XCOM+MCU Peggy Sue: Ferris
- Thread starter u63r
- Start date
In retrospect, Tony Stark refraining from sex with two beautiful women, even for a few seconds, is patently unbelievable.Stormwind said:
Or, for Tony, a dream sequence.cyko2041 said:
I seriously considered having this end with someone waking up in bed. Funnily enough, there's some actual story hints in this chapter*. Actually, given that Vahlen mentioned to Tony that she has trouble sleeping, it would be perfectly in character.
* No, it's not about Vahlen being an s. She's clearly a switch.
08 It's the most sophisticated combat hardware around
08 It's the most sophisticated combat hardware around
-O-
"Do you have any idea," said Tony Stark, "how inefficient the human body is?"
Vahlen did, but played the straight woman anyway. "It seems to work well enough."
On her screen, Tony shook his head. "If the human body were a product, something someone sat down and designed, no one would buy it. It's a kludge. Either it was designed by an amateur, or God has a weird sense of humor."
"I like to think so," Schmidt said from her half of the screen. "But what does that have to do with HYDRA's robots?"
"Right." Stark gathered himself. "These -" he waved a hand at the holographic protection behind him "- were not designed by an amateur, just like the Doc's team figured."
"Go on."
"In fact, they're based off of our tech."
"What?"
"Remember how some of our gear went missing during STONE TEMPLE - I mean, STONE PROPHET? I think they reverse-engineered it. We're not sure whether they're AI or piloted, though. And instead of using batteries, they went with Elerium. They've successfully managed to use the aliens' power source."
"Albeit less efficiently," the German cut in.
"At what point do you two give me the good news?"
"The drones are also armored against high temperatures -"
For just a moment, in her mind's eye, Vahlen saw fire.
"- which protected them from the backbeat when they fired in enclosed spaces."
"I'm sorry, what spaces?"
"Ah, yes...Director, they fired rockets from inside vehicles, which they were presumably transported in."
"And they're tough enough to take that?"
"Not exactly. They withstood the initial blast, but were weakened, making them vulnerable to plasma and laser fire."
"Pardon?"
"Going by the security tapes," Jocasta said, "both HYDRA and the x-rays thought the robots were ours."
"What?"
"Let me guess," broke in Bradford, his first contribution to the conversation, "their commanders forgot to tell them about the robots."
"According to the prisoner, yes," Vahlen said. "They were told they would be supported, but they weren't told what form it would take."
"I'm pretty sure those robots were built as test models, not all-up troopers," Stark opined. "They seem built for stealth, not direct combat. I think they're supposed to be hidden in potential hotspots, then deployed when the time is right. I'm guessing they didn't drive themselves."
"Stark, are you saying HYDRA is using ninja robots?" Schmidt asked.
Tony kept his poker face. "Ninja robots with rocket launchers, yes."
"Vunderbar," Vahlen said. "In other news, Research has managed to analyze the infiltrators' venom, especially the coagulation. Not only can we now make our own medical kits with anti-venom, but our biofoam now sets twice as fast as it used to, as well as being much more durable. "
"What sort of weapons brought down the Ranger?" Bradford asked.
"A combination of explosive damage, and some sort of electrical discharge from the unknown weapon that disrupted the aircraft's electrical system. We've already come up with ideas on how to fix it. Which may also, hopefully, increase bandwidth for its radio and cell relays."
"Which brings us to my next point." Tony picked up his tablet, and walked out of view of the camera attached to the TV in his office. A second later, his feed switched to the tablet, showing the lab and something that looked a lot like a bomb-disposal robot. "Meet the...well, we're just calling it 'Rover'."
"Why not bipedal?" Schmidt asked.
"Because it's dumb. No, seriously, it's dumb. Remember what I said about kludges? Do you know how complicated it is for people to just walk? It's actually really hard to build and program a bipedal robot from scratch, even for my team. But these? We've had these for ages."
"Found it," said a woman from offscreen, and Stark's assistant walked into view. She hung something small and shiny on the robot, then turned to face her boss and froze. "I'm live, aren't I?"
"Yep."
"Stark, punch in on that."
"Well, you are the Director," Tony muttered. He zoomed in on the glinting object, which turned out to be a dog's tag, reading, of course, "Rover". "By the way, her idea."
Schmidt's lips turned up at one corner. "I like it. Leave it on."
Stark switched cameras, to show the team his grinning face from an unflattering angle. "That's all I've got, so, unless there's something else on the agenda..."
"One last thing," the German said. She held up a bag with a long, thin object inside. "This was in the wreckage of HYDRA's jamming truck. It doesn't match any part of the vehicle or the device, and we suspect it's responsible for the explosion."
Schmidt stiffened.
"It's an arrow shaft," she explained. "Which means that I need to place a call to our sister agency."
-/-
Laura was late for lunch. So Eamon started without her.
She had her glasses set nearly to the side, lest dressing spatter them, and her tablet off to her left so she could hold the fork with her right hand - and oh, wouldn't that just give mother fits?
Well, besides the whole "magic transsexual" thing.
Ah, there was Laura now.
"Why are you eating a salad?" said the soldier, setting down her spinach...something. Irene might not have been able to recognize - or pronounce - half the dishes the chef made, but they were always delicious.
Irene raised an eyebrow.
"I was trying to say, there's nothing wrong with your body - uh, I mean -"
"I just felt like a salad. Are you trying to fatten me up so you can eat me?"
"Crap. You figured it out," Byler deadpanned.
Eamon found himself putting the next spoonful in his mouth in a...less than efficient manner. "Promises, promises," he murmured.
The other woman's face cycled rapidly through confusion, dawning realization, thoughtfulness, and embarrassment before she coughed awkwardly and opened her mouth -
"Laura, we need to talk about - am I interrupting something?"
"Sergeant Okoye, I presume?" Irene offered her hand, which the African took.
"Lieutenant, now. I wanted to talk to my Corporal here -"
"You never told me you got promoted!"
"They actually put her up to Sarge, then bumped her down one for that stunt in the garage. They split us off to form a new team, hence the promotion. Which we haven't named. It has to be approved by the Old Lady, of course, but we get to make the shortlist."
"Can I help?"
"No problem." Okoye sat down next to her Corporal, and looped her earbuds over her ears. "So, where are you from?"
County Cork, Ireland.
"Chicago. And before you ask, Chinese-Indian for mum, and Black-Greek for dad."
"Yoh, girl, you're just a walking diversity quota, aren't you?"
Irene choked on her salad.
"Sorry, I didn't -"
"No, not that. It's just that...I had some similar thoughts recently. So, have any ideas for your crew of merry, fresh out of BaseSec rookies?"
"We were discussing animal names. Predators, like sharks."
"Like Mako Squad," Laura said.
"Is it Mah-ko, or May-ko?" Irene inquired.
"Good question."
"How about...Hammerhead?"
"I think that may be too long for a call sign."
"Tiger?" Okoye suggested.
Irene, giggling: "Blood tiger?"
Laura snorted. "Tiger blood?"
"Sabertooth?" said the El-Tee.
"How about just Saber?" asked the engineer.
Laura frowned. "Katana?"
Okoye nixed the idea, emphatically. "Only if we want our team to sound like it's been named by a twelve-year old boy. And more than a few girls." She raised a hand. "Yes, yours truly."
"How about Team Rainbows and Kittens?" Laura said.
"Please stop. Just...stop."
Okoye's music changed to something harder, more driving.
"Really, ma'am? Please don't tell me you listen to that generic teen angst crap," Laura said.
"They...they have a lot of variety!" the South African huffed.
"Okay, the music does. But the actual lyrics are always the same vague defiance-n'-pain. I defy you to find a song that could be about anything from your parents grounding you to not getting an iPad Micro for your birthday. You've heard of pre-packaged pop groups? This is generic aaangst."
Clearly, Laura had been bottling this up for a while.
"There's nothing wrong with consistency -"
"Big difference between 'consistency' and singing the same song for a decade."
"The good face pain, but the great embrace it," Irene murmured.
"Did you say something?" asked the squad leader.
"Nothing, just...- wait. Rewind a few seconds. And give me an earbud."
Laura stared. "You aren't planning to use Linkin Park for inspiration, are y -"
"Quiet." Under her breath; "Each word gets lost in the -"
-/-
"Ladies and gentlemen," Okoye said to her fresh-faced recruits, "Welcome to Echo-3."
Laura didn't quite manage to hide her wince.
-/-
"How are you liking the new suit, Sam?" Flint asked.
Private Asami Masumoto looked up. She had been checking the manual for the new medkits, and liked the part when she could use less of the medspray. And now Flint, the gaijin, was trying to make conversation.
"It's okay," she mumbled. Go away.
"What about the drop pack?"
"It's fine." To make up for the weeks she had missed in counselling, she had spent twice as much time on the Playground with the new equipment than she need to to be certified.
No more weakness.
No more failure.
"It chafes a little around the shoulders on me. It's it okay for you?"
"I'm fine."
"Just checking, Masumoto-sama."
The Japanese woman winced. "Ah. You found out."
"Well, not on purpose. I was just wondering what your last name meant -"
"And the first result was my family's company. And then you learned about the girl who wanted to be a soldier, like the sticking-up nail."
"Sorry, what?"
"Japanese saying. Never mind." She took a deep breath. "I wanted to get away from my past." Her eyes were pleading, now, and she hated that she had to do this, that he had forced her to it. "I just want to be plain old Asami. Or just Sam."
"Okay. Sorry."
Hale frowned in their direction. "What are you two whispering about back there?"
"Nothing," they both chorused, like a pair of guilty schoolchildren. Internally, Sam winced.
The Canadian looked at them sidelong- was that a smirk? - but let it go.
"Drop in five," declared the Ranger's pilot.
"Ready?" Pena asked.
"Ready!" the team chorused.
"All right! Time for that voodoo we do!"
-/-
"Director," said the gravelly-voiced man in the shadows.
Schmidt nodded at the man on the screen in her office. "Councillor."
The man paused to choose his words. "After the failure of your last extraction mission, we were...reluctant to employ you in that role again. We considered calling upon your sister agency -"
"With all due respect, sir, SHIELD isn't exactly cut out for open combat."
"And XCOM was never intended for escort duty. Captain America was never intended to be a single soldier. Do you understand?"
The Director's eyes narrowed. "I...see your point."
"I want you to tell me what happened, in your own words."
"Voodoo Squad dropped in, using Development's new drop packs. They have a smaller signature than the Rangers, and stealth was critical."
"I understand that they are one-use only."
"Yes, but reusable. However, once they're removed, they go into a security mode. This keeps them from being examined or disassembled. We can even remotely trigger a self-destruct."
"I am glad to see you making efficient use of Council resources, Director."
"Thank you."
-/-
Sgt. Carlock was actually pretty cooperative, once he understood who they were. The combat engineer took the SMG the soldiers handed him gratefully.
"So, where's our ride?" said the Royal Engineer, as he chambered a round in his borrowed Kriss.
"We are the ride," Hale responded, and halted at the door to the building's garage. "Jo, any contracts on the security cameras?"
"None visible. But I have a lot of blindspots."
"Your call, boss."
Sergeant Pena frowned. "Jo, Mark every van or SUV, put it on our HUDs. I'm on hot-wiring duty. Actually, Jo, see if any have remote start."
-/-
"The team acquired vehicles, then attempted to leave the garage."
"And that was when they came under fire?"
"Not exactly."
-/-
The ball went up when Flint got too close to a fire extinguisher as he was edging toward the exit to check their route.
Normally, this wouldn't be a problem. But when the obvious red canister exploded into a dozen whipping, lashing, barbed tendrils that wrapped around his body, which then proceeded to pump large amounts of electricity into him, well, that was a problem.
-/-
"At this point, HYDRA forces revealed themselves, and began to put suppressing fire into the garage exit. I surmise that the drop packs were an unknown factor for them, that we arrived before they were able to set up. To prevent them sneaking around to other entrances and flanking us, we were forced to take...unorthodox measures."
-/-
"Sasha, would it kill you to remember to go 'Danger Close' for once?" Mundy griped.
The Russian shrugged as the micro-rocket launcher pointing over his shoulder retracted itself. The Achilles' stability systems unlocked, and he adjusted his stance. "That is for fire support."
"What, now you care about procedure? Just give us some kind of warning."
"Sarge, how are you?" Pena said.
"What, this?" Carlock stared at the stump where his leg used to be, something vaguely resembling a grin on his face. "I've had worse shaving cuts."
"He's non-responsive, Sergeant Pena," Masumoto reported from where she bent over Flint. She had used her medical override to limit his suit to baseline human strength, which prevented her from having to fight her way through the augmented twitches. "Mission-killed, at least. The medkit doesn't work on -" she swallowed, grateful she couldn't taste the ozone that was probably in the air "- electrocution."
-/-
"Chief Stark said that the carbon nanotubes used in the suits are a good conductor. This allows them to spread the damage from plasma and laser weapons over a larger area, but also leaves them especially vulnerable to electrical attacks."
"Were the cameras in the garage tapped?"
"Jo?"
"Yes, they were, Councillor."
"That weapon may have been a test."
"Well, we'll be sure to stay away from any strange fire extinguishers in the future."
The Councillor didn't laugh. "Did you collect the weapon?"
"Ah, no. Pena nixed the idea, even after it had been destroyed, on the grounds that it might be booby-trapped. The team then piled Masumoto and the wounded into one SUV, with Pena driving, and the rest of the squad into a van."
A deep breath.
"We didn't realize that HYDRA wasn't the real threat."
-/-
They had almost made it to the highway when Schmidt called. "Voodoo, be advised, we have some sort of unidentified aircraft approaching your position. Jo is trying to get a better picture of it, but -"
She stopped abruptly, and Pena heard the distinct sound of someone talking with their mouth over the microphone.
"Judging from the footage from the drone and Ranger, it may be an alien landing craft of some desc -"
Whatever she had been about to say next was drowned out by the street erupting in a burst of green fire. The Argentinean swerved to avoid it, and he could hear Hale, driving the van, swearing in French over the line.
He got his car under control, and aimed it toward the on-ramp. "Control, call me crazy, but I'm pretty sure it's a gunship."
-/-
"Our drone was unable to keep up, and I didn't want to use the Ranger to attempt to draw them off, since it would risk their exit. Voodoo evaded fire for several minutes and miles, until -"
-/-
A stray thought came to Pena; turn.
Good idea.
-/-
"By the time we realised that Pena had been...compromised, Alpha had already taken the off-ramp. Bravo followed. Alpha's red-light running caused several collisions, but with Jocasta remoting - and then monitoring - Pena's suit, they were able to get back onto the highway. With the on-ramp blocked, Bravo was forced onto the side streets."
"There were civilian casualties."
Schmidt didn't flinch. "Yes, sir. In addition to the collateral from the highway, when they saw the pileup, Bravo cut hard left through a parking lot. Two civilians were killed."
Their names were Annette and Gavin Saint-Michel, they had gone to get the Happy Meal with the toys from the new Spongebob movie, and they'd be visiting her, along with hundreds of others, in the dark hours of the morning.
Ah, the perks of the job.
"Tactically, this meant that they had less speed, but more cover, while Alpha could make better time, while being more exposed."
"And the aliens were forced to choose."
"Unfortunately, they choose correctly."
-/-
"It's still on us!" Masumoto yelled.
"Control, we need an exit!" Pena said.
"Working on it," came Schmidt's glacially calm voice.
"Sarge," said Mundy's voice over the radio, "can you get that gunship to fly straight?"
"Sure! Why not! I'll just stop and ask them!"
"Our next ramp back onto the highway is in thirty seconds! I think I can get them to break contact, but we need you to line them up for us!"
The squad leader grinned at nothing, his face stretching into a rictus. "I thought I was the one who came up with the crazy plans!"
"Boss!"
"Do it! You'd better be right, or you're explaining to la jefa how your plan got us killed!"
The marksman paused. "You have to admit, it's a pretty cool way to go."
"True."
-/-
The SUV stopped juking, and the alien gunship paused. The humans had proven tenacious and cunning in the past and it would not do to let them escape. It moved to short range, and -
The second human vehicle roared into the roadway. Behind the ship, with a clear vector on its vulnerable aft -
Mundy pointed Flint's Orion out the windshield of the van, and fired. Again and again, at anything that glowed or looked vulnerable.
The ship shuddered. Lamed, wounded, it tilted, bleeding speed in order to get away from the human Fists' weapon. It passed over the van, and tried to stabilize, to bring its weapons to bear on the rear of the vehicle.
One of the larger Fists was there, waiting for it.
They couldn't know it, but he had a grin on his face.
One of the modules exclusive to the Achilles Heavy Mobility Platform was the Hephaestus heat-dispersal system. Armor plates opened up on the rear, turning the armor into a massive heatsink, allowing certain modified laser weapons to increase their fire rate. And with his new Manticore, an upscaled, squad automatic weapon version of the Chimera which could run off of the suit's couplers, he could effectively become a turret.
Of course, the user sacrificed all mobility, and was more vulnerable to attack from the rear, and would be rather uncomfortable for anyone trying to approach from that direction, but that was of little concern when your target lined itself up so nicely.
And that was why Sasha Dunayevsky was smiling.
He spoke to them with bloody fire.
-/-
"After that, the craft broke contact. We don't know where it went, and haven't had a chance to collect witness statements. Our men then proceeded to our hastily arranged exfil point, boarded the Ranger, and left. Sgt. Carlock will be treated and released anywhere you like. You may even be able to save his leg."
The Councillor was silent. "We would like to say more about your performance, Director, but we'll have to resume this conversation later."
Schmidt blinked. "I'm sorry." Then, getting very, very close to breaking an unspoken rule; "do you have someplace to be?"
Was that a smile on the face of the man in the shadows? "No. But you do."
As if on cue, a notification popped up in the corner of the screen.
"We'll be in touch, Director." And his feed cut off.
The American stared at the screen for a few more seconds. "Jo?"
"You need to be in the Situation Room, Director. I'll explain on the way."
Schmidt picked up her earpiece. "On my way."
-/-
To her surprise, Bradford was there too, his face still covered in that scrubby beard he had been sporting in their last videoconference. She nodded at him as she came in.
"Morning, Director."
"Morning. Which three cities?"
"Moscow, Tokyo, and Madrid."
"This isn't like them. They've never launched simultaneous abductions before -"
"These aren't abductions," Jo cut in. "They're just destroying and killing, indiscriminately." She brought up three video feeds, full of fire, and fear, and death.
"Is this...an invasion?" Schmidt wondered out loud, then answered her own question. "No. Too small a beachhead. Then what?"
"Terrorism?" one of the techs suggested, then shrank under her boss's icy blue gaze.
"Good idea."
"What?"
"This could be a terror mission. I think that's most likely, but we don't know much about alien psychology. For all we know, this could be their mating session, and this is their version of flowers and chocolate."
A few people chuckled. Good.
"Get me Voodoo."
A strained-sounding Pena answered.
"There's been a major attack in Moscow. Voodoo, I'm not ordering you to do anything. If you think think you're too tired to handle it -"
"We're on it, ma'am."
Schmidt had a prickly feeling at the corners of her eyes. She blinked it away. "Thank you." She cleared her dry throat.
"Ma'am?" said the pilot, "we can get there, but we'll be at bingo fuel, or close to it."
"You can siphon from the other two Rangers."
Beat. "Ma'am?"
"Don't worry. I wouldn't put you on the field without covering our bases." She switched to the intercom. "Schmidt to all squads. Bases Loaded. I say again, Bases Loaded. This is not a drill."
Bradford was looking at her. "All three teams?"
"I'd send four, if I had them." Schmidt flexed her neck. "I'll try to liaise with the local authorities." A glance at her XO, and then, sotto voce; "if you feel you're up to running the op."
"I do," he replied, in the same tone.
"Good to have you back." To herself; "Per ardua."
She looked at the feeds of the other two cities burning, darkened them with a few taps, and tried to push them out of her mind.
The Saint-Michels were going to have lots of company.
-X-
Crysis 2 Story Trailer
Irene's quote is the last words of The Vorkosigan Saga: Shards of Honor, by Lois McMaster Bujold. And yes, best as I can tell, that's her real name. The books are, hands down, my favorite sci-fi series, ever.
I'd like to point out that Laura is being a bit harsh about Linkin Park. And Okoye is being a bit, well, blind to their flaws. And that Irene wouldn't've been nearly as helpful if she'd known about the El-Tee's remarks during GLASS ENGINE.
I have not figured out Echo's cheesy rallying cry yet. Anyone?
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Um.Grosstoad said:
I'm just going to say that you have noticed a Clue, but are not exactly following it in the right direction.
Which reminds me, I have to remember to make "not exactly" a running gag in the fic.
If only they had more men. Or robots. Oh, wait!
I know why. And now I have lots of wonderful, wonderful ideas for Arc 2.VhenRa said:
Of course, at some point my pre-planned explanation for XCOM not just being a SHIELD subdivision is going to come up. Hang on...hang on...okay, got it.
Soooo.... Daughter? Must be some serious Daddy issues there if that's the case, I can just imagine the base defense mission not ending well at all.u63r said:
09 If the sky comes falling down for you
09 If the sky comes falling down for you
-O-
The dashcam video shows a long stretch of early morning road. Conditions are normal in Moscow for early winter or late fall, and the driver is attempting to pass some sort of trailer when green bolts come lancing out of the sky, striking with an earth-shaking boom. The cars in view mostly stop.
After a few minutes of silence, the sound of the door opening is heard, and the driver gets out, to stare at the impact site. He says something in Russian, asking the other drivers if it is "them".
More plasma falls, moving toward the camera. The onlookers' discussion grows tenser, more panicked. Several break off and return to their cars. Out of view of the camera, there is an impact. The driver returns to his car, swearing, praying. He hurriedly brings his car around to face the direction it came, and begins to drive.
Ahead of him, something falls from the sky and strikes a building nearby. Though the impact is out of sight, the shockwave washes over the road, sending the car into a skid.
When it stops, the camera is pointed off to the left of the road. The driver is heard cursing his car as he tries to restart the engine. A green glow flashes offscreen, and the driver pauses, before trying to start the car more frantically. As the flashes grow stronger and more frequent, the car finally pulls off, across the park next to the road.
An indistinct object falls near his path, rapidly blinking. He attempts to swerve aside, but the object explodes, throwing the vehicle through the air. It lands on its side, the camera knocked askew, pointing at the driver. He begins to cough as smoke begins to fill the car, looks behind him, curses, and attempts to unbuckle himself. Upon succeeding, he looks around, presumably trying to decide whether he wants to go through the windshield or the passenger side window.
At this point, as best as anyone could tell, the fire reached the fuel tank.
The video ends abruptly.
-/-
"Here's your AO," Bradford said.
"Sir," replied Pena, "that's a lot of ground to cover."
"You'll have backup from the Russian military and police. We're loading the translator kernel to your shirts right now. Your objective is to secure this area, to provide a green zone for civilians and officials. In the event that the outer perimeter falls, you need to prepare two concentric fallback positions. Only after you have the area should you venture out to pick up more people."
"Roger. And Central?"
"Yes?"
"Good to have you back."
"Thanks."
Bradford signed off, and asked the Ops staff "how are we on drone coverage?"
"They're dragging their feet. They promise they'll have choppers in the air shortly" someone said.
"Those will just make bigger targets!"
"They're probably thinking that the aliens haven't used any AA."
"Until a few hours ago, they never used any ground-attack aircraft either." He took an irritated ship of his coffee. "Do they not trust us with their drones?"
"Quite possibly, sir."
Bradford sighed. "Of course. I promised our men support from the natives," he said, as he turned to his CO. "Please don't make a liar out of me."
"Try to pin them or get them in small spaces, then set them on fire. Use Molotovs, liquor, anything that burns. If they're out in the open, use cars and blunt trauma, especially to the joints, if you can. If you have rockets or incendiaries, anything that does barotrauma or fire damage, use those. Best of all is to bunker down someplace inside, away from windows, where they won't see you. And if the bugs attack anyone, they may be...infected. We're not sure how they'll behave, but if they're non-responsive, shoot them."
Schmidt listened to the Russian on the other end of the line, and her brow furrowed.
"Because if you don't, the aliens are going to roll right over your men and everyone you're trying to protect! If you're not willing to listen, at least stay out of the way!"
It was impossible to slam a headset, but the Director's disconnect had a decidedly peevish air. She pinched the bridge of her nose, like she had had a sudden, stabbing pain, and let out an "urgh" low enough for only Bradford to hear.
"I didn't know you spoke Russian."
"Friend of mine taught me."
"Want some coffee?"
"Thanks, but...it'll pass." She let her hand drop, opened her eyes. "This one was just a particularly bad idiot. Jo, can you prepare an information packet that you can squirt to any folks on the ground with functioning cell phones or tablets? And to the rookies? And to the other two cities?"
"Kind of busy right now!" said the AI, in a stained voice.
"Right. I'll ask Research."
-/-
Kat's phone rang. She quickly picked up the call, before it attracted some of the aliens.
"Hello?" she hissed. "Who is this?"
"Katerina Volkov?"
"Yes! Who is this?"
"Overwatch. The street is clear. You can make it to the corner safely."
Kate peeked. Sure enough, nothing but silence.
"When you reach the corner, stop."
She scurried down the street, stopped at the corner.
"Why?"
"Wait for it..."
Gunfire ripped past the intersection, bolts of green flame exchanged with good old fashioned lead. Kate crouched, trying to look as invisible as possible. As the large, military-looking vehicle and its on-foot escorts rumbled by, someone yelled.
"Head left."
"Shouldn't I follow them?"
"They're engaging the enemy. Not a good idea. Down two blocks."
A little way down the street, the young woman found a trailer shaking and making strange noises.
"Overwatch? There's something strange going on."
There was a pause. "I can't get good audio. I hate to ask you this, but...can you get closer?"
"Do...do I have to?"
"No. No you don't. Corner after next."
There was something sour in Kat's throat. She nodded, then approached the trailer, her phone held out in front of her like a cross against a vampire.
"That's a horse trailer."
Closer to it, the young woman could hear a whickering sound. Did horses whicker? Was that the name? And...skittering...
In the direction the soldiers had gone, there was a dull thump, like an explosion. Kat jumped.
"What was that?"
"Not important. You need to get moving. Now."
She reached the next corner, and Kat asked "How are you doing this?"
"I work for the NSA. Turns out the aliens have really weak email passwords."
Kat giggled.
"There's a group of other civ - I mean, people who'll be in view in a few seconds. Link up with them, and you can all head to the safe zone."
"Thank you. What's your real name?"
"Jo."
"Jo, I hope we get to meet someday."
"Me too."
-/-
"Director, remember how we thought that those Chryssalids might infect humans?" Jo asked.
"Yes," Schmidt said curtly. "What about it?"
"It's not just humans."
"Got it." Schmidt switched channels, and began to warn the Russians.
-/-
The coupler was awkward.
Central had suggested they use them, given that they were probably in for the long haul, unless the Russians happened to have a few heavily armed platoons of Spetsnaz in an apartment building somewhere. Heavily armed Spetsnaz.
For now, XCOM, and whatever they could scrape up, was the line.
Hale shifted uncomfortably. Pena had immediately detached Sam to oversee the medics. No medkits. In fact, the "medics" were a motley crew of military corpsmen, a few civvie doctors, and folks with first-aid training. In fact, the Canadian was pretty sure at least one of the docs was a plastic surgeon.
At least Carlock and Flint were safe.
Relatively speaking.
Which left Voodoo to deal with the officers, millionaires, and people expecting Pena to float down on a cloud of fairy sparkles and solve all their problems from lack of communication to stubbed toes.
To his credit, he actually gave it a shot. Right up until the second time Central asked what he was doing, at which point he pulled his sidearm and suggested the Commissar solution.
Unfortunately, she didn't see it herself. It was relayed by the delighted Dunayevsky, who Sarge had told to stand at his right shoulder and help with any translation problems. And, perhaps, to look intimidating. As it turned out, a drawn gun was pretty unambiguous.
"Mundy, Hale," Pena growled, "any luck finding that mortar fire?"
"No, boss."
Mundy added "Sure would help if we had oversight."
"The old lady is working on it. Bradford says five more minutes and he"ll retask."
"Director Schmidt versus Russian bureaucracy," Sasha rumbled. "I would like to see that."
Everyone laughed. Including Pena, which turned into a shout to get away from his Skyranger or madre de dios he would shoot -
-/-
"Got a news chopper on the line, sir! They want an exclusive interview."
"Say yes," Schmidt cut in. Off Bradford's quizzical look; "We don't actually have to give it them."
He smiled. As much as he ever smiled with his game face on. "I'm putting Voodoo in charge of various Russian squads. We're supposed to be force multipliers, which means we have to divide. And yes, I am aware of the irony."
-/-
For some reason, Russia's own satellites were acting up, meaning there was no way for them to pinpoint the locations of the enemy fire support. XCOM had no assets with line of sight, and even the chopper was having difficulty. No one, not even Jocasta, had spotted any ground units or gunships, and attempts to back-trace the ballistic trajectories indicated that either both her and Research had flawed math, or their unknown enemy was highly mobile.
The green death that rained down on the city might as well have come out of thin air.
Which lead to a cold equation; XCOM and local forces had to subtract the alien spotting units from the AO, or they would lose it, and a great deal of the rest of the city as well, before the units presumably became too spread out for mutual support. They could not allow foot units to break contact, or they would get enough distance to call in fire support, and a paucity of snipers meant that striking from range was not a very viable tactic.
Which meant that Russian police and cops were going toe-to-toe with an opposing force which, from all indicators, had been optimized for walking up to spitting distance and kicking their foes in the teeth.
It was insane.
But they weren't alone.
-/-
"Which one of you is the fastest runner?" Dunayevsky asked.
There were a few seconds of silence. Reluctantly, one of the soldiers in front of him raised his hand.
"What's your name?"
"Khostov, sir," said the young private, in the universal tone of a soldier who knew his superior was about to volunteer him.
"Khostov, I would like you to be bait."
"Yes, sir."
The larger man popped his mask, looked the boy in the eye.
"This is voluntary. If you don't, I will ask the next slowest."
"That would be Kenin. But most of us owe him money."
"Bad choice, then." He grinned. "The bugs are acting as screens for the heavy units, the Mutons. If we attack them directly, the insects will reinforce them and surround us. If we try to attack the bugs, they will do their best to tie us up, and Mutons will reinforce them. But if a brave, handsome young soldier drew off the roaches by pretending to be separated from his squad..."
"And then we'll take on the spotters?" someone in the crowd said.
"Yes, once we have lured them onto the killing ground. Good thing is, they won't call fire support for just one man if they see you luring the bugs."
Young Khostov still looked a little concerned.
"Your comrades have every reason to be concerned with your safety." Pause for comedic effect.
"You owe them money, right?"
Snickers from the audience.
"As for you, these roaches don't like fire. Any breakable bottle you can find that can hold something flammable, use it to make Molotovs. That includes liquor. I am sorry, gentlemen, but you will have to face the rest of the day sober."
The men chuckled.
It was not so different from teaching, really.
-/-
"That's right, gentlemen," Mundy murmured, cycling the bolt to clear a jam. "Suck it down."
He was perched on an upstairs window at a minor government building, with a few mid-level officials huddling in the cubicle farm downstairs. They didn't have enough men, or firepower, or collective experience to make it to a safer zone, so Sarge had tasked him to sit tight and hold off the x-rays until backup or a ride arrived.
His own Chiron and Flint's Orion were nearby, but he was using a commandeered Russian sniper rifle, to save ammo.
Someone was coming up the steps in a hurry. If they were an assassin, they would be quieter, Mundy reasoned, and if they were X-rays that had gotten past the perimeter, he would have heard gunfire. He didn't turn around until the person came to a heel-clicking stop.
"Sir! There's been -"
"One, don't salute in a a battle zone. Two, just call me Foster. Now, what seems to be the problem?"
"Sir! One of the civilians seems to have gone crazy! She's shooting at me when I try to get in the room!"
Mundy stiffened. "Infiltrator."
"Sir?"
He reached for the heavier firepower. "Show me."
As it turned out, a bunch of bureaucrats weren't much match for a poison-spitting, genetically engineered alien.
Mundy poked his Bullseye around the doorframe. He had precisely a half-second of vision through the linked scope before there was a loud bang, it gave him an error message, and the rifle jerked in his hands. He pulled it back and regarded the now-shattered optic disgustedly.
"Well, the good news is that she's limited to using bullets. Bad news, that's going to be just fine for killing the last of 'em in there. Petrov, right?"
"Yes, sir."
"She came along, all disheveled and helpless, saying she was some kind of brass, and you boys just put her in with the others, right?"
"Yes. But why would she want to kill these officials? They are not important."
"That is a very good question for people above our pay grade to worry about. Right now, we need to stop her." He dialed his - Flint's - Orion up to max, and prepped a ping. "When I shoot, you breach. Got it?"
