. Truth of the matter was, he was glad she was here. Victoria Boston always made things fun. Not everyone tended to agree with that, but Simon couldn’t deny that whenever she was around, life got a bit more interesting. They’d fought each other several times. Simon had won exactly once, off a technicality. The chick was hardcore. “I mean look who they called to come clean up their mess.” “God save whoever calls you for help,” Vick answered, flashing him a quick cocky grin. Simon laughed outright then. Man he missed her. The last he’d heard, she had gone off to Asia for some excitement in the matches out there. The American cage fights hadn’t been the same. Too many contracts and endorsement deals, not enough “fuck off”’s and “up yours.” Simon had gone into too many fights already knowing the outcome. Too many other fighters were willing to take a knock-out for some extra cash these days. Simon never gave in to the people pushing him to throw games. Where was the fun in a staged fight? It had earned him a reputation though. Simon Welsh, the guy who couldn’t be bought. It was both a good thing and a bad thing. Good for those arena matches out there that were still untainted, where outcome came down to who the better fighter was, not who the fighter with the richest backer was. He got called to those fights all the time. But so many of them now were pre-planned by investors that Simon had become a sort of black list fighter. No one wanted him there if they couldn’t control when he won or when he lost. Simon was an up and coming retiree, as far as most were concerned. Even his fans had started to move on to other younger, more corruptible fighters. It wasn’t fair, but Simon didn’t complain. Maybe it was time he moved on, like Vick had. But death matches weren’t an option. He didn’t have her bloodlust. And he didn’t have a death wish. “I like the do,” he said, batting at the braid at the base of her neck. She reached up and swatted his arm away, giving him a playful punch on his shoulder. “Ow,” he complained, laughing as he rubbed the spot. “Shut it,” she grinned and turned back to the helipad, waiting for the helicopter. “What happened to your Mohawk? Finally realize it went out of style?” Simon chuckled and ran a hand through his short black hair. They’d made him cut it. It had been a mess just yesterday and he was still getting used to the shortness. “Nah,” he said and stretched his arms above his head. “Needed to change it up a bit, it wasn’t bringing in the ladies.” Vick shook her head slightly. “Idiot.” Simon grinned as he heard the sound of an approaching chopper. “Ah, the cavalry’s arriving.” |
| Her boots were uncomfortable. They were heavy and awkward and they cramped her toes. She could feel her claws poking through those ungodly black things she had wrestled on, scraping against the leather. Her feet weren’t abnormally big, just like normal people feet, but the claws made wearing shoes complicated and weird. Rei Lorcat didn’t see any good reasons why she couldn’t parade around bare foot. Or naked for that matter. The uniform she’d been given was itchy and smelled weird. Not to mention the fact she had to cut a hole in it for her tail. Sure they might help protect her from the cold, but since she wasn’t a creature accustomed to such climates anyways, she didn’t see why she should even be there wearing the itchy, smelly thing! These people were heathens. On the upside, the little hat was very cute the way it sat atop her head of dark hair, right between her rounded feline ears. It wasn’t enough to make the rest of the outfit worthwhile unfortunately. Rei was hybrid. Once she had achieved hybridization between her two forms, she kept it. There was no changing back and forth for her, this was who she was. So, here was Rei Lorcat, with snowy ears poking through her dark hair (which she had deftly pulled up into a stylishly messy bun) and her entire body coated in the white smooth fur with little tawny spots. She also had her tail, which extended from the base of her spine and was currently swaying agitatedly behind her. The markings on her face were strange, looking like long tawny tear tracks from the tear duct and stopping just shy of the corners of her mouth. And like her animal, she wasn’t impressive with strong muscles either, she was thin and wiry, relying more on her speed than her strength. Rei’s animal form was the cheetah. The white spawned from her being an albino in life before acquiring her power for shifting, and so her eyes too were pink. In all honesty, she didn’t know how her hair had turned black when she had achieved hybridization; she just assumed it was the animal genetics since she had never actually seen an albino cheetah. Either way, she liked it more than her normal colourless hair when she was just a regular human. Unlike others, her strengths didn’t lie taking her opponent down and getting herself pummeled in the process. She rather liked to avoid being hit if at all possible, and instead preferred to utilize her natural speed to dodge and conquer with as little bodily cost to herself as possible. Most of the time it worked too. She held the record for the fastest knock out when she took down a guy before he had even moved from his spot. Not to mention she still had all her limbs and everything else intact as well. That was something to be proud of. And apparently someone was. She had been told that someone of her talents would be needed for some kind of special mission. At first, Rei wanted to turn it down, but a few drinks and flattering words had found her here- trudging through the snow, the crunch of her boots making her ears twitch. Her instincts told her that she could probably detach herself from this mission at anytime considering her body’s natural camouflage, and she always kept that an option if things got too hairy. Rei Lorcat wasn’t a woman to die for someone else. You could blame it on her youth, considering she was barely legal to drink, but she refused to die for a pack of strangers that didn’t even give a lick about themselves. Promises were nothing to Rei, she was a notorious liar and she was good at it. There had been some talk that their supervising officer would be arriving soon, so the white cheetah decide to go investigate- much to her surprise, she wasn’t the first person out there waiting for the helicopter to land. Two unsavory folk was out there. One had one eye too few, and Rei didn’t even try to hide the shudder that went up her spine or the wrinkling of her nose before she turned away. Like she said, these people were heathens. She was already missing her glamorous home back in L.A. It had every luxury she needed, and a few things she didn’t but thought were pretty anyways. Right now she would probably be sprawled out nude on her lounge, letting the fire warm her…. Instead of freezing her tail off here in the middle of a snowy wasteland. |
| The winding corridors of the West Wing stretched before her, soft carpeting padding her small feet as she very nearly ran to the Oval Office, a thin manila folder tucked into the crook of one arm. As the Undersecretary to the Office of Shifter Affairs, walking anywhere slowly was just not in the purview of her day; especially when the President wanted to see her in his office- immediately. Her thick, black braid pounded against her back, a steady thump for every high-heeled step into the cushioned floors of the hallway; the sleek lines of the white pinstripe suit ruined in her haste. She managed a small smile for everyone she passed along the way, and a nod for the secret servicemen, who glanced quickly at the clearance badge clipped at her breast before letting her pass. None of the smiles, however, reached the extraordinary ice-blue eyes that dominated her striking face; they wouldn’t, either, until she met with the President. Following ‘the Catastrophe’ up at the Northland, Gemma Iwamura had buried herself in a mountain of paperwork, quick to distance herself from the others of the Shifter community lest the President seek to reprimand the one Shifter woman in the employ of the EOP. Any whiff of trouble and Gemma hid; she hadn’t accessed her animal form in days, too afraid that the anti-Shifter sentiment within Washington would seek to have her become the town scapegoat. She hadn’t spoken with anyone outside of her department for two days; the Presidential summons had been quite the shock. Gemma didn’t allow herself to be too afraid, but she couldn’t help but feel that the time had come to discreetly pack her baggage and leave the city. Gemma smiled at the guards outside the Oval Office and knocked smartly, pale white knuckles juxtaposed sharply against the deep wood of the door. Moments later, the door opened and she slipped into the room, awed as usual by the simple grandeur of the outer