Fern grunted and grabbed onto the handhold beside their seat as the floor shuddered beneath them. The whine of the turbines reverberated through the walls as the transport took to the air, spinning loudly enough to give them a headache. They squared their shoulders, black ceramic armor clinking quietly as the plates shifted against one another.
"God, can you believe this bullshit?" said Dove, another faceless figure in black armor in the too-cramped, red-lit interior. "Seriously. This is even worse than Manhattan. Who dropped the fucking ball and missed that there was an honest-to-God underground lair under this shithole city?"
Fern tried to ignore her. Dove had a potty mouth and chattered when nervous. Not that they weren't nervous too. Everyone was. PRT Heavy Response Field Agents got the dirtiest assaults, but this kind of operation with full parahuman support, multiple villain capes, and a band of ex-military mercs with access to tinkertech weapons was rare. With a hidden underground lair on top of things, it felt like they were in a damn technothriller.
Also, more proximately, Fern got airsick and was trying not to show it. They knew by bitter experience that throwing up in these helmets was about the worst thing anyone could do.
"Ah, quit your bitching," Coyote groused, nearly hunched into a ball to fit into the too-small seats. "We didn't even draw the hardest task. We've just got to secure the generators. We coulda drawn taking down Shatterbird."
"But that's what I mean. How the fuck did the local idiots not catch that there were all these pumps to stop the place flooding? And how much fuel they must've bought for all these generators. Or–"
"Dunno. Don't care. Maybe you should ask the locals, if you're dying to find out?"
"Well, maybe I will!"
"Don't bother." That was Tortoise; chill, calm, and one of the biggest guys Fern had ever seen. Dove postured and strutted because she was small and felt she had something to prove; Tortoise had the calm that came from knowing that he could pick up anyone in the team even if they were in their full gear.
Fern let their bickering fade away, and focused on controlling their stomach. They closed their eyes, slowing their breathing until the air was barely whispering past their lips. But even the self-soothing meditation couldn't stop the sharp slivers of ice from crawling up their spine and into their chest.
The transport jerked to the side, sending Fern directly into Rabbit beside them. The tall woman grunted, before shoving them back. Fern tried to turn their groan into a grunt. Everyone was nervous going on an op like this, even (especially) with parahuman support. The turbulence didn't help.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Slow and steady.
"One minute out!" called Miss Militia over their helmet radios from up front with the pilots. "Dragon reports she's in position for the breach. And Romeo and Sierra units are green."
Fern fidgeted before clasping their free hand around the stock of their carbine, fingers idly caressing the grip. They slowly brought their attention back to their body. Their chest moving in and out with every breath. The hard plastic of the seat behind them. The soft padding inside their helmet, already starting to smell from the sweat. The reassuring hum of the turbines outside carrying them halfway across Brockton Bay in a matter of minutes. There was no use worrying. It would be over one way or another soon enough.
The sound of an explosion up ahead, the blast radius close enough to rock the transport, startled Fern out of their thoughts. The others were starting to get out of their seats, hands secure over their primaries. Any weapons checks had been done long ago, everyone knew their roles. All that was left was to raise the curtain.
The red light above the door flashed green with a buzz. Fern bared their teeth. Showtime.
The gray light was bright compared to the dim interior of the 'copter. It lit a world in ruins. And it had been ruined before the Dragonsuit at the landing site had begun its work, filling the air with dust and noise.
It was bad form to be distracted while breaching a location, but in this case the distraction was a literal two foot deep hole right at the end of the ramp, half-flooded with brackish water. Fern had no idea who left it there, but they almost tripped over it.
They let out a little sigh of relief, happy to be on solid ground again.
Compared to Boston, the city was a nightmare. Chunks of buildings were still missing–whether from a cape fight or Leviathan was unclear. The stench hit Fern the second they opened their mouth to breathe, a kind of underlying bitterness to the air that meant someone had been using the area as a bathroom.
"Fuck, stinks like shit," Dove groused over the radios. For all her complaining, though, her head scanned from left to right like a machine, covering their rear as they advanced down into the pit. Dragon had dug her way down to find an underground concrete tunnel, and now it was bare and exposed.
