Mala nâl Afés'trin swiped a ridged potato chip through the sour-cream-and-chive dip on Anderson's naked chest, popped it into her mouth. "You know," she said, running her fingernails down his abdomen, "I was prepared to be disappointed."
He did not reply, partly to annoy her, and partly because he did not trust himself to keep his voice steady.
She chuckled, the sort of throaty laugh that could send a man wild in other circumstances. "I knew I might find a hollow-chested geek under that suit. Instead" - she traced between the muscles - "I find a man who needs not be ashamed at the beach." Not a hardbody like his little birds, but more than adequate for her purposes. She cast her eyes further down. Quite adequate.
Picking out another chip, she murmured, "Want one?"
He ignored her.
"Do you know why you're here?"
I have a pretty good idea. He was naked and chained to a bed, with a Spectra assassin using him for a dip bowl. This was not standard Spectran interrogation practice. And she had good reason to wish him harm.
"You asked me out to dinner on the Solar Express. I thought I would take you up on the offer." From a table beside the bed, she took a glass of what looked like champagne.
Oh, shit. He suddenly preferred Mark teasing him about that very invitation. She'd said she was in public relations. Neither of us had any idea she was Spectra.
What was he, then? Her guest, the entrée, or both?
"Of course, it may not be quite what you had in mind." A sip of bubbly, then another chip. "Your flock has done us considerable damage. I will have my revenge on you, and on them."
She stretched, and it was as if she turned a switch. If she'd been beautiful before, she was a succubus now, more desirable than any woman he had ever known. "We can do this two ways, you know." A predatory smile. "Of course, you will never choose the easy way, and I find the hard way much more satisfying." A glance. "No pun intended. Before I am through, your mind will be as cooperative as certain parts of your body." Her hand toyed with said parts.
He fought the desire to yank against the restraints. These weren't toys for the BDSM crowd. There was no safety word. Once she started on him, there would be no stopping until he was dead or broken. No true pleasure, only humiliation, pain, and torment. Any respite would be so that he could survive the next round. Unless he could get loose, he could only resist by not doing anything.
"Hm. I seem to be out of dip." She removed the bowl of chips, leaned over, and licked the remains of her snack from his skin. With consummate skill, she worked her way up his chest to his neck, her lips and tongue finding all the most sensitive spots. When she reached his jaw, she nipped hard with her teeth and straightened up. Blood dribbled from her mouth, which she took care of with a truly amazing lingual gyration. He doubted the lead singer of KISS could have managed it. "Not a peep. Barely a conscious twitch," she said, approvingly. "It will be my great pleasure to break you in front of the world."
Cameras. He should have known. Mere captivity would not give Spectra the psychological advantage they desired. Seeing him tortured, then broken, made into (however temporarily) a Spectra slave, would do as much damage to the Federation psyche as a hundred mecha attacks.
And the hell of it was that some people would not initially realize what they saw. They'd think it a download from a kinky website that some hacker had sent them. When they did realize it, they would be hooked to their screens, like spectators at a traffic accident.
She gripped his face in her hands and kissed him, biting his mouth and chin. "Keep fighting, Anderson," she whispered. "I can assure you that you will lose."
The intercom burred. "Mala, this is Z'ólt'ár. Report."
Reluctantly, she released him. "My leader calls me."
He glared at her.
"Hold that thought, lover." She wondered if Z'ólt'ár was watching the delayed-stream right now.
She didn't bother to turn off whatever mojo she had. As she headed out of the room, Anderson could only grit his teeth. He had to maintain his emotional and mental control.
Don't look around wildly. Don't seem desperate. That will please Spectra and demoralize the Federation's peoples.
He turned his head carefully, scanning for the cameras and the microphones. There would be several cameras, he was sure, to catch every second of hell. Yet he could not see so much as a pinhole out of place.
The restraints were solid, carefully fitted to his wrists and ankles, padded so that he would not bruise too easily. Just enough chain to rattle, but not enough to allow him to reach anything from the bed. Even if he somehow got hold of a key, he could not reach the lock of either manacle.
She, and Spectra, knew him too well. No doubt they had scanned him for everything and anything that G-Force could use to locate him, and either removed or shielded those items. Nor could he pretend to acquiesce so that she would release him. The creator of G-Force, the designer of the Phoenix and the Fiery Phoenix effect, was not one to wimp out because a woman chained him to the bed.
He tasted blood where she had bitten him, felt it run from the wounds on his chin. This was about as sexy as a traffic accident, but there were those who would think otherwise, even if he were rescued tonight. They would think he had wanted this attack.