chamber. She was surprised to find the President sitting on one of the plush couches; usually, formal dismissal meetings were conducted within the office proper. Releasing her pent-up breath, Gemma smiled again and nodded, absently reaching up to brush an errant lock of hair from her deep-set, distinctly Asian eyes. Gemma was only half Japanese, but no one who looked at her would even guess that she was of half English descent; until she gazed levelly at them with her blue eyes. And then her ‘Rule Britannia’ half shone bright in the strength of her brow line and the fullness of her mouth and no one could deny that she was of at least some European decent. To most, however, Gemma Iwamura was just “the Asian Shifter”. “Mister President,” Gemma greeted, shaking hands with the man as he stood and returned the gesture before motioning for Gemma to sit. Not speaking, the President busied himself with preparing a cup of tea for himself and Gemma, sliding the saucer across the table. Gemma had never been in the Oval Office herself; she was too minor an official to warrant the audience, the Office of Shifter Affairs still relatively unimportant as far as the cabinet was concerned. Sipping at his tea, the President crossed his legs and leaned back into the couch, lounging comfortable. “Miss Iwamura,” he replied. “You are the only Shifter in my employ, are you not?” Gemma nodded. “And you form is the…” The President looked at an open file on the table in front of him. “Snow Leopard? Am I correct?” Another nod. “And, given your discomfort the last few days, am I safe in assuming that you have received a full briefing on the attack at the Northland facility?” Gemma closed her eyes and swallowed before nodding again. “Very good. Miss Iwamura, you will not have heard that I have authorized the military to conduct a strike against the ‘Mythics’ that initiated the attack. A small contingent of our top military experts will be paired with several Shifters from around the world, who’ll be trained in military combat. They will then be sent to eradicate the problem of these ‘Mythics’ up at Northland.” Gemma interpreted the information for a few moments, her brain whirring behind her silent eyes. “You want a member of the OEP within that contingent, to ensure that your information is up-to-date and to give you leverage in dealing with the military, should they try and do anything to subvert your original plan. You want to know everything before they tell you. But, Mr. President, I’ve got no experience in military-style fighting. I’ve got hand-to-hand skill, but how much will that help against people carrying guns?” The President laughed. “You’re too smart for your own good, Miss Iwamura. Yes, I want someone of my own inside that operation and, yes, it will have to be you. You’re the only Shifter in my direct employ. As far as your woeful marksmanship, there will be training before the operation begins. And I’m sure our black ops team has some expert marksmen within its ranks. There should be no problem with you learning to shoot effectively. Most importantly, Miss Iwamura, is your ability to be a trusted member of the team while continuing a report with the White House. Secrecy is paramount. I cannot stress that enough.” “Of course, Mr. President. I am honored to have been chosen, even if I am the only Shifter available. I will not let you down.” “Very good, Miss Iwamura.” The President gestured toward a thick folder on the table. “Inside this file is everything you need to know. You will be leaving for Fort Wainwright tomorrow, so be familiar with everything within the file because you will not be able to bring it with you. I want daily contact from you at the number provided. It is a secure line and untraceable. I trust you to be discreet, Miss Iwamura. Do not make mistakes. Not only are you there to keep me informed, the mission itself is dangerous. These ‘Mythics’ must be destroyed. They are a danger to Americans and to the rest of the world. If there comes a time when your life is in danger, think about that first and foremost. Don’t call that line if your life is on the line.” Gemma nodded. “Of course, Mr. President. I will do you proud.” The President stood and Gemma followed suit, shaking his hand and taking the file from the table. “I’m sure you will,” Miss Iwamura.” =*****= The boots chafed at her small feet and the DI had called her “Orienter” one too many times during the training, but Gemma found herself waiting, along with the others, for a helicopter to appear on the horizon. She’d appeared several minutes late, having had some difficulties with the contact line to the White House, but the President knew of the imminent arrival of the ranking officer and the rest of his men. He knew of the hybrid, the cage fighter, the death match warrior. Everything of note had been relayed to the White House via Japanese. The silver-haired woman had, quite fortunately, remained in Hong Kong so the chances of anyone understanding her (should they even over the conversations) were slim. As she had approached, black hair bound in a tight bun at the nape of her neck, the hybrid had sniffed at her, a distasteful glint in her eye. If the creature wished to luxuriate in the succulence of her own home, accepting the mission had been the stupidest decision the creature could have made. Gemma had no sympathy for the woman. The other two were a team unto themselves and had spoken very little to anyone outside of the other; their banter had provided much amusement for Gemma over the training period. Though her relationship with them was tenuous at best, Gemma probably liked them best. Standing back as the deafening noise and blasting wind of a landing helicopter pushed her from the tarmac, Gemma found herself standing separate from the rest of the group, though there was nothing unusual in that situation. As social as she was, Gemma had had little luck in socializing herself within the group. Perhaps everyone just needed more time and the camaraderie of danger to bring them together. Nothing like near death experiences to let the rivers of love and friendship flow free. Gemma looked up at the helicopter as the blades came to a slow stop, her ears ringing with the sudden absence of its roar. After two weeks of intense training, the cavalry, as Simon had so eloquently put it, had arrived. A trip to the vast wasteland of the Northland facility was nigh. And Gemma was still horrible with guns. |
| Niles hauled himself from the helicopter, striding quickly towards the four Shifters on the pad's edge. His feet fell with sharp precision, every inch the soldier's soldier, stopping just inside the hanger's shadow. His eyes drifted over the four Shifters arrayed in front of him, sizing each one up in turn, then turned to the short list he carried. "Boston, Victoria," Ammon read. Vick looked up, returning his gaze coolly. "I trust that injury will not impair your marksmanship?" "Hasn't yet," she answered. "Rather claw them up than shoot 'em though." This drew a wry grin from the Master Sergeant before his attention shifted to Simon. "Dumas, Alexander," he said, more statement than question. Simon shook his head. "Alex washed out the first week. I'm Simon Welsh, sir." Niles heard the hesitation in his voice as Welsh added the "sir," but ignored it. These Shifters were not military, and expecting the same level of discipline from them as he did his own troops was being unreasonable. He finished reading through his roll list and frowned. Of the seven Shifters the government "ferrets" had carefully selected, only these four had made it through their two hellish weeks of training. The sound of engines spooling up reminded Ammon of their business. "Alright, everyone get aboard and strap in. Ask my men if you've got any difficulty stowing your gear." "And when do we find out what this is all about, Sergeant?" the hybrid Rei asked. "You'll get a full briefing once we're in the air." Once there's no turning back. =*****= With a stomach-churning lurch, the Pave Low vaulted into the gray Alaskan sky. Already, flakes were starting to fall again, preparing to coat the arctic terrain in another layer of white. Niles grinned, thinking the snowfall might help mask their approach to the Northland compound. He turned to face the four Shifters and his own men, strapped tight to the jump seats in the chopper's interior. "Echo Squad, you've heard all this before, but for the sake of our new friends I'll go over this again. "Two weeks ago, at approximately 2100 hours - that is, roughly nine o'clock PM - we lost all contact with a remote bioresearch lab. This lab, the Northland Research Compound, was conducting experimental studies on Shifter genomes, successfully integrating anomalous non-mammalian DNA patterns into various subjects - primarily insect and