"Yes." Petrov readied his assault rifle.
"Semi-auto, kid. They're not that much tougher than us. Just stronger, faster, crack shots, and they spit poison."
"Sounds like my mother-in-law, sir. Ready."
Even if Mundy missed, he hoped the shot would distract the alien long enough for the kid to take her down.
First he Pinged.
Then he pointed the rifle directly at the wall, and hoped he didn't hit a beam.
-/-
Nobody was talking much on the ride over.
Washington had gotten onto the Skyranger over Dr. Rao's express protest. He hadn't met the standard recovery time, and to be honest, his leg was still twinging, but it wasn't anything he couldn't work through.
She had still been in the hangar bay when the ramp closed, and Scope imagined he could feel her glaring at him as they took off. Was she still peering into his soul, even hundreds of miles away?
Probably not.
Mac was doing some sort of adjustment on his Orion, the magazine removed and sitting in his lap. Viking was listening to either death metal, or pop music that was imitating it. Shiny seemed to be napping. No, wait, his lips were moving; he was praying. Arnadottir had her eyes closed, her hands on her knees, and her breathing was steady and controlled. And the rookie -
Pulaski was staring at the floor, his XM25 pointed up past his body.
"It gets easier after the first time," Washington said.
The other American's head snapped up, and he swallowed before giving a sickly smile. "Huh?"
"It gets easier." The ex-Marine smiled.
"Been here long?"
"Actually, this is just my second mission."
"Really? What happened on your first one?"
"A big, green alien ambushed me, beat me up, and nearly killed me with its bare hands."
Pulaski swallowed.
"Don't worry. We're probably just going to run into the giant bugs that lay their eggs in people, and then have their babies burst out of their bodies, 'Alien'-style."
"Don't forget the invisible robot hunter-squids," Viking chipped in.
"I know I won't," Arnadottir muttered.
The rookie's eyes were the size of dinner plates. Washington decided to let up. "Don't worry about it. Check your briefing packet, stick with us, do what we tell you, and you'll be fine."
There was a slight thump as the Ranger's drone launched.
The rookie nodded.
"Insertion in five," the pilot called.
"All right." Nilsson stood up. "X-rays check in -"
-/-
"Director?" said Irene, "I have an idea."
-/-
A few seconds later, every unoccupied cell phone in the AO began to blare the Russian National Anthem.
This had several effects. It distracted the aliens and heartened the defenders. Those from Russia, anyway.
Most importantly, when combined with the receivers in those phone, it acted as an ersatz Ping, giving the XCOM forces targeting data.
Including the arriving ones who had used the drop packs to quietly land on rooftops.
-/-
On a rooftop, a Frenchwoman with a rocket launcher smiled.
"Copy that, ma'am," said Private Marius, of XCOM's Echo Squad. "Moving."
-/-
Hotshot had come up with the idea. Two of the rookies were the proof-of-concept for the Shock Recon trooper, or as they were commonly known, the Alpha Strike. These high-mobility forces were given a rocket or grenade launcher to scout enemy clusters, and then eliminate them. Their Herakles' modules were chosen to let them find and sneak up on their foes, and then to scamper as fast as possible while other forces mopped up the rest.
But the aliens weren't morons. In addition to deploying their own flankers, they sought cover and stopped clustering. This made it harder for them to mutually support each other, of course, and thus the human forces gained a slight advantage, especially since the x-ray fire support was much less precise than the strikers. This left the two forces to try to and strike a balance between too close, and too far apart.
Not that the humans went unscathed.
-/-
Khostov rounded the corner "it's not -" he gasped "- it's not -"
A pair of Mutons appeared a few feet behind him.
Sasha blinked. Was it the lack of sleep? No, they were still there. He was grateful that the men couldn't hear what came out of his mouth next. Followed by an audible "get back!"
In those few seconds, the big aliens had caught up to the soldier. One grabbed him by the arm, then the neck, then held him up as a human shield, cautiously scanning the buildings. Its partner was carefully checking their route, as they retreated in good order.
He had counted on the Chryssalids being so target-focused they didn't notice they were walking into an ambush, but the big guys had much better situational awareness. It was eerie, really, seeing them act so...human. They knew that the Russians wouldn't fire, but if they fired themselves, "the ball might go up", to use the American aphorism. A Mexican standoff.
The man from XCOM targeted them with his remaining rockets, and then frowned. The blast radius would kill Khostov. And he wasn't exactly surgical with his SAW.
Time to take a chance.
He stepped into the sun with hands empty. The second Muton bought his weapon up, but didn't fire.
"Sir -" said the captive, before he was cut off by a squeeze on his neck.
"I'm not here to trade," Dunayevsky said. Then he dropped into an aggressive stance, pumped his speakers to maximum, and roared.
The two aliens looked at each other. Then the first one tossed Khostov aside - something cracked as he hit a car and slid to the ground bonelessly - passed his weapon to his comrade, and strode forward to meet the challenge.
At which point the rocket turret popped up over his shoulder and opened fire.
Along with the laser SAW Sasha had left with a Russian soldier. He had graciously decided to stay out of its line of fire to the second Muton.
Then the rest of the squad chipped in.
The first rocket was targeted at the ground between the two x-rays, stunning both. He sent another one at the gun-toting Muton, and when it died, its weapon detonated; the denial system, as usual. This also set off the first creature's weapon, and the triple hit killed the second, as well.
Just to be sure, Dunayevsky caved in its skull with a stomp. Then he looked to the private.
Shame Khostov hadn't seen that.
Nor would he ever see anything else again.
-/-
"Back up the car!" shouted Lieutenant Smirnov.
His command, to dignify it with the term, was a motley crew of lost cops, lost soldiers, and civilians who had just picked up weapons and followed him.
The bug, freed from the pressure, collapsed to the ground and struggled to its feet.
"Burn it!"
Two people came running up with bottles in their hands, and confusion ensued when they both tried to give way to the other.
"Both of you throw!"
The alien screamed as it caught fire, despite lacking any visible mouth, and the rest of the team dispatched it with small-arms fire.
Smirnov tapped his scavenged Bluetooth headset. "Taken care of, Overwatch. What next?"
"Two of the big green guys are going to come out of that ba -"
The store's frontage collapsed under the attentions of the pair of angry aliens. Unfortunately, a cop from the local station was caught by surprise -
"Bloody - Pull your men back!"
He gave the order, then crouched behind a car himself. A peek through the window showed that the contacts were picking targets.
Like him, for instance.
Plasma fire smacked against the car, and flames began to lick at the bodywork. Smirnov gritted his teeth and scrambled to the next car before the first one exploded.
"Overwatch, how do we hit them? What are they weak to?"
"High explosives."
"We don't have any!"
"I do."
And that's when the grenades started raining down.
When they stopped, one of the big green guys was a pulped mass, and the other was barely alive.
Smirnov looked up. On the rooftop was a figure in strange-looking body armor. He was just reloading an odd-looking weapon, and when he caught the Lieutenant's gaze, he gave an ironic salute. Then he vanished.
The Russian soldier shook his head. "Overwatch, I don't suppose any of your friends were in Canada a few hours ago?"
"I can neither confirm nor deny."
"Ah." He drew his pistol.
"Careful. Their weapons explode when they die. Assuming it's still intact."
"Noted." He kicked the big guy's strange weapon clear, warned his folks to stay back, and put a 9mm bullet in the back of the thing's skull. It stopped moving, and there was an ammonia-like scent that made the officer wonder if it had voided its bowels.
He rubbed his eyes, and wondered if there was someplace where he could find a hot cup of coffee.
"There's a civilian bottleneck three blocks west," said the woman on the phone.
"Got it. Let's move, folks!"
He holstered his handgun, collected an AK from the dead cop, crossed himself, and thanked God, the Blessed Virgin, and all the saints for this "Overwatch" lady that was helping them out. If he ever met her, he'd kiss her, marry her, bed her.
In whatever order she preferred.
-/-
Pena had been in worse situations, he knew he had. He just couldn't recall any right now.
Hale had been wounded by shrapnel from an exploding car, and despite having a medkit applied to her, Pena had still ordered her back to the aid station, over her protests. Her extremely strident protests. Some of the Russians had looked apprehensive at the confrontation, probably wondering what they'd do if Pena had ordered them to "escort" her away.
Luckily, the x-rays seemed to be out of their ridiculously overpowered plasma grenades. Which just left their other ridiculously overpowered plasma weapons.
Which still left the rest of them pinned down.
They had dropped a Muton by sheer volume of fire. The street was too narrow for flanking, and the Kongs had strong frontal armor. Right now, the Russians were on one side of the street, and Pena was on the other. They were getting pushed closer and closer to the outer "line", and the Mutons' presence meant no civilians would be taking the route to safety.
Objects arced in from behind them, and Pena had a half second of wondering if they had been flanked, before realizing that not only were they not glowing green, but they had landed well out in front of BLUFOR. Then they erupted into dense clouds of smoke.
"Ah," Pena sighed. "Backup."
His radio went "Not exactly, sir. Delivery. Seven o'clock."
"It's Sarge." He turned to his rear, to find a rookie jogging up with a case.
"Compliments of Chief Stark."
"This is it? It's done?"
"He said something about 'beta testing' and not to scratch the paint. Say your name."
"Alberto Pena."
The case beeped, and opened. Pena, with some reverence, reached in and grabbed the grip. After a second or two, he picked up the color-coded magazines as well, slotted one of each in.
His Ajax's display blinked, before a progress bar labelled "FIRMWARE UPDATE" appeared. Two seconds later, the AR display vanished, to be replaced by a slightly different one. The most obvious change was the addition of another ammo counter, with an indicator for his currently selected magazine and type. Left was armor-piercing sabot, right was flechette.
Both were incendiary.
The Argentinian locked the rest of his mags to his armor and watched as the reserve ammo counter went up. After a moment of thought, he dropped his MAUL and its ammo in the case, locked it. Best not to have Fletcher on his case for losing it.
"All right," he said. "What's your name?"
"Private Alberto Silva, Echo Squad."
There's a pair of us, don't tell. "Silva, I need you to go over there, and tell the Russians to pull back, but to make it sound and look like they're running away."
"Look?"
"They've got some kind of a spotter. Those monkeys were waiting for us. If they act as a distraction, their overwatch might not notice me sitting here waiting to take the green guys in the back."
"What if there are too many to take?"
"That's your job. The second I start engaging, turn around and start shooting at them."
"Got it. But isn't that risky?"
Pena stared at him. "How did you even get this job?"
Silva blushed. "I'll...I'll go now."
Pena nodded. Silva scampered. Pena chambered the weapon.
Officially, it was called the Hestia, after the goddess of the hearth. Upon learning this later, some of the men and women of XCOM tried to make "Heartbreaker" happen, but by the end of the day, the nickname was basically locked in.
Spitfire.
-/-
"Ladies and gentlemen," Lieutenant Okoye announced, trying to look confident, "you are about to get a crash course in fighting aliens."
The new rookie, Hertz, did his best to imitate her relaxed-but-alert attitude. He was walking the perimeter, since the cops they were addressing were clearly too scared to remember to do it themselves. As for herself, her back was to a wall. Hopefully, if anything came along, they would gasp or something. Fleeing civilians were passing through the square, some in cars, often with a cell phone to their ears, but none seemed to be willing to hang around the mysterious soldiers in the metal suits.
Good.
"If you've read the data packets you may have gotten, one of the most dangerous enemies in an urban environment is what we call the Chryssalid. Imagine one of those things from Aliens crossed with a spider."
A few members of their audience shuddered.
"Yes, it is exactly as bad as it sounds," Hertz said. "These insects are vulnerable to blunt trauma. Bullets, less s -"
Some of the cops began to gasp and point at the wall behind the XCOM trooper. She didn't hesitate a second before diving forward.
As Shrimp rolled onto her back to face the contact, it occurred to her that of course one of the bugs would show up to give a demonstration.
It scuttled down the wall, and some of the cops were already drawing their weapons. But nooo, she had to leave her Mutt on her back to look more impressively officerly. Her sidearm probably wasn't going to do -
And a car came out of nowhere and pinned the bug against the wall.
After a few seconds, the South African woman choked out "Thank you, Mr. Hertz."
"No problem."
"As you can see, 'crash course' turned out to be more literal than I expected."
The Russians just looked confused. Did the phrase translate? Just keep rolling.
She got to her feet, faced the foe, and held out her hand, without looking back, and hoped she was bluffing correctly. "Flask."
After a few seconds, the metal container was slapped into her hand.
"Spasibo," she said, exhausting her knowledge of Russian in the process. "Now, these guys are fast, and durable, but not very strong. If this was one of his big cousins, the Mutons -" where had they come up with that name, anyway? "- this car wouldn't even be an inconvenience. And one other thing."
She faked taking a swig, then tossed the closed flask back in the direction of the soldiers.
"They don't like fire. By how much, we're not sure. We don't even know if it hurts them, especially. But one of the things my organization likes is data. So we're going to conduct an experiment. We're going to see how well this guy burns."
Give them a second to think. What was that phrase they had used at the seminar? "Buy-in", right.
"I'm going to need an assistant. A volunteer from the audience. And someone who can siphon gas. Any takers?"
-/-
"Clear!" Mundy said, kicking the infiltrator's gun away from her lifeless hand. Better safe than sorry.
"Clear!" Petrov echoed. He glanced at the shivering clump of middle-management, and then said "Is it always this exciting for you?"
"Sometimes it's worse."
"Are you taking job applications?"
Mundy had just opened his mouth to explain why that was a bad idea when more soldiers arrived. "Ah, decided to show up, have we? Fashionably late?" He added a few more remarks on the matter, which the computer tactfully did not translate.
"Sorry, sir." The lieutenant, a real lantern-jawed, broad-chested recruiting-poster type, saluted. Mundy didn't even bother to correct him.
"There was an attack on the perimeter, uh, -"
"Call me Foster. Probably meant as a distraction. Did anyone see if she had a cell phone or headset when she came in?"
"I think she had a phone," said one of the soldiers. He reached for her body, which had fallen on its face, and rolled it over.
"Don't touch her!" Mundy said, too late.
She was, in fact, clutching a cell phone. Whose screen flashed green, giving the Aussie just enough time to grab Petrov's collar, yell "frag!" and hope it translated before throwing them both to the ground.
Luckily, the guy who turned over the body got most of the blast.
Luckily for everyone else, that is.
-/-
Marius peered over the roof's edge. "HQ, I have no contacts at the waypoint. Visibility is limited due to smoke. Thermals...thermals are limited due to smoke and fire. Repositioning."
She didn't wait for a confirmation before shifting position.
"Also, I am down to one rocket. Will resupply after next engagement."
The other corner of the roof was no better. Just fleeing civilians, who wouldn't be there if there were aliens. A few were noticing her on the roof, pointing at her.
"HQ, there's nothing here. Can you point me to someplace I can actually do some good?"
While she waited, she looked around. It was hard to tell, what with all the smoke, fire, and destruction, but this section of Moscow kinda reminded her of her hometown, Cala -
What was that? In the smoke, about a half-mile away, rising out of a destroyed apartment building. Looked like a UFO, an old-school flying disk. Marius called it in.
There was a pause before the response. Your call is important to us... Then again, they had warned that Jo might be strained from that mega-Ping, so they had to do everything the old-fashioned way for a while. Relatively old-fashioned.
"Be advised, our drones are elsewhere, and on its last pass the chopper didn't catch anything in that area." That was an unfamiliar voice; probably one of the Ops staff. Unless they had recruited the janitors, which seemed unlikely.
"Roger. Maybe it was hiding in the smoke."
"We're trying to free up the drones now."
"Let me try the thermals." The Frenchwoman reached for her belt, and the AR controls there, when something strong and ropelike and invisible wrapped around her body. As the Seeker shimmered into view, it didn't bother to choke her out or shoot her, instead preferring to drag her off the roof.
And then it let her drop.
Marius had only a few instants, as she tumbled through the air, to realize what was happening to her, before she hit the ground hard, breaking her arms.
Followed by her neck.
-/-
Laura Byler stared at the burning building.
She had stims on her belt. Why hadn't the X-ray artillery attacked the oasis, or bastion, or whatever you wanted to call it? Was the worried man next to her feeling guilt, on top of the fear?
What was Irene doing?
Greeeat. Next thing she knew, she'd be talking about not-exactly-her girl back home, like a doomed movie character, and then they'd be sending Ma a letter and a crisply folded flag -
"I had to," the Russian by her side muttered.
"Sir?"
"I needed...I needed to go out to the store, to buy dinner." He ran a hand through his thinning hair. "My wife teaches until after the local stores close, and he was asleep. I've done it before and...how was I supposed to know that -"
"Sir, you shouldn't explain yourself to me. I only care about your safety."
It was easy to lie, from the other side of a metal mask.
"Sorry, I just..." The hair thing again. He took a half-step toward the burning apartment building. Laura wondered how far he could get before she would have to stop him.
She could feel the tension in her neck, the need to be someplace, doing something else. Taking the fight to the enemy.
"I'm sure he's fine."
"Corporal!"
Both heads whipped around. Coming from the side of the burning apartment building was a man carrying a small cloth bundle, which was wailing at being unceremoniously roused from his nap.
"Nikita!"
"Here you go. Do you have a cell phone?"
"Yes."
"You should be getting evacuation instructions in..."
The father's phone rang.
"Oh-okay." He pumped the trooper's hand enthusiastically, went "thank you" a few times, then joined the people trying to get Away.
"You know, Kakakaway, I almost expected you to come out the window."
"Most babies can't take the hit from a two story drop, even without the rig." The Cree man shrugged. "I just took the fire escape."
"What if the hall had caught fire while you were in there?"
He grimaced. "I don't know. I took this job to get away from firefighting. We probably would've laddered up there in the first place."
Their HUDs beeped at them, displaying a waypoint.
"Right. Duty calls."
-/-
The Moscow Metro was a beautiful place. Nice arches, stonework, and the lighting fixtures looked more suitable for a palace than public transit. Washington wished he had time to appreciate it.
Unfortunately, Hotel Squad was busy playing hide and seek with the x-rays.
The problem was that if any of the aliens got into the tunnels, they could end up anywhere in Moscow. On the surface, things were relatively contained. The alien arty or mortars or whatever it was could keep the heavier metal out, but that meant that any aliens who left their covering embrace would be cut down pretty quickly.
There were lots of civvies down here. Reminded him of pictures he had seen of the Blitz. But here, blackout was no salvation, though the lights in parts of the station flickered and went dim.
A lot of unarmed, terrified civilians.
He didn't give the zombie's body a second glance as he ran past.
"Think I've got it, sir," whispered the rook.
"The helmets are sealed, Pulaski," Washington said.
"Best practice, Wash."
"He's got you there, Scope," Levin said with amusement.
Bravo convened at an open area, a sort of intersection, where Cyrillic-labelled tunnels led to lower levels. The light was steadier here, and Bravo Lead set up his rifle in the shadows of the upper level, overlooking the scattering civilians and the bug that had crawled to the top of a newsstand.
"Where are you?" Washington asked. He sent them his location, his teammates transmitted their own. On the far side of the stand from Pulaski's position was a tunnel leading down to the lower levels, which ugly could easily escape to the second he knew they were there. Washington was approaching the alien from a tunnel near the staircase, at a right-angle to it. Excellent crossfire.
On the other hand, Levin suspected his Orion would overpenetrate, he didn't have access to Research to run the numbers for him, and he'd only get one shot. And, frankly, he didn't want a piece of extremely lively tungsten bouncing off the walls. He didn't know anything about the rookie's skills with the launcher, and the guy wasn't close enough to use his Mutt effectively.
"Is it...sniffing?" said the new guy.
"Artificial air circulation is probably confusing him." Scope edged closer to the stand, holding up a finger to his mask as the two folks who had been hiding in the stand caught sight of him. He popped his faceplate, waved them past, sealed it again. Then he edged toward the far side of the stand from the staircase. "Lucky for us. Orders?"
"Frag and tag."
"Roger," the medic said, as he pulled out a grenade. He was wearing an Achilles suit - but without the back turret - so he was most likely to survive an attack.
The American cooked the pineapple for a few seconds, imagining the apoplectic face of his drill sarge if she could see him. "Frag up," he said , tossing the grenade underhand. The bug gave a chitter before it detonated.
"It's still on the roof."
"Not for long." He stuck his weapon over the edge, blindfired, and got the satisfying scent of cooking bug. Or he would've, if his helmet wasn't sealed.
"Good effect," Levin said. "Confirm the kill."
"Roger."
"Shiny, incoming!" Arnadottir yelled, from the lower levels where Alpha was.
He felt it first. A faint thumping that quickly grew louder. Washington had just enough time to yell "Boost!" - which felt like being kicked in the back by a mule - before the Muton burst out of the stairwell and through the newsstand he had been behind a second earlier.
As his back-mounted thruster died down, Washington swung his weapon in an arc, letting its inertia and weight draw him around to face the new contact, which had slowed to a stop, and was trying to decide which threat it wanted to shoot first. If it had just kept charging, it probably would've been clear of them before they could react, instead of leaving himself completely exposed.
"Firing disabling shot," Shiny murmured.
A dull crack from his Orion, magnified in the confined space, and the plasma rifle spun out of the Muton's surprised hands.
"Got a shot," said Pulaski.
"Take it," said the sniper.
The XM25 was an airburst grenade launcher. It used a laser to determine the distance to the target, with its operator able to adjust that by distance ten feet less or more. When the smart grenade reached the programmed distance, it detonated.
It was nicknamed The Punisher.
The weapon, like most explosives, had never been intended for close-quarters work, but Development had dialed the arming distance down to something that would have been declared suicidally close by most militaries.
Right up until the alien invasion.
The flechette round Pulaski fired was incendiary, just like the Spitfire, of course, and he had been using it in impact mode. It punched through the alien's armor, stunning it, leaving it open for Washington's burst of laser fire, and Levin's shot to the lower spine.
The second grenade was technically overkill.
"I think we got him," said the newbie. He walked up to the bug, double-tapped with his sidearm just to be sure.
"Very good," Viking said. "I'll put you in for a nice, shiny medal. If I survive. Get down here!"
The rookie was first down the staircase, after he took another glance at the aliens they had killed. Washington was close behind him as he descended into the dim lighting of the lower levels, a snatch of a song he heard once coming to him.
Then I will follow you into the dark...
-/-
Hale protested "I told them I didn't need a checkup -"
"Who taught you how to use a medkit?" Masumoto scolded. "You've used at least two, two and a half doses here!"
"Sorry, Mom, but I was kind of in a hurry."
"Am I the only person in XCOM who actually read the new manual?"
"I'm fine. Just give me some stims. Wasn't the pilot helping you?"
"Went to supervise the fuel transfer, and don't try to change the subj -"
"Help!" someone cried in Russian from the next room.
Both troopers were on their feet immediately. The Japanese medic had her Kriss out, while the Canadian used her laser pistol. She silently stacked up on the left side of the doorway while the other woman took the right.
They entered the room to find an older man, lying on the ground on a hastily arranged pile of soft materials, kicking a woman with a syringe across the room. She hit the wall, dropped the syringe, recovered, and pulled a scalpel from her pocket as she lunged for the patient -
"Freeze!"
She froze.
"Sir, are you all right?" Hale called.
"I was half-awake. She...she was giving them some kind of injection." He gestured at the other patients, who, Hale realized, looked oddly still. "Then she got to me, and I realized she had used the same needle, and I asked her what was in it, and she just covered my mouth and tried to stick it into me -"
"So you are their tin men," said the woman. "And you let me kill, oh, a half-dozen very important men and women before I was interrupted." Her mouth made a little moue. "I must say, I am not impressed."
"Tin women, actually," Hale said. "Don't be sexist."
"Put down your weapon, and kneel on the ground with your hands up." Sam's voice was remarkably steady, Hale thought, given that her knuckles were white.
"We both know that isn't going to happen." She crouched, preparing to spring. "Hail HYD -"
Two shots echoed through the room.
The spy looked shocked, clutched at her chest, then fell.
The man on the bed lowered his Makarov.
"Uh...thanks." Hale said, as she and Sam moved to police the body.
"You're welcome."
"Who are you, anyway?"
"Alexander Lukin. I generally carry, even with my protection detail."
"Where are they, sir?" the medic asked.
Lukin grimaced. "Slaughtered by the aliens."
"Lukin...Lukin..." Hale suddenly grinned. "Pretty good shot for an oil billionaire."
The oligarch started, then, belatedly, put his handgun on safe. "I served, once." He stared at the dead woman. "Perhaps it is time for me to serve again."
-/-
The alien ground-commander watched the experiment through its Command Drone and through the tapped human sources.
The ship that had transported their forces had halted over the ocean, and the ground-commander found the way the locals reacted interesting. Also interesting was the presence of the human Fists, rallying and assisting the local forces.
And why had their force-commander chosen to support this nation, of the three they had attacked? The Collaborators had suggested they would commit one team to each city, not go for a, what was the human term? A 'Hail Mary'.
Still, the humans, in this city at least, were starting to turn the tide. With the spotters largely neutralized or distracted, the Casters could not target effectively, allowing human heavy vehicles to punch through.
The ground-commander ordered his troops to retreat. The aerial ones, at least. Ground forces were unlikely to survive, but they knew that going in.
It spotted something on the feed from one of its Casters, and, had it been capable of such a thing, would've smiled. Yes, that would do nicely. The Collaborators had been quite thorough in their briefing, backed up by Their own research, and the building's contents represented a critical vulnerability in the human psyche.
With a thought, it directed a small pack of Ambushers toward the undefended objective.
More than sufficient.
-/-
A tech abruptly went pale, then patched to Schmidt. The blonde listened for a few moments, her face hardening, then crossed the room to her XO.
Bradford looked up. "Another spy?"
"Not...exactly."
-/-
A few people cried. Most people were silent.
The school had been a short way outside of the outside perimeter, and the bugs had gotten inside before the news chopper flew overhead. It had gone unnoticed until some of the students managed to escape and flag down a cop.
As soon as the Russians found out, they descended on the place like the fist of an angry god, wiping out anything outside the building that so much as looked like an alien. They had also cleared the halls, a little more cautiously, but none of them had gone into the classrooms.
The moaning was bad enough.
In the hall were what was left of the teachers that had tried to resist, to defend their charges with their lives. The aliens hadn't bothered to implant them, preferring to remove the obstacles between them and their real target.
Not that all the students had been in classrooms, and so the police and soldiers who stormed the school had been forced to shoot shambling things that were a twisted mockery of children.
Hence the silence. Hence the tears.
"Voodoo, radio traffic indicates the building is clear."
"Jo, how can you be so calm?" said Hale.
"I'm in safe mode, my emotional emulation is disabled. I will feel horrified later."
"Y'know, Jocasta, there are times when I envy you," Pena said. "Huddle up, team."
They found a secluded corner, where the locals couldn't hear them, opened their masks.
"Sam, what's the situation?"
"I don't think they're actually dangerous," the medic said over the radio. "Remember how the injured man produced an injured bug?"
"Wait, let me guess," Hale cut in. "Not enough room for the little baby bugs to grow."
"Not even close. They can still...zombify them, though, but when they emerge, if they emerge, they will probably just die."
"So, if that's true," Pena said, "all we need to do is let them die off. Just leave them locked up for a few hours, let Research get some valuable data about their life cycle." A deep breath. "That said; iron or fire?"
"We're low on ammo."
"Fire it is. Resource efficient. And we all know the bichos don't like fire."
"You're going to burn them?" said a horrified voice.
Voodoo slammed down their masks and turned to face the contact, who didn't seem the least bit discomfited by having five different high-power weapons pointed at him.
Mundy blinked, lowered his gun, and popped his mask. "Petrov?"
"These are children! You can't just, you can't -
"Kid." Mundy grabbed Petrov's shoulders, turned the younger man to face him. "Those...those aren't children anymore. Even if they were taken out with...even if they were taken out, no one is ever using this school again. One way or another, those things are going down. And we are not asking your people to do it."
The Russian stared at him, blankly. Then his face just crumbled, and he began to weep, openly. Mundy held him until he wound down.
And anyone who had a problem with that could just jam it up their arse.
Petrov swiped at his face. "Remember what I said about getting a job with you people?"
"Yeah?"
"Never mind."
Mundy half-smiled, bitterly. "That's the idea. We do it, so you don't have to."
-/-
"And that's about it," Schmidt said. "Their fire support seems to have bugged out. Just the mop-up left."
Nobody cheered - this wasn't a cheering occasion - but there was a release of tension.
Bradford rubbed his eyes as the boss went on. "First thing we're going to do is refill that coffee."
His eyes opened, and he stared at his boss. It was, what, sunrise on the surface?
"Madrid and Tokyo still need help. Our Strike teams are running on fumes, we all are, but we can still provide remote support. Rao and Jo will check the efficiency ratings. The bottom third are going to take a two-hour break. Then the next third, and then the top performers."
The tension ratcheted up again. Not all the way, though.
The Director squeezed her XO's shoulder. "You too, David. I don't want you to find out you so much as beat your high score at Angry Birds."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Everyone else, what are you staring at? Get back to work. We have not yet begun to fight."
-X-
Avicii - "Hey Brother"
TROPHY ACHIEVED: Putin Up A Fight: Choose Russia for first Terror Mission.
TROPHY ACHIEVED: Crimea Against Humanity: Commit all available teams to a Russian Terror Mission.
Saving a dozen or two people in attacks that kill thousands is not a real triumph. But a larger-scale event, like the ones here, would be nigh-unplayable. And probably not very fun. Similarly, it's commonly held that plasma weapons have enough power to core tanks, despite the fact that we never see such performance onscreen in-game. But a heavy long-range fire-support unit might do the trick. Or even a tank-equivalent of their own. Too bad they don't seem to have any.
[distant, maniacal laughter]
Eamon has absolutely no problem with cribbing from other superhero movies. Namely, The Dark Knight.
Funny thing; I just realized that I "cast" Saffron Burrows as Jo, but I had forgotten she was on Agents of SHIELD. Speaking of which, certain events in this chapter were heavily inspired by Winter Soldier.
Bonus: Almost No One Makes It Out, by atrata; "What would have happened if Tony hadn't been born filthy rich? A military AU." (Also with less screwy formatting.)
-O-
The dashcam video shows a long stretch of early morning road. Conditions are normal in Moscow for early winter or late fall, and the driver is attempting to pass some sort of trailer when green bolts come lancing out of the sky, striking with an earth-shaking boom. The cars in view mostly stop.
After a few minutes of silence, the sound of the door opening is heard, and the driver gets out, to stare at the impact site. He says something in Russian, asking the other drivers if it is "them".
More plasma falls, moving toward the camera. The onlookers' discussion grows tenser, more panicked. Several break off and return to their cars. Out of view of the camera, there is an impact. The driver returns to his car, swearing, praying. He hurriedly brings his car around to face the direction it came, and begins to drive.
Ahead of him, something falls from the sky and strikes a building nearby. Though the impact is out of sight, the shockwave washes over the road, sending the car into a skid.
When it stops, the camera is pointed off to the left of the road. The driver is heard cursing his car as he tries to restart the engine. A green glow flashes offscreen, and the driver pauses, before trying to start the car more frantically. As the flashes grow stronger and more frequent, the car finally pulls off, across the park next to the road.
An indistinct object falls near his path, rapidly blinking. He attempts to swerve aside, but the object explodes, throwing the vehicle through the air. It lands on its side, the camera knocked askew, pointing at the driver. He begins to cough as smoke begins to fill the car, looks behind him, curses, and attempts to unbuckle himself. Upon succeeding, he looks around, presumably trying to decide whether he wants to go through the windshield or the passenger side window.
At this point, as best as anyone could tell, the fire reached the fuel tank.
The video ends abruptly.
-/-
"Here's your AO," Bradford said.
"Sir," replied Pena, "that's a lot of ground to cover."
"You'll have backup from the Russian military and police. We're loading the translator kernel to your shirts right now. Your objective is to secure this area, to provide a green zone for civilians and officials. In the event that the outer perimeter falls, you need to prepare two concentric fallback positions. Only after you have the area should you venture out to pick up more people."
"Roger. And Central?"
"Yes?"
"Good to have you back."
"Thanks."
Bradford signed off, and asked the Ops staff "how are we on drone coverage?"
"They're dragging their feet. They promise they'll have choppers in the air shortly" someone said.
"Those will just make bigger targets!"
"They're probably thinking that the aliens haven't used any AA."
"Until a few hours ago, they never used any ground-attack aircraft either." He took an irritated ship of his coffee. "Do they not trust us with their drones?"
"Quite possibly, sir."
Bradford sighed. "Of course. I promised our men support from the natives," he said, as he turned to his CO. "Please don't make a liar out of me."