Enjoying the reactions of all and sundry, Mala walked down the hallway to her office. She turned on the viewscreen, and smiled at her over-eager superior and brother. "Good afternoon."
As she sat, Z'ólt'ár nâl Afés'trin crossed his legs and flipped a bit of cape over his lap into the bargain. She might be his sister, but she was hotter than a white dwarf (in more ways than one). No wonder the Luminous Spirit had a disembodied jones for her. "Did I interrupt anything?" The time-delay on the feed made him curious.
"Nothing yet. Nothing that couldn't wait. Anderson can stew."
"So, how long?"
"I'm not you. I like to play with my toys for a while. This one is especially pretty. If I can manage it, I'd like to keep it a little longer than usual."
"Careful. G-Force and Federation forces are looking for him right now." In the meantime, the propaganda value of her games would be invaluable.
"I know how to kidnap a man." She licked a bit of something from the corner of her mouth. "Perhaps you should set up a payment account. This could be not only useful, but profitable."
That tongue. Her greatest weapon, after her skill with actual weapons. "Perhaps I should order you back to your task." He wanted Anderson broken now.
"You are so impatient, Z'ólt'ár. There's much to be said for taking things slowly. Have you ever stopped to think how satisfying it is to watch your victim anticipate all possible fates, and their efforts to avoid those fates? To strip away their hope and options, until you are all that remains? When you have the Eagle and the Swan, you will want to enjoy every moment." She smiled. "Which would be the more satisfying: the Swan screaming your name in passionate desire, or in defiance, while the Eagle watches? Or, to turn her defiance into desire in front of him?"
His eyes glazed over as he imagined what he would do to the Swan. That feathered bitch deserved every bit of it, and more. How much better if she begged for and wanted it. Security Chief Anderson and the G-Force slut, playthings of Spectra. "Mala, do what you have to do."
"I will." She unfolded from the chair. "In high-definition and full color. In another hour, I think you will have something to attend to, yourself. Patricia, the new girl, is especially capable of assisting you." She turned off the viewscreen.
He already had something to attend to. One day, he would have time for a lot of that sort of business. And his own little swan, at least for a while.
The swishes of the door opening and closing broke Anderson's chain of thought. He refused to look towards the doorway, and struggled to keep his expression neutral.
"Miss me?" she asked, her voice a purr that would arouse a statue. "I think you did." A brief, maddening caress of his genitals.
The soft sound of clothing falling to the floor. She straddled him, yanked his head up so that he had to see her. "You will learn who is in charge, here, Anderson. By the end of the week, you will beg for my touch."
"Like - hell, bitch."
She laughed, a sound at once terrifying and stimulating. "They all say that, at the beginning." Although he might not be wrong. It may take me until next Monday to break him.
He glowered at her. Get a little closer. You aren't the only one with teeth.
At Center Neptune, 7-ZARK/7 intercepted an Internet signal. It screeched and shut down a full second later, unable to process the information. The feed automatically shunted to IT.
"Holy shit!" Livingstone, the on-duty IT tech, yelled. He slammed fully awake and forward in his chair. Around him, people looked up. Several snorted at the image on the large screen.
"Damn it," Bailey griped. "You know the rules. No porn while on duty."
"That's not a porno! That's Anderson!"
That got their attention.
Livingstone tore his horrified attention from the screen to the keyboard. A few keystrokes later, he knew the important things. Those Spectra bastards have him. They're bouncing that feed from everywhere and a few other places so we can't trace it easily. His fingers flew. They don't know that I was the best damned hacker in the States. And I still have contacts. If I can't find the source, they will.
"Don't let G-Force see this," Bailey ordered. "They're just kids. They don't need that image in their heads."
"And who do you think will be running the rescue?" Sylvester asked.
"Cronus. I don't care how many procedures and protocols I have to ignore to get hold of him. G-Force can't see this. It'll kill them."
Except that G-Force also had computers.
Tiny held down Jason as Princess hustled Keyop away. Mark got on the horn to IT: "G-Force Commander to Bailey." His even, dead, voice said everything.
"Yes, sir, we know about it, sir. We're tracing the feed. It's bouncing around like a pachinko ball. Livingstone shut down three lines, and there wasn't even a burp in the stream."
"Who's receiving it?"
"Anyone with a computer, sir, it seems. Give me some time to find out what and how they're doing this." A beat. "Sir…."
"We'll find him." I'll let Jason shoot a missile right into that pixilated monster.
Eventually, Jason quieted down. He trembled with barely-controlled rage.