"Then mask up," Coyote retorted, the lower faceplate of his armor already in place.
"He's right. Everyone, masks on. Dragon says she's nearly through the last layer. Then form up on me."
Fern nodded, slipping into position on the cape's right. Reaching into their vest, they picked up the lower facial mask and attached it to their helmet, sealing them inside the suit. Exchanging the shit and ammonia and salt air of Brockton Bay for the stale plasticity and rubber of the rebreather wasn't a great deal, they thought as they breathed in, getting used to the slight draw of processed air through the faceplate's filters.
Working their shoulders, they took up their breacher position at Miss Militia's four o'clock. Their breaching shotgun was a heavy weight on their hip, their carbine was a reassuring presence in their hands. Lethal force wasn't usually authorized from the start. It was this time. "Fox, in position," they reported.
The others sounded off;
"Rabbit, in position."
"Dove, in position."
"Coyote, in position."
Breath rasping inside their helmet, already hot, already not-quite-fresh, smelling of the protein bar they'd had before setting off and the orange juice they'd had earlier in the morning. Heart pounding to the great, repetitive thumps of Dragon's war machine. The acrid taste of adrenaline in their mouth, the trembling in their legs that was just the thump of the digging equipment (right?). And then.
Dragon let loose the loudest sound yet; a screeching clanging groan. With a roar of effort, the machine in front of them tore off a massive section of reinforced concrete and metal before tossing it to the side. Without a moment's hesitation the machine dived into the hallway–one of the few large enough to accommodate her size.
"Two flash, two charlie-sierra!" Miss Militia yelled. Her power morphed into a grenade launcher with a flash of green. Thwoomp. Then another flash, and another thwoomp without any pause to reload. Flash-thwoomp. Flash-thwoomp.
The last one was still in the air when the first detonated, the flash lighting up the dust in the air and painting harsh black shadows from the trench, while the bang was even louder than Dragon's machinery. Then a second flash-bang.
Miss Militia took point as they entered the structure, Fern on her four o'clock. The air was hazy with CS gas. Dragon had chosen the opening well: in the corner of the room. And in an enclosed space like this, a double flash-bang wouldn't be fun for anyone.
But fuck 'em.
Fern spotted a figure, doubled over in pain, highlighted in bright white on black in their HUD. Their carbine chattered a burst straight to center mass. The figure dropped.
"Tango down," Fern reported, taking cover beside a fallen table.
Another to the left; no, Rabbit had them.
"Tango down. Runner at niner."
A machine gun's chatter, stitching a line of bullets across the wall. There had been a person in the way. Now; meat.
"Tango down," reported Miss Militia.
The first few seconds were a massacre. The mercenaries must have known they would breach here – how could they not? But two flashbangs in an enclosed space had hit them like a punch from a heavyweight, and then had come Dragon. A barricade of tables and chairs might as well have been discarded tissue boxes. Her heat ray had burnt blast shadows into the wall.
Within twenty seconds, it was over.
There were two entrances to the room; Dragon took one, sealing it up with dark, hissing sealant foam. "Good luck," she said over comms. "I'll hold this point."
The rest of the squad filed in, covering sightlines and angles continuously to maintain security. When the signal came, Fern fell back from the gaping opening that Dragon left behind to the main corridor of the base, and moved up behind Miss Militia again.
So far, so good. They hadn't exactly been quiet, but that wasn't the goal. They hadn't taken any losses, and the way forward was clear.
Miss Militia held up a fist, and Fern froze. Three fingers. Two. One. They swept around the corner together. The hallway stretched out ahead, white walls and concrete floor as depressingly uninspired as Fern's old dorm. Well, now that they thought about it, that said more about Brownfield University than it did this place.
The two slowly crept forward, guns pointed ahead. Miss Militia didn't need to say anything for Fern to quiet their steps.
"Bird down," the radio crackled in their ear.
"Oh, thank fuck," Dove said, and for once not even Coyote got on her back for radio chatter. That had been the biggest immediate concern in the operation. Watchdog had confirmed that Shatterbird was housed in the base, and given her exponentially destructive capabilities in an urban environment, they couldn't afford to ignore her. Odawa team must have gotten to her and finished the job before Coil could marshal his forces. Fern didn't allow themselves to relax. It was still early.