"Try to pin them or get them in small spaces, then set them on fire. Use Molotovs, liquor, anything that burns. If they're out in the open, use cars and blunt trauma, especially to the joints, if you can. If you have rockets or incendiaries, anything that does barotrauma or fire damage, use those. Best of all is to bunker down someplace inside, away from windows, where they won't see you. And if the bugs attack anyone, they may be...infected. We're not sure how they'll behave, but if they're non-responsive, shoot them."
Schmidt listened to the Russian on the other end of the line, and her brow furrowed.
"Because if you don't, the aliens are going to roll right over your men and everyone you're trying to protect! If you're not willing to listen, at least stay out of the way!"
It was impossible to slam a headset, but the Director's disconnect had a decidedly peevish air. She pinched the bridge of her nose, like she had had a sudden, stabbing pain, and let out an "urgh" low enough for only Bradford to hear.
"I didn't know you spoke Russian."
"Friend of mine taught me."
"Want some coffee?"
"Thanks, but...it'll pass." She let her hand drop, opened her eyes. "This one was just a particularly bad idiot. Jo, can you prepare an information packet that you can squirt to any folks on the ground with functioning cell phones or tablets? And to the rookies? And to the other two cities?"
"Kind of busy right now!" said the AI, in a stained voice.
"Right. I'll ask Research."
-/-
Kat's phone rang. She quickly picked up the call, before it attracted some of the aliens.
"Hello?" she hissed. "Who is this?"
"Katerina Volkov?"
"Yes! Who is this?"
"Overwatch. The street is clear. You can make it to the corner safely."
Kate peeked. Sure enough, nothing but silence.
"When you reach the corner, stop."
She scurried down the street, stopped at the corner.
"Why?"
"Wait for it..."
Gunfire ripped past the intersection, bolts of green flame exchanged with good old fashioned lead. Kate crouched, trying to look as invisible as possible. As the large, military-looking vehicle and its on-foot escorts rumbled by, someone yelled.
"Head left."
"Shouldn't I follow them?"
"They're engaging the enemy. Not a good idea. Down two blocks."
A little way down the street, the young woman found a trailer shaking and making strange noises.
"Overwatch? There's something strange going on."
There was a pause. "I can't get good audio. I hate to ask you this, but...can you get closer?"
"Do...do I have to?"
"No. No you don't. Corner after next."
There was something sour in Kat's throat. She nodded, then approached the trailer, her phone held out in front of her like a cross against a vampire.
"That's a horse trailer."
Closer to it, the young woman could hear a whickering sound. Did horses whicker? Was that the name? And...skittering...
In the direction the soldiers had gone, there was a dull thump, like an explosion. Kat jumped.
"What was that?"
"Not important. You need to get moving. Now."
She reached the next corner, and Kat asked "How are you doing this?"
"I work for the NSA. Turns out the aliens have really weak email passwords."
Kat giggled.
"There's a group of other civ - I mean, people who'll be in view in a few seconds. Link up with them, and you can all head to the safe zone."
"Thank you. What's your real name?"
"Jo."
"Jo, I hope we get to meet someday."
"Me too."
-/-
"Director, remember how we thought that those Chryssalids might infect humans?" Jo asked.
"Yes," Schmidt said curtly. "What about it?"
"It's not just humans."
"Got it." Schmidt switched channels, and began to warn the Russians.
-/-
The coupler was awkward.
Central had suggested they use them, given that they were probably in for the long haul, unless the Russians happened to have a few heavily armed platoons of Spetsnaz in an apartment building somewhere. Heavily armed Spetsnaz.
For now, XCOM, and whatever they could scrape up, was the line.
Hale shifted uncomfortably. Pena had immediately detached Sam to oversee the medics. No medkits. In fact, the "medics" were a motley crew of military corpsmen, a few civvie doctors, and folks with first-aid training. In fact, the Canadian was pretty sure at least one of the docs was a plastic surgeon.
At least Carlock and Flint were safe.
Relatively speaking.
Which left Voodoo to deal with the officers, millionaires, and people expecting Pena to float down on a cloud of fairy sparkles and solve all their problems from lack of communication to stubbed toes.
To his credit, he actually gave it a shot. Right up until the second time Central asked what he was doing, at which point he pulled his sidearm and suggested the Commissar solution.
Unfortunately, she didn't see it herself. It was relayed by the delighted Dunayevsky, who Sarge had told to stand at his right shoulder and help with any translation problems. And, perhaps, to look intimidating. As it turned out, a drawn gun was pretty unambiguous.
"Mundy, Hale," Pena growled, "any luck finding that mortar fire?"
"No, boss."
Mundy added "Sure would help if we had oversight."
"The old lady is working on it. Bradford says five more minutes and he"ll retask."
"Director Schmidt versus Russian bureaucracy," Sasha rumbled. "I would like to see that."
Everyone laughed. Including Pena, which turned into a shout to get away from his Skyranger or madre de dios he would shoot -
-/-
"Got a news chopper on the line, sir! They want an exclusive interview."
"Say yes," Schmidt cut in. Off Bradford's quizzical look; "We don't actually have to give it them."
He smiled. As much as he ever smiled with his game face on. "I'm putting Voodoo in charge of various Russian squads. We're supposed to be force multipliers, which means we have to divide. And yes, I am aware of the irony."
-/-
For some reason, Russia's own satellites were acting up, meaning there was no way for them to pinpoint the locations of the enemy fire support. XCOM had no assets with line of sight, and even the chopper was having difficulty. No one, not even Jocasta, had spotted any ground units or gunships, and attempts to back-trace the ballistic trajectories indicated that either both her and Research had flawed math, or their unknown enemy was highly mobile.
The green death that rained down on the city might as well have come out of thin air.
Which lead to a cold equation; XCOM and local forces had to subtract the alien spotting units from the AO, or they would lose it, and a great deal of the rest of the city as well, before the units presumably became too spread out for mutual support. They could not allow foot units to break contact, or they would get enough distance to call in fire support, and a paucity of snipers meant that striking from range was not a very viable tactic.
Which meant that Russian police and cops were going toe-to-toe with an opposing force which, from all indicators, had been optimized for walking up to spitting distance and kicking their foes in the teeth.
It was insane.
But they weren't alone.
-/-
"Which one of you is the fastest runner?" Dunayevsky asked.
There were a few seconds of silence. Reluctantly, one of the soldiers in front of him raised his hand.
"What's your name?"
"Khostov, sir," said the young private, in the universal tone of a soldier who knew his superior was about to volunteer him.
"Khostov, I would like you to be bait."
"Yes, sir."
The larger man popped his mask, looked the boy in the eye.
"This is voluntary. If you don't, I will ask the next slowest."
"That would be Kenin. But most of us owe him money."
"Bad choice, then." He grinned. "The bugs are acting as screens for the heavy units, the Mutons. If we attack them directly, the insects will reinforce them and surround us. If we try to attack the bugs, they will do their best to tie us up, and Mutons will reinforce them. But if a brave, handsome young soldier drew off the roaches by pretending to be separated from his squad..."
"And then we'll take on the spotters?" someone in the crowd said.
"Yes, once we have lured them onto the killing ground. Good thing is, they won't call fire support for just one man if they see you luring the bugs."
Young Khostov still looked a little concerned.
"Your comrades have every reason to be concerned with your safety." Pause for comedic effect.
"You owe them money, right?"
Snickers from the audience.
"As for you, these roaches don't like fire. Any breakable bottle you can find that can hold something flammable, use it to make Molotovs. That includes liquor. I am sorry, gentlemen, but you will have to face the rest of the day sober."
The men chuckled.
It was not so different from teaching, really.
-/-
"That's right, gentlemen," Mundy murmured, cycling the bolt to clear a jam. "Suck it down."
He was perched on an upstairs window at a minor government building, with a few mid-level officials huddling in the cubicle farm downstairs. They didn't have enough men, or firepower, or collective experience to make it to a safer zone, so Sarge had tasked him to sit tight and hold off the x-rays until backup or a ride arrived.
His own Chiron and Flint's Orion were nearby, but he was using a commandeered Russian sniper rifle, to save ammo.
Someone was coming up the steps in a hurry. If they were an assassin, they would be quieter, Mundy reasoned, and if they were X-rays that had gotten past the perimeter, he would have heard gunfire. He didn't turn around until the person came to a heel-clicking stop.
"Sir! There's been -"
"One, don't salute in a a battle zone. Two, just call me Foster. Now, what seems to be the problem?"
"Sir! One of the civilians seems to have gone crazy! She's shooting at me when I try to get in the room!"
Mundy stiffened. "Infiltrator."
"Sir?"
He reached for the heavier firepower. "Show me."
As it turned out, a bunch of bureaucrats weren't much match for a poison-spitting, genetically engineered alien.
Mundy poked his Bullseye around the doorframe. He had precisely a half-second of vision through the linked scope before there was a loud bang, it gave him an error message, and the rifle jerked in his hands. He pulled it back and regarded the now-shattered optic disgustedly.
"Well, the good news is that she's limited to using bullets. Bad news, that's going to be just fine for killing the last of 'em in there. Petrov, right?"
"Yes, sir."
"She came along, all disheveled and helpless, saying she was some kind of brass, and you boys just put her in with the others, right?"
"Yes. But why would she want to kill these officials? They are not important."
"That is a very good question for people above our pay grade to worry about. Right now, we need to stop her." He dialed his - Flint's - Orion up to max, and prepped a ping. "When I shoot, you breach. Got it?"
"Yes." Petrov readied his assault rifle.
"Semi-auto, kid. They're not that much tougher than us. Just stronger, faster, crack shots, and they spit poison."
"Sounds like my mother-in-law, sir. Ready."
Even if Mundy missed, he hoped the shot would distract the alien long enough for the kid to take her down.
First he Pinged.
Then he pointed the rifle directly at the wall, and hoped he didn't hit a beam.
-/-
Nobody was talking much on the ride over.
Washington had gotten onto the Skyranger over Dr. Rao's express protest. He hadn't met the standard recovery time, and to be honest, his leg was still twinging, but it wasn't anything he couldn't work through.
She had still been in the hangar bay when the ramp closed, and Scope imagined he could feel her glaring at him as they took off. Was she still peering into his soul, even hundreds of miles away?
Probably not.
Mac was doing some sort of adjustment on his Orion, the magazine removed and sitting in his lap. Viking was listening to either death metal, or pop music that was imitating it. Shiny seemed to be napping. No, wait, his lips were moving; he was praying. Arnadottir had her eyes closed, her hands on her knees, and her breathing was steady and controlled. And the rookie -
Pulaski was staring at the floor, his XM25 pointed up past his body.
"It gets easier after the first time," Washington said.
The other American's head snapped up, and he swallowed before giving a sickly smile. "Huh?"
"It gets easier." The ex-Marine smiled.
"Been here long?"
"Actually, this is just my second mission."
"Really? What happened on your first one?"
"A big, green alien ambushed me, beat me up, and nearly killed me with its bare hands."
Pulaski swallowed.
"Don't worry. We're probably just going to run into the giant bugs that lay their eggs in people, and then have their babies burst out of their bodies, 'Alien'-style."
"Don't forget the invisible robot hunter-squids," Viking chipped in.
"I know I won't," Arnadottir muttered.
The rookie's eyes were the size of dinner plates. Washington decided to let up. "Don't worry about it. Check your briefing packet, stick with us, do what we tell you, and you'll be fine."
There was a slight thump as the Ranger's drone launched.
The rookie nodded.
"Insertion in five," the pilot called.
"All right." Nilsson stood up. "X-rays check in -"
-/-
"Director?" said Irene, "I have an idea."
-/-
A few seconds later, every unoccupied cell phone in the AO began to blare the Russian National Anthem.
This had several effects. It distracted the aliens and heartened the defenders. Those from Russia, anyway.
Most importantly, when combined with the receivers in those phone, it acted as an ersatz Ping, giving the XCOM forces targeting data.
Including the arriving ones who had used the drop packs to quietly land on rooftops.
-/-
On a rooftop, a Frenchwoman with a rocket launcher smiled.
"Copy that, ma'am," said Private Marius, of XCOM's Echo Squad. "Moving."
-/-
Hotshot had come up with the idea. Two of the rookies were the proof-of-concept for the Shock Recon trooper, or as they were commonly known, the Alpha Strike. These high-mobility forces were given a rocket or grenade launcher to scout enemy clusters, and then eliminate them. Their Herakles' modules were chosen to let them find and sneak up on their foes, and then to scamper as fast as possible while other forces mopped up the rest.
But the aliens weren't morons. In addition to deploying their own flankers, they sought cover and stopped clustering. This made it harder for them to mutually support each other, of course, and thus the human forces gained a slight advantage, especially since the x-ray fire support was much less precise than the strikers. This left the two forces to try to and strike a balance between too close, and too far apart.
Not that the humans went unscathed.
-/-
Khostov rounded the corner "it's not -" he gasped "- it's not -"
A pair of Mutons appeared a few feet behind him.
Sasha blinked. Was it the lack of sleep? No, they were still there. He was grateful that the men couldn't hear what came out of his mouth next. Followed by an audible "get back!"
In those few seconds, the big aliens had caught up to the soldier. One grabbed him by the arm, then the neck, then held him up as a human shield, cautiously scanning the buildings. Its partner was carefully checking their route, as they retreated in good order.
He had counted on the Chryssalids being so target-focused they didn't notice they were walking into an ambush, but the big guys had much better situational awareness. It was eerie, really, seeing them act so...human. They knew that the Russians wouldn't fire, but if they fired themselves, "the ball might go up", to use the American aphorism. A Mexican standoff.
The man from XCOM targeted them with his remaining rockets, and then frowned. The blast radius would kill Khostov. And he wasn't exactly surgical with his SAW.
Time to take a chance.
He stepped into the sun with hands empty. The second Muton bought his weapon up, but didn't fire.
"Sir -" said the captive, before he was cut off by a squeeze on his neck.
"I'm not here to trade," Dunayevsky said. Then he dropped into an aggressive stance, pumped his speakers to maximum, and roared.
The two aliens looked at each other. Then the first one tossed Khostov aside - something cracked as he hit a car and slid to the ground bonelessly - passed his weapon to his comrade, and strode forward to meet the challenge.
At which point the rocket turret popped up over his shoulder and opened fire.
Along with the laser SAW Sasha had left with a Russian soldier. He had graciously decided to stay out of its line of fire to the second Muton.
Then the rest of the squad chipped in.
The first rocket was targeted at the ground between the two x-rays, stunning both. He sent another one at the gun-toting Muton, and when it died, its weapon detonated; the denial system, as usual. This also set off the first creature's weapon, and the triple hit killed the second, as well.
Just to be sure, Dunayevsky caved in its skull with a stomp. Then he looked to the private.
Shame Khostov hadn't seen that.
Nor would he ever see anything else again.
-/-
"Back up the car!" shouted Lieutenant Smirnov.
His command, to dignify it with the term, was a motley crew of lost cops, lost soldiers, and civilians who had just picked up weapons and followed him.
The bug, freed from the pressure, collapsed to the ground and struggled to its feet.
"Burn it!"
Two people came running up with bottles in their hands, and confusion ensued when they both tried to give way to the other.
"Both of you throw!"
The alien screamed as it caught fire, despite lacking any visible mouth, and the rest of the team dispatched it with small-arms fire.
Smirnov tapped his scavenged Bluetooth headset. "Taken care of, Overwatch. What next?"
"Two of the big green guys are going to come out of that ba -"
The store's frontage collapsed under the attentions of the pair of angry aliens. Unfortunately, a cop from the local station was caught by surprise -
"Bloody - Pull your men back!"
He gave the order, then crouched behind a car himself. A peek through the window showed that the contacts were picking targets.
Like him, for instance.
Plasma fire smacked against the car, and flames began to lick at the bodywork. Smirnov gritted his teeth and scrambled to the next car before the first one exploded.
"Overwatch, how do we hit them? What are they weak to?"
"High explosives."
"We don't have any!"
"I do."
And that's when the grenades started raining down.
When they stopped, one of the big green guys was a pulped mass, and the other was barely alive.
Smirnov looked up. On the rooftop was a figure in strange-looking body armor. He was just reloading an odd-looking weapon, and when he caught the Lieutenant's gaze, he gave an ironic salute. Then he vanished.
The Russian soldier shook his head. "Overwatch, I don't suppose any of your friends were in Canada a few hours ago?"
"I can neither confirm nor deny."
"Ah." He drew his pistol.
"Careful. Their weapons explode when they die. Assuming it's still intact."
"Noted." He kicked the big guy's strange weapon clear, warned his folks to stay back, and put a 9mm bullet in the back of the thing's skull. It stopped moving, and there was an ammonia-like scent that made the officer wonder if it had voided its bowels.
He rubbed his eyes, and wondered if there was someplace where he could find a hot cup of coffee.
"There's a civilian bottleneck three blocks west," said the woman on the phone.
"Got it. Let's move, folks!"
He holstered his handgun, collected an AK from the dead cop, crossed himself, and thanked God, the Blessed Virgin, and all the saints for this "Overwatch" lady that was helping them out. If he ever met her, he'd kiss her, marry her, bed her.
In whatever order she preferred.
-/-
Pena had been in worse situations, he knew he had. He just couldn't recall any right now.
Hale had been wounded by shrapnel from an exploding car, and despite having a medkit applied to her, Pena had still ordered her back to the aid station, over her protests. Her extremely strident protests. Some of the Russians had looked apprehensive at the confrontation, probably wondering what they'd do if Pena had ordered them to "escort" her away.
Luckily, the x-rays seemed to be out of their ridiculously overpowered plasma grenades. Which just left their other ridiculously overpowered plasma weapons.
Which still left the rest of them pinned down.
They had dropped a Muton by sheer volume of fire. The street was too narrow for flanking, and the Kongs had strong frontal armor. Right now, the Russians were on one side of the street, and Pena was on the other. They were getting pushed closer and closer to the outer "line", and the Mutons' presence meant no civilians would be taking the route to safety.
Objects arced in from behind them, and Pena had a half second of wondering if they had been flanked, before realizing that not only were they not glowing green, but they had landed well out in front of BLUFOR. Then they erupted into dense clouds of smoke.
"Ah," Pena sighed. "Backup."
His radio went "Not exactly, sir. Delivery. Seven o'clock."
"It's Sarge." He turned to his rear, to find a rookie jogging up with a case.
"Compliments of Chief Stark."
"This is it? It's done?"
"He said something about 'beta testing' and not to scratch the paint. Say your name."
"Alberto Pena."
The case beeped, and opened. Pena, with some reverence, reached in and grabbed the grip. After a second or two, he picked up the color-coded magazines as well, slotted one of each in.
His Ajax's display blinked, before a progress bar labelled "FIRMWARE UPDATE" appeared. Two seconds later, the AR display vanished, to be replaced by a slightly different one. The most obvious change was the addition of another ammo counter, with an indicator for his currently selected magazine and type. Left was armor-piercing sabot, right was flechette.
Both were incendiary.
The Argentinian locked the rest of his mags to his armor and watched as the reserve ammo counter went up. After a moment of thought, he dropped his MAUL and its ammo in the case, locked it. Best not to have Fletcher on his case for losing it.
"All right," he said. "What's your name?"
"Private Alberto Silva, Echo Squad."
There's a pair of us, don't tell. "Silva, I need you to go over there, and tell the Russians to pull back, but to make it sound and look like they're running away."
"Look?"
"They've got some kind of a spotter. Those monkeys were waiting for us. If they act as a distraction, their overwatch might not notice me sitting here waiting to take the green guys in the back."
"What if there are too many to take?"
"That's your job. The second I start engaging, turn around and start shooting at them."
"Got it. But isn't that risky?"
Pena stared at him. "How did you even get this job?"
Silva blushed. "I'll...I'll go now."
Pena nodded. Silva scampered. Pena chambered the weapon.
Officially, it was called the Hestia, after the goddess of the hearth. Upon learning this later, some of the men and women of XCOM tried to make "Heartbreaker" happen, but by the end of the day, the nickname was basically locked in.
Spitfire.
-/-
"Ladies and gentlemen," Lieutenant Okoye announced, trying to look confident, "you are about to get a crash course in fighting aliens."
The new rookie, Hertz, did his best to imitate her relaxed-but-alert attitude. He was walking the perimeter, since the cops they were addressing were clearly too scared to remember to do it themselves. As for herself, her back was to a wall. Hopefully, if anything came along, they would gasp or something. Fleeing civilians were passing through the square, some in cars, often with a cell phone to their ears, but none seemed to be willing to hang around the mysterious soldiers in the metal suits.
Good.
"If you've read the data packets you may have gotten, one of the most dangerous enemies in an urban environment is what we call the Chryssalid. Imagine one of those things from Aliens crossed with a spider."
A few members of their audience shuddered.
"Yes, it is exactly as bad as it sounds," Hertz said. "These insects are vulnerable to blunt trauma. Bullets, less s -"
Some of the cops began to gasp and point at the wall behind the XCOM trooper. She didn't hesitate a second before diving forward.
As Shrimp rolled onto her back to face the contact, it occurred to her that of course one of the bugs would show up to give a demonstration.
It scuttled down the wall, and some of the cops were already drawing their weapons. But nooo, she had to leave her Mutt on her back to look more impressively officerly. Her sidearm probably wasn't going to do -
And a car came out of nowhere and pinned the bug against the wall.
After a few seconds, the South African woman choked out "Thank you, Mr. Hertz."
"No problem."
"As you can see, 'crash course' turned out to be more literal than I expected."
The Russians just looked confused. Did the phrase translate? Just keep rolling.
She got to her feet, faced the foe, and held out her hand, without looking back, and hoped she was bluffing correctly. "Flask."
After a few seconds, the metal container was slapped into her hand.
"Spasibo," she said, exhausting her knowledge of Russian in the process. "Now, these guys are fast, and durable, but not very strong. If this was one of his big cousins, the Mutons -" where had they come up with that name, anyway? "- this car wouldn't even be an inconvenience. And one other thing."
She faked taking a swig, then tossed the closed flask back in the direction of the soldiers.
"They don't like fire. By how much, we're not sure. We don't even know if it hurts them, especially. But one of the things my organization likes is data. So we're going to conduct an experiment. We're going to see how well this guy burns."
Give them a second to think. What was that phrase they had used at the seminar? "Buy-in", right.
"I'm going to need an assistant. A volunteer from the audience. And someone who can siphon gas. Any takers?"
-/-
"Clear!" Mundy said, kicking the infiltrator's gun away from her lifeless hand. Better safe than sorry.
"Clear!" Petrov echoed. He glanced at the shivering clump of middle-management, and then said "Is it always this exciting for you?"
"Sometimes it's worse."
"Are you taking job applications?"
Mundy had just opened his mouth to explain why that was a bad idea when more soldiers arrived. "Ah, decided to show up, have we? Fashionably late?" He added a few more remarks on the matter, which the computer tactfully did not translate.
"Sorry, sir." The lieutenant, a real lantern-jawed, broad-chested recruiting-poster type, saluted. Mundy didn't even bother to correct him.
"There was an attack on the perimeter, uh, -"
"Call me Foster. Probably meant as a distraction. Did anyone see if she had a cell phone or headset when she came in?"
"I think she had a phone," said one of the soldiers. He reached for her body, which had fallen on its face, and rolled it over.
"Don't touch her!" Mundy said, too late.
She was, in fact, clutching a cell phone. Whose screen flashed green, giving the Aussie just enough time to grab Petrov's collar, yell "frag!" and hope it translated before throwing them both to the ground.
Luckily, the guy who turned over the body got most of the blast.
Luckily for everyone else, that is.
-/-
Marius peered over the roof's edge. "HQ, I have no contacts at the waypoint. Visibility is limited due to smoke. Thermals...thermals are limited due to smoke and fire. Repositioning."
She didn't wait for a confirmation before shifting position.
"Also, I am down to one rocket. Will resupply after next engagement."
The other corner of the roof was no better. Just fleeing civilians, who wouldn't be there if there were aliens. A few were noticing her on the roof, pointing at her.
"HQ, there's nothing here. Can you point me to someplace I can actually do some good?"
While she waited, she looked around. It was hard to tell, what with all the smoke, fire, and destruction, but this section of Moscow kinda reminded her of her hometown, Cala -
What was that? In the smoke, about a half-mile away, rising out of a destroyed apartment building. Looked like a UFO, an old-school flying disk. Marius called it in.
There was a pause before the response. Your call is important to us... Then again, they had warned that Jo might be strained from that mega-Ping, so they had to do everything the old-fashioned way for a while. Relatively old-fashioned.
"Be advised, our drones are elsewhere, and on its last pass the chopper didn't catch anything in that area." That was an unfamiliar voice; probably one of the Ops staff. Unless they had recruited the janitors, which seemed unlikely.
"Roger. Maybe it was hiding in the smoke."
"We're trying to free up the drones now."
"Let me try the thermals." The Frenchwoman reached for her belt, and the AR controls there, when something strong and ropelike and invisible wrapped around her body. As the Seeker shimmered into view, it didn't bother to choke her out or shoot her, instead preferring to drag her off the roof.
And then it let her drop.
Marius had only a few instants, as she tumbled through the air, to realize what was happening to her, before she hit the ground hard, breaking her arms.
Followed by her neck.
-/-
Laura Byler stared at the burning building.
She had stims on her belt. Why hadn't the X-ray artillery attacked the oasis, or bastion, or whatever you wanted to call it? Was the worried man next to her feeling guilt, on top of the fear?
What was Irene doing?
Greeeat. Next thing she knew, she'd be talking about not-exactly-her girl back home, like a doomed movie character, and then they'd be sending Ma a letter and a crisply folded flag -
"I had to," the Russian by her side muttered.
"Sir?"
"I needed...I needed to go out to the store, to buy dinner." He ran a hand through his thinning hair. "My wife teaches until after the local stores close, and he was asleep. I've done it before and...how was I supposed to know that -"
"Sir, you shouldn't explain yourself to me. I only care about your safety."
It was easy to lie, from the other side of a metal mask.
"Sorry, I just..." The hair thing again. He took a half-step toward the burning apartment building. Laura wondered how far he could get before she would have to stop him.
She could feel the tension in her neck, the need to be someplace, doing something else. Taking the fight to the enemy.
"I'm sure he's fine."
"Corporal!"
Both heads whipped around. Coming from the side of the burning apartment building was a man carrying a small cloth bundle, which was wailing at being unceremoniously roused from his nap.
"Nikita!"
"Here you go. Do you have a cell phone?"
"Yes."
"You should be getting evacuation instructions in..."
The father's phone rang.
"Oh-okay." He pumped the trooper's hand enthusiastically, went "thank you" a few times, then joined the people trying to get Away.
"You know, Kakakaway, I almost expected you to come out the window."
"Most babies can't take the hit from a two story drop, even without the rig." The Cree man shrugged. "I just took the fire escape."
"What if the hall had caught fire while you were in there?"
He grimaced. "I don't know. I took this job to get away from firefighting. We probably would've laddered up there in the first place."
Their HUDs beeped at them, displaying a waypoint.
"Right. Duty calls."
-/-
The Moscow Metro was a beautiful place. Nice arches, stonework, and the lighting fixtures looked more suitable for a palace than public transit. Washington wished he had time to appreciate it.
Unfortunately, Hotel Squad was busy playing hide and seek with the x-rays.
The problem was that if any of the aliens got into the tunnels, they could end up anywhere in Moscow. On the surface, things were relatively contained. The alien arty or mortars or whatever it was could keep the heavier metal out, but that meant that any aliens who left their covering embrace would be cut down pretty quickly.
There were lots of civvies down here. Reminded him of pictures he had seen of the Blitz. But here, blackout was no salvation, though the lights in parts of the station flickered and went dim.
A lot of unarmed, terrified civilians.
He didn't give the zombie's body a second glance as he ran past.
"Think I've got it, sir," whispered the rook.
"The helmets are sealed, Pulaski," Washington said.
"Best practice, Wash."
"He's got you there, Scope," Levin said with amusement.
Bravo convened at an open area, a sort of intersection, where Cyrillic-labelled tunnels led to lower levels. The light was steadier here, and Bravo Lead set up his rifle in the shadows of the upper level, overlooking the scattering civilians and the bug that had crawled to the top of a newsstand.
"Where are you?" Washington asked. He sent them his location, his teammates transmitted their own. On the far side of the stand from Pulaski's position was a tunnel leading down to the lower levels, which ugly could easily escape to the second he knew they were there. Washington was approaching the alien from a tunnel near the staircase, at a right-angle to it. Excellent crossfire.
On the other hand, Levin suspected his Orion would overpenetrate, he didn't have access to Research to run the numbers for him, and he'd only get one shot. And, frankly, he didn't want a piece of extremely lively tungsten bouncing off the walls. He didn't know anything about the rookie's skills with the launcher, and the guy wasn't close enough to use his Mutt effectively.
"Is it...sniffing?" said the new guy.
"Artificial air circulation is probably confusing him." Scope edged closer to the stand, holding up a finger to his mask as the two folks who had been hiding in the stand caught sight of him. He popped his faceplate, waved them past, sealed it again. Then he edged toward the far side of the stand from the staircase. "Lucky for us. Orders?"
"Frag and tag."
"Roger," the medic said, as he pulled out a grenade. He was wearing an Achilles suit - but without the back turret - so he was most likely to survive an attack.
The American cooked the pineapple for a few seconds, imagining the apoplectic face of his drill sarge if she could see him. "Frag up," he said , tossing the grenade underhand. The bug gave a chitter before it detonated.
"It's still on the roof."
"Not for long." He stuck his weapon over the edge, blindfired, and got the satisfying scent of cooking bug. Or he would've, if his helmet wasn't sealed.
"Good effect," Levin said. "Confirm the kill."
"Roger."
"Shiny, incoming!" Arnadottir yelled, from the lower levels where Alpha was.
He felt it first. A faint thumping that quickly grew louder. Washington had just enough time to yell "Boost!" - which felt like being kicked in the back by a mule - before the Muton burst out of the stairwell and through the newsstand he had been behind a second earlier.
As his back-mounted thruster died down, Washington swung his weapon in an arc, letting its inertia and weight draw him around to face the new contact, which had slowed to a stop, and was trying to decide which threat it wanted to shoot first. If it had just kept charging, it probably would've been clear of them before they could react, instead of leaving himself completely exposed.
"Firing disabling shot," Shiny murmured.
A dull crack from his Orion, magnified in the confined space, and the plasma rifle spun out of the Muton's surprised hands.
"Got a shot," said Pulaski.
"Take it," said the sniper.
The XM25 was an airburst grenade launcher. It used a laser to determine the distance to the target, with its operator able to adjust that by distance ten feet less or more. When the smart grenade reached the programmed distance, it detonated.
It was nicknamed The Punisher.
The weapon, like most explosives, had never been intended for close-quarters work, but Development had dialed the arming distance down to something that would have been declared suicidally close by most militaries.
Right up until the alien invasion.
The flechette round Pulaski fired was incendiary, just like the Spitfire, of course, and he had been using it in impact mode. It punched through the alien's armor, stunning it, leaving it open for Washington's burst of laser fire, and Levin's shot to the lower spine.
The second grenade was technically overkill.
"I think we got him," said the newbie. He walked up to the bug, double-tapped with his sidearm just to be sure.
"Very good," Viking said. "I'll put you in for a nice, shiny medal. If I survive. Get down here!"
The rookie was first down the staircase, after he took another glance at the aliens they had killed. Washington was close behind him as he descended into the dim lighting of the lower levels, a snatch of a song he heard once coming to him.
Then I will follow you into the dark...
-/-
Hale protested "I told them I didn't need a checkup -"
"Who taught you how to use a medkit?" Masumoto scolded. "You've used at least two, two and a half doses here!"
"Sorry, Mom, but I was kind of in a hurry."
"Am I the only person in XCOM who actually read the new manual?"
"I'm fine. Just give me some stims. Wasn't the pilot helping you?"
"Went to supervise the fuel transfer, and don't try to change the subj -"
"Help!" someone cried in Russian from the next room.
Both troopers were on their feet immediately. The Japanese medic had her Kriss out, while the Canadian used her laser pistol. She silently stacked up on the left side of the doorway while the other woman took the right.
They entered the room to find an older man, lying on the ground on a hastily arranged pile of soft materials, kicking a woman with a syringe across the room. She hit the wall, dropped the syringe, recovered, and pulled a scalpel from her pocket as she lunged for the patient -
"Freeze!"
She froze.
"Sir, are you all right?" Hale called.
"I was half-awake. She...she was giving them some kind of injection." He gestured at the other patients, who, Hale realized, looked oddly still. "Then she got to me, and I realized she had used the same needle, and I asked her what was in it, and she just covered my mouth and tried to stick it into me -"
"So you are their tin men," said the woman. "And you let me kill, oh, a half-dozen very important men and women before I was interrupted." Her mouth made a little moue. "I must say, I am not impressed."
"Tin women, actually," Hale said. "Don't be sexist."