"What can we do?" Tiny asked plaintively. "We don't know where he is."
"We can help find him, help shut down that stream."
His communicator blipped. "Mark, it's Princess. Keyop's really upset. He can't even make those noises. I'll stay with him for a while, maybe sedate him. I think I can trace that stream without either of us seeing or hearing what's on it."
"Okay. We'll do what we can, too."
The streaming video appeared on every computer with any link to the Internet. Around the world, hackers turned from causing trouble to tracing the route. They enjoyed their pranks and crimes, but Spectra was an enemy they could not tolerate, and this was over the line.
Shutting down the servers would have stopped the feed, but also would have shut down the world's economy and prevented them discovering the source. Instead, the technicians also got down to the business of isolating the signal.
By the time President Kane received a preliminary report, the improvised army of hackers and programmers had been at work for several hours.
"Multiple paths simultaneously," Bailey said. "That's why we're having trouble tracing it. Any given hub is receiving and sending that damned thing from and to at least three others. We can't find the one place that's sending, but not receiving."
"Who the hell is sending us some of these results?" Sylvester asked.
"All my former friends and competitors," Livingstone announced. "These guys hate Spectra as much as you do."
"Who is watching this shit?"
"The sort of people who subscribe to sex sites that will give you uncensored footage of someone's head being blown apart by a shotgun blast. If we could get them to stop, we might have a chance of quickly tracing the feed."
Bailey shook his head. "Good luck on that. And we already have bloggers disputing that he's a prisoner." The same batch of fools who had nasty things to say about both Spectra and G-Force just had to weigh in on Anderson's predicament. He was not surprised, but he was annoyed and distressed.
Anderson's body heaved as he came. A strangled moan made it past his clenched jaws, but he refused to say even a word.
Mala held onto him, riding him to her own climax. He was everything she had expected: defiant, strong, spirited, a challenge to her skills. A worthy opponent.
I do want to keep this one for a while. Not just to play with, either. His intelligence, drive, and spirit could be of benefit to the nâl Afés'trin line. Z'ólt'ár had yet to produce an heir, even a bastard (as far as she could find out). It might be up to her to produce the next Emperor, and the human beneath her had the qualities needed to rule.
And, after he had been molded to her will and his knowledge and insights used to Spectra's advantage, there were the lonely nights he could ease for her. Until she tired of him, or he slid further into the mental abyss that could accompany enslaving him.
"You should be honored," she whispered, lying beside him. "I don't usually enjoy myself so much." Gentle caresses, like a lover. "You're quite satisfying." She had never sought personal pleasure from her other victims.
She had hurt him, caused him pain. Now for the gentleness, the recovery time that would enhance the torment for the next round. The reward for his desired behavior. Teach him the association. Teach him to want her.
Damn. He'd read the reports of the testimony from debriefed prisoners. She knew how to break men and women. Sex was but one of her techniques.
Torture was only part of it. The lights in the room had never even dimmed. No clocks anywhere. No sense of time passing. How long had it taken her to rape him? A half-hour? An hour? Before that, how long had she tormented him?
How long had he been unconscious before waking up to dip and chips? A few hours? A few days?
Spectra had drugs that could put a person out for anywhere from minutes to hours, and the victim could not tell how much time had passed. Had he been given those drugs since waking?
She'd used the stick, and now for the carrot. He knew what she was doing, and that it was only a matter of time before he submitted. Would he break, or bend? Would she have a gibbering, incoherent victim, or would he betray everyone and everything he held dear?
He had not had to urinate or defecate since awakening. They must have cleaned him out while he was unconscious.
Police forces around the world had finding Anderson on their list. They could not devote a lot of time and resources, given that most were overloaded, but they tried.
No clues in the video stream. A closed room, without windows or any identifiable furnishings. Probably in a Spectra facility somewhere.
The best they could hope was to stumble across it. They all knew they'd find Jimmy Hoffa's body before they'd find the one particular base in time to rescue Anderson.
The blogosphere and cable channels were abuzz. There were those who blamed the Federation for the war with Spectra, and others who disliked (even hated) the idea of membership. Earth had not been a founding member of the Federation. Humans were just another species, not the center of the universe.
Some managed to blame G-Force. Their logic was convoluted, since they didn't want to seem to say that beating Spectra was a bad thing.
And this was the first day.
"We've lost it. They're not sending it out," Livingstone said. "Let's take the opportunity to set up a trace. She'll be back. Just maybe, we can get a clue when they resume."