Shoes squeaked on the floor as the squad advanced inch by inch. This was the part no one remembered about any raid, but always sucked when it happened. The waiting. The slow, agonizing pace required to do things safely.
Miss Militia put a hand up to her ear briefly, as if to confirm something, then held up a fist. The squad froze behind her. Three fingers. A fist held behind her head. One finger. An open hand behind the head.
Three contacts. One cape.
Fern's fingers tightened against their gun. With Shatterbird out of the picture, that still left a lot of hard counters to this squad. This could be anyone.
Miss Militia pointed to the door on the left. Instantly, the squad composition changed. Boar pointed his carbine down the hallway, to cover in case someone came around the corner. Rabbit took the door on the other side, standing to the right of the opening side. That left Miss Militia and Fern safe to stack up on the door.
"Door," Miss Militia ordered.
An electric jolt shot up their spine, racing between nerve endings and leaving the frantic energy of a sugar high in its wake. Fern couldn't help a grin. Fuck, there was no high like this. They examined the hinges and the lock. Too shielded for their breaching shotgun. They shook their head, then waved the squad's demolition expert in.
Tortoise came forward, setting up a shaped charge on the door while Fern covered him. His name was fitting, in a way. Most of the specialty work he did took far too much time to be practical, but when it hit, it hit
hard.
He finished the set-up and stepped back with a nod, fingering the detonator. Miss Militia gave the signal. The
thump took out the lock and a section of door frame, concrete dust raining down from the ceiling and settling like snow on their black armor. Even before the noise had ended, Miss Militia kicked in the door and swept into the room. Her automatic shotgun roared, and a dazed mercenary went down. Fern kept on her right, until their visor highlighted a figure in a top hat through the smoke… before it was gone, replaced by a mercenary already starting to double over from the gas.
Shit! "Eclipse!" they yelled into the squad mic, taking cover behind one of the beds in what they now realized must have been an adjunct dormitory. The squad relayed their replies, confirming they'd all heard the warning.
Trickster. Mover four to five. Could swap objects of the same approximate size or mass within his range of sight, including himself. The briefing had been clear about the threat he posed: if he could see you, you were in danger. And he was the kind of rat bastard who'd swap an agent with himself just to trick someone into shooting them. Hence the standing orders to use less-lethal weapons on him – because it might not be him you hit.
All of this flashed through Fern's mind in an instant as their hand instinctively went for the flashbang on their belt. The sound of gunfire was so loud their ears were ringing even through their ear protection, but they forced themselves to pull the pin and throw it over the bunk in Trickster's direction.
By the time they'd realized their mistake, it was already far too late.
Between Dragon's drones and Horizon's intel their vision advantage was almost complete. While individuals (and even some capes) could slip the net in Coil's base for short amounts of time, it was never long before the heroes reacquired them. That information was streamed in real time to the visor every PRT officer had, providing an accurate radar and overview of every potential threat.
This was what made it possible for ordinary men and women to stand up to a parahuman on their own, why so many villains (and independents) who dismissed the PRT got caught off guard. Information supremacy.
But even with all that technology and preparation, things still fell apart in the field. Fern's grenade flew in a low arc across the room for a moment before Trickster caught sight of it out of the corner of his eye. He only needed a split second. The actual switch was so quick Fern didn't even register it; one second the grenade was on its way, the next it was a small object flying harmlessly towards Trickster. A clip from one of the team's carbines.
The scream and blinding white light from behind revealed where the errant explosive had gone. Trickster must have swapped the grenade for one of the extra clips on Tortoise's belt, and the flashbang had promptly detonated against their team member's abdomen. Fern winced, and clutched at the stock of their carbine. Flashbangs were technically nonlethal, but that close the heat would burn straight through the ablative ceramic plating and into your gut.
The radio call a second later confirmed it. Tortoise down.
Fern growled and swapped to full automatic. Rules of engagement said not to risk lethal fire against Trickster, but he'd been looking towards the flashbang as it detonated. Even at a distance, if it had just blinded him
enough...