"Put down your weapon, and kneel on the ground with your hands up." Sam's voice was remarkably steady, Hale thought, given that her knuckles were white.
"We both know that isn't going to happen." She crouched, preparing to spring. "Hail HYD -"
Two shots echoed through the room.
The spy looked shocked, clutched at her chest, then fell.
The man on the bed lowered his Makarov.
"Uh...thanks." Hale said, as she and Sam moved to police the body.
"You're welcome."
"Who are you, anyway?"
"Alexander Lukin. I generally carry, even with my protection detail."
"Where are they, sir?" the medic asked.
Lukin grimaced. "Slaughtered by the aliens."
"Lukin...Lukin..." Hale suddenly grinned. "Pretty good shot for an oil billionaire."
The oligarch started, then, belatedly, put his handgun on safe. "I served, once." He stared at the dead woman. "Perhaps it is time for me to serve again."
-/-
The alien ground-commander watched the experiment through its Command Drone and through the tapped human sources.
The ship that had transported their forces had halted over the ocean, and the ground-commander found the way the locals reacted interesting. Also interesting was the presence of the human Fists, rallying and assisting the local forces.
And why had their force-commander chosen to support this nation, of the three they had attacked? The Collaborators had suggested they would commit one team to each city, not go for a, what was the human term? A 'Hail Mary'.
Still, the humans, in this city at least, were starting to turn the tide. With the spotters largely neutralized or distracted, the Casters could not target effectively, allowing human heavy vehicles to punch through.
The ground-commander ordered his troops to retreat. The aerial ones, at least. Ground forces were unlikely to survive, but they knew that going in.
It spotted something on the feed from one of its Casters, and, had it been capable of such a thing, would've smiled. Yes, that would do nicely. The Collaborators had been quite thorough in their briefing, backed up by Their own research, and the building's contents represented a critical vulnerability in the human psyche.
With a thought, it directed a small pack of Ambushers toward the undefended objective.
More than sufficient.
-/-
A tech abruptly went pale, then patched to Schmidt. The blonde listened for a few moments, her face hardening, then crossed the room to her XO.
Bradford looked up. "Another spy?"
"Not...exactly."
-/-
A few people cried. Most people were silent.
The school had been a short way outside of the outside perimeter, and the bugs had gotten inside before the news chopper flew overhead. It had gone unnoticed until some of the students managed to escape and flag down a cop.
As soon as the Russians found out, they descended on the place like the fist of an angry god, wiping out anything outside the building that so much as looked like an alien. They had also cleared the halls, a little more cautiously, but none of them had gone into the classrooms.
The moaning was bad enough.
In the hall were what was left of the teachers that had tried to resist, to defend their charges with their lives. The aliens hadn't bothered to implant them, preferring to remove the obstacles between them and their real target.
Not that all the students had been in classrooms, and so the police and soldiers who stormed the school had been forced to shoot shambling things that were a twisted mockery of children.
Hence the silence. Hence the tears.
"Voodoo, radio traffic indicates the building is clear."
"Jo, how can you be so calm?" said Hale.
"I'm in safe mode, my emotional emulation is disabled. I will feel horrified later."
"Y'know, Jocasta, there are times when I envy you," Pena said. "Huddle up, team."
They found a secluded corner, where the locals couldn't hear them, opened their masks.
"Sam, what's the situation?"
"I don't think they're actually dangerous," the medic said over the radio. "Remember how the injured man produced an injured bug?"
"Wait, let me guess," Hale cut in. "Not enough room for the little baby bugs to grow."
"Not even close. They can still...zombify them, though, but when they emerge, if they emerge, they will probably just die."
"So, if that's true," Pena said, "all we need to do is let them die off. Just leave them locked up for a few hours, let Research get some valuable data about their life cycle." A deep breath. "That said; iron or fire?"
"We're low on ammo."
"Fire it is. Resource efficient. And we all know the bichos don't like fire."
"You're going to burn them?" said a horrified voice.
Voodoo slammed down their masks and turned to face the contact, who didn't seem the least bit discomfited by having five different high-power weapons pointed at him.
Mundy blinked, lowered his gun, and popped his mask. "Petrov?"
"These are children! You can't just, you can't -
"Kid." Mundy grabbed Petrov's shoulders, turned the younger man to face him. "Those...those aren't children anymore. Even if they were taken out with...even if they were taken out, no one is ever using this school again. One way or another, those things are going down. And we are not asking your people to do it."
The Russian stared at him, blankly. Then his face just crumbled, and he began to weep, openly. Mundy held him until he wound down.
And anyone who had a problem with that could just jam it up their arse.
Petrov swiped at his face. "Remember what I said about getting a job with you people?"
"Yeah?"
"Never mind."
Mundy half-smiled, bitterly. "That's the idea. We do it, so you don't have to."
-/-
"And that's about it," Schmidt said. "Their fire support seems to have bugged out. Just the mop-up left."
Nobody cheered - this wasn't a cheering occasion - but there was a release of tension.
Bradford rubbed his eyes as the boss went on. "First thing we're going to do is refill that coffee."
His eyes opened, and he stared at his boss. It was, what, sunrise on the surface?
"Madrid and Tokyo still need help. Our Strike teams are running on fumes, we all are, but we can still provide remote support. Rao and Jo will check the efficiency ratings. The bottom third are going to take a two-hour break. Then the next third, and then the top performers."
The tension ratcheted up again. Not all the way, though.
The Director squeezed her XO's shoulder. "You too, David. I don't want you to find out you so much as beat your high score at Angry Birds."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Everyone else, what are you staring at? Get back to work. We have not yet begun to fight."
-X-
Avicii - "Hey Brother"
TROPHY ACHIEVED: Putin Up A Fight: Choose Russia for first Terror Mission.
TROPHY ACHIEVED: Crimea Against Humanity: Commit all available teams to a Russian Terror Mission.
Saving a dozen or two people in attacks that kill thousands is not a real triumph. But a larger-scale event, like the ones here, would be nigh-unplayable. And probably not very fun. Similarly, it's commonly held that plasma weapons have enough power to core tanks, despite the fact that we never see such performance onscreen in-game. But a heavy long-range fire-support unit might do the trick. Or even a tank-equivalent of their own. Too bad they don't seem to have any.
[distant, maniacal laughter]
Eamon has absolutely no problem with cribbing from other superhero movies. Namely, The Dark Knight.
Funny thing; I just realized that I "cast" Saffron Burrows as Jo, but I had forgotten she was on Agents of SHIELD. Speaking of which, certain events in this chapter were heavily inspired by Winter Soldier.
Bonus: Almost No One Makes It Out, by atrata; "What would have happened if Tony hadn't been born filthy rich? A military AU." (Also with less screwy formatting.)
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INFO Terror Mission aftermath
Wouldya believe I'm keeping track of the teams entirely by memory? I'm pretty sure this is the first time I've written them all down anywhere.DarkAtlan said:
Echo
Lt Okoye /S. African
Cpl Byler (Promoted to Sgt) / American
Kakakaway / First Nations Canadian
Silva / Spanish
Marius (KIA) / French
Hertz / German
Hotel
Sgt Nilsson (Promoted to Lt) /Swede
Cpl Levin (Promoted to Sgt) /Israeli
Macinally (WIA) / Scot
Arnadottir / Icelandic
Washington / American
Pulaski / ???
Voodoo
Sgt Pena (Promoted to Lt) / Argentinian
Dunayevsky / Russian
Mundy / Australian
Masumoto / Japanese
Flint (KIA prev mission) / ???
Hale (Promoted to Cpl) / Canadian *
I've only hinted at it previously, but Rookies are either recruited directly into squads, or into Base Security. Some of them, like Arnadottir, were not soldiers. Not yet.
Significant civilian, police, and military casualties. Significant psychological trauma to members of XCOM, as well. Plus all the public exposure for XCOM, including revealing, more or less, what they know about the aliens. As for Russia, well, there's a saying about poking bears. Basically; don't.
Remember, this was an experiment (among other things), not a real offensive intended to crush Russian infrastructure, military, and morale.
* Hale is named after voice actress Jennifer Hale, but not otherwise based on her. Because she's the first Canadian woman I thought of.
10 You can't carry it with you if you want to survive
10 You can't carry it with you if you want to survive
-O-
The Exalted convened.
From behind their metal helms, they spoke. Thin hands gestured from the folds of red robes.
The humans were...unruly.
Their reaction to the experiment had not accorded with the hypothesis, bore only the merest resemblance to any models. There was little consensus, and much disagreement. Indeed, it often seemed that their global information network was mainly developed to allow humans to efficiently disagree with more people than ever before.
As for their martial capabilities, their Mail-clad Fists had proven a decisive factor. It was not enough to win the war, of course, but they risked giving humans enough false hope that it might prove too costly to defeat them.
Costly to the humans, that is.
And if they put their faith in metal, they might not turn to the Gift.
And so, it was decided; old projects would be unearthed, pressure would be applied unto their main opponents, this "X-Com". As for Earth's Shield, the Collaborators would suffice. Indeed, they were eager to help, offering amusing trinkets as gifts, in the hope that they would be raised on high upon the aliens' inexorable triumph.
The Exalted dispersed.
-/-
Bradford found Schmidt in the chapel.
The place was non-denominational, of course, and she was halfway along, on the left side, her head on her crossed arms, which were themselves on her knees.
He sat on the other side of the scattered paperwork, and waited for a while, glancing at her occasionally. She looked a lot more relaxed when she was asleep, kind of like when she laughed.
Her nostrils flared.
"I hope you brought more."
"No coffee for people who sleep in church."
She smiled, opened her eyes, and sat up, kneading her back in a familiar gesture. "Ow."
"This isn't your office, Director."
"I noticed. Anything happened last night?"
"The Mayor of Vancouver held a press conference." He checked his tablet. "Pierre 'Pepe' Tucker. Because he has a white streak in his hair, like -"
"I get it."
"He wasn't too happy with us. Vowed to launch an investigation into this mysterious task force that was responsible for so many people killed and harmed."
The blonde's brow furrowed. "I'm pretty sure we weren't the ones shooting plasma at ourselves."
"Meanwhile, in Russia, I'm sure they want to give us medals. They've promised to increase their support, and are already placing orders. Along with a whole lot of other places. Spain and Japan aren't exactly happy with us, though some people are wondering if they pissed us off somehow."
It was interesting, to watch her face grow hard by degrees.
"What about Carlock?"
Bradford paused. "He didn't find anything."
"What? Then why would...would...oh. Of course." She cupped her face in her hands and sighed. "Misdirection."
"Recovery checked out the garage. They found that the trap that got Flint had been removed."
"Probably wasn't the parking attendant."
"Probably not."
Schmidt stared towards the table at the front of the chapel. "Wanna know why I keep using Greek myths for names?"
"Greco-Roman, and the Council -"
"They don't micromanage that much." She smiled. "I just wanted to actually use my degree."
"What did you do before this?"
"I was in the Army."
"Can you be more specific?"
"No."
"Oh."
There was a brief silence.
"Normally...about now, I'd be getting ready to go to Church."
"In America?"
She shook her head. "Nope. German Evangelical."
"You lived in Germany?"
"Well, I was retired. From the military, I mean. Frau Hoffer would make these little lemon Danishes, and tea, for after the service. The tea was weak, but the Danishes -"
"When was the last time you ate?"
"Um-" She thought. "Um."
"Director, we're getting you breakfast. Maybe you can ask Chef Baptiste to make you some treats and bad tea for next Sunday."
"What about the paperwork?"
"We'll do it over breakfast." He took his boss's hand, to help her up.
She held it a little longer than strictly necessary.
-/-
"I should have seen it coming," Masumoto said, staring at the floor.
The therapist raised an eyebrow. "You think you should've seen that a fire extinguisher was a trap?"
Sam said nothing, only shifted in her seat.
"I've talked to Doctor Rao. She said there was nothing anyone could've done."
"That she knows about."
"That anyone knows about. Not even you."
The Japanese woman opened her mouth, then closed it again.
"Let's talk about Moscow. How do you feel about burning down that school?"
The soldier was silent for a few seconds, her gaze distant. "I keep wondering...what if there was someone hiding in a closet? What if we burned them alive, trapped in a little box?" She spoke faster. "Pounding on the door, but it won't open, can't get out, can't get away, no one can hear me, kaso..."
"If it's any consolation," the therapist said mildly, "most fatalities are from smoke inhalation. How do you feel about Tokyo?"
"I'm from Osaka."
He waited.
"What do you want me to say?" the young woman burst out. "That I'm upset about my capital burning while I was on the other side of the continent? Yes, of course I am! But it doesn't change the fact that I had a job to do elsewhere."
"Saving lives."
Masumoto snorted. "Mitigating damage."
"Do you feel responsible for Flint's...incapacitation? Or those assassinated officials?
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, got herself under control. "No. Of course not."
Softly, very softly, the therapist said: "but the dreams still keep you up at night".
Masumoto looked at him sharply.
-/-
Vahlen stood in front of the Muton's cage - for all that it looked like it was made of glass - and closed her eyes. She could almost feel its rage, like standing in front of an open furnace -
"Are you still getting those headaches?" someone said quietly.
"Yes," Vahlen said. Relenting, she added, "I am not sure which is worse, the pain or the dreams of fire."
"Maybe it is a good omen," Marceau said. "Maybe we'll be able to quit and go camping soon."
His boss smiled, opened her eyes, and the heat died down. She could've sworn the headache was slightly better too.
She looked around. A blond sentry hastily pretended he hadn't been staring.
"Well, we've learned all we could from passive observation. How long have we had him?"
"Or her. Since Marseilles."
"Well, it's certainly overstayed its welcome. Let's begin the interrogation."
"Tests have shown that this specimen is genetically identical to some of the ones in Moscow."
"So if they make extensive use of cloning, why would they have different variants -"
-/-
Eamon found one of the few clear spots on the desk, and banged the cup down a little harder than he had to.
Tony woke up - and sat up - with a bleary "whuh?" He had a diode stuck to his cheek.
"Morning, boss," Irene said. "Ahh, that's a fine cup of coffee."
"Mmrph," said the playboy, and scrabbled for the Iron Maiden mug. Eddie the Head was the last thing Irene would want to see first thing in the morning, but to each their own.
"Did you get the manual finished?"
"Did I..." Tony's eyes widened, and he frantically reached for his tablet. "Uh, tell me I didn't..."
"You didn't," Jocasta said. "The Director is reading through your draft over her morning coffee. Or, more accurately, over Bradford's morning coffee."
"You know, Chief Stark, you don't have to do this yourse -"
"Wait a second. Jo, did you say that Schmidt and the Hawk are having breakfast?"
"No, I said Bradford is having coffee. In the Director's office. Like they have every morning for some time now."
"She also squeezed his shoulder and told him to get some rest during the Moscow mission," Irene added.
"How do you know?"
"Because she did it in front of everyone. Maybe if you'd talk to your employees about something besides work -"
"Your girlfriend told you, didn't she?"
Irene raised her coffee cup, which just happened to cover her face. "She's not my girlfriend." She picked up the Kriss SMG and put down the mug, fishing her glasses from her pocket with her free hand. "What do you need this for?"
Despite the caffeine, Tony yawned. "I'm trying to copy their block...thingy."
"To reduce recoil?" She made sure the chamber was clear, and sighted along the iron sights.
"Yeah, but I was trying to figure out how to make it work with pulse weapons."
"Mmm. You know that if this war ends, they could sue you, right?"
"Sue us."
"Yeah, 'cause they're going to sue the military instead of the billionaire. As I understand it, the core of the system is the redirection of downward force. Jo, if you could bring up their patent -"
-/-
"-And we need to find out which of our personnel have holiday needs," Schmidt said.
"Throw a party for the troops and anyone else staying behind?" Bradford suggested.
"Mmm. Maybe we can get Lady Gaga. Does USO cover international task forces in secret underground bases?"
There were a few minutes of silence, broken by the rustling of paper.
"Jo's been doing some analysis," Bradford volunteered.
"Of what?"
"Conspiracy theorists."
Schmidt gave Bradford her full attention.
"She's gotten a few of our guys together with SHIELD's analysts, to look at some of the speculation floating around."
"So you're saying I need to authorize hazard pay."
Her XO snorted. "Ever heard the saying about the stopped clock?" He took a sip of coffee. "For example, there are some who say that Tony Stark is alive, and the government kidnapped him to make weapons."
If she had been drinking coffee, Schmidt would've spat it out over every bit of paperwork on her desk. As it was, she just stared. "You're kidding."
"Oh, it's a minority theory, but it's out there. Another is that we're working with the lizard people to create a threat so we can take away everyone's civil liberties."
"Someone had better tell those Infiltrators. They seem to think we're on different teams."
Bradford skimmed a sheaf of procurement request forms. "My favorite is the one that says that Captain America is alive, and working for us."
Schmidt froze.
"We're apparently farming his blood to make Super-Soldier formula."
Schmidt unfroze.
"Because some of the things we do are impossible for regular humans."
"Well, let's not correct them. We need disinformation."
"More than you know. A lot of people - not just these nutjobs - are trying their best to find us. Or the Thunderbolt Strike Force. Or X-Force. Or just 'the Defenders'. They don't even know what to call us."
"Why are they looking for us? To sue?"
"Well, some of them, but mostly they want to thank us."
The Director blinked.
"...And to volunteer."
The Director smiled.
"What's that for?" Bradford asked.
"Just thinking about something someone said once. About the most important battlefield."
"Hearts and minds."
"But it's 'Thin red line of heroes' when the drums begin to roll," Schmidt quoted, bending over her work again.
"Seems we've read the same books."
"You, me, and anyone else since the 19th century who's ever been saluted and called 'sir' or 'ma'am'."
"Of course, if we did recruit these folks, then we'd have even more paperwork." David looked at the mass of white filling the Director's desk sourly. "God."
"Language, dear," Schmidt said absently. Then her head snapped up, and she blushed.
There was an extremely awkward silence.
-/-
"How do you feel about Madrid?" asked the therapist.
The clock ticked a few times before Silva answered.
"It happened. Just like it happened in Tokyo, and Moscow."
"Except for the fact that you were in the latter."
The Spaniard said nothing.
"According to the reports, a member of the Royal family perished in the fighting. You were formerly of the Guardia Real, and your file says you were assigned to the Prince."
"The Infante. Non-heirs don't get to be called Prince or Princess."
"My mistake. The Infante. But you were assigned to his detail for an extended period, correct?"
"Si."
"Do you feel that XCOM should've been sent to Spain? That it would've prevented the massive loss of life before your countrymen were able to beat off the attack, including the life of the Infante?"
"It was not my decision," Silva said stiffly.
"That's not what I asked."
-/-
"Sarge," said Kakakaway.
"Kakakaway," said Laura to the Canadian.
"What's the main course?"
The Texan craned her neck. "It's brown."
"Very funny."
"Beef Wellington," said a man behind the counter. "Side of carrots and string beans. We also have a Caesar salad as the vegetarian entrée, and the usual selection of sides."
"Thank you, Chef, uh -"
"Greco."
"Do you have any burgers?" Laura asked.
The man from Monaco looked heavenward. "Americans."
Despite his eye-rolling, he whipped up some pretty tasty burgers. Laura hadn't had much deep-fried food since she joined XCOM - and was getting kinda homesick for the State Fair- but Mac had promised to throw a party, and show his peers what Scots could do in that culinary area.
Did Rao know? And didn't Doctors have a right to violate patient confidentiality if there was a threat of imminent bodily harm?
They made their way to the table, with a nod to Pena and Hale.
"I've been meaning to ask you something," the Canadian asked as they sat. "What were you yelling when we found those cornered civilians being attacked?"
A fallen grocery bag, melted by the heat from plasma passing by.
A man screaming at third-degree burns over half his torso.
The paint on a cherry-red car, bubbled and marred and blackened.
The crunch of broken glass under metal boots.
"Not sure."
"Sounded angry," the Canadian said.
"Probably was."
"So...where are you from?"
The penny dropped while her brightly-colored sports drink was halfway to her mouth. One would've had to have been watching closely to notice when she stopped for an instant.
He liked her, and thought she was interested. No, that wasn't right; he thought she could ever be interested. Which wasn't an unreasonable assumption, statistically, since he was a square-jawed, well-built, exotic-looking firefighter. But a man who charged into burning buildings for a living probably wasn't going to be put off by any excuse she could think of.
She needed to tell him the truth.
"Kakakaway, I think you should know that I'm a -"
"Laaaauuura, who's your friend?"
"Oh. Um, hi, Irene. Private Kakakaway, meet Irene Starkos, Assistant to Chief Stark."
They shook hands. As the only white person at the table, Laura felt outnumbered.
"Are those fries?"
The Texan blinked. "Yeah, but -"
The woman from Chicago leaned over Laura to get at her fries. And got way too close in the process.
"I thought you were on a diet -"
"I told you, I like salads, honey! You never listen to me! Even if I was, I can still cheat a little." Irene rolled her eyes, and looked at Kakakaway. "This woman."
She sat down - again, too close to be normal, even if it wasn't exactly uncomfortable - and slid the fries into her mouth in, eyes locked on Laura's the whole time.
Laura had never seen her without the glasses, actually. What would she look like with them off? Or wearing nothing but -
"I hope you weren't going to ask her out. Regs say that personnel in the same division can't date." Irene swallowed her fries and looked at the Cree. "Or...anything shorter term."
Oh, right, why didn't she think of that?
Laura saw his eyes narrow. In thought, not hostility. "So...are you two..."
"Just friends," Laura said hastily. Irene was fifteen years older than she was, after all, even if a part of her sometimes whispered so what?
"Yes." The expression on the engineer's face looked like it belonged on something scaly that floated on rivers, pretending to be a log. "Friends."
Laura's blush went all the way to the roots of her hair at Irene's alpha-wolf act. She needed to calm down. Didn't wolves mark their territory by pissing all over it?
"Ah." Kakakaway cleared his throat. "So...how's work been lately?"
Like a dog did with a hydrant, or tree, or couch.
Irene thought for a second. "Varied."
Laura imagined Irene, just peeing all over Laura's leg. While eating a salad.
"Sarge? Is something wrong?" Her subordinate had a worried look on his face, which she couldn't actually see at the moment.
"Just thought of something funny," Laura said, with her face buried in her hands, and shaking with laughter.
"Care to share it with the class?" Irene asked.
More giggles.
-/-
"Hale, could you pass the salt?" Pena asked, without looking up from the battered book of poetry he was reading.
"No problem...Big Bert."
The Argentinian got a very odd look on his face.
-/-
He could hear it.
Outside the bush, he could hear the mechanical monster that was hunting him. It hadn't caught on to his exact location yet, but it was warm, very warm.
The robot paused, and he listened closely. Eventually, he heard the sound of it turning away, and readied his weapon. If it was looking in the wrong direction, he could -
A second drone rolled through the bush and took aim at him from point-blank range.
Clever girl.
And then the paintball hit Washington in the face.
-/-
Elsewhere, Tony Stark said "that's my boys", and took a look around the lab. Sometime between kickoff and Washington's "demise", everyone had left for lunch.
That was getting to be a habit.
"Stark."
Tony nearly had a heart attack.
"Bradford, what - why did you - what -"
"Sorry. Just wanted to see if I still had it."
"Had what? Being a ninja?"
"Never mind. How much sleep have you been getting lately?"
"Enough. I've been busy. Setting up the sim for Tue Rovers, fixing the bugs in their AI, organizing my next, what's the word, pub crawl..."
"That's what you have subordinates for. Your team is good, Stark, and you're no good to anyone if you fall asleep on your soldering iron."
Tony resisted the urge to reach for the singed spot on his beard. "Perks of the job. I can stay up as long as I like."
"Unless your Commanding Officer says otherwise, at which point they can have you dragged off by BaseSec and put under sedation."
The engineer stared at Bradford. "Well, yeah, it's not like I have something else to do."
The light dawned. "Ah."
"Yeah."
The soldier looked thoughtful. "I'll see what I can do. So, how is work?"
Tony stifled a yawn.
"We got those repulsor afterburners and Arc Reactors retrofitted into the Interceptors, at least."
"And the new missiles?"
"They're on there too." Stark frowned at the gauntlet, then slammed his fist down onto the table and let out a short, explosive syllable. After a few seconds of awkward silence, he said "sorry."
"I was in the Navy," Bradford said. "I've heard worse." His brow furrowed. "Actually, I've probably said worse."
"When you got shot?"
"When I stubbed my toe."
-/-
"Do you think HYDRA's been too quiet lately?" Bradford asked, as his boss sat next to him.
Schmidt glared at him. "David, Fletcher went through all this trouble of setting up a nice Christmas-slash-Holiday party, and you're talking shop? I order you to not talk about work, or I'll find a rolled up newspaper and smack you on the nose."
They both went silent. Bradford was about as casual as he ever got, which meant that he wasn't wearing a tie under his sweater, had the top button of his shirt undone, and was wearing sneakers instead of dress shoes.
"And no. No they're not. They're just laying low."
They watched Dunayevsky try to twerk.
"Is he drunk?"
"I don't know, but I think I need to be."
The Director herself had heels, a cocktail dress, and a bolero jacket with a tiny gold and teal version of the XCOM crest on the lapel.
"Nice pin," Bradford noted.
"Starkos' idea. She also had some interesting ideas about merchandising, if we ever go bright."
"I see. I'm pretty sure that having company logos on the rigs would compromise any camouflage."
"Maybe we could do a product placement thing. Just fight aliens with big red Coke glasses."
Bradford snorted. "Or endorsement deals."
"Yes," Schmidt said, with an entirely un-Directorly lack of gravitas. "And then they'll send us free stuff!"
"After a long, hard day of protecting Earth," Bradford made an easily-misinterpreted gesture, "I like to kick back with a cold-"
Paula had a hand over her mouth, trying to stifle her giggles. "Stop it, you're killing me!"
"Director...you are aware of the fact that we're sitting under mistletoe?"
"You mean that sprig you can barely see?"
"Yes."
Schmidt picked up a knife from the table, tossed it in the air to get a feel for the balance, eyed the plant, and pointedly ignored the personnel trying to pretend they weren't watching her closely. "Give me a second."
-X-
Florence and the Machine - "Dog Days Are Over"
If you're familiar with Spacebattles, you may want to take a close look at Mayor Tucker's name. In keeping with Marvel's Stan Lee cameos, Mayor Tucker is played by Sid Meier.
In case it wasn't obvious, Masumoto has an illogical fear of being cremated alive.
Funny. For someone who criticized Fallout: Equestria for the writer's lesbians and teasing/humiliation fetish, I'm now writing a story involving lesbian romance, in which the two people in question have both been teased.
Then again, I don't get off on either of those. And no one in this story is going to, say, discuss their sex life on their highly popular radio station without their partner's consent. My only fetishes on display in this story are shotguns and competence.
Though I am trying to find a plausible way to work an Albanian Pudding Wrestling scene into the fic. Just a heads-up.
Vahlen is portrayed by Franka Potente. The therapist is played by Jeffrey Donovan, best known as Michael Westen from Burn Notice.
According to John Ringo, the military tends to like Kipling. Luckily enough, so do I, which is why I had that line from "Tommy" memorized. Originally, Schmidt's line was going to be a Napoleon quote about morale.
Next time:
Portal 2 Sounds
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Let's see...
An Aliens reference (I think).
Character development for everyone.
Bradford is now a ninja sailor.
An Aliens reference (I think).
Character development for everyone.
Bradford is now a ninja sailor.
Hmm... It sounds like the aliens are trying to force the development psionic abilities in humans. Given that this is a Marvel fusion, does that mean we can expect to see superpowered mutants getting involved, possibly on both sides? I can see Magneto deciding that these aliens are a bigger threat to mutant kind than human prejudice, especially if Hydra is composed of the kind of people who murdered his family.
INFO Okoye / X-Men
I know. Her dad was an immigrant, her mum is white South African. She faced some discrimination for being "Coloured" (biracial) and having an immigrant parent, though somewhat less than she might've in the recent past.uju32 said:
Actually, come to think, Shrimp is about the same age as Mr. Noah here. Maybe she just grew up in a town that was slightly more tolerant than the average.
VhenRa said:
Schmidt mentioned the (First Class) X-Men back in Chapter 04, but I left it ambiguous whether they were real, or just a hoax. As of Late 2015 (current time), mutants aren't really a thing to the general public.evader said:
I can, however, confirm that neither Phoenix, nor any serial-numbers-filed-off version, is the Volunteer.
11 Dying Stroke
11 Dying Stroke
-O-
They were somewhere over Europe when Chris "Corsair" Summers, until recently a member of the USAF, found the alien craft.
When he launched his Sidewinders, the ship curved smoothly away from its perpendicular course, to head away from the Interceptor. It went transsonic with almost contemptuous ease.
Summers could've sworn that he detected surprise when he hit his own afterburners and began to catch up. After what felt like a brief hesitation, the contact poured it on, and the gap began to widen.
"That's right, run," the Alaskan murmured into his mask.
And then, from on high, screamed Peter "Starlord" Quill.
Summers had never learned how, exactly, his RAF wingman got his name. All he had been willing to say, when he got really drunk on New Year's, was that it involved a racoon.
"Look for the Hun," Quill quipped, "in the sun. Fox Three. "
And then he launched the Stark Industries Jericho Missile, Air to Air variant, customized by Tony Stark himself.
The poor X-Ray ship, which Summers had chased right into the missile's kill envelope, never had a chance.
-/-
Irene found her in the mech bay.
There was a bar the troops liked to go to. They also served dinner, so he could get a table with her, act like it was just another meal.
Like their lunches.
Okay, maybe not just another meal.
"Laura?" she said, over the sound of the suit armature.
The Texan turned to her with a smile.
The warmth of your regard.
Focus.
"I was wondering if you wanted to - if you would -"
She was looking at him expectantly.
"Never mind."
"Never mind."
Her face fell.
"I mean...I'll tell you later."
The blonde's face went neutral. "All right. When I get back. Hold the helmet," she said to someone.
"Laura, what are you do-"
The soldier swept Irene into her arms, and planted a kiss on her cheek that left the spot tingling.
"I'm making a promise."
"Um," Irene squeaked. Her face felt hot. When the other woman released her, she stumbled, what with her legs having suddenly lost a large portion of their strength.
Laura smiled, reached for her helmet, and left for the hangar.
And so, having stolen a kiss from his lady-love, the brave knight donned his helm and went forth to do battle with the dragon.
Eamon found a bench to sit on before his legs wobbled right out from under him.
Though the genders weren't exactly right.
She touched her cheek with one trembling hand.
"What are you smiling at?" she growled at the remaining people in the room. "Quit clapping and get back to work."
Her words were somewhat undercut by the smile creeping across her face.
-/-
"This is an Outsider," Bradford said.
The briefing hologram on the 'Rangers had been set up so both Echo and Hotel could see each other on the other "side". Like they were on different sides of the same pane of glass.
"This image, poor as it is, was recovered and reconstructed from the memories of several of the aliens we have interrogated. We think they are the alien commanders."
"Wait," said Viking, "what about the Reds?"
"They may be the equivalent of junior officers," Bradford said. "However, they're not critical to the mission."
"So what is the mission?" Okoye said.
"To capture an Outsider. We believe that they can give us access to the alien base."
"There's an alien base? Where?"
"That's also what we need the Outsider for."
"What's the situation like on the ground?" Levin asked.
"There's radio silence, and we assume there's alien jamming. There are a few tweets reporting a few sightings, but nothing actionable, not enough for a clear picture."
"So what are we supposed to do with these?" Viking patted the assault Rover they had hoisted to the ceiling of the transport. The tag read "Pitbull". On the other side of the looking-glass, Echo's supply Rover was bulkier, named "Bernie". Short for "St. Bernard".
"They have their own way of getting down. Let's just say they'll be right behind you."
"Great. Just what I always wanted. An oversized RC car that thinks it's a dog, trying to fly somewhere over my head."
Pitbull "barked" at him.
"Drop in thirty," called the pilot. "The seatbelt light will be turned on! Please return all seat backs and tray tables..."
-/-
The drop packs were external frames that attached to the armor, and looked like a cross between a jetpack and a wingsu -
A beam of light speared through the air and smacked Hertz right out of the sky.
"Evasive!" Okoye barked. The suits went into barrel rolls and slewed away from their original path as they cut their thrust significantly.
That is, all the way.
They flared their repulsors as they dropped below the roofline, bleeding speed. Bernie, being a robot, could take much higher stresses than the troops, and Lloyd's AR showed that it was dropping a lot faster than they had. And a lot more vertically.
There was a loud crash right after it dropped out of sight a few streets over, followed by a car alarm going off. Okoye ignored it and looked around, as she shrugged off her drop pack. It promptly folded itself into a configuration that would require the Jaws of Life to pry open.
"Hertz, how are you?" His tag on her display listed him as alive, though his medical status was a worrying gold.
