I wish I owned the characters from Pitch Perfect because they are the best bunch of misfits friends I am unfortunate enough not to have as my own... but I don't.
I would love to own any of the songs featured within this story... but I don't.
I'd like to be able to say I own a complete grasp of the English language and grammar (but despite being ever so English and sounding like the Queen, I left school in the last Millennium and promptly forgot everything on purpose, because that is how I roll)... but I don't.
I hoped to own a soul (I am ginger)... but I don't.
I want to own a normal sense of humour... but I don't.
I would love to own the ability to know when to stop rambling... but I don't.
I own nothing except a hefty mortgage, a very clumsy husband, a couple of dead pot plants and several grumpy cats.
I'm too lazy to type up a disclaimer on each page so I am doing it all now. The most I hope to write are the song titles that I have stolen to use in each chapter which I will always aim to do but please forgive me if I forget!
I own nothing from Pitch Perfect, any of the characters (except the OC ones you'll find coming up and you'll easily spot who they are), any song lyrics or in fact anything else at all! I even stole the name from a company I work with that I always thought sounded cool.
I have endeavoured to write an original story based on my love of aliens and Pitch Perfect and I truly hope you like it. I did originally post this under a different Author's name. This has been rewritten for a different fandom. I hope you enjoy!
So, onwards and upwards, dear friends and readers... for the Agents are waiting. The first couple of chapters are quite long and hard to get through but I really hope when the story gets going, you'll enjoy it.
Sleepwalkers
.oOo. Chapter One - In The Beginning .oOo.
It was getting cold out,
Summer was over although I wouldn't have known the difference.
I had barricaded myself in my room, in my head;
Tortured by Star Spangled dreams of a future I had brushed shoulders with;
Maybe even made it to second base with?
When they all gave up on me, I guess I kinda gave up on me too.
The parade of empty eyed partygoers and lock jawed stragglers seemed have stretch in to forever.
So I adopted a 'can't beat em, join em' philosophy!
I had heard rumblings of some sort of sickness going around,
Some soul sucking virus that turned bright, promising souls into cold shadowy might have beens.
I could relate I thought; I was one of them;
I was a sleepwalker!
Funny how your priorities change when you are faced with extinction.
** Sleepwalkers - Bonnie McGee **
.oOo.
The curiously quiet motorised hum rumbled up and over the hill, creating the only sound in Sector 3.9 as the D-ACA Cruiser gently glided across the rocky terrain, avoiding the numerous bubbling gas pockets with ease.
The rider, the only human for miles, was clad completely in black leather and skilfully negotiated the now familiar environmental setting, handling the vehicle with experienced precision whilst maintaining a perfect poise astride the large, overly polished, shiny machine.
The route up the muddy, rocky mound was steep but short and it wasn't long before the rider reached the small crevice, her intended resting point, some twenty feet from the summit. It held a well appointed vantage point over the valley, hidden from overhead aircraft and set far enough back from the ridge that it would take only the keenest of eyes to spot it amongst the flinty face of the small hill.
The rider killed the engine and nudged the cruiser towards the back of the cave, tucking it against the rear wall. Surveying the dimly lit hollow, her training making her constantly on the lookout for the enemy, the rider looked down to the craft she had ridden in on, assessing for any damage that could be easily fixed with the standard, basic tool kit attached to the spare wheel.
The battle she had just come from had been quick, intense but triumphant and the remnants of the victory were secured in the locked box on the back of the vehicle, ready for inspection and testing back at Base.
Luckily, there wasn't any serious damage to fix on the cruiser and the rider knew, once back in the hallowed workshops of the Headquarters, the machine would be stripped down to be cleaned properly before being returned to the Vehicle Bay, ready for the next journey out.
Waiting for the environmental readings to uplink onto the data screen that was located just inside her helmet visor, the rider sighed heavily as she canted her weight onto her right hip. After a long day and an even longer week, it felt good to break protocol and take a breather for a moment.
The faint crackle of static brought the rider back to the situation laid out in front of her. She assumed her faultless composure again as she looked at the readings scrolling across her eye screen.