reptile genetics." Ammon paused a moment, letting the full importance of his words sink in. "It was our hope that after two weeks, the subjects would simply have starved to death, given how isolated Northland is. However, as I'm sure you are all aware, they are still human - and one must never underestimate a human's ability to survive." "You were hoping to starve them out?" Victoria snorted. "Not very sporting, is it?" The Sergeant shook his head. "This is a military operation, Boston, not sport. I sincerely hope we find the facility empty, but should we encounter any surviving Shifters our orders are to terminate on sight. Surviving researchers, of course, are another matter. Ultimately, we are to neutralize any hostile presence and secure the compound. In the event we cannot reclaim the facility, our orders are to destroy it using any means necessary. And one more thing," he added grimly, "the Northland compound is a 'discreet' area - off the map. Officially, it does not exist. For the purpose of this mission, neither do we. Are we clear?" The four Shifters nodded. As the Pave Low flew northward, flanked by its twin Apache escorts, the Master Sergeant filled them in on the rest of Northland's critical information. The majority of the compound was below ground, buried deep in the hard frozen soil. The upper levels were for general administration and record-keeping, as well as external communication - all these were routed from the main building to a separate terminal a few-hundred yards away which housed the satellite dish and its associated uplinks. The towering windmill generators were likewise separated from the facility, scattered in seemingly random fashion over a two-mile square south of the compound. Because of the nature of the research at Northland, the upper levels and outlying structures were designed to cut power in an emergency - leaving only the deepest levels heated and warm, and thus able to support life. To further aid the containment of research subjects, all research levels and living quarters were separated by three maze-like "quarantine floors," which connected only to the levels above and below them by separate cargo elevators. Reportedly, the scientists liked to refer to these floors as the Labyrinth. =*****= Thick white flakes rushed by, backlit only by the slow blink of the chopper's navigation lights. Through the inky blackness beyond, Niles could just make out the silhouette of the port-side Apache keeping pace with them. They had been in the air for several hours now and the dull gray skies had faded to a deep black, the stars and moon eclipsed by heavy clouds which continued to pour snow over his small strike force. He always felt a thrill of excitement before a mission, but this time something seemed... off. Maybe it was the Shifters under his watch - though they'd been sent to help him, he was responsible for their well-being. It was a different kind of weight on his shoulders, quite apart from the tough capable marines of Echo Squad. As if reading his thoughts, Iwamura crossed the chopper's cabin and belted herself in next to him. "Something on your mind?" she inquired. "Always is before an assignment, Miss." She lifted an eyebrow, prompting him to explain. Niles shook his head - he wasn't about to pour his heart out to this woman, or any other, but he had seen enough in her file to give rise to other concerns. "I noticed that you failed marksmanship qualification twice during training, and only barely passed the third time." Gemma shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "Guns are not my strength," she said defensively. "In close combat-" "In close combat, I'm sure you're at least the equal of any other Shifter on this chopper, myself included. I have to assume as much, or you wouldn't have been assigned to us," Ammon stated. "And I would like to assume as well, a match for any untried subjects we find alive in Northland. However, the types of Shifters we'll be facing there have never been encountered before, and they will have capabilities equally unknown to us. I'm sure the President had you briefed on the threat of the 'Mythics,' yes?" Gemma's eyes widened. "And how-" "Don't look so surprised," Ammon smirked. "I've been in Black Ops for the last eight years, and a Navy SEAL before that. You don't go into a mission without knowing who you're bringing with you." His brows lowered, his voice lowering as it grew hard and ice-cold. "I have no objections if my superiors feel the need to send a political liaison along - I understand the nature of it, and it wouldn't be the first time. But I'll tell you the same thing I've told the others - I have a mission here to complete and the lives of the men under my command to consider. Whatever your purpose here is, I leave you to it, and whether you enlighten the others about your... other priorities... is your own business. However, I will make no special accommodations for you if you become a liability, and I will not allow you to interfere with this mission. Do I make myself clear, Miss Iwamura?" Gemma swallowed hard. "Crystal, sir." Another mousey politician thrown into the lion's den, Niles thought grimly. He looked over his command, noting each face, recalling when they'd first joined Echo Squad. Nathaniel King, whose wife had recently passed away in a car accident, was the best sniper they had. He could put a bullet through a fly's wing from a mile out. Albert "Bishop" Cramer, their explosives expert, and his perpetual sidekick Vlad "Rook" Stroychev - between the two of them, there wasn't any place on earth Bishop and Rook couldn't get Echo Squad into or out of. Phillip "Glass" Douglass, their lookout and King's spotter - Niles chuckled as he watched Glass attempting to make Rei blush under her fur, though she didn't seem the least ruffled by his come-ons. On the other side were the rest of his squad, his three shooters Trent, Zane, and Oscar sandwiched between the other two Shifters Vick and Simon. Smaller crew than I'd expected, but tough. I wonder if those Northland mutants know how fucked they are? "Sergeant Ammon," the chopper's copilot shouted over his shoulder, "we're nearing the Northland facility. ETA, five minutes. Prepare for hard drop - this weather's getting worse and we can't spare the fuel for touch-down." Through the night gloom, Niles saw their escorts surge ahead, killing their running lights as they prepared to sweep the landing area of anything hostile. "They're not staying?" Rei looked up, sudden fear crossing her feline features. "How the hell do we get out of here, then?" "Once Northland is secure, we'll restore power and call them in. Until then, this chopper will be on standby at Fort Wainwright." As the fear did not ease, Niles explained, "We can't risk any of the Northland Shifters escaping. The chance that they'd commandeer the chopper is low, but not impossible - or worse, and more likely, they'd simply blow it up and leave us stranded anyway. And this is expensive hardware." His men laughed, but the other Shifters did not look amused. Minutes later, the MH-53 hovered into position in front of the compound's main building. The twin Apaches hovered nearby, floodlights blazing from their nosecones to highlight a brilliant white circle on the snow below. Niles threw King a signal, and the sniper gripped the chopper's door with both hands, shoving it out and to the side. As the hatch slid away, everyone inside was blasted with a bone-chilling wind. Instantly, Nile's teeth began chattering of their own accord. "Alright, troops, let's move out!" he shouted. The Pave Low was still hovering a good thirty feet above the ground. "You've got to be fucking joking! Jump?!" Rei yelled back over the roar of the chopper's rotors. "I'll break something!" "I'd catch you, babe," Glass answered, throwing her a wink. Niles had no time for the banter. "Everyone OUT!" he ordered. "Hard-drop - this mission is GO. Move it!" Victoria gave a wolfish grin. "Spineless fuckers," she spat, hauling her pack tight across her shoulders. With a wild yell, she threw herself from the chopper's door. |