"I think I broke something," the German said woozily. "I think I broke...everything."
"Jo, is he stable?"
"Yes."
"Good."
Honestly, this part of the Czech Republic was kind of pretty, even before the snow. It wasn't exactly a bustling metropolis, but it had a sort of charm, with the colorful buildings and the mountain looming above. Too bad Okoye had completely forgotten the name of the town.
"How's Pitbull?"
"More or less fully functional. You should see the other car."
"Your mission is to neutralize that anti-air, whatever it was, so Hotel can proceed to the primary objective," Bradford reminded her.
"Roger," Okoye ground out. "Oh, what is this?"
Some civilians on the street were staring and pointing at her. Some were taking photos.
"I thought the network was down."
"But the phones themselves still work fine," Jo sighed. "Don't worry, I'll take care of it. Once the phone network comes back on, I'll intercept everything that has a clear picture of you."
"What about landlines? Like those tweets you mentioned earlier?" Viking cut in.
"That...could be trickier. Hang on, your team's locations have all been tweeted. Here's a waypoint. Miss Starkos has just suggested we don't try to stop the landline tweets from the server side, but just limit ourselves to the town, specifically the few people who might see you. Which saves me digging through who knows how many posts, so I'm all for it."
"Maybe we could feed false tweets?" Okoye said. When had what was Trending become a tactical consideration? "So if the enemy is monitoring them, they think we're coming from the wrong direction. "
"Like Operation Bodyguard. I like it," Bradford said in something that was almost a warm voice. "Do it."
"Incidentally, our pal is in the network."
"How can you tell?"
"I tried to set up a small version of the mega-ping that we did in Moscow, and he wouldn't let me. Sent false GPS data so I couldn't tell where everything was, switched the music to "Rescue Me" and backflowed it at the proxy I was using. I can still filter the social stuff, but that'll be by service provider, not their location relative to our troops. Plus, the fact that a surprising amount of people use 'monkey' as their Facebook password. Still, I got enough intel to know that there's an potential enemy cluster...here."
The waypoint popped up on Okoye's display.
"Got it. Everyone, head toward that contact. Quietly. You too, boy."
Pitbull huffed indignantly.
-/-
Snow crunched under Okoye's feet as she took cover behind a car.
"We found them. They seem to be HYDRA drones. They set up in the town square, which seems exposed."
"But it does give them a shot at your most likely approach vectors," Jo noted. "You're probably not getting to the ship, on air or by foot, without going through this plaza."
"Set up a sync-shot." Why only six of them?
The team moved to good vantage points, confirmed they had angles, and executed. Even the supply Rover dashed out into the open before unleashing a burst of .45 ACP at the head of one of the drones.
Which staggered, recovered, then blasted the little guy with a chest beam.
-/-
"What was that?" Singh said.
"That was a repulsor blast," Tony said, jaw set.
"And an arc reactor," Irene added. She now had a sneaking suspicion about who HYDRA had working for them, but couldn't just blame it on someone she wasn't supposed to know even existed. Maybe she could pretend to figure it out later.
"The Rover experienced a brief disruption to its electrical systems," Jo said, as a flurry of red light cut the HYDRA robot down. Bernie returned the love tap by driving over its head and grinding said body part to pieces under its own treads.
"Well, at least we know what hit Hertz," Singh said.
"Pretty sure someone forgot to carry a one somewhere," Tony said lightly. His knuckles were white. "If you didn't do the math right, you end up with lots of spare electrons bouncing around."
Irene snapped her fingers. "Which may have been in the rocket that took down the 'Ranger in Marseilles!"
"Good thing we upgraded the electrical protection in the rigs," Singh said.
What none of them said was what if they've upgraded too?
-/-
"Clear!" Okoye called. "Hotel, AA is down. You are free to drop!"
The rest of the squad echoed her, followed by her number two going "Eltee, this doesn't make any tactical sense. At all."
"I see what you mean," said Orlov. He kicked at one of the fallen drones. "Why not hide in the surrounding buildings, ambush us when we come through?"
"Maybe we caught them setting up?" Silva said. "Or they were still messed up from the crash?"
"Then why are they the only ones here?" Kakakaway asked. "Why would the x-rays send them out in a bunch, instead of guarding the ship?"
"I don't know," Okoye said, "but I'm feeling exposed. Jo, tell the local cops to secure the 'bots, and we head to the ship." She pointed - "that way -"
The first bolt of green impacted near her weapon, reducing it to slag and frying the actuators in her hands. The second, an instant later, scored the blate over her left-hand floating ribs. The third disabled her Ajax's right knee joint.
And just like that, Lieutenant Elise Okoye was turned into a rather expensive paperweight.
Both Shrimp and Hotshot were heard to utter a single, intense syllable - albeit in two seperate languages - as the former went down and the other members of her squad scrambled for cover.
"Did anyone see where that came from?" Byler yelled.
"Yes," Jo said. She put up a ghost-outline of a multi-story office building overlooking the square. Another outline surrounded a particular window.
The Texan went over the square's layout in her mind, and something twisted in her gut. The sniper had a perfect position on the entire area.
"Trap," Okoye said.
"Shrimp, don't try to talk!"
"They didn't hit my head, Laura!"
"We're going to get you out of there!" Silva said.
The South African chuckled. "You need to read more. I'm not a target. I'm bait."
"What...what do you mean?"
"She means that the second we poke our heads out, we lose them," Orlov said.
"We have smoke -"
"Not enough to lift her and get clear in time. And before you say it, the Rover doesn't have enough horsepower either."
There was a grim silence.
"Madre de dios, what are we supposed to do?" the Spaniard asked.
"Echo, do you need backup?" Viking asked.
"Negative! Finish the mission!"
Beat. "Roger. Breaching!"
There was the distant noise of an explosion, and Laura bit her lip.
The X-ray had them locked down tighter than a string bikini on a elephant, and there was a good chance they could die before Hotel backed them up and she was not going to let that happen.
The box.
She had to think outside the box.
What were her fundamental assumptions? What were the sniper's? How could she get inside his OODA lo-
Wait. Inside.
She used her AR controls to designate a target.
"Smoke out!"
-/-
The first thing through the hole in the alien ship's roof was a new toy, nicknamed the "disco ball". First it flashed - but didn't bang - to disorient the opposition, then spent a few seconds acquiring targets, then gave them a burst of high-intensity lasers to the face.
The second thing was a rather determined combat drone that answered to the name "Pitbull".
"Whoa," Pulaski said. "If the little guy can cook too, I think I'm in love."
It sent up a "clear" signal, and Hotel dropped in through the hole.
"Pitbull, radial Ping," Nilsson ordered.
The upper floor of the UFO was built around the bridge, with two more rooms devoted to various purposes, and two lift shafts, as best as the Ping could tell, forming a sort of cross shape. Apparently, most of the x-rays had gone outside, in anticipation of the XCOM attack. Which had left them completely out of position when Hotel had just dropped onto the top of the ship.
Viking, to his shame, had actually blacked out from the g-force. Jo had taken over for those few instants, but he was not going to hear the end of it.
Assuming they survived.
"No more contacts on this level," the Swede reported, and they all relaxed a fraction.
"They just realized you caught them with their pants down," Jo reported. "Incoming."
"Pitbull," said Bradford. "Vertical Ping."
The robot responded with a growl.
"Sir?" said Washington.
"We haven't found the Outsider ye - there. Right below you. Possibly some kind of engine room."
"How many more charges do we have?" Arnadottir asked.
"Why? What do you think he's up to?"
"He's probably going to blow up the ship," Washington cut in. "And even if he is trying to fix it, we can't go down the lift shafts."
"Because that's where the x-rays are about to come up."
"All we can do is hope he sealed the doors in there from the inside," Spots finished.
"He's not the only one in there," Levin said, seemingly staring at the floor.
"Of course not," Viking sighed. "That would be easy."
-/-
The funny thing about plasma fire was that it was more or less silent. Well, until it actually hit something. So if the sniper had picked up on Laura's ruse, she might very well not hear the bolt that killed her.
She ran through the smoke, right past Okoye, using the AR image of the plaza to navigate. It was like walking through a world made of ghosts.
Comforting thought.
She wasn't going to take the front door. That way lay potential booby-traps.
Above her, she could see the sniper shooting blind at the clouds over Okoye, not realizing that the smoke was to cover her, not the Eltee.
There was a car in front of the building. Perfect.
"Suit, full power to mobility!"
And then Hotshot began to move.
Build up speed. Use the hood of the car as the first step, bend the knee a little as the next step hits the roof
(it buckles under the impact, glass crazing and bursting outward as the frame deforms)
jump forward and up, through a second story window, parachute roll to bleed off speed.
As she tumbled, it occurred to her that it sure would be nice if she had some sort of grappling hook so she could just head up to the sniper and punch him in the face.
She looked to her left, and found a stunned janitor staring at her. A smile spread over her face.
"Health and safety," she said, which was technically her job description. There was the fire stairwell. "Carry on."
-/-
"Hotel, what's going on?" Bradford said. "Report!"
The riot of confused images stabilized. "Sorry about that, sir," Washington said. "This guy did not want to come quietly. We had to put him down."
Bradford frowned. Well, frowned more. "Did the Stunner not work?"
"Not well enough. He went all weird when he was hit by it, like...like seeing a glass break then unbreak itself. Then he did some weird things trying to stop us - sir, I'm not sure this Outsider is an organism at all."
"What makes you say that?"
"Well, for one thing," Nilsson said, turning his helmet camera to face to the glowing, floating crystal on the floor, "when we shot him, he went travel-sized."
-/-
Byler reached the doorway of room where she suspected the sniper was, and peeked around the corner.
Apparently, the Czechs used the same soulless partitions as Americans. Good to know.
There was a green flash over by the window.
She stayed low, skirting the edges of the cubicles, her gun raised. Judging from his marksmanship, the sniper was either an Infiltrator, or an exceptionally good human. Either way, she wanted his weapon intact, and that meant getting close.
Laura stepped over what looked like a backpack, presumably belonging to the sniper.
Which promptly exploded into a large number of flailing metal whips, which wrapped around her body.
Uh-oh.
"Glad you could join us," said the sniper, without turning around.
-/-
Pulaski caught the alien grenade, and lobbed it right back at the Muton that had dropped it through the hole in the ceiling.
The explosion seemed to just piss it off, and it jumped down the hole to face him directly.
Which meant that Hotel was trapped in a confined space with an angry Muton.
Great.
-/-
Laura had thrust her leg towards the nearest computer tower the second the whipmine exploded. The suit was supposed to be insulated, but it was better to get grounded, just in case. And it was better to lose her leg than her hands.
Of course, she'd prefer to lose neither.
"Interesting." The Infiltrator turned from the window. He was remarkably average-looking. "Well, the electricity's not working, but we don't need that, do we?" He leveled his bulky-looking firearm at the trooper. "You can't break the whips, even with your little su-"
There was a faint whisper that wouldn't have been audible to a human's ears as the aperture on the suit's chest opened. Then the American fired her chest repulsor into the mine.
There was a flash of light and sound.
When the alien came to, it had a broken jaw, and was propped up against a wall.
"Glad you could join us," said the human. She was looking for something in the debris. "I read the reports. You need a working jaw to spit. Where is...ah!"
She pulled a few long, sharp pieces of metal from the pile.
The alien tried to move. It was sluggish, at best.
"I wasn't trying to break them. But, unfortunately for you, your little toy just fried all my safety cuffs, but I don't think they would've held you anyway."
She turned a step into a lightning-quick kick at the alien's knee, which gave an audible snap. The Infiltrator's back arched in pain, and he let out a hiss.
"Oh no, don't get up on my account." She drew back one piece of metal, pointy-end forward. "Now hold still."
-/-
"I think that's all of 'em," Mac said.
"Jo?" asked Viking.
"Best as I can tell...yeah. This wasn't really a troop ship, I don't think."
"All right, let's back up Echo."
"No need," broke in the South African Lieutenant, a note of pride in her voice. "I think my girl's got it handled."
-/-
"Central, if you can hear me, I confronted and engaged the sniper. After escaping from some new type of mine, I pinned him two ways, so he won't be able to slip off."
Laura moved over to the weapon.
"This...doesn't look like their standard issue. It's a plasma sniper rifle, sure, but they've never needed to use a generator with any of their weapons. If anything, it looks like those HYDRA weap...Central, between this and that mine, I think they're supplying the x-rays with weapons. Seems like they didn't include the self des -"
Irene visibly flinched as a flash filled the screen, and Laura's feed switched to static and a NO SIGNAL message.
"She's fine," she said to no one in particular. "She...she has to be fine."
-/-
"Jo?" said Kakakaway. "How bad would that explosion from the ship have been?"
"Well, according to Research...have you heard of a town called Hiroshima?"
They watched as other troopers scaled the building in a more conventional fashion, sweeping and clearing the structure. And then they found Laura's lifeless body; Irene drew in her breath sharply at the extent of the damage. Someone took off their gauntlet, and her helmet, to check her pulse. Jo had muted the sound, so their first indication was the fact that the soldiers didn't react with any urgency at all.
The second was when Jocasta said "Irene...I'm sorry."
Tony turned. His assistant was backing up, shaking her head without actually looking away from the screen. She was clutching her stomach like she was in pain, like someone had tied her guts into a hot, tight knot and it was squeezing out all the tears -
Or maybe not. Maybe she was taking it better than he had.
He reached out to her, and she flinched away, looking at him, through him, before turning away and heading right out the door.
Tony thought of two words. The first one was "well". The second one was also four letters long.
When Tony found her, she was lifting her glass to the ceiling, saying something that sounded like that's three I owe ya before taking a swig.
"What are you having?" her boss said, sliding onto the next stool.
"What are you drinking?"
"Whiskey and Coke."
"Same for me."
She was two and a half-glasses ahead of him, judging by the empty glasses, and over-enunciating her words. Or slurring. Or something. Not important.
"What are you planning to do?" Tony took a sip.
"I'm going to drink until I'm too drunk to drink anymore. Then I'm going to wake up tomorrow morning with a hangover. I'm calling in sick, by the way."
"I'll have my assistant make a note of it. Irene, I know how you feel."
"Oh, I doubt it."
Irish, that was it. She sounded almost Irish when she was drunk.
"You feel like...like you could've done something."
"You have no idea, rich boy."
"That's exactly how I felt when Shen died. I kept thinking I should've seen what he was about to do, should've stopped him. And you know what I realized?"
She didn't take the opening.
"Well, when I say 'I' I mean 'I and one of the therapists'."
Still nothing.
"There was hypnosis involved. I think I remember thinking I was a chicken, but I didn't think anyone would eggsactly believe me."
Aaand she cracked a smile. "What did you realize, Tony? That it wasn't your fault? That sometimes bad things just happen?"
"Yeah. And that I needed to make my life count, somehow. I needed to live up to the image he had of me." Belatedly - by several months - he raised his glass. "This one's for you, Doc."
"Your Arc Reactor is killing you."
"What?"
Irene suddenly looked very, very sober. Her lips were a thin line. "The palladium is poisoning your blood. Your dad had plans for a new element, hidden in the Stark Expo model."
"Slow down -"
She was staring fixedly at the wall, tension in her hunched shoulders. "He didn't have the technology to do it before he died, but you can build a particle accelerator. In the lab. With a bunch of scraps. And some of the smartest people in the world."
"How do you -"
"I never really thought about the shield over there." She gestured at the one behind the bar. "Crossed swords, under an eye, and a star for a pupil. Aperi oculus, gladium acutum."
"It's just Latin, and -"
"Open your eyes. I think it means. You see...my eyes are open, now."
At this, she finally ran down. Her shoulders slumped.
"Irene. Irene, look at me. Look at me. Why are you telling me this?"
She looked at her empty glass. "I could've done something. I could've -" She closed her eyes. "I want to protect the people I put in harm's way."
"Who said that?"
She leaned over and patted him on the knee. "A very close friend of mine. Barkeep! Another!"
And that was it. She shut up, and got back to her Jack.
Tony stared at her, brow furrowed, then left. After telling the barkeep to cut her off after two more glasses, which struck him as ironic, considering...him.
I drink a lot, I don't have a problem.
He then found a quiet corner and called Vahlen.
"Doc? I need a favor. Can you test blood? Good. Get out a lollipop, I'm coming down."
-/-
"Doctor," said the Director, "I'm quite interested in seeing how you interrogate a crystal."
"A floating crystal," Bradford added.
"They're probably not that much harder to question than most crystals," Vahlen said.
"Can we worry about that when Hotel and Echo get back?" Tony said. "How are we going to assault an alien base we can't even see? What if it's underwater? Or on the moon? What it it's full of those bugs? What if it's booby-trapped?"
"Excellent questions," Schmidt replied.
What if he really was being poisoned?
"We've prepared some outlines for battle plans, and we've appreciate it if you'd take a look at them."
Two folders slid across the desk.
How drunk had Irene been anyway?
"Something wrong, Stark?" Bradford asked.
"Hmm? No, just...thinking about Irene. She's...not good."
"I know that feeling," Schmidt sympathized. "And you?"
"I'm..."
"Bradford said that you were complaining that you haven't seen the light of day since you got here."
"Yes I have. On screen."
The corner of the Director's mouth turned up. "You know what? This can wait. Take a night off."
"Uh."
"That's an order. In fact, there's a place you can go for dinner. I've even arranged for the restaurant to be cleared out. Unfortunately, for security reasons, the base will have to make do without our favorite chef tonight."
"You want me to eat alone?"
"Not exactly. But I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise."
-/-
Irene looked at the ceiling, gestures at it, and said something rude in Irish.
"Did you just flip off God?" said the BaseSec guy on the next stool.
The engineer gave him a boozy smile. "Nah. Someone else."
-/-
Tony had scrounged up a nice suit by the time he met the group of sober-looking men in the warehouse that served as the entry to one of XCOM's elevators.
"Hey, you're those security guys! Arby's, right?
"Aegis, sir."
Tony eyed their vehicle. It was a low-profile SUV. Well, low-profile for Rodeo Drive, less so for Germany.
"So! You guys mind if I ride in the trunk?"
-/-
What-
What happened?
His head hurt. And his chest.
Something red dripped off the end of his nose and fell sideways.
Blood. Was it his blood?
Something hit his cheek.
He looked to his left. There was a dead man there, in body armor. His neck was at a strange angle, and the glass breaking from the impact had scored his face, leading to the blood.
Drip, drip.
The hit had come out of nowhere; a pair of lights, like angry eyes, broadsiding the SUV as it passed through an intersection. Was it better or worse than...Afghanistan? And his trip to XCOM?
Tony Stark. His name was Tony Stark, and he worked for XCOM, and people had died protecting him again -
He needed to get out.
He hit the belt release, and dropped, awkwardly. The guy on the other side was still alive, and he groaned.
"Stay there. I'll go get help."
He had actually scrambled out the left-hand window (don't look at the body don't touch the body) before he realized that he didn't actually have any idea how.
There were four men advancing on him, in green and khaki tactical gear, with masks on. There were civilians in the area, and the soldiers were ignoring them. One pointed, and raised his weapon to his shoulder.
He tumbled off the car in an undignified fashion, on the far side of it from the bad guys. There was a strange noise from the impacts as some of the shots hit, and a spark jumped to his hand.
Crap.
He scrambled to his feet and tried to run. But the soldiers had rounded the car, and the lights on their weapons were like, well, lasers on his back.
Plus, he was running towards innocent bystanders, and if the boys in green shot at him -
He stopped, raised his hands, and turned around.
One of the soldiers lowered his weapon and raised something from his belt.
And Tony saw that it looked a lot like the Sonic Stunner, and the last thing he says before he is hit by something that make the world taste like pennies, feel like he had stuck a paper clip chain into a light socket, and then look completely black was "Hey! You ripped that off from m -"
-/-
"What's going on?" Bradford said, as he walked into Mission Control.
"Do you know who Argos was?" Schmidt asked.
"Uh..." Wake up, David. "Besides a British store? A giant with a hundred eyes all over his body. What happened?"
"Aegis lost Tony."
"They what?"
"Needless to say, we won't be using their services again. Jo?"
The hologlobe was replaced by several windows, showing what appeared to be an intersection with a car accident.
"What am I looking at here?"
"The scene of the crime. Synchronize, please."
The intersection. The impact. A man climbing out of the overturned SUV, trying to run from the approaching soldiers, surrendering, being knocked out and dragged away. The audio from several calls to the local equivalent of 911.
"Traffic cams and cell phones. Cops are on the scene now."
"Jo, can you track them?"
"I can't monitor everything, Assistant Director. But what I can access indicates that several seconds of traffic and security camera footage were erased."
"Can you figure out where they went from the negative space?"
"The gaps seem to be random times, at random locations. Determining what was being obscured is impossible."
"Wait...was he coming back?"
"Going out," Schmidt said.
"That was hours ago! When did Aegis tell us about this?"
"They didn't. Chef Baptiste called and asked us why Tony was taking so long. Then the techs on duty asked Jo, and then they woke me up, and then I yelled at Aegis, and then I woke you up. I assume they wanted to try and get him back before telling Mom."
"Contacts over Europe," said one of the techs. "Loading to the globe."
Schmidt recognized the area of Germany a second before anyone else in the room.
"This is the Director. Gold alert. This is not a drill."
"The German Air Force is scrambling," someone else said.
"Tell them to get back in the dugout. They won't be able to do anything against the X-rays but die bravely." She smiled thinly. "Fortunately, I know just who to call. I'm heading to my office, first. Jocasta?"
"Yes?"
"Screen my calls." She glanced at the globe and the aliens' converging vectors. "And bump us up to red alert."
-/-
Irene Starkos raised her head at the sirens.
-/-
Elsewhere, in an otherwise empty restaurant, an airman named Rhodes picked up his phone and dialed a number. He made sure not to look directly at the face of the other person at the table, a slim woman with reddish-blonde hair, because he had never liked to see someone whose heart had just been broken.
"Yeah," he said. "He...he never showed up."
-X-
I want to say Laura was played by Caity Loitz, but fans of Arrow will understand why that seems like typecasting. On the other hand, this is a fanfic, not an actual movie or TV series.
As for Bradford, I've narrowed it down to Eric Dane (The Last Ship), Adam Baldwin (Chuck), Max Martini (Pacific Rim), or Bailey Chase (Longmire). I put him in his late 30s/early 40s.
I stuck a paper clip chain into a light socket once. It's not an experience I care to repeat, even with twenty-odd years to dull the memory. And like they say, "write what you know".
Baptiste was the name of the Director when this was going to be a genderbend self-insert fic, except she'd be Haitian and the Director. Physically, she'd look kinda like Sheryl Lee Ralph. (Note that Irene/Eamon, who is basically just a regular old "sent into a fictional universe for no known reason" type, has retained the, ahem, matronly figure.) Aside from a few notes, the story never really clicked for me, the gender-bending never got past a few cheap jokes, and I'm kinda glad I had this fusion idea, even if Eamon wants to punch me. Chef Baptiste is a reference to that.
The "monkey" password thing is true.
TROPHY ACHIEVED: Begun, the Drone Wars Have: Kill a HYDRA drone, Outsider, or Alien drone with an XCOM drone.
Next time:
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Night_stalker
Slava Ukraini!
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Well, here's hoping Bulldog gets a upgrade for her (Because something that lethal is certainly a bitch) weapons systems.
12 And the walls came tumbling down, in the city that we love
12 And the walls came tumbling down, in the city that we love
-O-
Blessed is he who in the name of charity and goodwill shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children.
-Jules Winnifield misquoting Ezekiel 25:17, "Pulp Fiction"
The Base Security officer casually swept testing equipment aside, then planted his Manticore Squad Laser Automatic Weapon on the countertop, pointed at the entryway. On the other side of the lab's center aisle, his partner, whose name Vahlen also never remembered, did the same.
"What are you doing?" the German asked.
"Standing by to repel boarders, ma'am," the blond American responded. His partner snickered. "I suggest you and your team find some cover."
Vahlen sputtered ineffectually for a few moments.
"Of course, you could leave entirely, but we still need to protect y'all somewhere, and this is as good a place as any."
"But you barely know me, how can you -"
"That's what sentries do, ma'am."
Vahlen could almost taste his determination, his dedication. It was coming off him in waves.
Her mouth worked silently for a second or two.
"The alien grenades are much more powerful than human versions," she volunteered. "Their breaching charges, if they have any, are likely to be too."
The sentry looked over his shoulder. "Thanks, Doc. We'll move back." He pulled out his sidearm. "If anything gets by us, use this."
The scientist took the American's weapon reluctantly. She knew how to handle the thing, but firing on a range was a lot different from shooting at actual enemies. Also - "What will you use?"
"Don't worry about it." He patted his far hip. "Got a spare."
Vahlen nodded. "We'll be in the Faraday Room."
"Want me to lock it from the outside, just to make it look like no one's in there?"
"Danke."
"You're welcome."
-/-
Schmidt knelt in front of her open safe.
She reached out and removed her gunbelt from the top shelf, buckling it around her waist. Extra magazines, checked the action. The M1911 seemed to be working just fine, despite its age.
The second shelf...
She ran her hand over the smooth surface of the object there.
No. She had a new life now, and if she picked that up again, she'd never get it back.
Besides, if she needed it in the first place, something had gone horribly wrong.
She closed the door, and span the dial.
Now all they had to do was hold out for backup.
"Dunayevsky?" she said as she left her office. "Remember those RPG-7s you're not supposed to have?"
-/-
Irene vomited into the toilet.
"Urgh," she said, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. She got to her feet, somewhat unsteadily, and jammed the stim-pen into her flesh.
That was unpleasant.
She rinsed her mouth out and washed her hands, then filled her glass with water and drank it. Better.
Irene left the bathroom, glad she could walk straight now, to find the bar's occupants staring at her.
"Lady, what do we do?"
Ah, that nickname again.
Eamon looked at the two BaseSec men, and the reserve rookie. Instead of answering, she reached for her phone.
"Singh? I'm in the bar. Send me an assault Rover, a Kriss, a gun belt, and a Base Security vest."
"Do you want us to send the Project PASSPORT prototype?"
Did he...?
"No, thanks. Oh, and three Mutts, with vests and reloads. We're bringing the party to you." She hung up.
The soldiers looked a lot more confident. The barkeeper, however, looked concerned.
"Don't worry. I doubt a bar is going to be of critical strategic importance." A thought struck her, and she hit redial. "Singh? I'd like you to add one more thing to that care package."
-/-
"Ow," said Tony.
Mouth dry, headache, nausea. If it weren't for his memory, he would've thought he was in the middle of another hangover.
The ceiling was remarkably boring.
"Rise and shine, Mr. Stark," said a voice. Sounded German.
"Two sugars, please."
The voice snorted. In the corner, a camera stared at him.
"Very amusing. I am your new employer."
Tony rolled off the bed. "Pretty sure you're not."
"I assure you, Stark, we have ways of making you work."
"Better women than you have tried and failed."
What was Pepper doing now?
"I am told you do not play well with others."
"You might wanna look into getting better speakers. Seems you have a flanging problem."
"I am also told that you use insults to deflect and disarm."
"Didn't catch your name." The door to his cell was sealed with a keypad.
"Pardon?"
Tony leaned against the wall next to the keypad, facing the camera. His hands were behind his back. "I need your name, 'Boss'."
"Ah...call me Doctor Schmidt."
"One, in case you didn't get the memo, I already have a boss named Schmidt. Two, isn't 'Smith' kind of obvious?"
The voice lost its uncertainty. "That is what you'll call me."
"Sure, Doc. But there's something you should know."
"Oh? What's that?"
"One, you ruined my night out. Two, I am sick and tired of you people shooting at me every time I get into a car."
"Are you?" The voice sounded curious. "What to you plan to do about it?"
"This."
The door popped open.
Tony grinned at the camera.
"You really need to seal these better. Someone could just put a paperclip in the wrong spot and short the whole thing out."
The voice didn't respond, but a few seconds later, a guard appeared, and cautiously entered the room, gun drawn.
A minute or so later, the genius engineer who was closely acquainted with some of the most dangerous people on Earth walked out of his cell, holding a laser pistol. He stopped, looked back at the camera.
"By the way, I'm coming for you."
Then he blasted it.
Predictably, alarms went off.
-/-
Outside the cage, there were the sounds of laser and plasma fire. At one point, Vahlen could've sworn she hear the flat pop of a plain old handgun.
She could almost taste the others' fear.
And then, silence, broken only by heavy footsteps.
Someone whimpered.
The Muton didn't even bother to unlock the door, preferring to rip it off the hinges instead. As the light flooded in, she raised her arm to cover her eyes, and found it seized in a grip large enough to crush her entire head. In the Muton's other hand was...a Geiger counter?
No, but it was very similar. The screen flashed orange, and the ape-like creature let out a huff. Then it looked at the pistol Vahlen was trying to raise with about the same level of concern as a tank being menaced with a flyswatter.
Her arm fell. The alien slammed her against the wall.
When her wits came back, she was slung over the Muton's massive shoulder. Incredibly, she still had a grip on the gun. A death grip, actually.
Come to think, didn't the reports say Mutons were basically invulnerable to small arms? The guard had to have known that. So why had he given it to her? So she could die fighting? A security blanket?
Or...
Well, it couldn't be any worse than what the aliens might do to her. Quick, clean, no fuss, no muss.
Funny. They might poke around in her brain, dissecting her. What was that instrument measuring, anyway? How German she was?
She giggled, the movement sending bolts of pain shooting through her head.
Well, the joke was on them.
They passed the top half of the second guard. Vahlen viewed the body with a sort of detatched indifference, like she was watching it on a TV screen. It wasn't real, that was just corn starch and food coloring. Those weren't real intestines. And the blond sentry's body -
He was still alive. She could feel him dying, as he reached out to her (bleeding out, crushed sternum, plasma burns). His despair at his failure. And then, as his hand went limp, nothing.
Reynolds.
His name had been Reynolds.
The gun dropped from her hand.
She tried to categorize what she felt, to put it in neat little boxes.
Icy fear. Throbbing pain. Firey rage and frustration.
A great deal of rage, more than she could ever possibly hold.
So she shared it.
-/-
Somehow, Masumoto had ended up being the sole real soldier in charge of the base's "back door".
Even as she yelled at the frightened BaseSecs - she knew it wasn't their fault, but she couldn't help herself - she could hear the faint sounds of gunfire in other parts of the base. The rest of Voodoo was on their way, as fast as they could get. Hopefully, they would find someone there to rescue.
If not...she was ready to die with honor.
"Get a sticky on that forklift's gas tank," she said.
"Yes ma'am!" said one of her charges, picking up the grenade. "Uh...how?"
The Japanese woman stared at her, then held her breath and counted to yattsu. Slowly, patiently: "twist the lower portion until the prongs come out. If you twist back, then twist it again, you are holding a grenade."
Something that was almost a smile. "In which case, I suggest you stop holding it in the next five seconds."
The sentry holding the charge gave her a sickly grin, and trotted off.
The elevators at the front of the Forward Access Bay began to move.
"Masumoto?" Jo said. "I can't stop it. We should've cut off the shafts -"
"Next time, maybe." With each breath, she tried to seal away a little part of her mind that wasn't essential to the mission. A little trick she had taught herself. Didn't always work, but it seemed to be working now.
"Charge set," someone said.
"Good. Remember the fallback points."
The elevator reached the ground and opened.
"Hold fire," the medic whispered.
The...thing that emerged from the elevator was flanked by a Muton on each side. It was tall, with digitigrade mechanical legs, like some kind of animal. The torso was also heavily armored, and, oddly, its head was exposed.
"Central, enemy unknown." Some part of her was screaming, and she ignored it. "It appears to be a Sectoid in an exoskeleton. Armament consists of what looks like a heavy plasma cannon in place of one arm, and what may be some kind of projectile launcher on the other."
It would burn her. Her skin would turn pink, then black. It would hurt to touch, to have the sun kiss it.
She could distract it, but the sentries might panic or fall apart if she went down. On the one hand, she would draw its attention away from the less-armored soldiers, and if enough of them went down, they'd start panicking anyway -
"Jo? Do me a favor and blow that sticky."
When the smoke cleared, the Muton nearest to the forklift had staggered, and its left arm was a mangled mess, but it was still standing. It shook its head, and picked up its dropped rifle in its right hand, with a grunt. The Cyber-Sectoid had staggered slightly, then started to look around. It pointed one "arm" at the oversight platform in the middle of the room.
Which was exactly where Masumoto was.
As the plasma began to fly, she decided it was time to depart.
-/-
"Antony," said a voice from the ceiling.
The engineer frowned. "How many of you guys are there?"
The compound where he was being held was a strange combination of military base, office, and men's club. (The classy ones, not the ones with the strippers.) But like XCom, they were fairly gender egalitarian.