She scanned the immediate area in front of the cavern, assessing for danger, hostiles or simply bad weather. This was England after all and a heavy thunderstorm could hamper radio signals, mess with communications and cause appalling flying conditions. The ecological study had completed satisfactorily and the risk of exposure showed a healthy three percent. She checked the atmospheric status once more, just to be sure before raising her visor; her leather glove ghosting over her bruised and bloodied cheek in the process.
'Oh ding a lings!' She thought to herself, hissing slightly as she pressed her cheek to assess the damage, knowing any sort of battle wound would need to be logged with the Base Doctor, causing an examination she had no time for and a delay she didn't need.
Not today anyway.
The rider silenced the radio on her left hip with her gloved thumb, as she uncurled a long leg over the brand new D-ACA Cruiser that she had acquired only hours before, using it to put some distance between her and the small Alien camp she had only just managed to get away from.
She was graceful and light on her feet; her long, slim legs effortlessly stepping over the rugged ground as she made her way to the entrance of the cave, avoiding the bubbling purple coloured pothole on the right. Risking a reproach later, the rider removed her helmet, shaking out her golden carefully curled hair as she turned her face into the wind, revelling in the slightly sulphuric breeze that wafted across her tired face. Using her impeccable vision, she trained her hazel eyes onto the pale red hue of the horizon, the sign of the end of another day. She sank to her knees and leant against the rocky wall for support.
She watched and waited for the signal.
Pulling back the leathered sleeve, she glanced down at the implant embedded into her left forearm; the dullness of the small LED display providing a second reassurance that she needed to get back to Base as soon as possible as her energy levels were registering dangerously low.
She patted the small pocket on her uniform, just to the south of her left collarbone, feeling for the set of small syringes she always carried, reassuring herself that she had at least two doses of the emergency APOP treatment, should she need to use it.
The rider had never had to use the drug before; she had heard the side effects were vicious, but all the Agents were issued with the drug - the Advanced Protection Oxygen Preserver - as a standard part of their kit. It allowed the user approximately thirty minutes life support, should their oxygen supply be compromised or if the environment was too toxic. It provided enough adrenaline to prevent organ failure and activated an increase in rich plasma, designed to keep the body alive if the injury received accumulated in severe trauma or excessive blood loss.
Upon injecting the APOP; directly into the neck worked best, a tracking beacon was triggered automatically, alerting the team, and allowing time for preparation for retrieval if the Agent was further encumbered. When on duty, every team member was required to be on point, ready for anything and prepared for every type of situation.
The vigorous training schedule only gave a hint at what they had to learn.
The enemy, known simply as 'The Sleepwalkers' were ingenious at leaving lingering, poisonous vapours in their wake after an attack, deathly lethal to a human or animal and even the keenest and most talented of Agent could be compromised, making such a drug as the APOP a necessity for all those who went out on patrol alone.
Pouting strongly into the wind, the rider continued to watch the vista as she flexed her fingers, waiting for the signal from her support vessel. There was plenty of time before the scheduled rendezvous so she allowed her memory to drift for a moment. The rider hated The Sleepwalkers through every fibre of her being; pure, red hot, burning, passionate hatred that threatened to consume her if she allowed herself too long to dwell on her thoughts.
Following in her mother's footsteps and her grandmothers as well, to avenge their deaths and preserve their memory, she had joined the Freedom Fighter's Academy as soon as she had turned eighteen, graduating with honours in just four short months, surpassing all expectations and faster than anyone in Elementum's - Freedom Fighter's Headquarters - history. The rest of her class graduated two months later and by then, the rider had already attended Leadership School. She was officially made Team Leader of Unit B two months later, the youngest in the history of the Academy. An achievement she had quietly acknowledged and stored in her memory banks before going about her day as is nothing had happened.
She set the precedent for young, fresh team leaders and with her input, several changes were paid to the way the teams were structured. She was happy to help; her sole purpose since joining Elementum was to live and serve. She didn't always get it right but was humble enough to accept that not every day was a good one. She learnt from mistakes and moved on quickly.