| The wind whipped across her face in quick cold slaps, but Vick barely felt the sting of it. She hit the ground rolling, the snow exploding up around her as she landed. It swirled around her in a haze of white, obscuring her view of the helicopters. She wasn’t sure if anyone had followed her in her wild leap from the aircraft, but then her ears picked up the sound of a body hitting the ground not far from her, air being expelled from their chests in a sharp burst. She managed to get to her feet, the snow slipping beneath her at first. It took her a moment to find solid ground, and by then the white was whipping by her face by the wind alone. She was unsurprised to find Simon struggling to his feet next to her, and she smiled an animal grin, glad to see that her old friend was as much of a coward as the rest of them. She imagined this would be a fairly frustrating mission, with the military folk shooting orders at her combined with the cowards and politicians she found herself keeping company with. It took all of her will to keep her calm, but as long as they played nice, so would she. “Hey Welsh! Anyone else coming, or is just the two of us?” She was smiling as she shouted it, and she dimly heard his answering laugh. It was hard to hear anything with the wind attempting to steal her words out of the air. But even as she said it, she saw an ungraceful figure of the hybrid tumbling out of the helicopter, followed a moment later by the hesitant leap of the politician. They landed north of her current position, but she was concerned with Ammon and his team. For a moment she felt a moment of bitter apprehension, wondering if they were actually coming at all. That cynical voice was silenced the next moment as they made a perfectly drilled jump from the helicopter. She could almost appreciate the precision with which they carried it out. Almost. She and Simon stood side by side in the wild north winds, waiting patiently for the Black Ops agents as they trekked through the snow. They sank deeper than any of the shifters did, probably some innate animal quality keeping them lighter on their feet than any normal human. Still, the agents were move quicker than she would have expected, and she met them with a feral grin on her face. “About damn time,” she commented lightly, turning and falling in behind Ammon. He said nothing, but shot a dark look her way, and she imagined she would have to tread lightly with him. That would be a battle all in itself. “How far are we from the facility, sir?” one of the agents shouted. She hadn’t bothered to learn his name. “Approximately ten minutes, given the weather,” he answered, loud enough so that the shifters could hear as well, as they were approaching Rei and Iwamura’s position. The hybrid was waiting crouched easily in the snow, probably unaffected by the weather due to the fur coat perpetually covering her skin. Then again, cheetahs weren’t known for being cold weather creatures, so perhaps she wasn’t as comfortable as Vick would assume. Not that she cared so much about the creature’s comfort. While she understood that she was supposed to be working with the others, the only one she had any real respect for at the moment was Simon. The incorruptible Simon Welsh, as he was currently known as. And that was because he was the only one she had seen in combat. She assumed that would change soon enough. |
| “What’s the matter sweetheart, break a nail?” Simon asked the hybrid Rei as she stood up with a scowl on her face. It just darkened at his comment, but she didn’t respond to him other than that. He turned to Vick and shrugged. She grinned at him before continuing on the way towards the compound. Simon was having the time of his life. He knew Vick didn’t appreciate the soldiers so much, and truth be told he was surprised she was holding herself back so much. But he actually didn’t mind them. That Ammon guy wasn’t all that bad. Seemed to have a stick up his ass, but he wasn’t bad. And the soldiers seemed like nice guys, but Simon didn’t trust them to have his back. It wasn’t anything against the soldiers, or their training, because Simon and the rest of them had been introduced to a soldier’s training and it was nothing to scoff at. It just wasn’t for him. Perhaps if he wasn’t a shifter, he could have joined the Army or the Marines. But he was an animal now, and he had an animalistic way of fighting that just didn’t fit in with their strict style. Simon would prefer to let Vick watch his back, or hell, he’d trust any of the other shifters with it before he could trust the soldiers, just because they all knew how animals fought. The closer they got to the compound, the more anxious Simon was to start fighting. He’d been concerned with it before, though he hadn’t told anyone. His concern was mostly aimed at the fact that he would have to kill someone. He’d never killed anyone before and it had taken him a little while to convince himself that he’d be able to do it. Simon wished they hadn’t been given the Mythics’ personal information. He would have rather killed a nameless shifter than someone he knew had once had a life. Ahead of them, the compound was in view. It was a lot bigger and gloomier than Simon had thought it would be. He’d seen the pictures of the facility, but pictures only told half a tale. This place looked, wicked. Apprehension washed over him for a moment, but he glanced at Vick who stood there with a stalker’s look in her eye as she watched the compound and he pushed it away. “Let’s get inside,” Sergeant Ammon shouted over the wind and the troops moved like a flock of birds after him towards the compound. Simon couldn’t help but laugh. They were so serious all the time. So professional. He wasn’t used to this kind of organization. “Hey Sarge,” Simon called, hustling to catch up with the soldiers. “What are we gonna do, just go up there and knock?” |
| It was cold cold cold! There was snow in her pants and her boots and it was caked on the ends of her pants and it touched her skin through her fur. It was everywhere! It was all she could do to try not to shiver and let her teeth chatter, so what if she was a little hunched over for warmth? Not like everyone else was so dignified. Rei really wished she would have stayed home and said screw this goddamn mission. It’s not like it was her problem. Well, she guessed it was now. They had reached the facilities doors with little to no interference except that of the wind and snow. They had seen a ‘hostile’ in the snow, but his body was already brittle and frozen. It was pretty nasty, Rei conceded. But now, they stood around the entrance, one of the men kneeling in the snow with a small computer with wires attached to wires in the door. God knew what he was doing, or what the other soldiers were doing as a matter of fact. All lined up in some strange formation and alert as if they were going to be attacked out in the open like this. Jesus, they hadn’t even made it inside yet, she hated to see what they’d do then. Her tail twitched and jerked in agitated motions as she waited for whatever was going to happen. The door would open or they would be attacked. Either way she imagined the soldier boys would be rather happy, their guns all at the ready and everything. Rei couldn’t deny the fact that her own nerves were standing on pins and needles and fear grasped at her heart making her shudder involuntarily. They didn’t know what they could be walking into which made her a bit thankful that there were so many armed soldiers around. The other shifters didn’t look so confident either which eased her slightly. “Sarge, the overrides ain’t respondin’.” One of the soldiers replied, looking over the soldier with the mini computer. He wasn’t as attractive as that Douglass fellow that kept harassing her. Where had that army boy wandered off to? Ammon looked over his shoulder and gave a silent order to another of his shoulders and ordered everyone else to get back. Soldiers obeyed before everyone else. Their curiosity piqued by the new method of entering their destination. Of course spying the small amount of explosives that a soldier was unloading from his pack, the figured it out real quickly and gave them some space. She got the feeling she didn’t want the door to open. She didn’t want to know what baddie was lurking on the other side. But that didn’t stop the door from popping open with a small muffled explosion. The soldiers cheered. She couldn’t help but wonder if this was just a game to them, because it certainly wasn’t a picnic for her. Shortly after she thought it, everything was all seriousness again thanks to Ammon. A soft red glow flashed lazily from the threshold casting a pale ring on the snow, and within the complex Rei could pick up the sound of a mechanical female voice speaking in a cheery monotone ”Warning. Security breach. Facility lockdown in effect.” It repeated continuously, she imagined it started when the mythics and the other shifters had lost control. Signals and guns cocking galore, and the mission had truly begun. |