Such as, for example, the HYDRA trooper who had been trying to sneak around the filing cabinet who had been abruptly introduced to one of its drawers, courtesy of the carbon dioxide from a fire extinguisher.
She groaned on the floor. A dark-haired, bearded man appeared in her field of view. "Hey. Hey buddy. How many fingers am I holding up?"
She tried to focus. "None -"
Tony looked at his fist. "Are you sure? Take a better look."
It only took one punch to knock her out.
"I am on your side," the new voice continued.
"So, good cop?"
The voice chuckled. "Not cop."
"The last guy was German. You Russian?"
"Yes. Also, not guy."
"Sorry."
"Common mistake. I want escape as much as you do. Take the next left. There's a three-man ambush setting up."
"Are you giving me directions to the fire exit, or to you? And what happened to the German?"
"Towards weapon. And he seems to have left. Let me use exploit."
Tony peeked a cell phone he had liberated around the corner, and it nearly got hit by a repulsor bolt, one which made the hair on his hand tingle and the screen fuzz briefly. He pulled the phone back and studied the picture.
"Correction; three drone team."
"Thanks for the update. Can't you turn them off?"
"They locked out my access after I built them."
"After you what?"
-/-
The Muton guarding the door to Engineering until its backup arrived turned at the sound of some sort of machine.
As it curved into view, it turned out to be some sort of treaded automaton, racing at top speed and firing its pitifully inadequate weapon.
The Muton, were it capable, would've snorted with contempt. Instead, it bought its large shield around, just in case.
Riding the drone was a woman, holding on to the thing for dear life as it raced towards its foe. If the human wanted to commit suicide by smashing itself into a sack of meat and bone, it was perfectly fine with that.
Just before they arrived, the machine braked hard, and extended its upper section upward, sending the woman flying over the shield, where she landed to the rear of the Muton. It heard her go tumbling as she hit the floor, and would've turned to capitalize on her disorientation, if it hadn't been distracted by the two grenade-like objects that had somehow attached themselves to its pauldron.
The explosion was impressive.
On the floor, Irene grinned, blood singing in her ears. Or was that ringing? Either way, she had single-handedly - or close to it - taken out a Muton, and all it took was a horribly reckless plan that could've easily got her killed.
She stood, and was mildly surprised when she couldn't, due to a sharp pain in her right ankle.
"Well," she said, in the strongest language anyone in XCOM had ever heard from her, "crap."
-/-
Pena went flying from the blast of the alien grenade, and Dunayevsky, further down the corridor, gritted his teeth at the overpressure that pushed at him. He ducked around a corner to catch his breath.
"How's it looking?" said Hale.
"Sarge is down, and they are at hangar doors," the big Russian replied. He shrugged one shoulder. "So, not good."
There was a loud noise, and more pressure.
"Correction. They are breaching the hangar doors," the Canadian noted.
From inside the hangar came a storm of lasers and conventional fire, presumably from security and maybe some of the aircrew who had armed themselves. The Mutons weathered it on one of their shields as they tried to pry the door open.
Which meant they had exposed their flank.
"Ready?"
The smaller woman raised his RPG-7s to her shoulders, and activated the targeting system for the left one only. The right one she would aim optically.
Dunayevsky had his doubts about its effectiveness, but he was going to be firing one himself, along with his minirocket-turret. And yet, something was bothering him, something he had forg - ah.
"Jo, connect me to the forces in the hangar."
"Connected."
He gestured to Hale, and they both stepped out into the corridor. "Danger close!"
-/-
They would've felt smug, were it possible.
Their transports were capable of holding the local airspace all on their own, once divested of their contents. Even the one at the base's "back door", delivering the flanking force, was back in the air, keeping a wary eye out for any local ground forces attempting to intervene.
All the invaders had to do was reach and destroy the remains of the Command Drone. It was...surprising that the humans had managed to obtain it. Nonetheless, while they were there, they could seek those who had signs of the Gift, and either secure them, or deny resources to the human Fists.
With the overwhelming force they had bought to bear, it would only be a matter of -
All of the transports suddenly exploded.
What?
-/-
The Quinjet decloaked, its panels fading back to a dark blue-grey.
Nothing better than a sucker punch, the pilot thought, as his co-pilot sent their second salvo of missiles at the alien ground forces. He stabilized the aircraft and tapped a button, and a light in the passenger section went from red to green.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" announced the brownish-blond man as he stood. "Please return all seat-backs and tray tables to the upright and locked position!" He strapped himself into a zipline. "Your checked baggage will be waiting for you when you exit the plane."
Some of the other SHIELD operatives grinned. The blonde woman closest to Barton rolled her eyes behind her yellow glasses.
When they hit the ground, she promptly jogged forward to get out of the way of the others. Past the extremely tempting alien wreckage. Earpiece, check. Carbine, check.
"Are you sure this is the best way to insert, Barton?" she yelled, over the sound of the Quinjet's turborotors.
"Well, we didn't have to use the swoop harnesses, so I call that a win. Especially if it means I avoid the wedgie."
"Nice to know you have your priorities in order," Bobbi Morse said dryly. She took a knee, scanned the entrances with her weapon up. "Think we've got enough men?" she asked, egalitarianism notwithstanding.
"Relax, Morse." He reached for his weapon. "We don't have to wait for the other squads. Haven't you ever heard people say -" his bow expanded with a crack like a whip "- one riot, one archer?"
Morse, who was from the Southwest, rolled her eyes behind her boss. "Not exactly."
-/-
When they found Schmidt, she was standing over the wreckage of three alien robot squids. In fact, one of them still had several panels flickering in and out of cloak as the blonde pointed her gun at the complete strangers rounding the corner.
"Whoa!" Barton skidded to a stop and held up his hands. "Easy, we're the cavalry!"
"Eyes open."
"Swords sharp. Schmidt, I'm Barton, and this is Morse, and these guys are very good at shooting things. Can you point that thing somewhere else, please?"
Schmidt holstered her gun.
"Thank you. What are you doing alone?"
"Someone needed to draw them off. I offered them an HVT."
"And your XO let you?" Morse chimed in.
A thin smile. "'Let'?"
"You got lucky," Barton noted.
"I surely did. In addition to these guys," she kicked one, "I was going to reinforce Delta section."
"By yourself?"
"They need all the help they can get. The x-rays have introduced some kind of light mechanized unit."
"That sounds like fun," said Morse.
"Lead on, ma'am," said Barton.
-/-
The first inkling the Muton had of their arrival was an arrow to the knee, since Barton noted the weaker armor there first. It punched through, and then exploded, effectively kneecapping the alien shock trooper and forcing it to halt.
No one made the mistake of assuming it was any less dangerous because it couldn't walk.
The second was Director Schmidt diving from the balcony, landing on its back, and unloading her clip into its head at point-blank range.
This stunned the big guy.
As Schmidt leapt off, she left behind a sticky of her own. It was a grenade wrapped in duct tape instead of a fancy magnetic explosive, but it was the thought that counted.
This left a chink in its armor, which Morse exploited by pouring a three-round burst into the gap. It whirled, which distracted it enough for Schmidt to kick the weapon out of its hands, put it under its owner's chin, and pull the trigger.
As the Muton's headless body swayed, she tossed its plasma weapon in a direction she was pretty sure had no people. Pretty sure.
Then she rolled behind the nearest console as the plasma weapon exploded, reloaded, and waited for the stomping boots to die down.
"Clear!" Barton called.
"Mockingbird to Control," Morse said, "Auxiliary Command is secure. Moving to assist in the mechanical bay."
Schmidt stood. "No, he's Central, I'm Control. Masumoto, sitrep."
"I've lost half my men!" the medic shouted over the sounds of gunfire. "It's pushed us into the mech bay and it just won't die!"
The American bit her lip as she thought about the contents of the secondary mechanical bay. "Jo, can you get me eyes on -"
Several of the screens nearest to her lit up with a security camera image of the new alien unit.
"Thanks."
"You have an AI too?" Morse asked.
"Mmm-hm." Schmidt turned to the SHIELD agents. "Do either of you have ropes? Strong ropes."
Both spies held up their arms, where a device was strapped to their wrist.
"Is that...?"
They nodded.
"Perfect. How do I use them?"
-/-
By the time the sentries reached the Research lab, Jocasta had cut off the sprinklers.
Sitting in the middle of a circle of ash and scorch marks, hands clasped around her knees, was Doctor Vahlen. She didn't seem to notice their entrance, or the ruined equipment that had been set on fire.
They swept the room. Ybarra wondered if the Recovery teams would just leave the bodies there, or take them out and bring them back in.
"Check the cage," the Brazilian growled to his team, as he approached the scientist. "Ma'am?"
She didn't respond.
He touched her shoulder, and she jumped. Aside from the charred clothes and thousand-yard stare, she seemed fine.
"Doctor?" His wave included the fire damage, the massive, charred bodies of the Mutons, and the smaller ones of the Infiltrators. "What happened?"
The redheaded German blinked at him, and her gaze slid back to one particular body, human-sized, wearing what was left of BaseSec armor.
"Oh."
She swallowed.
"They...they got burned."
-/-
The Director and the medic stood over the corpse - or wreckage - of the mechanized Sectoid, while SHIELD and the remaining BaseSec forces swept and cleared.
"Good job, Corporal," Schmidt said quietly.
"Private, ma'am," Masumoto corrected.
"No. Corporal."
"Oh." Beat. "Thank you, Director."
"Sorry we took so long." The older woman grimaced. "Traffic."
Despite her best efforts, the Japanese woman began to giggle.
-/-
The humans, the Exalted decided, had proven unexpectedly resilient. Especially once they were supported by their shield-force. In fact, the Collaborators had informed them that one prominent member had rallied the defenses in the attack on the human settlement called Tokyo.
It had been killed, of course.
Nonetheless, perhaps the Collaborators were not sufficient. Perhaps it was time to take a closer look at the shield, not merely the sword.
-/-
"Sir?" someone said, "incoming call."
"Hello? Anybody home?" said a familiar Californian voice.
"Stark?" Bradford said, helping one of the techs up. "Where are you? Did you escape?"
"Well...kinda. I'm still in their base."
"Where are you, exactly?"
"Not...entirely sure. Jo?"
"Already tracing."
"Right. So...when's the next bus?"
"We've been busy. Had some unexpected company suddenly show up. Unless we can get SHIELD to pick you up, you'll have to wait a few hours. Can you hold on until then? Or leave and find someplace more secure?"
"Maybe I wasn't clear; we've taken the entire base."
"How did -" Bradford paused. "We?"
"Oh, right, I made a new friend. Let me switch to video -"
A few seconds later, an image of Stark's face appeared on the big screen. Judging from the quality and angle, it was from a laptop's webcam.
"Can you hear me now?"
"Five by five," said the base AI.
Tony stepped back, revealing a heavyset, heavily-tattooed woman whose face looked like it had gone through some really bad plastic surgery.
"XCOM, this is Ivana Vanko. Vanko, XCOM. She's basically me, except HYDRA didn't ask nicely. Say hi to the folks."
The woman waved. Bradford waved back, before realizing that his mouth was hanging open. He shut it with a click.
Stark grinned. "So, Dad, can we keep her?"
-/-
Alberto Pena woke up in Medical, wearing one of those stupid little smocks, and with a sheet over his lower body.
"Hello?" he called.
The machine by his bed beeped softly.
He had a faint headache, and his foot ached. There was a drip running into his arm, and a sheet over his lower body.
No...just his left leg. A short sheet.
He reached for it, pulled it back.
His leg ended in a bandaged stump, just below the knee.
He stared at it.
-X-
Bastille - "Pompeii"
TROPHY ACHIEVED: Betcha can't stick it; Kill alien with sticky grenade the first time you use one.
TROPHY ACHIEVED: Man's home is his castle: Survive a Base Defense mission.
Remember to link examples from this fic to the relevant TVTropes pages, plz!
Night_stalker
Slava Ukraini!
- Pronouns
- He/Him
So lesson to learn here kids, when Vahlen says to sit down and stay in your bed, you STAY in there.
Arc 1 Interlude (non-canon)
Arc 1 Interlude: The XCOM Infrantryman's Informing Primer (non-canon)
-O-
If you're reading this, you've probably just joined XCOM. Unless you've broken into the email of whoever this was actually sent to, in which case we will find you, and there's no such thing as XCOM.
If you're not about to be hunted down by a completely non-existent organization, congratulations! Someone thought you were good enough to take a seat at the big kids table. You get to wear your big boy / girl / non-binary boots, and will be planting them firmly in alien tuchus as soon as Command sees fit.
First things first: Operations have staff on hand to advise you with your will. This is a high-intensity combat unit, and we do what we do so no one else has to. This may include dying. If you are uncomfortable with that, feel absolutely free to leave, without shame.
/*Stark, I don't feel this is exactly the best way to broach the subject. -PS */
However, this does mean that you won't get to tell your kids that you shot aliens in the face with lasers while wearing powered armor.
/* That's an...interesting choice of words. - IS */
Time to answer some frequently asked questions.
Do you have it in my size?
Yes. The suits are customized to the biometrics of the current user. I can't promise there won't be some funny smells if they weren't hosed down properly, though.
Do the suits improve accuracy?
Yes. You can even John Woo any two weapons, but it's not a pretty picture, you won't like doing it. Mainly because you can't hit the broad side of a Muton, and you can't reload, unless you're a very good juggler. The software has to split power to track both weapons, and the bigger the weapon, the more juice it takes. Even the Sharpshooter module can only help so much. Of course, you could always tell the suit to only activate the targeting on one weapon, and aim the other the old fashioned way.
What' this "Triple Play" I keep hearing about?
/* Seriously, Schmidt, what is it with you and baseball? -TS */
In case of an emergency, the suit can temporarily boost three separate attributes; defense, mobility, and strength.
For the first one, it stiffens the suit's nanotubes, and gives the armor an electro-magnetic charge to resist plasma. This, of course, doesn't work so well with laser weapons, or conventional explosives. Great with ballistics, though. This mode decreases strength and mobility. The duration and efficiency can be increased with the "Aegis" mod.
Behind door number two, capacitors spool up to let the suit's "muscles" rapidly expand and contract. But you get less strength and defense. In short: run, soldier, run! Try it with the "Mercury" mod. And no, not the car company.
And finally, strength mode boosts the slower contractions. Useful in the event that you, for instance, get into a distribution with a Muton, in which case you will be immediately remanded for psychiatric evaluation upon your return to base. You end up with lower you know the drill.
/* Stark, that's hardly professional language. -PS*/
/** Indeed. What happens if you're reading this and you realize the Chief Engineer couldn't be arsed to write a manual properly? -IS */
Strength mode gets the "Atlas" mod.
Mobility gives you best results in the light rig, while strength and defense work best in the heavy. Trying mobility in an Achilles, without Mercury, makes it only about as fast as the Ajax. Even with Merc, you're still not quite as good as the Herakles baseline. Same with Herc and strength, just in the opposite direction. And before you ask, no, you can't double up on the mods, or use more than one mode at once. Let's just say the circuitry goes nuts. Not the "had a few drinks" nuts, either, more like "goes to work on Monday with an assault weapon" nuts.
/*Stark, remove that line NOW. -DB */
What about the chest beam?
If you've watched footage of the Marseilles mission, you may have noticed the part where Private Washington fired a beam out of his chest, because it was awesome.
Incredibly enough, the suits weren't actually designed to do that.
The chest repulsor was designed to provide vertical thrust for those flight packs we never quite got to work, and we never removed it. Turns out that in an emergency, they make pretty good weapons. Your trainers have more details.
Weapons
Due to an irritating firmware glitch we can't seem to iron out, the suits are restricted when it comes to what weight they can carry. Each type of weapon fits a certain category, and the rigs can field up to 4, 5, and 6 points respectively.
Remember, these aren't exactly complete lists.
Light (1 pt)
-Standard pistol
-Standard laser pistol
-MAUL shotgun
-Machine pistol
-Sonic Stunner
Medium (2 pts):
-Kriss Super-V PDW
-Standard Shotgun
-Standard Assault Rifle
-Standard Marksman Rifle
-Standard Sniper Rifle
-Chimera "Mutt" Laser Assault Rifle/Shotgun
-Chiron "Bullseye" Assault/Marksman Laser Rifle
-Hestia "Spitfire" Dual-Magazine Incendiary Shotgun (Armor-piercing/Antipersonnel)
Heavy (3 pts)
-Standard SAW
-Standard Heavy Rifle
-Carl Gustav Rocket Launcher
-Manticore Laser SAW/Automatic shotgun
-XM25 Grenade Launcher (Modified)
-Orion Variable Threat Rifle
Equipment Slots: 2/3/4, respectively.
-Drop packs
-Standard Grenades
-"Disco Ball" laser grenade
-Flashbangs
-Magnetic Sticky Grenades
-Smoke grenades
We also have a selection of AI-piloted drones, currently coming in Assault (Assault Rifle and shotgun) and Support (SMG, and cargo compartments). We call them Rovers. Give them little dog tags. It's adorable.
Modules:
The point system for these is 3/4/5, respectively.
-Pinger: This is your bread-and-butter. It's a Hypersonic pulse that maps out the area in an arc in front of the user and sends it to your AR display. You can narrow the arc for better distance and resolution, though. Problem is, the sensors don't do so well vertically. The only workaround we've found is to, well, lie down. Which is obviously a bad idea in a combat situation.
-Sharpshooter: Increases accuracy.
-Tigger: Increase jumping ability.
/* Maybe you should choose a name that won't get us sued by Disney. -PS */
-Shoulder shooter (Achilles only): Mount a minirocket launcher on your back that pops up and fires over your shoulder. And before you ask, yes, you can technically triple-weild. But your effective range is so low, you might as well just headbutt them, which Dr. Rao says is a bad idea.
/* Unless you want them to get concussions, yes. -KR */
-Infrared Visual systems
-Night-vision visual systems
-Hephaestus Heat-Dispersal System (Heavy only): Uses laser weapons with greater efficiency and power. Problem is, you can't move very much, and the heatsinks open up, exposing your weak points for massive damage. You also show up on any infrared systems like a basketball court on a golf green.
-Chesty: Add a capacitor to get less wind-up and battery drain with of the chest beam.
Coming attractions
-Hookshot: Thanks to our Glorious Leader, we'll soon have grappling hooks, like Batman. Except cooler, because Batman doesn't wear power suits.
/* I don't get the name. -TS */
/** It's a Zelda reference. -Singh */
/*** Who? -TS */
/* While it's an accurate description, I don't like to advertise. Change it to "the Director" -PS */
-Arm rocket: no, it's a small, one-use rocket that mounts on your arm. It does not shoot your arm like a rocket. For one thing, that would severely reduce combat effectiveness. For another, our studies have shown that would probably kill you.
-Passive sonic sensors: Like the Pinger, except without the pulse. Relatively short range, which increases if set to directional mode.
-Claymore tripmines
-Incendiary grenades: when you need to barbeque something in a real big hurry.
-Whipmine: Its a mine, and it fires whips. Electric whips that immobilize foes, and generally fry them like a pancake. Not to be operated while standing in a puddle, even if the puddle is from your drool.
-White Noise Silencer: Silences a standard/repulsor SMG or pistol.
-White Noise Silencer Mk 2: Silences a standard/repulsor assault rifle, DMR, or sniper rifle.
Bow: Is a bow.
/* Please remove this, because people might not realize you're joking. -DB */
/** Joking? -TS */
-X-
Y'know, for an XCOM/Iron Man fic, this fic has had a serious Tony deficit. Let's rectify.
Yes, I'm using the same excuse for the weapon restrictions as the one Halo used to justify dual-wielding in Halo 2. "We got a firmware update!" You may have noticed Pena putting away his MAUL shotgun in Moscow when he got the Spitfire. This is why. Presumably, being in the case means it didn't register as an active weapon on Silva's rig.
Of course, it makes sense for game balance purposes; imagine if your most mobile unit could also dual-wield rocket launchers.
Stop drooling.
(non story related) Bonus!
Last edited:
(Arc 2: SHIELD) 13 The cold laws of cause and effect
-O-
"- But if you do decide to come, Stark, wear one of those nice suits of yours," Schmidt said. "As for the attack itself, they did a lot of damage, but nothing we can't handle," "Our losses were mainly personnel, both combatants and noncoms." She sighed. "Which means I need to go looking at resumes and writing letters."
The meeting felt empty, without Vahlen in it.
"Question; what are we doing with Vanko?" Tony asked.
"You mean, are we going to let you tear apart her escape suit," Bradford clarified.
"Guilty as charged."
"We haven't decided yet. We were thinking about shipping it - or her - to SHIELD -"
"Sorry to interrupt," said Jocasta, "but there seems to be an security breach in the cells."
"Did...did we miss an X-ray somewhere?" Schmidt asked. "Is Vanko breaking out?"
"Not exactly."
-/-
"Mrs. Starkos," said one of the two sentries.
"Gentlemen. I have some paperwork I need you both to sign." She held up the clipboard in her left hand, and a pen in the other.
The guard on the right plucked it out of her hand. At which point she whipped up the clipboard to cover the face of the guard on her left, reached under her lab coat, and blasted the first guy in the face with a Sonic Stunner.
He went down like a sack of potatoes.
She pushed the stunner into the back of the clipboard, and pulled the trigger, only for it to beep irritably at her. Well, crap. Before the remaining guard could realize what happened, she drew back the Stunner and smashed it into the clipboard.
Which meant that she was smashing the clipboard into his face.
While he was stunned, she turned the clipboard on its side, placed it at the bridge of his nose, and hit it again. She felt the crack through the cheap particleboard, and the poor guy left off reaching from his weapon to clutch at his face.
By the time he recognized the sound of Irene resetting the Stunner, it was too late.
"Sorry," she said, to the pair of lifeless bodies.
-/-
In the Director's office, there was a brief silence.
"Did my 43-year old assistant just beat up two of the best soldiers in the world?" Tony asked.
Bradford was already running.
-/-
"Irene, please stop."
The engineer reached down. "Thank you, Jo, I'll take it under advisement." She liberated a laser pistol from the sentry's chest rig, tapped the power cell in the butt.
"Do you think this is a joke? Even if you do kill her, what next?"
"I hadn't thought that far." Irene tapped the cellblock door control. "Kind of liberating. Reminds me of college."
"As ucht Dé, Irene, stop!"
A brief hesitation. "Ah. You noticed."
-/-
"Why not?" Schmidt growled.
"Because the human cells were built as a second priority." Jo answered. "They're not as computerized as the alien cells. The door controls, are entirely electrical and mechanical, not electronic. And they're on an isolated system. We didn't even think about installing any automated measures down there."
"Wait a second," Stark interrupted. "Isn't access to the cell block under your control? Can't you leave those door open?"
"I would, but in case you haven't noticed, she's an engineer. She jammed the door. It would take at least five minutes for even you to get through from the outside, Tony, and she's already inside."
-/-
Irene entered the cell, limping slightly.
Vanko cocked her head. "Hello."
"Hello." Strangely enough, her hand wasn't shaking one little bit. "One of your weapons killed a very close friend of mine."
"I have killed many," the Russian acknowledged. She leaned to the side, to peer behind Irene. "Would expect line."
"Just me." She pointed the gun at Vanko's head, finger on the trigger.
"Would your friend want you to do this?"
Irene thought for a second. Remembered how Laura earned the nickname "Hotshot".
"For various reasons, that'll be less effective than you think."
"Shoot me, then." Vanko leaned forward.
"Wh-what?"
"I am busy woman. Do not waste my time." She suddenly wrapped his hands around Irene's, and jerked the gun so it was flush against her forehead.
"Are you crazy? Do you want to die?"
Vanko looked up at her with eyes utterly without fear. Was that...contempt? "You are one holding gun."
"That's right, I am," Irene said, and pulled the trigger.
Click.
Click click.
"Missing something?"
The Russian's left hand held the power cell to the pistol.
Irene's eyes flicked over to it. In that second, she was hit with Vanko's rising right cross. The impact with the floor finished the job, and everything went black.
The Russian spat on her assailant, and tossed the power cell into the hallway, followed by the gun. Then she looked up at the supposedly-hidden security camera. "Come collect your uma suka."
-/-
"Well," said Schmidt into the silence in her office. "I certainly have mixed feelings about this."
-/-
His cheek hurt.
"Wake up," said Bradford brusquely.
Her eyes opened, and immediately closed again.
"Oh, I'm sorry, are the lights too bright for you? We asked SHIELD to re-check your background."
Uh oh. She tried to lift her arms, and her hands caught on handcuffs.
"Now, as best as they can tell, there's nothing in your background that says you can do some of the things you've done. Which means you're either some kind of imposter, or it's been buried very well."
Actually, I'm an Irish kid who's been in a lot of stories involving mortal peril at the behest of some random omnipotent being, sharing headspace with the real Irene.
Sure, he'd believe that.
"First, you save Tony. Now, its not impossible that a middle-aged academic could be familiar with weapons, but its pretty unlikely. In fact, you reacted more like a soldier than a teacher.
"You also gave Stark the idea for the rigs and Orion rifle. HYDRA got their hands on the first one. You saved Washington, and gave us the idea to weaponize the chest repulsors directly. HYDRA got their own version of those, too. They made their own version of our Sonic Stunner, even though they never actually got a sample. You failed at inspiring actual flight capability. "
His voice was pleasant, conversational, and it made Eamon's blood run cold.
Irene cracked her eyes open, gritting her teeth against the sensation of glass daggers plunging through her eye sockets and straight into her brain. She was in Bradford's office, and he was leaning against the near side of his desk. Just a casual conversation, barring the fact that she was chained to a chair.
"And when the base is attacked, you're conveniently in a position that lets you save the day, at great risk to yourself. Again." He hadn't raised his voice. "Almost as if you saw it coming."
"I -"
"Oh, I forgot. When you were yelling at Jo to fire Washington's repulsor, you lapsed into Irish. Now, I could buy that you learned how to swear in some other language, it it wasn't for all the other circumstantial evidence. Like the way your accent slipped when you got drunk, where you apparently told God that you owed him three punches."
"It wasn't God, it was -"
Bradford raised an eyebrow.
"Look. I answer to a higher authority."
Her interrogator sighed. "Tell Fury that if he wants to spy on us -"
"Not Fury."
Beat.
"And not the Council, either," Bradford said slowly.
"Correct. But don't worry, my boss is on your side."
"Why should I believe you?"
Eamon jingled his shackles. "You really think that I couldn't slip these surly bonds if I wanted to?"
"Why did you try to assassinate Vanko?"
Time to dance.
"That wasn't an assassination." That was revenge. "Now our Russian friend knows that he, I mean, she hurt people. Hopefully, she feels guilt. And with guilt -"
"-Atonement. You're saying you blew your cover just to improve our bargaining position?"
Irene shrugged, doing her best to look confident and in-control. Like Black Widow in that chair scene in Avengers. Give him a little Charleston. "A blown cover and bruised jaw is a small price to pay."
"Or, you know," Bradford shrugged, "you're a HYDRA spy feeding me a line, and you just tried to deny us an asset."
Funny. Eamon hadn't even noticed the SOCOM pistol until Bradford drew it and placed it on the desk, near his right hand.
The tap of the gun hitting the table seemed remarkably loud.
-/-
"Moira?"
The German looked up from her tablet. "Madame Director! I -"
"Madamoiselle. No, don't get up." She crossed to the bed. "How are you feeling?"
"Tired."
"Ah. Can you remember what happened?"
"Yes, but...I would rather not talk about it right now."
"Doctor, if it puts the people in this base at risk, I'm afraid I really must in-"
"And as her doctor," Rao interrupted, "if the patient feels that it is too stressful to remember the incident -"
"Okay, okay, I'm sorry."
There was a lull as Rao looked her patient over, occasionally darting reproachful looks at her boss.
"I hope," Vahlen volunteered, "Tony's blood was not damaged."
Schmidt and Rao both said "What blood?"
"He...he didn't tell you?"
-/-
Rao burst into Tony's office.
"Can I help you? Let go of me - ow! What are you -"
"A blood test." Rao pressed buttons on the device she held while the Chief Engineer of XCOM, befitting the dignity of his position, sucked his finger.
The doc started saying some very colorful things in...Indian? Was it Bengali? It was pissed, that was for sure.
"How do you expect me to do my job if you don't come to me?"
Uh-oh.
"Because...because if you found something, you would've told Schmidt, and -"
"Yes, of course I would've, bhoka chele! You remember all those papers you signed? If Medical finds something that may affect the ability of any troops or personnel to discharge their duties, we have to report it! It's not about you anymore, Stark!"
"She's not...she wouldn't..."
The device beeped.
"Lovely little thing. AIM International blood tester, very expensive. Poison, blood sugar, we've been using it to monitor radiation dosage. And we could have found out about your blood toxicity in the time it took me to yell at you!"
"What tipped you off, Stark?" Schmidt said softly, from the doorway.
He didn't meet her eyes.
"Oh. Rao, I think you're wrong. This isn't about him; he's protecting someone."
She thought for a second.
"And I think I can take a guess."
-/-
Whatever they were whispering about in the hall, it wasn't good.
Eamon stared at Bradford's desk. There was a guitar pick, half hidden under some paperwork.
The door opened. Someone came in, crouched next to Eamon, and he turned Irene's head to stare into a pair of blue eyes with all the comforting warmth of an Arctic icepack.
"Irene," Schmidt said very, very softly, "did you poison Tony?"
Eamon recoiled so hard that he hurt himself. "What? No, it's the palladium in his Arc Reactor!"
"I see. And how does he fix it?"
"He builds a -"
Oh. Oh crap. So much for my little Harlem Shake.
"Thank you." The Director rose. "You're playing...inside baseball, aren't you?"
"...Yes. I have knowledge of events from two very similar universes."
"Alternate universes. Okay, sure. How far out?" Bradford asked.
"A few months in one, a nonspecific amount of time in the other. We win, by the way."
Well, usually.
Paula Schmidt looked down at Irene as if from a great distance. She was even backlit. "We?"
"XCOM. Humanity."
"Humanity...maybe. But you stopped being part of my team the second you raised a hand to our men and drew iron on my prisoner."
"I...I didn't kill them."
"No, you just knocked them out with experimental weapons, one with an attack that could've sent bone shards into his brain. That's so much better. Guards! Take her back to her quarters."
The door clanged shut after they left. The Director stared at it for a second before switching her gaze to the ceiling. "Very funny, God," she muttered, as her shoulders slumped.
"What are we going to do with her?" Bradford asked. "We can't keep her locked in a box forever, and we don't have the resources to keep an eye on Vanko, much less someone who admits they're a spy - why are you smiling?"
-/-
The woman was small, and blonde, and on her first tumbler of Scotch.
"I don't know what I saw," she said, to a rapt audience. "We were getting our heads handed to us, and then the Director comes in."
She took a sip.
"She dodged its fire. I'm not sure how. Next thing I knew, she did something to one of its arms, and then it gets jerked sideways. Like a puppet."
Sip.
"She used one of those grapple things the spooks had. Hooked it to a crane. Which would've just pulled it into the air, if she hadn't put one around the other arm too."
The ice clinked in the glass.
"The spooks were on the crane controls. Just pulled its arms right off. Then we finished it off before it could get up. If it could even get up."
"You expect us to believe that?" someone said.
Murphy glared at the speaker. "Check the tapes, if you like."
"Can't. They're still classified."
"Not my problem. Ask anyone who was there, they'll tell you the same." She set her glass down harder than strictly necessary. "Anyone who survived."
Someone else cleared their throat. "Uh, Chicago? It's time."
Private Murphy got off her stool, along with just about everyone else in the bar, and made sure there wasn't a single speck on her brand-new dress uniform.
"Barkeep?" she said. "Leave the bottle down."
-/-
They still hadn't gotten the Muton bits entirely off the doors.
The jet sitting in their hangar was being admired by the aircrew. The ones that hadn't been drawn away by the memorial ceremony, that is. It actually bore a strong resemblance to the Skyranger. Irene noticed the aerospike engine at the back, and wondered about their effectiveness compared to repulsors, while Eamon noted the presence of an incredibly rich engineer with a silly beard.
He was holding a red suitcase.
Eamon ignored the BaseSec guards as he marched forward. Ignored the doubtful glances they had been shooting him. What "Irene" had done was still classified, but of course there were rumors. Few gave any credence to the idea that one of their top engineers was nearly seduced into a jailbreak by Vanko, who took down two guards as she tried to escape.
Few that would admit it, anyway.
"You forgot this," Tony said. "Can't leave without your passport."
Tony Stark, master of subtlety.
"Thanks. For everything." And then, for no reason at all, she hugged him. "Look into what happens when two repulsors on the same frequency are fired at each other," she whispered.
Tony jerked back. "How do you know all this -"
"Spoilers, sweetie. Bye."
She walked to the rear of the ship, and stopped dead.
It wasn't the soldiers. It wasn't the increased headroom. It was the large-ish tattooed woman in handcuffs and a mask, chained to the floor.