But right as they were about to pull the trigger, their finger met unyielding metal. Fuck, he'd swapped their carbine! Fern was left holding a dumbbell from one of the nearby training sets, reeling to adjust to the sudden change.
Before they could even fully register it, though, a clatter of gunfire from across the room drew their attention, and a moment later had them diving further behind cover. Trickster had their carbine now, and by the look of the pattern in the walls was attempting to spray down the room. But his spacing was amateurish at best. Was that the CS gas, or was he just a terrible shot?
Dismissing the question, Fern pulled out their radio. "Tango is armed, one o'clock, suppressive fire!"
Their breath left them in a sigh of relief as they saw the rest of the squad hunker down immediately, Dove taking the moment to pull back Tortoise into the relative cover of the doorway. Trickster kept firing, spraying down the room with long, wild bursts, frantically yelling something nobody could hear over the deafening sound of gunfire.
Fern closed their eyes, and waited. This was their gun, they knew exactly how many rounds were left in it. Counting on full auto was tricky at best, but Trickster clearly wasn't accustomed to the weapon judging from the inaccurate and inconsistent fire. Finally, the sound that they were waiting for echoed across the room. A metallic click. Trickster was empty.
They didn't hesitate for an instant. Fern vaulted the low bunk they were hidden behind, relying on their helmet to navigate through the wreckage of the room and the ever present gloom of the CS gas. With all the lights taken out by gunfire, Trickster didn't see them until they were right on top of him.
They crashed into the scrawny cape with all 273 pounds of body armor, spare rounds, and rage. He cursed, trying to get the upper hand by squirming away towards Fern's right. If they hadn't been briefed on his power set it would've worked. But they made sure to go for his sightline first, using their right arm to keep his vision limited while they held his body down with their left.
He struggled for a moment longer, but it was already too late. Dove quickly joined the scuffle and smothered Trickster's legs and left hand in containment foam, pinning him to the floor. From there it was just cleanup.
"Eclipse down." It felt like victory.
Fern took a moment to scan the surrounding room, still breathing heavily as they stood back up. Miss Militia had been dealing with a score of soldiers on the left, judging by the laser burns etched into the walls. From the blood stains on the other side, she hadn't been pulling her punches firing back. Fern couldn't blame her.
"Tortoise," Miss Militia ordered. "You're wounded, stay here and cover Trickster, make sure he doesn't get free. The rest of you..."
With a nod, Miss Militia signaled the squad to form up on the opposite door.
"Let's go."
"Sol down."
Fern allowed themselves a hint of a smile. Sundancer was one of the more dangerous capes they could encounter, simply because of how instantly lethal her power was. Defiant or Hupa squad must have been doing good work.
It was a messy, chaotic, brutal operation. But they made progress. Miss Militia brought firepower they sorely needed, opening every engagement with more ordnance than any of them carried. It made clearing this underground warren doable.
But doable didn't mean easy, or safe. Coyote caught a Tinkertech laser to the temple from a soldier just coming out from one of the other doors. Bad luck. Didn't stand a chance.
Dove got hit by a laser in the gut, screaming as it cauterized her insides. Fern winced as the smell of cooked pork and shit filled the air. Fifty fifty odds on her coming out of that alive. They'd done what they could.
By the time they secured the generator room, there was almost no resistance left. Between Horizon taking out Genesis, and Defiant mopping up Ballistic, the capes were secured. Dragon had informed them at one point that both Coil and the VIP were secured, though who knew what that meant. At this point, they were just mopping up stragglers.
"And clear," Miss Militia said as they made a final pass of the generator room. Her painted armor was as dusty and dirt-smeared as theirs; through her gas mask they could see trails of sweat down her forehead. "Fox, with me. The rest of you, hold this location."
The squad disassembled, taking overwatch positions in strategic areas of the rooms and keeping their weapons ready, but otherwise allowing themselves to get as close to relaxed as they dared. There was little chance the enemy could mount a counterattack at this point, but it didn't do well to get caught off guard. Especially when one shot was all it would take.