| The snow was hardly a problem for Gemma, whose boots barely sunk into the powdered fields as the delegation cautiously approached the gaping hole in the side of the facility. She shook her head, gazing surreptitiously around at her fellow Shifters and the professional soldiers, her blue eyes clouding with dark disdain over the black face cover that wrapped around her beautiful face. Any sort of covert action had been ruined by that oh-so-subtle mode of entrance. But what else could Gemma expect from the military? Even black ops, who relied on their fighting skill just a little too much and, as such, were willing to forgo the stealth of a mission for the purpose of expediting the progress. So, of course, now every Shifter in Northland knew that they were there and could set up ambushes. "Goddamn soldier types," Gemma muttered in Japanese, her lips barely moving, her voice lost on the icy winds. She flexed her fingers, shifting them into paws as she did so, feeling the claws jump from the fleshy pads and relishing the tingle as her bones melted and carefully reshaped themselves. Unlike the soldiers, none of the Shifters carried rifles, but they had each been issued pistols to be used in the event of their inability to Shift. Should such an event occur, of course. The pistol was a point of contention between Ammon and Gemma, who held a certain amount of disdain for firearms. She was a black belt in Japanese Jujutsu and mixed martial arts; she didn't need a gun to kill someone. Ammon, his voice gruff and disbelieving, had crossed his arms and replied simply, with, "if you can get close enough." He was incredibly stubborn, and locked into his methods; a true military man, through and through. Gemma wanted to break his spine in a few key places and leave him momentarily paralyzed; see, then, if her fighting skills were only "the equal of everyone here". Gemma growled slightly, and shook herself out of the reverie; let the prick think her a mousy politician. She'd prove her worth. "Stand back, miss," one of the men whispered with a small smile. Trent, she remembered. "We're to go in first. Master Sergeant's orders." Gemma nodded, a sharp glare to her eyes, and stepped out of the way, moving back with the other three Shifters. They, and especially the Cheetah, looked miserable, but Gemma shrugged and glided over to them. Her eyes momentarily met with Ammon's, his full of determination, hers of slight disdain. She nodded at him and gave a slight, crooked smile that reached her eyes. He was the first to turn away, giving orders to his men with efficient motions and low whistles. Gemma felt odd in the arctic issue BDUs; the jacket was a touch too large, and the boots, while warm, were not exactly comfortable. But, Gemma surmised, better feet that hurt than feet that froze off. Not that cold was a huge problem for her. Snow Leopards lived in Mongolia, after all and Mongolia was fucking cold. She'd spent some time there as a child, before becoming a Snow Leopard; it was the reason she'd chosen her form. The animal was beautiful, and surprisingly deadly for its size. Gemma had felt a kinship, even then. An all clear came from inside the building and Gemma, followed by the other three Shifters, stepped from the freezing near-tundra into the metal prison of the Northland. Gemma's breath, which had frozen in small particles along the cloth of her face cover, began to melt, choking her slightly. She hid it well, but removed the fabric from her face, judging it warm enough for her to show her skin. Ammon glared at her wordlessly, but Gemma shook her head slightly, and Shifted part of the way into her Snow Leopard form. Suddenly, the room was comfortable enough to wear normal clothing, and Gemma was forced to strip down to just a tank top in order to keep from overheating. She did so quickly and carefully, packing the layers away without falling behind or interrupting the flow of the group. It felt weird walking without her tail behind her, but Gemma didn't want to cut a hole into her pants like the Cheetah. In the cold, her animal was the most useful; it just made sense to Gemma that she should Shift at least partially into a Snow Leopard. Sniffing, Gemma stopped suddenly and narrowed her eyes, claws ripping through the gloves that covered her hands. "Master Sergeant," she whispered, sidling up beside him and whispering into his ear. "There's a Shifter up ahead, but I can't tell what kind. And I can't tell if it's necessarily hostile, but I don't think it's a Mythic." Her Shifted voice was a slight purr, deep and throaty, and without any hint of her slight Japanese accent. She sniffed again. "Around the corner, sir. In the next room. It's not moving." |
| "Is he dead?" "No, the DNA strains within his body seem to be in a state of flux right now." "Interesting... It was by no means ready, was it?" "No sir, not even field tested properly yet.... Sir, I can't be sure he'll survive it." "Doctor Gorbunova seems to think so..." "To be truthfully honest Sir, I think the good Doctor talks out of his ass half the time. And with the recent Mythic difficulties... Sir?" "We might have to move him. For his own safety. One of the upper floors... He's asleep, right?" "I... I think so... but I wouldn't get so clo-" RGH? "Agh! Um... well now hes not asleep... Dr Churchill, can you hear me? It's Research Staff Assistant Parkins. There's been an accident. We were able to... Susan, I don't think he's understanding me." "J-Just try not to make another sudden movement. I think he's attracted to that... Thomas? Its Susan, remember? Your friend." RGH... GUAH.... HIEEEEEEEEND... RRRRUSAN. RUGH! RAGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! RAGGGGG..... "Oh my god! Security! Parkins, are you...?" "Ugh... Yeah, I'm fine, the speed of that little bastard... No, I remember, hes in there... But he was so fast..." "I saw it, ok!... What?" "That security?" "....." "Susan, what is it? Tell me!" "...There's been some kind of breech... Kristen Vost just... just roasted an entire squad of..." =*****= Echo Squad gathered round the doorframe which Gemma had stated contained a 'scent' of the possible hostile. Bishop and Glass each placed an ear against the doorframe, but no sound came from within due to the shaking of their heads. Ammon glanced at Gemma, who merely shugged her shoulders in her hybrid state. "Theres something in there, I can smell it. I can't help it if whatever it is doesn't want to hear you." Ammon muttered under his breath and turned to the men. "Ok, open it, but guns at the ready." He turned to his fellow shifters. "As for the rest of you, you should already be prepared for anything, so stick close." With a count to three, Bishop and Glass pulled the door open. Straight away there came a powerful odour of decay, and the whole team would have held their noses if not for scrict training to the contrary. Ammmon moved cautiously in first... only to be met by resistance. "The hell?" Thick webbing was threatening to make him lose the grip on his gun, already half stuck in the adhesive threads. Swearing under his breath Ammon pulled out a long knife and hacked his weapon out of the mess. Further inside were more fluid strands, many connected about the room, clearly once some admin office before the incident and makeover; and at the centre of the room, there stood... It took everyone by susprise, even Ammon and his men. Some kind of cacoon stood upon the office table, large thick strands wrapped round the form of what might be something human sized. Rei looked more than a little queasy, whilst Gemma stepped forwards slightly with some fasination. There was a sudden movement, a slight shift in the folds of the nest. Something inside was awake. All of the Echo Squad's guns moved into position, not sure what might happen next. Then the arm burst out of the cacoon. And then another, frailing slightly as if feeling the air. And then.... A human face, partly masked in the same webbing, reared upwards, taking in a huge breath of air, followed by several bouts of coughng as he sucked in precious oxygen and out of fear ripped the subtances off of his face. Then he tripped and crashed to the floor, letting out a squeal of momentary pain. He was short and scrawny, and appeared perhaps a little under-nourished. He was also completely naked, though as with his face parts of his body was covered in the same webby fluid. He then seemed to see the troopers for the first time and arched back in both fear and pain as he fell to the floor. "Agh! No! Don't hurt me!" |