Eamon walked up the ramp, and sat down warily across from her, like she was a rabid dog that might bite at any time.
"Tell me, Clarice," Vanko said. "Have the lambs stopped screaming?"
Irene managed not to lunge across the jet.
Barely.
-/-
"Doctor," Bradford said, "we saw the video of what you did in the lab."
Uh oh.
"Rao's not coming to save you," Schmidt chimed in.
Vahlen stared at them both. In her mind, they had all the flexibility of a pair of granite cliffs.
"I...am a pyrokinetic. And a psychic."
They'd kick her out. Maybe dissect her. Would she fight back? Would she hurt more people?
"My exposure to Elerium may have reactivated my abilities."
Bradford said "Was it an involuntary -"
"Wait a second," the Director cut in. "'Reactivated'?"
"Well, yes." The redhead took a deep breath. "I was born in Phoenix, Arizona. SHIELD put me in a...protection program, after an...incident when I was six. They moved me to Germany."
Scmidt didn't look even a little happy. "I need to have a word with Fury about that. But for now, who are you? Really?"
"The name I was born with is Jean Grey."
-/-
Irene woke up. There was an extremely tactical hand on her shoulder.
"Ma'am?"
"Right." She removed the headset that had been supplied so graciously. Vanko had already been removed, and in the night sky, she couldn't see very much past the landing pad besides some sort of doorway.
There was a brown-skinned man in glasses with a shaven head, waiting for her by the entrance. He held out a clip-on ID.
"Liason Starkos? Jasper Sitwell. Welcome to SHIELD."
-X-
Max Payne 2
TROPHY ACHIEVED: Russian reversal: Fail to assassinate Vanko.
TROPHY ACHIEVED: A very particular set of skills: Tell Bradford the truth. Sort of.
TROPHY ACHIEVED: Rightsizing: Get Irene kicked out of XCOM.
TROPHY ACHIEVED: A light dawns: Realize the writer is just making up Achievements for his own amusement, whether or not they'd make any sense in gameplay.
I've repeatedly abandoned fics because of an overindulgence in gratuitous injokes and references. Which made me feel kinda hypocritical when I thought about the fact that I have two troopers based on Team Fortress 2 characters, another one named after a popular voice actress, the Sentry, and now one based on Karrin Murphy from The Dresden Files.
And yes, I felt bad about only five references out of two dozen or so humanized soldiers and security personnel introduced thus far.
Then I remembered that its tradition to have your soldiers named after something anyway.
Which made me feel slightly less guilty.
Next time:
But seriously, I swear, Coulson does not die in Chapter 14.
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14 I watch them watch me I watch them too
14 I watch them watch me I watch them too
-S-
Pena limped into Schmidt's office and saluted.
"Ma'am," he said, staring at a point over his Director's head. "It's been an honor to serve with you." His eyes were bright, voice wavering. "But I...they lost Mundy, they can't lose me too. I...can still help with training. I can still -"
"Pena," his boss cut in.
His eyes dropped to meet hers like they were being slowly dragged against their will by wild horses.
"What does my desk say?" She reached out and tapped the nameplate.
"Executive Director Schmidt? Ma'am?"
"Have a seat." And then she slid a folder across the desktop. "Project Glass Dagger was intended as a contingency in the event of XCOM's failure. It consisted of strategic reserves of weapons and matériel, hidden at key locations."
"For a resistance?"
"If necessary. There was also Project Narcissus, to train conventional forces in anti-X-ray tactics and tech. Bradford's idea."
"Then why does this say 'Project Looking Glass'?"
"Because recent events have made us go 'por que no los dos?'"
Pena picked up the folder and read the executive summary. Establish XCOM sub-bases and response teams on each continent, in order to prevent a single strike from crippling them. Use that toehold to hide the caches, while also training the area's forces. Liase with locals to improve their responses to the alien threat.
"And this is where you come in."
Pena looked up.
"The bases have to be run by directors, nothing less, for political reasons. And frankly, we've had an eye on you for a leadership position since you were selected."
His eyes were shining again, but for a different reason.
"I-" He stopped, swallowed.
"Probationary position. Small command. The job's yours, if you want it...Director Pena."
A thoughtful silence. A rueful, resigned chuckle. "You're making me deal with politicians." He glared at his boss. "South American politicians. Dios mio, I'd rather have to deal with Americans."
"Really?"
"Well, almost."
-/-
"So what you're telling me," Fury said, "is that the aliens that are eating our collective lunch are the little fish?"
"They seem to think so," Eamon admitted.
SHIELD had not been what he was expecting.
For one thing, Nick Fury was hot.
Despite her recent loss, Irene's hormones had started spiking when she saw the broad shoulders, the toned muscles, the cocky grin.
And then he had smiled and said "Miss Starkos! I am told you are not to be trusted!" in that warm, buttery baritone of his, and any pretense of rational thought went straight out of the window.
As Vanko was led off to who-knows-where, Irene responded, without any voluntary effort on Eamon's part whatsoever, "and my mother told me not to trust handsome spies." She gave a ghost of a shrug. "I guess that makes us even."
Things had devolved from there.
A small part of Eamon was worried that her first introduction to SHIELD was as some sort of cougar. Was it a cougar when the man in question was only a few years younger? Laura had been, what, 18 years younger? What did they call lesbian cougars?
By the time they reached the conference room, most of the agents flanking them had started to get slightly pained looks on their faces. It had to be disappointing, to expect some sort of menopausal quota-filling Black Widow and get a not-cougar. At least it got them to relax a little. At least it kept her mind off her uncertain future.
Now, where had he seen Fury before?
And then the laughs went away as she gave them the broad strokes. Escalating alien invasion, hidden temple ship they'd blow up if they thought they were really losing, and a second potential alien invasion in the near future.
"Could...could this second invasion be the one they're preparing for?" Sitwell asked.
Eamon grimaced. "Doubt it," he said, after a moment's thought. "While this second invasion is formidable, it seemed to be based mostly on establishing air superiority. They didn't seem to have much staying power, so to speak."
Fury didn't even rise to the inadvertent bait. He had both eyes, for some reason, and was wearing a blue dress shirt with sleeves rolled up that probably cost more than what Irene made in six months as a professor. He looked like a model, really.
"Where did you get this info?" said one of the agents that Eamon didn't even know the name of.
"A little alien told me," Eamon said flatly. "You know, pillow talk."
The agent gave a razor-edged smile, but before they could do more than open their mouth -
"I think I should give that information to senior agents only, and let them decide whether it should be public knowledge."
"Fury," said a gorgeous woman on one of the room's screens with a white streak in her hair, "are you going to believe this...this...sciocchezza?"
"Of course not!" Fury exclaimed. "First you verify, then you trust." His eyes narrowed. "And if I find out you are lying to me, if you are trying to lure my people into some kind of trap, then I will find a deep, dark hole where you will never see the light of day again."
Suddenly, the pleasant, personable smile again. "Got it?"
It felt like a bucket of cold water had just been dumped on her head. "Got it."
The Italian woman didn't stop looking disgruntled, but she glowered a little less.
"Is there anything else we need to know?" the nameless agent groused.
Irene blinked. "Yes, actually. Let me tell you about Banner and New Mexico."
-/-
"Dunayevsky?" asked Bradford.
"Da?" said the massive Russian. He replaced the weight on the rack, and sat up.
"Don't you need a spotter?"
The soldier's lip curled with amusement. "Perhaps if I was American. But I think you did not come here to talk about my strength training."
"No. I came to talk about your rockets."
The literary scholar cringed, just a little. "All out."
The XO sat down on the next bench. "I'd like to know where you got them."
"Does this have to do with the attack?"
"Yes. We're trying to plug any security holes. Which means we have to find them."
"Ah." Dunayevsky thought for a moment. "I would place coded message through computer. Go to dead-drop, smuggled in in pieces." He shrugged. "Supply dried up when supplier vanished."
"Is there any way we can talk to him, or someone close to him? See if they tracked us down somehow?"
Again, that amused look. "Yes, if you hadn't just sent her off to SHIELD."
-/-
"I almost have to thank HYDRA," Vanko said.
Morse blinked. "Didn't they kidnap you, hold you against your will, and force you to build weapons?"
"Besides that." The Russian waved a dismissive hand. "Multimeter."
Morse handed her the device, and Vanko stuck her head into the chest cavity of her escape suit.
"That will be repaid, in time." Her voice echoed. "And you forgot keeping me from my father's side as he died."
"Is that why you're so...cooperative?"
"Partially. But, much of my friends were arrested shortly after I was taken. The Moscow incident did not help. If I had not been taken - " she emerged from the machine "- I would be in a cell. Or perhaps in hiding somewhere, drinking myself to death. But here I am." She spread her arms. "With exciting new job opportunities!"
It had occured to Morse that whoever had named this little setup "Project PAPERCUT" probably a) was a World War II buff (or at least had read a few Wikipedia articles) and b) thought they were being pretty clever.
"How did Stark drive this thing?"
"Poorly. Had punched...six terrorists before realizing it was armed."
It seemed to be built on the lines of Stark's escape suit, except, of course, not made out of a box of scraps. There was much more armor coverage, more flat planes than curves, and from what Morse had seen of the notes XCOM's techs had sent over with it, it had both a chest-mounted repulsor, two more arm-mounted ones, and some kind of winch system in the palms.
"I can't believe they let you build this thing."
"It was testbed," Vanko shrugged, climbing down. "Useless without Arc Reactor. Fortunately, Tony Stark happened to have one on him."
"I assume that's why it has the heat-dispersing thermal underlayer? For XCOM's laser weapons, as well as more conventional armament?"
"Da."
"And the fact that it could grind any human or drone guards HYDRA had into hamburger was just a bonus."
"You have no idea how hard it was to come up with a heat-dispersing thermal underlayer that was also electricity-dispersing underlayer."
"Speaking of which, we'd like you to see what you can do to get that suit up to frontline standards. See if you can rig up a whipmine launcher or something. Or even just electric stun grenades."
"Da. Will give world peace and white Christmas too."
"Since it has to stand up to plasma, not just lasers, you'll be working with Bruno Horgan, one of our best experts on heat. Our lab boys and girls are very interested in that plasma weapon. Oh, and you'll be debriefed and assessed later. May I ask a question?"
Vanko put down some expensive-looking instrument. "Yes."
"Why don't you hate Stark? His dad kicked your dad out of the country. He died penniless. Rubleless. Whatever."
"The sins of the father are visited upon the son," Vanko quoted. Then she shrugged. "I am not son."
"That's very literal."
"If there is anything that my time as their captive has taught me, it is that revenge is pointless. Except for the -" something Russian and doubtless profane "who killed my bird." A smile. "If not myself, then indirectly."
Was...was she serious?
The agent stared at the repulsors on the arms. They were mounted so that someone could aim them just by raising an arm. Repulsors were proprietary Stark Industries tech.
Which meant that they were either capable of making their own, or, more likely, that they were stealing them from one of the biggest defense contractors on Earth. Morse grimaced internally. Great.
"Okay, that's everything. I was up all night setting up this lab and the living area for you, so I am bushed."
She turned toward the door, and the two sentries there.
"One last thing." Morse turned back, to find that Vanko looked almost eager. "Do I get codename?"
"A what?"
"Codename. Or number. Like double-oh-seven."
"I'm pretty sure that'll get us sued," Morse said automatically.
"Please?"
"Oh, for...fine. Your file said you used to to run car accident scams, right?"
"Da?"
"Great. Then you're 'Whiplash'. Bye."
-/-
"Miss Starkos," Fury cut in. "Coulson died months ago. He was in Tokyo during the terror attack, tried to rally the defenses."
"Which," Hill noted, "made him a high-value target."
"Oh," Irene said. And then;
"Oh, crap."
-/-
It was nice in the park, for this time of year. The sun was shining, the coffee was warm, and th-
"Afternoon!" said Smith, as she sat down next to him.
Stane's sandwich turned to ashes in his mouth.
"I come here to get away from work," he growled at the redhead. She was wearing what would ordinarily be a quite fetching light brown overcoat, and what would ordinarily be a quite fetching smile.
For some reason, it reminded him of a viper.
"What is with that hat?" She tapped the rim. He was familiar with the whole invading personal space trick, and it was even more irritating when the weaker party already knew they were the weaker party.
"It's a trilby. What do you want?"
"I want to know what's with that hat. But I'm really here to tell you of some exciting new opportunities."
The hair stood up on the back of his neck.
"Go on," he said cautiously.
"You may be contacted by another associate of ours. Name's Killian. He has some interesting ideas on the limits of human potential, and we'd like you to get together and...brainstorm."
He didn't ask why. His gut told him that something had gone wrong somewhere, and if he could find out what, maybe he could leverage his way out from under Lerna.
She got up, dusted herself off. Stane waited until he could hold it in no more and asked "How'd you find me?"
"We've got a tracker set up on your phone's GPS signal along with surveillance teams watching you around the clock." She shrugged. "Or I just asked your secretary. We redheads have to stick together, you know." And with that, she sashayed off.
He suddenly realized that he had crushed his egg-salad sandwich to a pulp, and shoved it into the brown paper bag he had bought it in. )
The industrialist noticed a jogger staring at her as she left. He turned to Stane, opened his mouth-
"Trust me, kid," the older man growled, lobbing the remains of his lunch into the trash, "she's a maneater."
-/-
"Not that I don't appreciate having my rear sniffed," Irene said as she, Fury, and Hill entered another office, "but what was that about?"
Fury directed her at one of the two chairs in front of the desk, and sat down himself. Hill leaned against the wall to his right, arms crossed. If this was his office, it was funny that he had a safe, just like Schmidt.
...And why did thinking of her office cause that little twinge in her chest?
"That? That was just introducing you to your new coworkers. They don't know about any parallel universes, so the source of your knowledge is safe. Though you might not be, once they figure out you're a cougar."
Eamon tried to hide the wince.
"Nonetheless, you're in a delicate position, Miss Starkos."
"Or whatever your real name is," Hill added.
"I suppose you're wondering why you're not tied to a chair in the basement getting Gitmo'd."
"The thought had crossed my mind."
"The simple answer is that you're on probation. Officially, you're our liason with XCOM. Unofficially, you're also an intelligence asset."
"And by 'unofficially', you mean that most of the senior command staff knows it already."
"Your codename is 'Cinna'."
"The Senator who killed Julius Ceasar, or the innocent poet who was mistaken for him and torn apart by an angry mob?"
"That is an excellent question. You should think about it."
"Wait, wait, hold on. Why are you trusting me at all? I mean, if I'm the liason, and I am an enemy agent, then that gives me the chance to further sabotage both XCOM and SHIELD."
"Well, let's just say I have a gut feeling. Whoever you are, you're a good engineer-"
"Not Stark-level, of course," Hill interjected.
"- And a capable administrator -"
"Which you'd have to be, to keep Stark in line."
" - And frankly, you wouldn't be the first spy I've...harnessed."
"Ah," Eamon said, followed by Irene's "a harness. So will there also be a blindfold and handcuffs involved?"
"Not until at least the third date," Hill said.
"That's my line," Fury said, lips twitching at the corners.
"Sorry, boss. Thought I'd save you the trouble."
"And as for sabotage..." His eyes went flat again. "You'd try. Now, in order to perform your duties effectively, there's some information you should have."
Fury placed his elbows on the table, interlaced his fingers, and looked at Irene over them. "Miss Starkos, have you ever wondered why your organization had the names of so many aliens already?"
That was a very good question.
"Did you think that this was the first time aliens paid us a visit?"
Well, no, there was the backstory of Thor, but Fury seemed to be on a roll.
"Let me brief you about a little program from 1962. A Cold War program that's still classified." He slid a folder across the desk. "The Executive Combined Operations Mandate."
Wait a second -
The folder had "X.C.O.M." neatly typed on the front.
"Or," Hill chipped in "as everyone called it, The Bureau."
-H-
The Servant - Cells
Coulson isn't dying in this chapter because he's been dead since Chapter 9.
[Game of Thrones theme intensifies]
FUNFACT: Horgan is not an original character. He appeared in an MCU comic, under the name of "The Melter", where he fought Iron Man, and won. And the same with War Machine. Couldn't beat them both, though. He's based on a 616 villain who stumbled upon a beam that melted Iron Man's suit.
Fury is played by the Old Spice Guy. I'll leave the "Hel-lo, squaddies..." jokes as an exercise to the reader.
FUNFACT: 616 Fury, in the 60s heyday of Bond, was portrayed as something of a ladies' man, IIRC. And here he is flirting - or at least pretending to flirt - with Irene. It was supposed to be a reference to the Old Spice Guy's exaggerated sexiness, but it turns out it may actually be thematically appropriate.
The Contessa is played by Monica Bellucci.
Next week:
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Night_stalker
Slava Ukraini!
- Pronouns
- He/Him
You're bringing in the Bureau?
Wow, I'm impressed, you're the only one on here that I know who LIKED it, besides me.
Wow, I'm impressed, you're the only one on here that I know who LIKED it, besides me.
eh, I didn't mind it either, but it just seemed to fall an inch short of good. Might have been all the hype about it not quite matching reality.
Mew
Baffled by existence
- Location
- Pokémon World
- Pronouns
- She
The Bureau's species and technology ideas might be good. But if the actual story happened, then this pretty much kill the fic's worldbuilding.
(since The Bureau run on the logic that humanity actually had more knowledge of Elerium and already went through a first alien war before the events of XCOM but somehow 'erased' it all and made it so that no one would remember by the time of actual XCOM, with no technology or documents remaining. To say that it stretch belief and is a silly idea is an understatement.)
(since The Bureau run on the logic that humanity actually had more knowledge of Elerium and already went through a first alien war before the events of XCOM but somehow 'erased' it all and made it so that no one would remember by the time of actual XCOM, with no technology or documents remaining. To say that it stretch belief and is a silly idea is an understatement.)
15 In a dangerous world he does all he can
Funny. I didn't see that post before I wrote this chapter. The answer is that it didn't quite happen like it did in canon.
15 In a dangerous world he does all he can
Tony Stark hurried into his office, swiping at his face with a rag. He tossed it in the general direction of the wastebasket and said to the air, "Jo, pick up."
The flashing XCOM emblem faded out, replaced with his ex-assistant in some kind of communications room, smiling, some bald guy in glasses at her elbow. Hispanic?
Come to think of it, that smile looked a little strained. And familiar. Like the one he saw in the mirror sometimes, when he was about to power through a hangover.
"Tony?"
"Irene! Hi!"
"You seem out of breath."
"Well, we just built a particle accelerator."
"I assume that out favorite Scot will be there shortly to yell at you. On my end -" German accent " -my top secret mission to infiltrate and destroy SHIELD proceeds as planned."
Sitwell frowned at her. Several of the other agents in the comm center didn't seem too pleased either, though some chuckled.
"Glad to hear it. We're testing the new element now, but it seems to be toxin-free. We're calling it Starkium."
"Bit egotistical, don't you think?"
Roguish grin. "What made you think it was named after me?"
"Oh. Um, thanks-"
"It's named after Dad."
Irene rolled her eyes.
"How you holding up?" Tony continued.
That smile got a little sharper. "I'm trying to set up proper lines of communication and resource-sharing between two secret agencies, one of which doesn't actually exist, while also being used as an intelligence asset." She shrugged. "Still not as hard as being your assist -"
She stopped abruptly, tuned to a tech nearby, pointed at the screen. "Zoom." The tech nodded, and did something with the mouse. Irene stared at his image intently. What was she -
He reached up, touched his cheek. It came away with black smudges.
"Tony Stark, did you just set something on fire?"
-/-
"There are three benefits to synthesizing my Dad's element," Tony had said. "One, more power for the base. Bases. Two, more power for the suits, so maybe I can finally get those flight modules running."
"Even assuming you can prove its not some sort of HYDRA trap," Schmidt had said, jogging in place, "what's the third reason?"
"Oh, yeah. I won't die."
Beat.
"I'm sorry, should I have led with that?"
-/-
"Turned out we didn't exactly aim the emitter properly. Good thing Dummy was there with the extinguisher. Still, it's given me some Ideas."
"Tell Singh to remind you to do things like eat and sleep."
"Yeah..." He felt the grin slide off his face. "They all miss you."
A raised eyebrow. "They?"
He had to cough, all of a sudden. "Well...back to work."
Irene smiled at him. "Bye, Tony."
"Bye. See you at the meeting."
-/-
The SHIELD shrink was rather angular, Eamon thought. Big blue eyes, pointed chin, strong cheekbones, long arms and legs. Slim, not really shapely, like Irene was, or muscled, like -
Well, like some people.
"Tell me about your mother," she said, in a British accent.
Eamon stared at the other woman, until she noticed the slight curl at the edge of her lip.
"Had me going," he admitted, smiling back at her.
"Ah, there it is," said the psych - psychologist? Psychiatrist? "First time I've seen a real smile on your face since you started here."
"A real...?"
"As opposed to this." The women exposed her teeth. Eamon recoiled. "Yes, exactly. The flirting, too."
Eamon raised an eyebrow. "Are you telling me Fury isn't attractive?"
"And there's the deflection. Your girlfriend just died, Irene, and your file says you took months to ask her out. But here you are, practically jumping down Fury's pants from the second you walk in, even though everyone knows you're a spy. You know who you're acting like?"
Actually, Eamon didn't like men, but Irene did, so he had decided to play along. "Enlighten me."
"Tony Stark."
"What?"
"You don't see it? Charming, attractive, intelligent engineer uses sex as a substitute for emotional intimacy after losing a loved one they wish they had been closer with. All you need is the substance abuse problem and a silly beard."
"You think I'm attractive?"
"Deflection again. What I think is that someone who tried to kill a man over a woman isn't going to get over her that quickly. I also think that your little 'just as planned' story is complete rubbish."
"I-"
"What I don't know is whether you're a vengeful woman who happened to get her hands on classified info, a HYDRA spy who got too deep in her cover, or a spy from some other faction."
"And how exactly do you plan to resolve your uncertainty?"
"What have you been told about The Bureau?"
-/-
"I am noticing a lot of black ink here," Irene had said.
"Like I said; classified," Fury had said.
"We could give her the Cliff Notes version," Hill had suggested.
"They still make those?"
"Good question, sir."
"Okay, here's the...Twitter version. 60s, secret alien invasion. We blamed it on attacks by the Russians, but it was actually a series of surgical strikes by hand-picked teams of operatives, inspired and led by the Howling Commandos, and Agent Sharon Carter."
"Why didn't SHIELD handle it?" Eamon had asked. And why hadn't he known about it? Was this part of that FPS XCOM? The one everyone hated?
"Because there barely was any SHIELD, by that point. The SSR was turned from a wartime agency to...curators. The 084s -"
A raised eyebrow from Irene.
"...Right. The unknown objects HYDRA had collected were locked away."
"To be studied by 'top...men'?"
"Actually," Hill had chimed in, "we were low on the priority list for top men. Stark - Howard Stark, that is - was siphoning them all off for Stark Industries, and you'll recall that there was another war on."
"It's a game, my dear Watson, a shadowy game," Irene had muttered to herself.
"What?"
"Nothing. So, The Bureau."
"When the aliens started to invade, the government activated a secret project they had prepared in the event of a Communist invasion. Recruiting top scientific and military personnel to fight and study them."
"Sound familiar?"
Eamon's head was spinning. "So, wait, you're saying that XCOM is fifty years old?"
"The Bureau was folded into SHIELD, which got a serious budget increase. In time, we drifted mainly towards intelligence -"
Which, for some reason, required a flying aircraft carrier.
"- But we didn't have the fast reaction force necessary to deal with the current crisis."
"What does this have to do with the names?"
"Many of the aliens we've encountered in this invasion were in the last one, though it didn't exactly seem...voluntary. We're not sure if they were mercenaries, or escaped, or sold as slaves to get that year's budget in the black."
Eamon had snorted. "So...is this an encore performance?"
"You tell me."
"Ah..." Something caught Eamon's eye, a single word that wasn't blacked out. "What...what did HYDRA have to do with it?"
"Pretty much the same thing they're doing now; getting in our way. They've laid low until recently. Some of our analysts were even saying that they had disbanded entirely."
Eamon had thought of his first day on the job, of the little body -
-/-
"I...I kinda went into shock back then," Eamon admitted. "When I saw that dead kid. I was trying to make it make sense, to make it logical."
"That's perfectly normal. But let me ask you something; wasn't it frustrating to see more marker than text? Don't you hate it when people keep secrets from you?"
"Yeah, I - oi! I see what you're doing, and it's not the same! Besides, you're a psychologist, you keep secrets for a living."
"So what you're saying is that some secrets have to be kept, for people's good."
"Yes."
"But you told Tony about the poison, and tried to kill Vanko. You revealed your combat skills during the base invasion, and took some unnecessary risks, when you didn't have to."
"Well, those rookies just looked so helpless -"
"Irene! Enough with that bollocks! Why did you break your cover?"
"Because..." Eamon looked away. "Because I held back, I thought just helping Tony was enough, and someone I cared about a lot got hurt."
She took a deep breath, summoned what she could remember of The Game.
"And I can't let that happen again. I have to go."
"Why? What for?"
"I need to tell Fury about the Cyberdiscs and Floaters and Sectopods."
The British woman stared as Irene rushed out, leaving the door swinging behind her.
"Good luck...?"
-/-
Despite Tony's best efforts, some of Irene's Shakespeare quoting had rubbed off on him. So, as they started the holo-conference, he had two competing references in his head. One was help me Obi-Wan, you are my only hope. The other was when shall we three meet again? In thunder, lightning, or in rain?
Or, in this case, in their secret underground bases on two different continents.
"Y'know, as the Chief Engineer, I can't help but notice that I didn't even know that your office even had holograms."
"Look, Stark," Schmidt said, "if you hadn't been busy being captured by terrorists, you would've been here when they were installed. It's no one's fault but yours."
"And the Ten Rings, of course," Bradford said.
"But mostly yours."
The banter was interrupted by Fury and Hill appearing. Tony was a little disappointed that they weren't blue and fuzzy.
"Chief Stark," Fury opened. "Any advice for dealing with your ex-assistant?"
"Uh...Don't get her wet, don't feed her after midnight, and - crap, what was the third one?"
"Sunlight," Hill supplied.
"Right. She tans easily, give her really strong sunblock."
"Got it," Fury said. "How's South America doing?"
"Over to you, boss."
"Pretty well," Schmidt said. "Pena said hi to the folks, started setting up a base, and is already developing training for conventional forces."
"We've got more manpower," Hill said. "Need some help?"
"Thanks. I'll talk to...where is Miss Starkos?"
"Not sure. Her psych evaluation should be over by now. Guess she's running late."
"Hmm."
"There's something that's been bugging me," Bradford said. "The x-rays are communicating with HYDRA, so why not just tell us what they want?"
"Maybe this is what they want," Fury shrugged. "Maybe they don't really get humans."
"Or maybe they do," Schmidt said. "If a bunch of aliens came along and offered us a free lunch, how long do you think it would be before we stopped fighting long enough to accept?"
Hill blinked. "Wait, are you saying they're making themselves a threat to unite humanity? I think I've heard of that plan before, and it didn't end well."
"Or maybe," Tony said, "like many bureaucrats, they just found what works for them, and don't want to change."
Everyone looked at him.
"What? I was a defense contractor, I know how governments work. Or...not work. Speaking of which, we're almost done with the first round of pulse weapons. Enough to send you a sample, with a free toaster thrown in."
"Well, we'll have our people take a look at them," Fury said.
Bradford cleared his throat. "About that. How do you know you can trust Vanko? Or Horgan?"
Fury shrugged. "It worked with Dr. Zola. Besides, there's a saying; trust but verify."
"In the other direction," Hill said, "you'll be receiving jump packs and stealth hides shortly."
"Um...I saw the specs and I'm just going to come out and say it," Tony said. "Why are you using Elerium?"
Fury blinked. "Why are you not?"
"Tony?" Schmidt interrupted. "I'll take this. Because we don't want to depend on the enemy for our power source."
"Riiight." Fury leaned forward. "Because relying on one man is so much better. How exactly were you planning to power your shiny new particle accelerators?"
"Wi - how do you know about that?"
Fury gestured toward his face, smirking. "Spy."
Bradford saw the thunderclouds gathering over his boss' head and tried to avert the oncoming argument. "What Schmidt means is -"
"What I mean is it's stupid to rely on black-box tech in the middle of a war - "
"It's because we're in a war that we need every advantage we can get? I seem to recall a certain shield -"
Luckily, that was the point where the sorely-missed liason arrived in Fury's office. "Director!"
"Yes?" both Schmidt and Fury answered, and glared at each other.
Irene slapped her tablet down on the desk, poked at it for a few seconds, and a still image popped up on the imaginary pane of glass between the two offices.. "There."
"It's a blur," Hill noted.
"I know. But it's a very consistent blur, caught on lots of different cameras during the Moscow terror attack." She bought up more images. "I backtraced the plasma artillery."
"None of our analysts could figure out where it was coming from," Schmidt admitted.
"That's because we were all assuming it was land-based. This -" another image, hand-drawn, resembling a classic flying saucer is "- is a Cyberdisc. It can transform into another, less-armored form that has a plasma rifle and a grenade thrower."
"Miss Starkos..." Bradford said slowly, "is this from one of those timelines you were talking about?"
"Mmm-hm."
"And do you have anything else you'd like to share with the class?" Fury said.
Irene smiled.
As he looked at his friend's face, Tony Stark thought of another quote, a Chinese curse. May you live in interesting times.
-/-
He could've watched from his room, or found a lounge. But instead, Eamon wandered up to the comms room he had called Tony from, where someone named Victor Hand was overseeing the mission, whatever it was. The blonde agent who had helped defend XCOM was there, coffee in hand. Or was her body just messed up from the lack of natural light?
Buried alive. Buried...alive.
Clearly Tony had been rubbing off on her.
"Agent Bobbi Morse, Project PAPERCUT." She shook, gestured at the screen with her caffeinated hand. "This isn't exactly your wheelhouse, is it?"
"Don't know. I heard there was a mission, wandered in. All I know is that it's in France." What was the time difference between the base and France, anyway?
"How?"
"That tech over there is speaking French. Of course, that could also be Belgium, Switzerland, Algeria..."
Over the next few minutes, Irene learned that the op was, in fact, in France, and it involved an attack on a convoy carrying something très important . So important, in fact, that they couldn't actually tell the agency they went crying to what it actually was. Viper Team was just supposed to secure the area, but not open any of the convoy vehicles.
"Of course," Morse smirked, "that doesn't mean we can't find out what's in them."
-/-
He had been sleeping off a hangover when the Call came. Two words, a pause, details, repeated once. It took him a few minutes to realize that, yes, it was real, and a sick combination of anticipation and fear rose in his gut.
According to the briefing, they were to ambush the three trucks of the convoy. Due to a "planning error" their separate routes would happen to cross the dam at the same time. They would jam their radios, neutralize the drivers and escorts, recover HYDRA's lost little lamb, and be on their way. The dam was an excellent place to ambush the trailer-trucks; their occupants couldn't flee the road, and they were all snarled in the morning traffic anyway. All the HYDRA forces had to do was wait for their ride out to arrive, since the civilians on the bridge had inconveniently left their cars behind when they were fleeing in terror.
Six and the other five members of the HYDRA strike team worked frantically to get the first truck in the convoy open. It was disguised as a simple commercial vehicle, and a few minutes work with cutters had the padlock off. Which only left the hidden lock, the one that was much more complicated.
While Jacques-One did something extremely technological, everyone else watched the perimeter. Six's hands drummed the grip of his weapon. The little pills they had gotten were holding off the hangover, but he felt jittery, keyed up. or maybe that was simple excitement.
"Hey," said Three.
He turned to look at her. (Light brown skin, possibly Algerian or Turkish.)
"What were you doing before?"
He blinked. "Sleeping. I had a few drinks after work. Then a few more. Then I woke up on my front doorstep with the taste of vomit in my mouth." He made a curling sort of gesture, near his mouth. 'Actually, it was one of my better nights out."
Her eyes crinkled, behind the bandanna. "I'm in marketing. Lots of traveling, lots of dealing with people with sticks up their rears, as the Americans would say."
"How does it pay?"
A grimace, now. "Not enough."
"It's open!" One called.
They formed up on the doors, swung them wide, pointed their guns into an empty container. It wasn't disappointing, really, just...well, yes, it was disappointing.
"Next one," Six ordered. Two and Four reactivated the safeties on their purple-striped grenades.
Strange that they had only been assigned one tech expert. Perhaps there were no more in range of the staging area. They could've been given explosives, but maybe the cargo was valuable.
As he passed the cab of the second truck, he stepped over the body of the driver, which had fallen out of the door after they started their ambush. The lasers had done horrible things to his face, and Six tried to ignore the smell of cooking pork. For the greater good.