The Academy Training was, as accurately described by all who passed through it, a living hell. Ruthless, pitiless and aggressive, it served to sort the wheat from the chafe. Dropout rates were extremely high, ensuring that only those with both the finest mental prowess as well as extraordinary physical strength, would graduate.
'Go Hard Or Go Home', was the phrase the rider had coined for her Unit, something she abided by herself, sparing little thought or regard for time wasters. She was aggressive when necessary but had learned over the years to use her team's skills and accept that her way was not always the best. In return, her team didn't question a hard decision that she had had to make under extreme pressure if she had had to pull rank on one of them.
Four years later, she was still in command of a cutthroat, compact, energetic and seamless team, renowned throughout the entire organisation as one of the best. Her team had earned her love and respect and while she occasionally found herself wondering how such a bunch of misfits worked so easily together, she didn't question it. Of course, there had been fatalities over time and her eyebrows furrowed for the briefest of moments as she scanned the horizon as she thought of the Agents that had been lost under her command.
The smallest of unexpected sounds snapped the riders' attention back to the cave and her current surroundings. Scooping her helmet back over her head in an easy, fluid movement and ignoring the sting in her cheek as she did so, she snapped the visor down in one, quick solid motion, reawakening the on board computer built neatly into the corner of the eye screen.
The gridded screens flashed green as she searched the area, dropping to a low crouch as she charted the cavern once more. The small digital camera zoomed in and out, adjusting and focusing on the bubbling pothole as it processed the contents. Flashing an orange cautionary circle, the rider quickly and effortlessly rose from her crouched stance to her full height once more, sweeping her eyes over the cruiser, idly waiting at the back of the cave.
Immediately the screen flashed a red warning triangle and streams of information began to dart down the screen as the rider took a step closer, her hand instinctively dropping to draw the W-74, her weapon of choice, currently strapped to her right leg. The data warning concerned the cargo in the locked box towards the back of the cruiser, the treasure from her latest killing spree.
The rider halted when the red triangle flashed again.
The words 'REGENERATING NEEZLUX' flashed across her visor and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up immediately.
"Shit." She uncharacteristically cussed, snapping into immediate action as she reached a long, slender, perfectly manicured finger under her helmet, finding the small, rigid black button implanted behind her ear, pressing it twice. She listened for a second before she heard the familiar ping, signalling her connection to Base.
"Base. Unit B for Badass. Press one for today's lunch menu…" The unmistakable loud, clear, sarcastic voice of her second in command rang out immediately in her ear, flooding the rider's senses with a flicker of relief, despite the obvious lack of protocol in the greeting; something she would address later as, despite Elementum being on the lowest level minimal security setting, she demanded that her team be on point at all times, regardless. "… press two for your choice of easy listening tunes, press three for-"
"-This is Skipper." The rider said sharply. A nano second later, she could almost hear the Agent's chair popping back upright, the slap of a pair of heavy boots hitting the floor and the scramble of a set of headphones being secured properly back on Agent Beca 'Psycho' Mitchell's head. "Execute emergency retrieval from Sector 3.9. I repeat, execute EMERGENCY retrieval from Sector 3.9. Over."
"Copy that Skipper." Beca said, her mind sharp and focused as she taped the necessary codes onto the monitor in front of her. "Initiating retrieval in Sector 3.9. State the emergency. Over."
"Regenerating Neezlux in D-ACA cargo box. Over." The rider called in, a twinge of pride in her voice.
"Affirmative. Wait, what? You got a Neezlux? Fuck! On your own? Dude?! Seriously? Fuck! You got one of those feisty fuckers by yourself? That is fucking amazing! Fuck. Over." Beca's awed response rang out as watched streams of data roll down her screen, sending necessary data through to the powers that be at Elementum.
"Affirmative. Calm your pits Psycho. Neezlux is dismembered and parts in D-ACA's locked box ready for testing. Sending data from my head cam to your station. Classify as high risk. I repeat... high risk. And Agent…"
"Yeah?"
"… watch your language. Over."
"Apologies for the enthusiasm, Your Highness." Beca deadpanned sarcastically. The rider's lip twitched as the hurried clicking of keys could be heard in the background. "Re... triev... ing data... now Skipper. Got it. Over."