| "Hold your fire!" Ammon barked. "Trent, Bishop, get him out of there. Glass, take point. Let's see what we've got here." The emergency lights were all but blacked out under the thick layers of webbing, leaving only the compact flashlights below Echo Squad's rifle barrels for illumination. Cautiously, they played the light across the walls, but their inspection yielded nothing new. "Urgh, hold him dammit!" Trent's growl caused Ammon to glance back. The strange man was in a panic, still flailing madly. Before they could react, Simon took a long stride forward and cuffed him solidly across his left temple. The madman dropped like a lead weight, his chest still heaving with each shallow breath. "What?" Welsh asked, seeing the look the Master Sergeant was giving him. "Makes him easier to carry." Vick laughed, while Niles simply shook his head. Knocking the man out wouldn't have been his preferred method, but he couldn't argue the effectiveness - and anyhow, his wailing could very well bring every surviving Shifter above the Labyrinth down on them. Making a swift motion to his team, they all filed out of the web-coated office. "What the hell was in there?" Rei hissed, her fur standing on end. It was Gemma who answered first. "Off-hand, I'd say it was a spider-shifter of some kind. An orb weaver, judging by the amount of webbing." She too looked slightly unnerved by the spectacle, though she was hiding it much better than the hybrid. She cast a glance at the stranger's prone form. "Though why they'd feel the need to strip him, I can't guess." Nausea crept into Ammon's stomach, despite the past horrors of war he'd witnessed. "Would you want to eat a chicken with feathers still on it, or a fish wearing its scales?" "Well, my frat bros used to swallow goldfish whole," Glass offered cheerfully. Some of them gave a weak laugh. Any further conversation was cut short as the man they'd recovered became conscious again. He sat up so quickly Trent barely had time to grasp his shoulders, looking around wildly. Seeing he was free of the cocoon, the raw panic in his eyes began to subside. "Where... who...?" he gasped, looking over Echo Squad and the other shifters. "Easy, son," Bishop said from his right. "You're okay now. Can you tell us your name?" "Thomas. Thomas Churchill. I'm a gene technician with Arthropod research. At least," he added, giving the admin office a fearful glance, "I was." "Looks like the spiders were doing a little 'research' on you," Boston snorted. "They... I... I can't remember," Churchill answered. "The Mythic, Vost... she broke containment and everything went into lockdown. After that..." he trailed off, his memory failing once more. =*****= Though they could still hear the howling arctic winds, the inside of the complex was slightly warmer than Ammon had been lead to believe. His breath was no more than a thin mist on the frigid air, and Northland's hallways shielded them from the harsh wind-chill. "So, he muttered darkly, "what should we do with him?" In planning the mission, the Master Sergeant had tried to predict any probable twists in their sweep of the complex. Of all the contingencies he'd planned for however, a naked half-mad scientist was not one of them. "You can't leave him here, Sergeant," Iwamura put in, her partially Shifted state lending a low purr to her words. "You have a duty to protect any survivors." She cast a look towards Churchill, who was pulling on a spare set of BDUs their gunner Zane had provided from his pack. Trent laid a hand on her shoulder. "The Master Sergeant knows his duty, ma'am," he stated calmly. "I'm sure you also understand the risks posed by letting him come with us. If he goes raving mad at the wrong time, it could fatally betray our position." She shook his hand away. "And I know the risks. I just want to make clear that we have a duty to help this man, and any others we find." At the far end of the hallway, Rook stood up. "I think we will be needing him anyway," he called back. "Until lockdown is lifted, these doors stay sealed. I do not think you wish to blast every single one down." "No," Ammon agreed. "At least, not yet. Bishop, is he coherent yet?" Churchill answered first. "I'm coherent enough. You need access codes, right? I heard the bit about blasting doors down," the researcher added, noting Ammon's questioning look. "The doors won't open until the lockdown is lifted and we get the power back on." The Master Sergeant waited for him to say more, but the silence stretched on. At length, it was Glass who spoke. "Well, you can kill the emergency lock, right? Get the juice flowing again?" Thomas shook his head. "The only access terminal is in a relay housing at the turbine hub. You can shut off the lockdown from there, and closing the relay will restore power on its own. But only the senior technicians had the emergency codes." "Command gave us those ciphers," Ammon said flatly. "They neglected to mention the exact method of restoring power. I had the distinct impression we weren't supposed to." He spat a curse. "So pop the doors and let the mutants loose," Vick growled. "I didn't sign on to baby-sit crazy men." "Damn straight," Simon added. "I don't see why we can't just sweep the floors, bag these Mythics, and-" A sibilant hiss cut him off, barely a second before the flared hood of a cobra shot out from the darkness. Simon barely rolled out of the way in time, turning a deep black as dark panther fur coated him. The snake struck the tile floor hard, whirling on him. It reared back, preparing to strike again, and disappeared in a spray of gore as a staccato bark of gunfire ripped through it. "Damn it," Simon growled, his voice deep and feral. "He was mine." "I'm sure we'll have plenty more targets soon enough," Churchill stated blandly. "If I didn't get their attention before, I'm certain gunfire would." Ammon winced. "Then we'd better move out. Glass, we need that relay station back on. Be ready to book it back when the lights come up. Take Lorcat and Iwamura with you - we don't know if any Shifters made it out there before the lockdown." Rei stared at him. "We just got inside and you're sending us back out in the cold?" "You're in the Arctic Circle, sweetheart. It's cold everywhere. Use the blizzard gear in your pack, it'll keep you warmer." Ammon turned back to Douglass. "Get 'em back here in one piece, Glass. I have a feeling we'll need the backup." "Affirmative, Sir," Glass saluted. "Trent, Bishop - with me. Rei, Iwamura, get that gear on, we've gotta move." Already, the three soldiers were pulling thick white-and-gray arctic camouflage coats and padded goggles over the rest of their uniform, and with minimal grumbling the two Shifters did likewise. While they suited up, Ammon turned to the rest of the team. "King, escort them up to the door and set up a chokepoint at the entrance. If any slip past us, I want them dead on the floor before they see daylight." "Understood Sir." "Churchill, looks like you're with us. Keep back, shout if you get into trouble. Zane, Oscar, keep an eye on him and blast anything that gets too close. Welsh, Boston... you know what to do." "Fucking right we do," Boston grinned. In the dim light, her eyes had taken on a dull gold sheen. =*****= Ammon was not certain splitting their force was a wise decision. Still, their job was to sweep the facility. They could make it through the top levels using service corridors and stairwells, but without restoring power they could not hope to pass the solid vault-like doors of the Labyrinth. Already, Glass was leading his small group up to the surface - three soldiers, two Shifters, and King's sniper rifle to hold the door. Which left Ammon here, with the Shifters Simon and Victoria, his two gunners, their tech expert Rook, and an unstable researcher they'd picked up along the way. Down the corridor, he could hear something shuffling around in the darkness. His rifle swung in line with the noise, training it on an office door slightly ajar. There was a muted 'click' as he set it for three-round burst. "Let the games begin," he muttered, signaling everyone to move forward. |
| “I can’t believe we’re fucking babysitting,” Boston muttered. She and Simon stood side by side, following Ammon down the darkened corridor. Their tech and the scientist they’d found in the webbing came close behind, the two gunners pulling up the rear. She heard Simon snort in response, but his eyes, as were hers, were trained on the gun barrel that was about to nudge open an office door. She was listening carefully for any sign of movement, but all she could hear was the heavy breathing of the four men at her back. These silly soldiers were so easily spooked. Wasting bullets on a fucking snake. All she’d had to do was put a boot down on its head, but instead here they were, making all this noise and making them so very obvious to whatever lurked in the shadows. She could sometimes hear scrabbling in the walls, and had she been the type to get nervous, she would have been. But Victoria did not get nervous. She did not get scared or rattled. She only wished her “companions” could be the same. Ammon stopped next to the half open door. Simon and Boston followed suit, but she flicked an irritated glance over her shoulder as the scientist ran into the back of her. He swallowed hard, and looked like he was about to open his mouth to apologize. She pressed a finger to her lips in a gesture for silence before he could do so, and then turned away, her gaze flicked back to the door. There was an almost palpable pause, as everyone braced for what was to