They had just reached the back doors of the truck when he felt it. A slight stirring in the air. He looked up; nothing there, even as the wind grew stronger. The others were looking around too, and he ordered defensive positions.
Which was when the robot suit fell out of thin air less than a dozen metres away.
Even as his mind tried to wrap around the idea of some kind of cloaked ship, his team opened fire. He was proud of them, even as he realized that the thing was just standing there. Weathering the hits. He called cease fire, drew a grenade. It probably wouldn't do any more good, but -
It raised a finger, waggled it from side to side. It had glowing eyes, and a glowing spot in the middle of its chest, and the spots where their fire had hit were rapidly cooling even as he watched.
And then it spoke, in a voice of thunder.
"My turn."
Then it raised its arms and fired ray guns at them.
They weren't lasers. They didn't look like lasers, didn't hit like them. One struck the car Three was hiding behind, and knocked it back several feet, electricity dancing across its surface and, perforce, her. She fell to the floor and didn't move. Someone even managed to get a grenade off, but the robot didn't even notice.
And Six couldn't help but notice that it wasn't actually trying to kill them.
The car he was behind was knocked back several feet, and Six was knocked over, the windows showering him with shards as they burst. As the vehicle settled and his head cleared, he looked down and found that his right leg was bent the wrong way, and there was something poking at the skin from the inside.
"Fall back!" he coughed, fumbling for the Syringe on his belt. "Fall ba-"
There was pressure on his arm, then a sharp pain, and the suicide device fell from his nerveless hand.
He stared at the gash in his wrist, noted how neat it was, how precise, how the numbness was spreading up his arm...
Someone turned him around, pushed him back against the ruined car. He looked up, past the tactical gear, into a pair of pitiless eyes.
Framed by, oddly, pink hair.
It was so hard to think-
"Leighton to Base," she said, as she reversed her grip on her knife, the blade a blurring flash of morning sunlight. "Got their leader."
And the pommel came down on the terrorist's forehead.
-/-
Irene's mouth was hanging open.
"As you can see on...that drone," Morse pointed, "Rumlow is sniping from up on the ridge, in a stealth suit. Sgt. Leighton, as you just saw, prefers the up-close and personal approach. She likes to put paralytics on her knives, just in case. And Sitznski -"
The large blonde woman simply threw a terrorist into a car. Unfortunately for him, this didn't knock him out.
"- Well, she used to work on an oil rig. She favors the direct approach."
The other woman nodded. She was looking at a screen that had - ah.
"Yes, that's Vanko's suit," Morse clarified. "Why I'm here."
Irene's mouth closed with a sharp click. "You just let her go out like that?"
Bobbi smiled. She loved the whole "cryptic statements" bit. "Not exactly."
In front of them, one of the techs stiffened. "Sir-!"
-/-
When the alien dropship arrived, it was met with a storm of laserfire from the appropriated HYDRA weapons, as well as the plasma sniper rifle Rumlow had. The Sectoids were scouts, the Mutons acted as shock troopers, and the Infiltrators used their mobility to flank.
In theory.
Unfortunately for them, they hadn't counted on a certain liason providing intel from the SHIELD comm center. The soldiers scattered before the charge of Mutons, taking shots at their vulnerable rear armor before melting away. The false-humans ran headlong into their opposition's superior mobility, in the form of the jetpacks they had used to descend from the ridgeline and surprise the HYDRA forces, while Sitznski, the team's support gunner, suppressed them as best as she was able. And the distraction that had allowed them to do so complained bitterly in Russian about wasting her suit's armament on small fry.
All in all, it was a productive engagement.
Right until they learned about the second alien aircraft.
-/-
"Say again, Base?" Leighton said.
"An enemy fast-mover is headed your way. Possibly a ground-attack craft, such as that gunship XCOM engaged. I suggest you seek cover."
"Well, that's a nice sentiment," the Texan drawled, "but where? We're more exposed than a pat of butter on a griddle here!"
-/-
Morse winced.
"Something wrong?" Eamon asked.
"It's just...she tries so hard. She's from Texas, sure, but she spent most of her life in New York. I bet she studies those hokey sayings. She sits down, writes a list and memorizes it. That's not even her real accent."
Eamon tried not to smile.
-/-
"Got it!" Jenkins said. He was holding up a device to the side of one of the trucks. "Looks like...a person. Someone being transported, maybe?"
"And yet, she's wearing handcuffs," Leighton noted. "And since we can't leave some poor, innocent person to be blown up by aliens, we'll have to open the door." She pouted. "Very sad. Brock?"
"On it," said Rumlow. A second later, a green bolt vaporized the lock to the trailer.
"Much obliged. Stack u-"
A woman in red kicked the door open, jumped down, and ran.
"Runner!"
-/-
More soldiers. She didn't recognize them, but it didn't matter. All she needed to do was get away.
She looked over her shoulder as she rounded a trailer, and almost ran straight into a massive suit of armor. The helmet looked down at her. "And where are you going, alyy?" a woman's voice said, in English.
No, she thought, backing away. She couldn't let them catch her again.
There was a feeling in her head, like it was about to burst -
She couldn't -
"Leave me alone!" she screamed, and a burst of energy surged out from her. It felt like tingles on her skin, and all the soldiers rocked back a step, even the ones in the suit of armor. She fought off the dizziness, turned to run -
- And froze.
It was one of the big aliens, the green ones. She had seem them at the Facility, in the form of pictures, video. but never in person. Never dead. And beyond that, one of the little ones, and the one that looked like humans -
"You...you can kill them?" she said, numbly. The soldiers looked at each other, and she repeated the question in English.
The large blonde woman snorted. "Can we kill them," she repeated.
The young woman stared.
The woman with pink hair tilted her head. "Got it," she said. "We need to move, now."
"Move where?"
"Anywhere that isn't about to explode. Base, where's our ride?" She listened for a second, then grimaced. "That don't impress me much."
"Where are we going?" the captive asked again.
"I'll think of something."
-/-
"Agent Hand?" Irene said. "I assume SHIELD agents are required to learn how to swim?"
-/-
Six woke up just in time to see the front of the big robot suit opening up like a flower, and the unknown soldiers manhandling him into it. One of them noticed his fluttering eyes.
"Don't worry, kid," the blonde ginned. "It's probably airtight."
The suit shut on him just before he started to scream.
As it turned out, the drone suit was soundproofed.
-/-
When the gunship popped up over the ridgeline, it wasted little time acquiring the only active heat sources on the road, sorting them out from the dead bodies of their brethren, humans, and even a few bodies floating in the reservoir. One might imagine that its pilots were contemptuous of the humans trying the trick of hiding in a truck. One might imagine they pointed and laughed at the impenetrable ruse.
Or maybe the pause was just them arming their missiles to blow it to Kingdom Come, check for survivors, and then leave with the satisfaction of a job well done.
It's hard to tell.
A few minutes later, one of the floating bodies suddenly opened its eyes.
-/-
"Glad that worked," Eamon said.
Agent Hand turned. "It cost us the bodies of the other terrorists, the truck, and several very expensive jetpacks to set that up. Possibly the dam and the weapons too." Beat. "I certainly hope it was worth it."
Eamon decided that he didn't like the agent. Maybe it was the impeccable suit. Maybe it was the trendy hair, down to the red streaks. Maybe it was the glasses.
It probably wasn't the glasses.
"They just sent a HYDRA team, an alien ground team, and a gunship after that one woman," he retorted, pointing at the woman in red who was now being helped out of the water. Nearby, Vanko's suit winched itself up; it had used a cargo truck as a counterweight, wrapping its whips around the body and then deactivating them.
"Hm," Hand said. "Well, they'll be here shortly, and we can simply ask her what makes her so valuable."
"Don't you want to ask her name first?"
Hand froze, bit back something, and turned back to the display.
-/-
"Well," Leighton said, rolling onto her back. "That was more fun than a barrel of monkeys in a mud-slingin' contest."
There was a pause, as everyone digested this image. The stranger rubbed her freed wrists, and Vanko's drone suit unceremoniously deposited their one remaining prisoner on the ground. He had blacked out again.
"Who are you people?"
"We're from the government, and we're here to help you," Sitznski said. "What's your name?"
"Wanda," said the woman in red. "Wanda Maxime."
-/-
In the New Mexico desert, Jasper Sitwell turned away from a crater where a spontaneous party had erupted. Oddly enough, it was centered on a large, square hammer that bore a strong resemblance to the Platonic ideal of the Immovable Object. Some white-haired guy in sunglasses with a moustache had just hooked his pickup to it.
"Sir?" he said, over the sound of a truckbed being ripped off. "The 084 is here, just like she claimed."
Iron Man: Armored Adventures theme - Rooney
The SHIELD shrink is played by Gabrielle Anwar. YES I AM A BURN NOTICE FAN HOW COULD YOU TELL
Hill has apparently read Watchmen.
Like in Thor, the guy in the pickup truck is Stan Lee.
Someone on FFn pointed out that Tony is an idiot for not using Elerium. I decided to write that into this chapter. SHIELD, however, sees the situation differently.
15 In a dangerous world he does all he can
-S-
Tony Stark hurried into his office, swiping at his face with a rag. He tossed it in the general direction of the wastebasket and said to the air, "Jo, pick up."
The flashing XCOM emblem faded out, replaced with his ex-assistant in some kind of communications room, smiling, some bald guy in glasses at her elbow. Hispanic?
Come to think of it, that smile looked a little strained. And familiar. Like the one he saw in the mirror sometimes, when he was about to power through a hangover.
"Tony?"
"Irene! Hi!"
"You seem out of breath."
"Well, we just built a particle accelerator."
"I assume that out favorite Scot will be there shortly to yell at you. On my end -" German accent " -my top secret mission to infiltrate and destroy SHIELD proceeds as planned."
Sitwell frowned at her. Several of the other agents in the comm center didn't seem too pleased either, though some chuckled.
"Glad to hear it. We're testing the new element now, but it seems to be toxin-free. We're calling it Starkium."
"Bit egotistical, don't you think?"
Roguish grin. "What made you think it was named after me?"
"Oh. Um, thanks-"
"It's named after Dad."
Irene rolled her eyes.
"How you holding up?" Tony continued.
That smile got a little sharper. "I'm trying to set up proper lines of communication and resource-sharing between two secret agencies, one of which doesn't actually exist, while also being used as an intelligence asset." She shrugged. "Still not as hard as being your assist -"
She stopped abruptly, tuned to a tech nearby, pointed at the screen. "Zoom." The tech nodded, and did something with the mouse. Irene stared at his image intently. What was she -
He reached up, touched his cheek. It came away with black smudges.
"Tony Stark, did you just set something on fire?"
-/-
"There are three benefits to synthesizing my Dad's element," Tony had said. "One, more power for the base. Bases. Two, more power for the suits, so maybe I can finally get those flight modules running."
"Even assuming you can prove its not some sort of HYDRA trap," Schmidt had said, jogging in place, "what's the third reason?"
"Oh, yeah. I won't die."
Beat.
"I'm sorry, should I have led with that?"
-/-
"Turned out we didn't exactly aim the emitter properly. Good thing Dummy was there with the extinguisher. Still, it's given me some Ideas."
"Tell Singh to remind you to do things like eat and sleep."
"Yeah..." He felt the grin slide off his face. "They all miss you."
A raised eyebrow. "They?"
He had to cough, all of a sudden. "Well...back to work."
Irene smiled at him. "Bye, Tony."
"Bye. See you at the meeting."
-/-
The SHIELD shrink was rather angular, Eamon thought. Big blue eyes, pointed chin, strong cheekbones, long arms and legs. Slim, not really shapely, like Irene was, or muscled, like -
Well, like some people.
"Tell me about your mother," she said, in a British accent.
Eamon stared at the other woman, until she noticed the slight curl at the edge of her lip.
"Had me going," he admitted, smiling back at her.
"Ah, there it is," said the psych - psychologist? Psychiatrist? "First time I've seen a real smile on your face since you started here."
"A real...?"
"As opposed to this." The women exposed her teeth. Eamon recoiled. "Yes, exactly. The flirting, too."
Eamon raised an eyebrow. "Are you telling me Fury isn't attractive?"
"And there's the deflection. Your girlfriend just died, Irene, and your file says you took months to ask her out. But here you are, practically jumping down Fury's pants from the second you walk in, even though everyone knows you're a spy. You know who you're acting like?"
Actually, Eamon didn't like men, but Irene did, so he had decided to play along. "Enlighten me."
"Tony Stark."
"What?"
"You don't see it? Charming, attractive, intelligent engineer uses sex as a substitute for emotional intimacy after losing a loved one they wish they had been closer with. All you need is the substance abuse problem and a silly beard."
"You think I'm attractive?"
"Deflection again. What I think is that someone who tried to kill a man over a woman isn't going to get over her that quickly. I also think that your little 'just as planned' story is complete rubbish."
"I-"
"What I don't know is whether you're a vengeful woman who happened to get her hands on classified info, a HYDRA spy who got too deep in her cover, or a spy from some other faction."
"And how exactly do you plan to resolve your uncertainty?"
"What have you been told about The Bureau?"
-/-
"I am noticing a lot of black ink here," Irene had said.
"Like I said; classified," Fury had said.
"We could give her the Cliff Notes version," Hill had suggested.
"They still make those?"
"Good question, sir."
"Okay, here's the...Twitter version. 60s, secret alien invasion. We blamed it on attacks by the Russians, but it was actually a series of surgical strikes by hand-picked teams of operatives, inspired and led by the Howling Commandos, and Agent Sharon Carter."
"Why didn't SHIELD handle it?" Eamon had asked. And why hadn't he known about it? Was this part of that FPS XCOM? The one everyone hated?
"Because there barely was any SHIELD, by that point. The SSR was turned from a wartime agency to...curators. The 084s -"
A raised eyebrow from Irene.
"...Right. The unknown objects HYDRA had collected were locked away."
"To be studied by 'top...men'?"
"Actually," Hill had chimed in, "we were low on the priority list for top men. Stark - Howard Stark, that is - was siphoning them all off for Stark Industries, and you'll recall that there was another war on."
"It's a game, my dear Watson, a shadowy game," Irene had muttered to herself.
"What?"
"Nothing. So, The Bureau."
"When the aliens started to invade, the government activated a secret project they had prepared in the event of a Communist invasion. Recruiting top scientific and military personnel to fight and study them."
"Sound familiar?"
Eamon's head was spinning. "So, wait, you're saying that XCOM is fifty years old?"
"The Bureau was folded into SHIELD, which got a serious budget increase. In time, we drifted mainly towards intelligence -"
Which, for some reason, required a flying aircraft carrier.
"- But we didn't have the fast reaction force necessary to deal with the current crisis."
"What does this have to do with the names?"
"Many of the aliens we've encountered in this invasion were in the last one, though it didn't exactly seem...voluntary. We're not sure if they were mercenaries, or escaped, or sold as slaves to get that year's budget in the black."
Eamon had snorted. "So...is this an encore performance?"
"You tell me."
"Ah..." Something caught Eamon's eye, a single word that wasn't blacked out. "What...what did HYDRA have to do with it?"
"Pretty much the same thing they're doing now; getting in our way. They've laid low until recently. Some of our analysts were even saying that they had disbanded entirely."
Eamon had thought of his first day on the job, of the little body -
-/-
"I...I kinda went into shock back then," Eamon admitted. "When I saw that dead kid. I was trying to make it make sense, to make it logical."
"That's perfectly normal. But let me ask you something; wasn't it frustrating to see more marker than text? Don't you hate it when people keep secrets from you?"
"Yeah, I - oi! I see what you're doing, and it's not the same! Besides, you're a psychologist, you keep secrets for a living."
"So what you're saying is that some secrets have to be kept, for people's good."
"Yes."
"But you told Tony about the poison, and tried to kill Vanko. You revealed your combat skills during the base invasion, and took some unnecessary risks, when you didn't have to."
"Well, those rookies just looked so helpless -"
"Irene! Enough with that bollocks! Why did you break your cover?"
"Because..." Eamon looked away. "Because I held back, I thought just helping Tony was enough, and someone I cared about a lot got hurt."
She took a deep breath, summoned what she could remember of The Game.
"And I can't let that happen again. I have to go."
"Why? What for?"
"I need to tell Fury about the Cyberdiscs and Floaters and Sectopods."
The British woman stared as Irene rushed out, leaving the door swinging behind her.
"Good luck...?"
-/-
Despite Tony's best efforts, some of Irene's Shakespeare quoting had rubbed off on him. So, as they started the holo-conference, he had two competing references in his head. One was help me Obi-Wan, you are my only hope. The other was when shall we three meet again? In thunder, lightning, or in rain?
Or, in this case, in their secret underground bases on two different continents.
"Y'know, as the Chief Engineer, I can't help but notice that I didn't even know that your office even had holograms."
"Look, Stark," Schmidt said, "if you hadn't been busy being captured by terrorists, you would've been here when they were installed. It's no one's fault but yours."
"And the Ten Rings, of course," Bradford said.
"But mostly yours."
The banter was interrupted by Fury and Hill appearing. Tony was a little disappointed that they weren't blue and fuzzy.
"Chief Stark," Fury opened. "Any advice for dealing with your ex-assistant?"
"Uh...Don't get her wet, don't feed her after midnight, and - crap, what was the third one?"
"Sunlight," Hill supplied.
"Right. She tans easily, give her really strong sunblock."
"Got it," Fury said. "How's South America doing?"
"Over to you, boss."
"Pretty well," Schmidt said. "Pena said hi to the folks, started setting up a base, and is already developing training for conventional forces."
"We've got more manpower," Hill said. "Need some help?"
"Thanks. I'll talk to...where is Miss Starkos?"
"Not sure. Her psych evaluation should be over by now. Guess she's running late."
"Hmm."
"There's something that's been bugging me," Bradford said. "The x-rays are communicating with HYDRA, so why not just tell us what they want?"
"Maybe this is what they want," Fury shrugged. "Maybe they don't really get humans."
"Or maybe they do," Schmidt said. "If a bunch of aliens came along and offered us a free lunch, how long do you think it would be before we stopped fighting long enough to accept?"
Hill blinked. "Wait, are you saying they're making themselves a threat to unite humanity? I think I've heard of that plan before, and it didn't end well."
"Or maybe," Tony said, "like many bureaucrats, they just found what works for them, and don't want to change."
Everyone looked at him.
"What? I was a defense contractor, I know how governments work. Or...not work. Speaking of which, we're almost done with the first round of pulse weapons. Enough to send you a sample, with a free toaster thrown in."
"Well, we'll have our people take a look at them," Fury said.
Bradford cleared his throat. "About that. How do you know you can trust Vanko? Or Horgan?"
Fury shrugged. "It worked with Dr. Zola. Besides, there's a saying; trust but verify."
"In the other direction," Hill said, "you'll be receiving jump packs and stealth hides shortly."
"Um...I saw the specs and I'm just going to come out and say it," Tony said. "Why are you using Elerium?"
Fury blinked. "Why are you not?"
"Tony?" Schmidt interrupted. "I'll take this. Because we don't want to depend on the enemy for our power source."
"Riiight." Fury leaned forward. "Because relying on one man is so much better. How exactly were you planning to power your shiny new particle accelerators?"
"Wi - how do you know about that?"
Fury gestured toward his face, smirking. "Spy."
Bradford saw the thunderclouds gathering over his boss' head and tried to avert the oncoming argument. "What Schmidt means is -"
"What I mean is it's stupid to rely on black-box tech in the middle of a war - "
"It's because we're in a war that we need every advantage we can get? I seem to recall a certain shield -"
Luckily, that was the point where the sorely-missed liason arrived in Fury's office. "Director!"
"Yes?" both Schmidt and Fury answered, and glared at each other.
Irene slapped her tablet down on the desk, poked at it for a few seconds, and a still image popped up on the imaginary pane of glass between the two offices.. "There."
"It's a blur," Hill noted.
"I know. But it's a very consistent blur, caught on lots of different cameras during the Moscow terror attack." She bought up more images. "I backtraced the plasma artillery."
"None of our analysts could figure out where it was coming from," Schmidt admitted.
"That's because we were all assuming it was land-based. This -" another image, hand-drawn, resembling a classic flying saucer is "- is a Cyberdisc. It can transform into another, less-armored form that has a plasma rifle and a grenade thrower."
"Miss Starkos..." Bradford said slowly, "is this from one of those timelines you were talking about?"
"Mmm-hm."
"And do you have anything else you'd like to share with the class?" Fury said.
Irene smiled.
As he looked at his friend's face, Tony Stark thought of another quote, a Chinese curse. May you live in interesting times.
-/-
He could've watched from his room, or found a lounge. But instead, Eamon wandered up to the comms room he had called Tony from, where someone named Victor Hand was overseeing the mission, whatever it was. The blonde agent who had helped defend XCOM was there, coffee in hand. Or was her body just messed up from the lack of natural light?
Buried alive. Buried...alive.
Clearly Tony had been rubbing off on her.
"Agent Bobbi Morse, Project PAPERCUT." She shook, gestured at the screen with her caffeinated hand. "This isn't exactly your wheelhouse, is it?"
"Don't know. I heard there was a mission, wandered in. All I know is that it's in France." What was the time difference between the base and France, anyway?
"How?"
"That tech over there is speaking French. Of course, that could also be Belgium, Switzerland, Algeria..."
Over the next few minutes, Irene learned that the op was, in fact, in France, and it involved an attack on a convoy carrying something très important . So important, in fact, that they couldn't actually tell the agency they went crying to what it actually was. Viper Team was just supposed to secure the area, but not open any of the convoy vehicles.
"Of course," Morse smirked, "that doesn't mean we can't find out what's in them."
-/-
He had been sleeping off a hangover when the Call came. Two words, a pause, details, repeated once. It took him a few minutes to realize that, yes, it was real, and a sick combination of anticipation and fear rose in his gut.
According to the briefing, they were to ambush the three trucks of the convoy. Due to a "planning error" their separate routes would happen to cross the dam at the same time. They would jam their radios, neutralize the drivers and escorts, recover HYDRA's lost little lamb, and be on their way. The dam was an excellent place to ambush the trailer-trucks; their occupants couldn't flee the road, and they were all snarled in the morning traffic anyway. All the HYDRA forces had to do was wait for their ride out to arrive, since the civilians on the bridge had inconveniently left their cars behind when they were fleeing in terror.
Six and the other five members of the HYDRA strike team worked frantically to get the first truck in the convoy open. It was disguised as a simple commercial vehicle, and a few minutes work with cutters had the padlock off. Which only left the hidden lock, the one that was much more complicated.
While Jacques-One did something extremely technological, everyone else watched the perimeter. Six's hands drummed the grip of his weapon. The little pills they had gotten were holding off the hangover, but he felt jittery, keyed up. or maybe that was simple excitement.
"Hey," said Three.
He turned to look at her. (Light brown skin, possibly Algerian or Turkish.)
"What were you doing before?"
He blinked. "Sleeping. I had a few drinks after work. Then a few more. Then I woke up on my front doorstep with the taste of vomit in my mouth." He made a curling sort of gesture, near his mouth. 'Actually, it was one of my better nights out."
Her eyes crinkled, behind the bandanna. "I'm in marketing. Lots of traveling, lots of dealing with people with sticks up their rears, as the Americans would say."
"How does it pay?"
A grimace, now. "Not enough."
"It's open!" One called.
They formed up on the doors, swung them wide, pointed their guns into an empty container. It wasn't disappointing, really, just...well, yes, it was disappointing.
"Next one," Six ordered. Two and Four reactivated the safeties on their purple-striped grenades.
Strange that they had only been assigned one tech expert. Perhaps there were no more in range of the staging area. They could've been given explosives, but maybe the cargo was valuable.
As he passed the cab of the second truck, he stepped over the body of the driver, which had fallen out of the door after they started their ambush. The lasers had done horrible things to his face, and Six tried to ignore the smell of cooking pork. For the greater good.
They had just reached the back doors of the truck when he felt it. A slight stirring in the air. He looked up; nothing there, even as the wind grew stronger. The others were looking around too, and he ordered defensive positions.
Which was when the robot suit fell out of thin air less than a dozen metres away.
Even as his mind tried to wrap around the idea of some kind of cloaked ship, his team opened fire. He was proud of them, even as he realized that the thing was just standing there. Weathering the hits. He called cease fire, drew a grenade. It probably wouldn't do any more good, but -
It raised a finger, waggled it from side to side. It had glowing eyes, and a glowing spot in the middle of its chest, and the spots where their fire had hit were rapidly cooling even as he watched.
And then it spoke, in a voice of thunder.
"My turn."
Then it raised its arms and fired ray guns at them.
They weren't lasers. They didn't look like lasers, didn't hit like them. One struck the car Three was hiding behind, and knocked it back several feet, electricity dancing across its surface and, perforce, her. She fell to the floor and didn't move. Someone even managed to get a grenade off, but the robot didn't even notice.
And Six couldn't help but notice that it wasn't actually trying to kill them.
The car he was behind was knocked back several feet, and Six was knocked over, the windows showering him with shards as they burst. As the vehicle settled and his head cleared, he looked down and found that his right leg was bent the wrong way, and there was something poking at the skin from the inside.
"Fall back!" he coughed, fumbling for the Syringe on his belt. "Fall ba-"
There was pressure on his arm, then a sharp pain, and the suicide device fell from his nerveless hand.
He stared at the gash in his wrist, noted how neat it was, how precise, how the numbness was spreading up his arm...
Someone turned him around, pushed him back against the ruined car. He looked up, past the tactical gear, into a pair of pitiless eyes.
Framed by, oddly, pink hair.
It was so hard to think-
"Leighton to Base," she said, as she reversed her grip on her knife, the blade a blurring flash of morning sunlight. "Got their leader."
And the pommel came down on the terrorist's forehead.
-/-
Irene's mouth was hanging open.
"As you can see on...that drone," Morse pointed, "Rumlow is sniping from up on the ridge, in a stealth suit. Sgt. Leighton, as you just saw, prefers the up-close and personal approach. She likes to put paralytics on her knives, just in case. And Sitznski -"
The large blonde woman simply threw a terrorist into a car. Unfortunately for him, this didn't knock him out.
"- Well, she used to work on an oil rig. She favors the direct approach."
The other woman nodded. She was looking at a screen that had - ah.
"Yes, that's Vanko's suit," Morse clarified. "Why I'm here."
Irene's mouth closed with a sharp click. "You just let her go out like that?"
Bobbi smiled. She loved the whole "cryptic statements" bit. "Not exactly."
In front of them, one of the techs stiffened. "Sir-!"
-/-
When the alien dropship arrived, it was met with a storm of laserfire from the appropriated HYDRA weapons, as well as the plasma sniper rifle Rumlow had. The Sectoids were scouts, the Mutons acted as shock troopers, and the Infiltrators used their mobility to flank.
In theory.
Unfortunately for them, they hadn't counted on a certain liason providing intel from the SHIELD comm center. The soldiers scattered before the charge of Mutons, taking shots at their vulnerable rear armor before melting away. The false-humans ran headlong into their opposition's superior mobility, in the form of the jetpacks they had used to descend from the ridgeline and surprise the HYDRA forces, while Sitznski, the team's support gunner, suppressed them as best as she was able. And the distraction that had allowed them to do so complained bitterly in Russian about wasting her suit's armament on small fry.
All in all, it was a productive engagement.
Right until they learned about the second alien aircraft.
-/-
"Say again, Base?" Leighton said.
"An enemy fast-mover is headed your way. Possibly a ground-attack craft, such as that gunship XCOM engaged. I suggest you seek cover."
"Well, that's a nice sentiment," the Texan drawled, "but where? We're more exposed than a pat of butter on a griddle here!"
-/-
Morse winced.
"Something wrong?" Eamon asked.
"It's just...she tries so hard. She's from Texas, sure, but she spent most of her life in New York. I bet she studies those hokey sayings. She sits down, writes a list and memorizes it. That's not even her real accent."
Eamon tried not to smile.
-/-
"Got it!" Jenkins said. He was holding up a device to the side of one of the trucks. "Looks like...a person. Someone being transported, maybe?"
"And yet, she's wearing handcuffs," Leighton noted. "And since we can't leave some poor, innocent person to be blown up by aliens, we'll have to open the door." She pouted. "Very sad. Brock?"
"On it," said Rumlow. A second later, a green bolt vaporized the lock to the trailer.
"Much obliged. Stack u-"
A woman in red kicked the door open, jumped down, and ran.
"Runner!"
-/-
More soldiers. She didn't recognize them, but it didn't matter. All she needed to do was get away.
She looked over her shoulder as she rounded a trailer, and almost ran straight into a massive suit of armor. The helmet looked down at her. "And where are you going, alyy?" a woman's voice said, in English.
No, she thought, backing away. She couldn't let them catch her again.
There was a feeling in her head, like it was about to burst -
She couldn't -
"Leave me alone!" she screamed, and a burst of energy surged out from her. It felt like tingles on her skin, and all the soldiers rocked back a step, even the ones in the suit of armor. She fought off the dizziness, turned to run -
- And froze.
It was one of the big aliens, the green ones. She had seem them at the Facility, in the form of pictures, video. but never in person. Never dead. And beyond that, one of the little ones, and the one that looked like humans -
"You...you can kill them?" she said, numbly. The soldiers looked at each other, and she repeated the question in English.
The large blonde woman snorted. "Can we kill them," she repeated.
The young woman stared.
The woman with pink hair tilted her head. "Got it," she said. "We need to move, now."
"Move where?"
"Anywhere that isn't about to explode. Base, where's our ride?" She listened for a second, then grimaced. "That don't impress me much."
"Where are we going?" the captive asked again.
"I'll think of something."
-/-
"Agent Hand?" Irene said. "I assume SHIELD agents are required to learn how to swim?"
-/-
Six woke up just in time to see the front of the big robot suit opening up like a flower, and the unknown soldiers manhandling him into it. One of them noticed his fluttering eyes.
"Don't worry, kid," the blonde ginned. "It's probably airtight."
The suit shut on him just before he started to scream.
As it turned out, the drone suit was soundproofed.
-/-
When the gunship popped up over the ridgeline, it wasted little time acquiring the only active heat sources on the road, sorting them out from the dead bodies of their brethren, humans, and even a few bodies floating in the reservoir. One might imagine that its pilots were contemptuous of the humans trying the trick of hiding in a truck. One might imagine they pointed and laughed at the impenetrable ruse.
Or maybe the pause was just them arming their missiles to blow it to Kingdom Come, check for survivors, and then leave with the satisfaction of a job well done.
It's hard to tell.
A few minutes later, one of the floating bodies suddenly opened its eyes.
-/-
"Glad that worked," Eamon said.
Agent Hand turned. "It cost us the bodies of the other terrorists, the truck, and several very expensive jetpacks to set that up. Possibly the dam and the weapons too." Beat. "I certainly hope it was worth it."
Eamon decided that he didn't like the agent. Maybe it was the impeccable suit. Maybe it was the trendy hair, down to the red streaks. Maybe it was the glasses.
It probably wasn't the glasses.
"They just sent a HYDRA team, an alien ground team, and a gunship after that one woman," he retorted, pointing at the woman in red who was now being helped out of the water. Nearby, Vanko's suit winched itself up; it had used a cargo truck as a counterweight, wrapping its whips around the body and then deactivating them.
"Hm," Hand said. "Well, they'll be here shortly, and we can simply ask her what makes her so valuable."
"Don't you want to ask her name first?"
Hand froze, bit back something, and turned back to the display.
-/-
"Well," Leighton said, rolling onto her back. "That was more fun than a barrel of monkeys in a mud-slingin' contest."
There was a pause, as everyone digested this image. The stranger rubbed her freed wrists, and Vanko's drone suit unceremoniously deposited their one remaining prisoner on the ground. He had blacked out again.
"Who are you people?"
"We're from the government, and we're here to help you," Sitznski said. "What's your name?"
"Wanda," said the woman in red. "Wanda Maxime."
-/-
In the New Mexico desert, Jasper Sitwell turned away from a crater where a spontaneous party had erupted. Oddly enough, it was centered on a large, square hammer that bore a strong resemblance to the Platonic ideal of the Immovable Object. Some white-haired guy in sunglasses with a moustache had just hooked his pickup to it.
"Sir?" he said, over the sound of a truckbed being ripped off. "The 084 is here, just like she claimed."
-H-
Iron Man: Armored Adventures theme - Rooney
The SHIELD shrink is played by Gabrielle Anwar. YES I AM A BURN NOTICE FAN HOW COULD YOU TELL
Hill has apparently read Watchmen.
Like in Thor, the guy in the pickup truck is Stan Lee.
Someone on FFn pointed out that Tony is an idiot for not using Elerium. I decided to write that into this chapter. SHIELD, however, sees the situation differently.
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I didn't say that. In fact, my current computer inexplicably overheats when I so much as try to play TF2, much less The Bureau. But I do like the broad strokes of the story.