Princess had sedated Keyop during the broadcast. The little guy was such a terror in a fight, and so good at his other duties, that she had long forgotten that he was almost a baby in many important ways. He'd gotten enough of a look at the screen to shut him down. A night's sleep would do him good.
Her fingers hurt. Like everyone in the IT and cyber-warfare units, she had been hours at her computer. She didn't want to rest, but knew she had to. Otherwise, she could miss a vital piece of information when that Spectra bitch resumed broadcasting.
Soft breeps and doots announced Keyop's awakening. She sat beside him on the bed, and he crawled into her lap. "It's okay," she said.
"Princess?" A few sad noises. "Why?"
"To break him, honey. They want to hurt him so much that he can't lead us anymore."
"Broop - strong."
"Yes, he is." How to explain what was happening to Anderson so that he would understand, but not be damaged, himself? "But even the strongest have a breaking point. That's what they're trying to find."
"They won't - doot - find it."
I hope so.
The second day began with breakfast. For her. Once again, he was the table.
That was the least painful part of the day.
"You seem to have dislocated your shoulder," Mala observed. "I can put it back in its place, or I can leave it as is." With spurious gentleness, she stroked his face. "Which shall it be?"
Just kill me, you beast.
"Mother always told me to take care of my things, and you can't possibly appreciate my skill if you're hurting." He couldn't do anything to her, not in his condition. "I did ride you rather hard, poor dear. It may be time for another break. I do have a day job."
She unchained his injured arm. "This will only hurt for a little bit."
That was the one true thing she'd said in he didn't know how long. After she re-seated his shoulder, she bound his arm properly, then loaded a syringe. "Can't have you getting any ideas, pet." At his expression, she said, "It's a mild paralytic. It won't harm you."
Paralytic? She hadn't used one before. What about - ?
"You haven't made a mess, yet, so don't worry on that score. Don't worry about that at all. I like clean toys." She murmured in his ear: "We took care of that while you were unconscious yesterday." A teasing lick along the outer edge.
How thoughtful.
She turned off the incredible sexuality. Without it, he doubted she could have raped him even once. Playful bondage did not interest him, never mind this.
"Just like yesterday, you will have privacy for your recovery," she whispered, breath tickling. "The feed will end when I leave this room." She would have the medics hook up the intravenous fluids in a little bit.
Gee, thanks.
"Fuck!" Z'ólt'ár couldn't have gotten off the bed if the Eagle were standing over him with a castrating knife. A rusty, dull castrating knife.
"I thought that's what we were doing." The extremely skilled new assassin pouted, but her eyes smiled. She dismounted and stretched out beside him.
"With gusto, my dear." To think that he'd despaired when he found out that this assassin, Patricia Hayes, was a mousy little thing. The little mouse had exquisite claws. A day and a half of exquisite claws. He could be poured into a bucket.
"Thank you, sir."
He rolled over onto his side to look at the screen. "She broke her toy," he commented. "But not beyond repair."
"Is that a good thing, sir?" The little mouse did something very nice down his spine with her tongue and fingers.
"If you knew how long I've waited for this, you would know the answer." Mala was right: the result was worth the extra time. He could see it in Anderson's face. No man was so strong that he could resist that sort of humiliation for long. Allowing him time to rest and recover would only make his surrender the sweeter. "Look at him. He hates her, and he wants to kill her. He's had several orgasms, to his disgust. And he can't do a thing about it. He has no say in the matter. She has the upper hand. She can do whatever she wants, and he can't stop her." He reached behind him and grabbed his bedmate's hands, rolled over on top of her. "Unlike me. Except that I don't want you to stop." And proceeded to prove it.
Again the feed ended. Livingstone wanted to reach through the screen. He wanted to throw things.
They'd narrowed the country of origin to the contiguous United States. Two days of work had netted only that. They needed more.
"I hate to think of the Chief going through that shit," Bailey said. "At this rate, he'll be a basket case before we can even find out what city he's in." He heaved a sigh. "Any word on 7-ZARK/7?"
"Refuses to respond to commands. Just moans about the Chief's situation before shutting down." Again and again. Nobody wanted to go up there anymore.
"Hell. We might have to send Princess to sweet-talk it. SUSAN is just as useless." When they worked right, both of the damn things could find a needle in a shielded haystack on Riga. Who had the bright idea for robot personalities, anyway?
Tiny watched Jason smolder. There were times he was scared of his teammate. Right now, he was terrified. If someone called with Anderson's location right now, Jason would probably beat the Phoenix out of base. God help whoever got in his way.