come next. The Master Sergeant inhaled softly, and then shoved the door open with the butt of his gun. Vic had fully expected to be ambushed the moment the door opened, and she did not find herself disappointed. She only caught a quick image of flashing claws and teeth before she was ducking and rolling to the side, letting whatever it was lunge into the doorframe. She was in the room now, and in the back of her mind she hoped that this thing was the only one in here, or her back was probably fair game. It whirled around, a scaled tail whipping out and catching Ammon full on the shoulder. His gun was almost knocked out of his hand, and she guessed that it was his black ops training that allowed him to keep a small grip on it. Its face swiveled around on a crooked neck to look at her, its eyes a myriad of colors. It looked like it had been an attempt at a chameleon shifter that had gone terribly, terribly wrong. Instead of its hide being the iridescent shades that it meant to be, instead it was patchwork and rotten, some parts of it looking like rotting human flesh. Its eyes were massive, bulging out of the side of a head that was still too human. Part of its mouth looked like it was trying to stay in a vaguely humanoid shape, but the rest of it was jutting out in front of it, giving it a maniac, slack jawed appearance. It gave her the creeps. A tongue shot out from between its mouth, and she jerked to the side, letting it fly past her. A booted foot whipped around, slamming down on top of it and pinning it uncomfortably to the ground. A clawed hand lashed out, leaving dark and bloody slices across its face. She didn’t stop to consider the purple blood now dripping onto the floor. A wretched hissing, growling noise escaped its lips as a black streak leapt onto its back, claws ripping into it. She took it on from the front. She wanted to see its eyes when it died. Ammon had recovered his gun, and had it trained on the mutated chameleon, but he did not fire. She would have laughed if her mouth hadn’t been full of wolf teeth and wrapped around what might have once been a neck. He was probably standing back to test them, to get an idea of what they could handle. And to gun it down should they fuck it up, of course. She was vaguely aware of the scientist’s far too heavy breathing, hauling in gasping breaths in what was probably fear. He had backed up against the wall and was just watching the wolf and the panther rip apart the lizard shape. Neither Victoria nor Simon cared that it had once been a human, because now it was something else, some kind of monster that needed to die for them to survive. They lived in the arenas, and they understood survival. She imagined that the tiny Asian politician would not have shared their Darwinian views, but she was outside in the snow and had no say this time. If Victoria had her way, they would have left the scientist where they’d found him. She wasn’t here to babysit. She was here to kill. And that was precisely what she was doing. |
| "Stop!" came the sudden, powerful cry from the timid scientist's throat, and its power took pretty much everyone by surprise, including Thomas, who'd had to watch the two hybrids rip apart something worse. "Erm..." His nervous voice reasserted itself. "I think its dead now. You can leave it alone." Timidly he approached the creature, now little more than a pile of scaly, bloody tissue. Yet its eyes remained, and while predominatly reptile in appearance they still held a tiny trace of the vestiges of humanity in them. The others aimed their weapons at the creature, but all of them knew that it was dead. And then the stench hit the short Englishman's nose, and with a sudden retching he threw up, coughing and spluttering afterwards. "T-that was a person once. Perhaps someone I knew." Ammon scowled at the weak little attachment which had been imposed on them, but with a hint of understanding passed Thomas a tissue, who carefully dabbed the blots of vomit from his lips. Boston was not at all concerned, preferring to wipe off the purple blood from her own wolfish throat. "Alright Dr Churchill," Ammon reasserted an imposing stance over the shorter man. "You've recovered now. We have to get to the the next lockdown section before Glass and reactivates the station's power." The other man nodded, taking in a breath of air and already seeming to have partly reasserted his composure. All at once, there was movement. A sudden cry from Rook alerted Ammon to the reappearance of the Cobra from earlier, wounded and bleeding from gunfire, but still apparently alive. It thrust its mouth into the belly of the dead Chameleon Shifter, taking in a large chunk of meat, before hissing defensively at Ammon and Thomas, who were some feet away from the rest of the party. A growl came from Boston, but otherwise no other action was made. If the troops fired at the creature they were likely to hit their commander and essort in the process... Thomas gazed up and locked his eyes with the monster, who towered over the timid little man with a threatening gaze. "Thomas, move back slowly..." Ammon ordered, but he was apparently unable to hear as he stared into the eyes of fear. The next minute seemed not to make any sense. One moment Thomas was quite still before the Cobra, then there was an array of thuds as something went crashing into the far off hallway. With a burst of speed everyone raced forward, the belief that Churchill had been gabbed and dragged away pounding into their heads. They rounded the corner to hear light sobs. And then there was Thomas, on his knees before the prone form of the Cobra, now ripped in half and its thick red blood ozzing down the hall. "What the hell happened?" Rook and the other soldiers were in various postures, their guns all at the ready at any sight of a beasty creature. Tom's sobbing ceased, but the frightened crackle of his voice remained. "Its eyes... It wants me...." Ammon grabbed the man, first to his feet and then off the ground. "You better start making sense right now techie, or I swear I will throw you butt naked into the snow outside! Now... WHAT. HAPPENED?" The scientist didn't struggle. "The cobra didn't see it coming, and neither did I... But I've seen it before. And it wants to be fed. Its confused. And hurt. And angry. And hungry...." Another sob escaped his lips. "Don't make me scared, please. It likes the fear..." Disgusted Ammon dropped the man to the the ground, who grogily managed to get up. He had a confused look on his face, as if waking from a dream... or nightmare. Rook patted Ammon on the shoulder. "No sign of any hostiles sir... Is he going to be alright?" "Yeah yeah... but keep a lookout for the Spider Shifter. I think thats what hes talking about... and if we thought what we've seen so far is nasty, I bet things will get worse soon enough..." |
| Simon came up to stand next to Victoria, wiping his hands on the wall, trying to get the blood off of them as he did so. It didn’t bother him so much, the blood. Yeah, the doctor had a point, that they had been human once, maybe even someone he knew, but that someone had tried to kill them. So Simon didn’t have a problem ripping his claws into them. Sneaky little bastards. “Sure is a lot of sniveling going on here,” Simon whispered quietly to Vic. He saw her smile. They started moving again and as they passed the Cobra body, Simon gave it a swift kick for good measure. He was staying in cat form. No questions. He didn’t care what anyone said, these bastards were quick and he didn’t want to be messing around with switching back and forth. Besides, it was dark here and Simon could easily just stand next to a wall and be invisible with his black fur. “The doc knows something,” Vic whispered after a little while, when most of the soldiers were not near them anymore. “I think he’s just crazy,” Simon whispered. “No,” she shook her head. “He knows something.” “I think you’re just crazy.” She punched him in the shoulder and he snorted, rubbing the spot. “Focus,” Ammon spat back at them. Simon mocked him when he turned back around but fell back into place. They walked only a few yards forward before Simon stopped suddenly, his ears quirking, eyes scanning. He’d heard something. And from the way Ammon held up a hand and all the soldiers dropped to one knee, their guns ready, their leader had heard something too. Vic was rigid as well, sniffing the air around her. A small clicking was their only warning. Simon moved quickly, darting around one of the soldiers as he made his way to the doctor. He grabbed the terrified little man and flung him to the ground just as a fist-sized stinger swung at the man’s head from above. Instead of meeting it’s intended target, which would have killed the doctor instantly, the stinger found its way into Simon’s upper bicep. He roared