"Is Nancy in his hole? Over." The rider asked.
"Affirmative Skipper, sending data to Nancy now. Over."
"Patch him in. Over." She ordered, glancing out at the horizon once more, eyes dancing over the hills as she sensed there was more to the day to come. A low growl caught her attention and she twisted to listen intently.
"Copy that. Connecting Nancy to my comms unit now. Over." Beca said quickly, her tone sharp.
"Get Rascals position stat. Reclamation time needs re evaluating. Over." The rider barked; the speed of the regeneration process of the extremely deadly Alien next to her was beginning to irk her.
"Copy that. Retrieving coordinates now for Rascals position Skip in... three... two... one... current location is Sector 8. Time to your location... fourteen minutes. Sending transmission now to Rascals location and advising of situation. Coordinates locked and loaded... now. Over."
"Has the download been successful Psycho? Over." The rider asked, doing her best to sound calm as the moaning grew louder from the locked box.
"Finishing up now Skip... Receiving Intel from Nancy... and... regen is presently at... twenty one percent. Time for full regen is approximately sixteen minutes. Advise on course of action preferred. Over."
"Organised retraction time is thirty minutes away. Too long. Is Mouse already airborne? Over." The rider asked, slightly hopeful.
"Negative Skipper. She's currently setting small fires in the lunch break room. Felt that the fire marshals had nothing better to do. Over." Beca stated; a tinge of humour in her voice.
"Repeat that Agent? She deliberately set a fire. Over."
"Calm your pits Skipper. She's baking cookies... I think. Over."
"Who is closest in the air to my location? Over." The rider asked, gritting her teeth, slightly annoyed in the delay in getting action organised.
"It's only Rascal who's flying Skip. Currently making heart shaped loops over Italy. Over."
"Land rovers available? Over."
"Negative. Valentine teaching the new recruits how to strip... tools that is. Over." Beca said, almost apologetically.
"Advise Rascal to fly double time." The rider said, deciding this was her best course of action. "Advise caution on approach. Requesting back up with the Neezlux. Ammo is empty. My kinetic energy level is registering a little under six percent. Over."
"Are you loaded with APOP? Over." Beca asked.
"Prefer not to use. Over." The rider said decidedly.
"Understood but precautionary measures Skipper? Over." Beca said, now with a trace of concern in her voice.
"Your concern is noted Agent. Readings? Over." The rider asked, glancing toward at the box strapped to her cruiser.
"Regen at twenty nine percent. Tough bastard. Rascal approaching on your horizon in less than nine minutes. Should have established radio contact in ninety seconds. Over."
"Copy that. Update on Rascal's internal link? Over" The rider asked, thinking of her own small implant behind her ear.
"She's without it at the moment. Over."
"Has Tech No finished repairing it after the kick Rascal received from the Urbitox Alien? Over."
"Affirmative Skipper. Rascal due for re implantation at twenty one hundred hours. Over."
"Copy that. Maintaining contact with the Neezlux for data transference. Send to Nancy and Rascal. Will get visual before I let you go back to whatever level of Angry Birds you were playing. Over." The rider smirked.
"Advise on placement of spy on Psycho cameras in control room Skip? Over." Beca huffed in reply.
"Seven years of knowing you. No camera needed. Honestly Psycho? The future of the planet is in our hands and you are playing Angry Birds? Over." The rider laughed, despite herself.
"Copy that. Don't start getting excited. You'll only puke in your helmet again Skip. Over."
"Is that your professional opinion? Over."
"You weren't due back until extraction. Over." Beca said, although she knew her defence was pretty poor.
"And that is an excuse to mess around. We are at war here. Over."
"I'm sorry. Over."
"It's a good thing you are good at your job, Agent. Over."
"Visual on Rascal? Over." Beca sighed, returning to business. In truth, for those back at Base, the day had been slow but she knew that wasn't an excuse to forget what was going on around them.
"Negative. Over." The rider said, sobering.
"Rascal is showing your location in five minutes, thirty one seconds. Clearly breaking speed limits. Over." Beca smirked.