Fern followed after Miss Militia. "Ma'am?"
The hero glanced at the rest of the squad, before looking back to them. "There's a new objective that Dragon has identified here. I need to deal with it, and I need someone to watch my back."
Fern paused. "Something that wasn't in the briefing?."
Miss Militia's brow furrowed. "Yes. Possible hostile cape, unknown affiliation - possibly linked to the Travellers."
Fern's stomach clenched. Unexpected surprises in a mission that had already been a bloodbath was not a good sign. But what Miss Militia wanted, Miss Militia got. Captain Eaton had said as much. "Yes, ma'am."
Miss Militia's shoulders relaxed slightly in a way that only revealed how much tension she was under. "Thank you. From the initial reports, I don't want to do this alone."
"What are we going to do, Dragon?" Horizon's voice sounded off from ahead of them. Fern and Miss Militia turned the corner, to see what looked like a monster of a Dragon suit, Defiant, and seven other officers standing around a sealed metal door.
"Unknown at present," Dragon responded as they drew closer. "Coil's files were air gapped, and I'm still decrypting them. Hard drives." The last word almost sounded like a curse.
"Precautions?" Defiant asked, stepping forward. Fern took the opportunity to join up with the rest of the officers, not letting their gun down yet. "I'm not expecting a full briefing, but do we have a ballpark rating?"
Dragon's sigh was evident. "Best I can do is match her to a rampaging cape up in Boston a few months back. Maybe a Brute powerset; in light of that we've got authorization from mission control to treat it as a Brute 5 if it turns out to be hostile."
"If," one of the other officers muttered. "If it's that one, it doesn't leave bodies."
Fern clenched their gun, remembering the rumors of people going missing, dozens dead, some kind of a monster tearing up a city block. Fuck, this was
that cape?
Defiant's grip on his spear tightened. "Dammit."
"I can see her form from here," Horizon said, looking slightly to the left of the sealed door. "Large amorphous mass, with a figure sticking out from the top. Light is too dim to see outside of that."
"One moment. Yes, there's external control over the lights. Let me just–"
Horizon gasped. "Huge, at least five meters across. Multiple heads, mouths, arms, legs, other limbs. The girl doesn't look in a good state."
"Are you suggesting it's eating her?" Defiant asked, rocking back and forth on his heels as if he wanted to move in right now.
"I don't know. The thing - it isn't moving. Maybe it's inactive. And it's the size of a truck at least. I don't think Brute 5 is going to cut it if it gets violent. God only knows how Coil got that thing down here without anyone noticing."
Fuck. Fern's chest was clenching inwards, their teeth almost shattering under the pressure in their jaw. The pay wasn't nearly good enough for this.
"Then I'm up front," Dragon said, turning back to the door.
"Are you sure you really want to–"
Dragon cut the cape off. "We have no idea what this cape's capabilities are, how they feel towards the Protectorate, if they're even affiliated with Coil. For all we know they're just as much a captive as Dinah. I have to take that chance."
Fern took a nervous breath in, and back out. Their gun suddenly felt so tiny and pointless in their hands. But it was better than nothing.
Another minute passed, before Dragon made a humming noise. "Got the passcode. Stand back, and prep for hostile contact."
And then, Dragon opened the door to a monster.
A/N:
This chapter was written with the help of Earth Scorpion, without whom this could not have happened. Thank you so much.
Alright, that's a full wrap on Binary! Promise you won't be upset at the ending now? No? More hiding from the thread for me I guess…
This was one of the POV's I wanted to do from the very beginning, and yet it was by far the hardest to write. I guess that's some function of it being an OC, but it's also just the nature of the viewpoint. I suck at action scenes, regardless of what y'all might think, and this one in particular fought me with everything it had. I considered cutting it altogether. But ultimately I couldn't justify doing so and also explaining what happened during the Coil raid in a way that seemed organic and natural in either Taylor or Victoria's pov. So this happened instead. Think of it as a "behind the scenes" moment.
Today's rec is
Scarab, by via! Do you like Ciara? Do you like magic? Do you like lesbians and fae and not-quite-intimacy? Go read this fic.