angrily as he brought his claws up to dig into the body the stinger was attached to and pull it from the vent in the ceiling the creature had been hiding in. The spider shifter pulled away quickly, scuttling around faster than Simon gave him credit for. The stinger had detached itself into Simon’s arm and as the soldiers and Vic had at the creature, Simon grasped onto the end of the damn thing and pulled it from his arm, growling a little as he did so. He held it up in front of him and got a good look at the thing. Simon knew nothing about the anatomy of a spider, but he didn’t remember them having stingers. He sighed and looked up to see how the others were doing. He had to shake his head a little as his vision blurred and he put a hand to his eyes. Great, was it poisonous now? He tried to remember his high school biology class. They’d learned about spiders, hadn’t they? He’d never been good in school. Ammon swore and Simon opened his eyes to see the soldiers training their guns at the ceiling again. He snorted. The spider had gotten away, again. That little fucker was gonna be tricky. Victoria was the first one to get back to him. She grabbed his arm and looked at the wound there. “You dying?” she asked flatly. “God I hope not,” he answered half-heartedly. Vic frowned and grabbed his chin, forcing his eyes to meet hers. Ammon had moved up next to them and was inspecting his arm as well. Simon let them do what they wanted. He wasn’t feeling all that great. Mainly he just wanted to take a nap. He wondered how the Sergeant would feel about that proposal. A little nap time? “Doc, that thing attacked you too, did it sting you like this?” Vic asked, turning to look at the man. The doctor nodded hesitantly. “Y-yes,” he answered. “The venom is a paralyzing agent. It uses it to paralyze the victim and then it normally wraps them in its web. But when I was stung, I was out rather quickly. I-I’m surprised he’s still standing, to be honest.” Simon grinned sluggishly. “It’s because I’m bad ass,” he said. Besides feeling a bit tired and slow, the venom wasn’t affecting him like the doctor had described. “More like a dumb ass,” Vic countered. “Can you keep moving?” Ammon asked as one of the soldiers started wrapping the wound on Simon’s arm. “Sure thing, sir,” he said tiredly. “Good,” Ammon answered, clapping him on the shoulder and pulling out his radio. “Glass, status,” he said into the radio as it crackled to life. |
| "Fuck this shit," Gemma muttered under her breath, shedding the arctic gear, feeling the snow sear into her skin, burning in its unimaginable cold. In the second before her blood froze, she shifted completely, growling softly to announce the change to those around her. For something that involved the complete restructuring of the human body into an animal, it was a process that was surprisingly quiet and could lead to shock among a Shifter's company. Rei looked down at her, a slight disdain glinting in her eyes, masking a dull shine of jealousy; no matter what form Lorcat took, she would continue to freeze. Cheetahs were made for cold about as much as...well, Gemma really couldn't think of an apt comparison, but the hybrid had to be miserable. Trent turned around to acknowledge the shift; his only sign of surprise a raised eyebrow and a crooked smile before he turned back to guarding the left flank of the group. The other two ignored her altogether, which suited Gemma just fine as far as she was concerned. The snow nearly froze her nose, and it was hard to gather a scent from the frozen air, but Gemma searched for the turbine hub nonetheless; it couldn't really be far from the compound, but snow could blind even the best trained military expert. Plus, Gemma rationalized, she would know before anyone else if there were other Shifters either on the way to or at the turbine hub. No matter how well-trained the soldiers were, they were still human. "Iwamura, you still understand me back there?" Glass shouted back to her; Gemma's ears barely picked up on the sound with all the wind distortion. She gave a small growl of acknowledgment and annoyance; she was a Snow Leopard, not an imbecile. "Do you see or smell anything of the enemy? Growl if it's yes." Gemma stayed silent, slinking across the snow in that self-satisfied way that only cats can ever accomplish. "Copy that." The snow swirled, blurring the figures of even those closest to Gemma into dark blobs against a gray-white backdrop. Where could that turbine be, for fuck's sake? It had been nearly ten minutes since they stepped from the underground tunnels into the ice-storm, and that ten minutes had felt like a miniature eternity. They were moving as quickly and efficiently as possible through the snow, and had been fortunate enough to be largely left alone. All of the Shifters must be within the actual compound. Gemma hoped the other group was alright; they must have been ambushed by now, with all the attention their gunshots would have garnered. Knowing the other Shifters, however, Gemma doubted that danger had anything to do with anything. They were probably enjoying themselves. Glass held up a blurry fist, bringing the group to a stop. "The turbine is ahead. Trent, Bishop, circle the building and secure the perimeter. Iwamura, secure the interior. Lorcat, cover her. I'll cover everyone." Gemma padded forward toward the dark smudge in the distance, sensing Rei following behind her miserably. Trent and Bishop had already made it to the building and were circling around the small structure, their weapons ready to fire at the slightest inkling of danger. Gemma reached the entrance and stared at the entrance grid; it was shorted out, like much of the electronic equipment back at the compound, but it was intact. The door should push open, then, as long as it wasn't locked closed. Rei uncrossed her arms long enough to push the door to the side along its track; it slid easily, as Gemma thought it would. Tensing for the chance of attack, Gemma stepped inside the freezing building and sniffed around, her eyes getting used to the snow-free darkness of the turbine. It smelled clean; no Shifters had been inside for a very long time, if at all. She turned and let out a sharp growl; it was the closest to a roar that a Snow Leopard could get. Stepping further into the turbine, Gemma shifted back into her human form, quickly shouldering her blizzard gear back over her slender form. Shortly after, the soldiers came into the small room like so many James Bonds, moving in quick bursts. "It's clear," Gemma said. "No Shifters have been near here. You know the codes?" Glass nodded. "Yeah. Master Sergeant gave them to me. So, we're supposed to override the shutdown. Churchill says that power should restore itself once we've done that." It was amazing how informal soldiers could be without the imposing presence of their military superior. "Trent, Bishop, guard the door. Let us know if anything suspicious has followed us and we'll shut the door. King'll snipe their asses and then we can head back to the compound to find the others." The two men moved to their position, followed by Rei who offered her sight to their efforts. Gemma remained with Glass, who stared at the controls. "Do you see a generator around here?" "There's probably not a mass generator. Just something powerful enough to turn on the key-pad and pound in the code. That'll set off the turbines and get the power running again." Gemma crouched, searching the area under the controls for anything that could act as a generator. A small lever, covered in ice and snow, jutted from a curiously square extension of the control tower. Gemma placed her warmed hands on the lever to melt some of the ice and yanked it down, cracking the remaining layer of ice. A sound like the starting of a car whirred through the room and one of the keypads, also under a layer of ice, lit up. "Sweet." "Good work." Glass wiped away the ice and, consulting a notebook he pulled from his vest, typed in a few numbers. "Here's hoping this works, eh?" Pressing the enter key, Glass stepped back and waited. Gemma stared at the keypad, hoping that something would happen and the override of the shutdown would be successful. Everyone stood in silence, holding their breath. After a few moments, a beeping, slow and quiet, steadily emanated from the control station. It grew in both volume and rhythm and then, in one sudden moment, the entire room lit up and the turbines creaked out of their frozen slumber. Gemma sighed out her pent-up breath and clutched her chest. "Thank God," she breathed. "That is a fucking relief." From behind her, Trent coughed. "I agree. But we should get back to the compound. I heard shots from the entrance. King's been at work and I think we've been followed." |
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