"Copy Psycho. Will not reprimand. Repeat, will not reprimand on this occasion. Advise on potential weather conditions? Over." The rider sighed again, wanting her air support.
"Forecasted rain and storms on your location in twenty four minutes. Over."
"Typical English weather then. Rascal location? Over."
"Scan showing Sector 4.7 and approaching Sector 4.1. Northern France. Visual on Rascal? Over." Beca asked, not understanding why her Skipper could not see the third Agent on the horizon.
"Negative. Over."
"Ask Fat to prepare the lab for our 'friend'. I want this specimen dealt with tonight. Over."
"Copy that Skipper. Will send communication to Fat now. Over."
"Is she not at her post? Over."
"Negative Skip. Medical Bay with one of the new recruits. Over."
"Problem? Over."
"Negative. The small Guatemalan one had one too many glasses of Boones Farm at orientation. Over."
"On her first day? Over." The rider asked incredulously.
"Affirmative. Over."
"Schedule team meeting immediately. That is simply unacceptable. This is war, Psycho, and it is my job to make sure that my Agents are prepped at go time with three kick ass battle plans, practiced and choreographed to perfection. And there are only four… never mind; make a slot for twenty two hundred hours in everyone's calendar for a team meeting. Over."
"Affirmative." Beca said, ignoring her own eye roll as she punched in the details of her Skippers requested to the team's schedule. "Visual on Rascal? Over."
"Negative. Over."
"She's probably stopped for gas. Or doughnuts. Over." Beca laughed.
"Affirmative. Or taking photographs of sheep again! Over."
"Hey! I heard that you guys! One rescue party on its way, Skipper!" Agent Chloe Beale with a callsign of 'Rascal' joined the conversation, her chirpy voice cutting through the static, thoroughly enjoying the hero complex she had had thrust upon her as she flew her favourite item of transport towards her captain, in a mild, yet exciting rescue attempt. "Confirm time to location is four minutes and forty three seconds. Clarissa is locked and loaded. Ready to party! Totes fun! Rascal Over."
"Copy that. You still need a better name for your bird, Rascal. Glad you could join us. Approach from the east. Arrive with cargo door open, this Neezlux is particularly nasty and will need quarantining. Skipper Over." The rider ordered.
"Copy Skip. Gold star for snagging a big, nasty Neezie Weezie all by yourself. Woohoo! Totes hugs and kisses! Rascal Over." Chloe giggled over the comms.
"Dude, what have we said about using the word 'totes'? Base Over."
"What have we said about the word 'dude' on comms? Skipper Over."
"Fair point Skip. Apologies Rascal. Base Over."
"No worries Psycho, I still love you. Rascal Over."
"Good job, 'cause I've spent my free afternoon sorting out your birthday-" Beca started to say before her captain's voice cut through the comms.
"-May I remind you of the impending danger we are in right now. Psycho, your girlfriend's birthday will have to wait until we are off duty and Rascal, I suggest you concentrate on the task at hand. Skipper Over." Although the words were hard, the tone was light and all parties took it informally.
"No problemo. Rascal over and out until approach imminent. See you soon Skipper! Yay! Rascal Over. Oh, and Out."
"Base has you on Clarissa's camera Skipper. Advise on dark mass one klik south from your location? Object is organic. I deduce potential hostile? Base Over." Beca said, not taking the slight reprimand to heart.
"Negative visual. Scanning now. Skipper Over." The rider said, walking to the edge of the cavern and scanning the panorama.
"Base advising Skipper that it's moving slowly toward your location. Suggest relocation? Base Over."
"Negative. No time. I have full visual on Rascal but none on hostile. Will prepare to board. See you back at Base, Psycho. Skipper Over and Out." The rider said, beginning to get ready for extraction, strapping her weapon, the W-74, back onto her right leg.
"Base says please be careful. Base Over and Out." Beca's final response was said before the tell tale click in her ear signalled the end of the conversation.
With her eyes firmly glued to the approaching aircraft, the rider, Special Agent in Charge Aubrey 'Skipper' Posen, Captain, Team Leader and Operational Field Commander, felt a surge of reprieve in the gloomy, early evening air that her team worked so well together when it was called upon.
She was tough on them but the dividends were high.
The Freedom Fighters' Unit B had the highest rate of hostile Alien capture and kills on record, passing the previous company top score set by Unit A, led by the unfortunate Bradford Allen, by a long shot, something that she was enormously proud of.
And whilst Aubrey enjoyed winning accolades, it was not what held her interest the most. What she cared about, what she craved throughout her entire being was to know that the difference that she and her team were making in the war was worth it; that instead of kneeling down and accepting their fate like so many of their peers were doing, they were fighting for their lives, for their freedom, and for the future and liberty of an unborn generation.
Aubrey took a step back towards her D-ACA cruiser, ignoring the continuous moaning coming from the locked box. Chloe was merely seconds away from her position now, having already done a fly past the cave to align the Y-PIX 'Clarissa' as close to the cavern's entrance as she could on her second run.
The perpetually exuberant Agent had actually waved like a lunatic as she passed the crevice, blowing kisses to Aubrey as she flew past, towards the west, before looping back a few seconds later, needing a few seconds to slow the transport down safely.
Aubrey, maintaining her dignity and refusing to return Chloe's overly enthusiastic gestures, clicked on the short wave radio on her hip, turned up the volume before tugging her leather gloves further up her hands, mashing and interlinking her fingers together to suppress any nerves that she wasn't allowing herself to think about.
"Rascal, advise time. Over." Aubrey called out into the cavernous space, hoping the echo didn't sound like nerves on the short wave radio as she walked towards the D-ACA Cruiser.
"Skipper, forty six seconds and counting until we get to bump fists. Are you ready?" Chloe happily asked as her raked her fingers through her red hair, tying it up into a lazy knot at the back, completely ignoring the loud alarm coming from the cockpit, informing the pilot that both hands had been removed from the steering device. "I'm opening doors in three... two... one. Over."
"Copy that Rascal. I'm mounting the cruiser now. Over."
"Oh Skipper, really? Mounting?! You'll get me all hot and bothered saying things like that! Over."
"Rascal, keep those comments to yourself. Over." Aubrey sighed.
"Negative Skip! You know I've only got eyes for one girl really! Over." Chloe said light heartedly, looking over the terrain spread out in front of her, the setting sun casting lazy shadows over the ground below. Her eyes swept the rocky ridge carefully, despite her playful tone, she was focussed on the job at hand.
"I can request a transfer for you. Over."
"Aww, you can't say that sweetie. You'd miss me and my charms too much. I know you secretly like..." Chloe paused, the back of her neck tingling, a revealing sign that something was seriously amiss. She immediately scanned the horizon, dropped her eyes to the right and catching sight of a dark mass climbing over the rocks below. Immediately, her back straightened out before she spoke in a crisp, lucid voice, devoid of her happy persona and usual perkiness. Business like. "... Skipper. Advise a lone hostile, approximately fifty yards west to your position, approaching at speed in an attack pose. Do you copy? Over."
Chloe didn't take her eyes off the Alien hostile as she approached the crevice where Aubrey was currently waiting for her. Knowing that her team leader and her friend was out of ammo, had little life support, a trapped Neezlux Alien who was likely to be fully regenerated in less than four minutes and a lone hostile who was making fast work of the terrain, she needed to think fast.
As Chloe got closer, she could clearly see it was a Jaremise Alien, the tell tale quintessential 'little green man' look about the creature being the obvious give away, the mind altering capabilities and telepathic skill, of which Chloe was so familiar with herself and her knowing how dangerous it could be, being the reason that her blood ran cold.
Chloe had seconds to rescue her Unit leader as she knew Aubrey had nowhere to hide in the cave having seen the inside of it on her previous flyby. If the Jaremise got hold of her, even for a second, it would all be over for Aubrey.
Chloe steadied her nerves, clicked on the intercom to connect Base with the Y-PIX comms link and spoke in a very clear, utilitarian voice.
"Skipper, it's a Jaremise. I repeat, a Jaremise. Code one zero five. Initiating counter offensive. Good luck. Maintaining radio silence. Rascal Over."
.oOo.