For the past two days, Jason had worked on every piece of equipment in his arsenal. Tiny was certain that none of it had worked that well when new.
What was Jason's particular beef? Anderson had raised them all, although Mark was the closest to a son he had. It had lately seemed to Tiny that Jason was in competition with Mark for Anderson's attention. Probably just the result of having two strong personalities in the #1 and #2 positions on the team. Once they got the Chief back, they could resolve this.
We need him. He's all we have for a parent. Although Tiny cared for the Harpers, even considered them his parents, he thought of Anderson the same way.
They were all orphans in one way or the other. Jason had lost everyone in a Spectra attack on a colony world. That would put a chip on anyone's shoulder. Jason wanted to destroy Spectra every time they fought. Mark knew better than to go all-out in each battle.
And speaking of Mark: their Commander was in a state and a half. His usual outlet, flying, was denied him here at Center Neptune. Like Jason, he had put his energies into his equipment, and was now perched in the training room, waiting.
And I already keep the Phoenix in tip-top shape. I guess that's why I end up cooling my heels all the time. Not that he minded. He'd like to be out of a job.
Right now, they had to get Anderson back.
Z'ólt'ár decided to send out several mecha, to take advantage of Anderson's captivity. The moment the feed resumed, five mecha launched, to attack five separate locations. "In your face, G-Force."
Bailey swore. "Livingstone, keep tracing that video stream. The rest of you, take over for that catatonic egg." He took a chair beside Livingstone. "Spectra just screwed up. Two of the damn things are hitting the U.S."
Whenever mecha attacked, regional servers shut down to prevent damage to computer networks and associated systems. Many networks themselves were taken off-line to protect data. The shut-downs meant fewer routes to shunt through, and would increase the chances of finding the source of the feed.
"If they hit the right part of the U.S. Damn, I never thought I'd say anything like that."
The informal army of hackers, geeks and IT professionals went to work.
"Feeling better?" Mala asked. She removed the intravenous lines from Anderson's arms. "You must be hungry."
I know this game. Don't try it.
"You know how this is supposed to play out, so let's not waste time. I offer food, you accept, I tell you that you have to earn it, and you get to watch me eat. Or, I offer food, you tell me what I can do with it, I get angry and hurt you." She rested her forehead against his. "In the movie version, I do something stupid so that you can get your hands on me." A light kiss on his nose before standing.
He'd already tried to bite her. Gotten a good grip on an earlobe during one of those attempts, and she'd wrung him like a dishrag. Unless he could rip her throat out, that was not going to work.
"You are such a marvelous dining platter. Let's find out what else I can eat off of you."
He would not put it past her to serve something hot, requiring a sharp knife and a fork. That would be the least of today's torture.
She moved his arm out of the way. "You still aren't quite ready to be chained again. It doesn't matter. Those restraints will keep you in place."
Contrary to movies and television, re-seating a dislocated shoulder did not immediately restore use of the injured limb, and there was danger of injuring it further. He was as effectively restrained as before she'd hurt him.
Dinner was chicken fingers and French fries.
"Well," Z'ólt'ár said. "I was expecting something with nice, hot, gravy."
"Rather conventional use of mustard," Patricia said.
"She's just getting started. Wait until she turns on the sex."
"I was wondering why you were the only one I was drooling over, sir. Whoa!"
"And that's over the feed. When you're in the same room, it's overpowering." He still didn't remember much about that time she'd had to trank him a couple years back.
The two watched Mala start on Anderson. "Damn, she's good. No wonder she doesn't need mechanical aids," the assassin said.
"You're pretty good yourself." Today, he wouldn't wait until he was worked up.
Military forces met the mecha attacks. Nobody waited for G-Force to appear. The team could not be in five places at once.
Captain Cronus and his squadron dealt with the mecha that attacked Riga.
The other two attacks were on the colony worlds of New Germany and New India. Federation forces were dispatched immediately.
The Phoenix launched. G-Force did not hold back. TBX Missiles shredded the mecha attacking St. Louis, Missouri, and the Fiery Phoenix hurtled scrap into Lake Erie.
"We have it!" Livingstone yelled, six hours after the feed started. "The city of origin."
"Where?" Bailey poised his fingers.
"Prairie du Chien?" He shook his head. "Of all the places…."
"Why not there? Hit at the American myth of the wholesome heartland, besides the harm done to Anderson." Bailey went to work.
With the city identified, they focused on finding the source.
The Phoenix was gearing up to fly to New India when IT learned Anderson's location. Since the Federation forces were actually holding their own, G-Force was dispatched to the rescue.
They weren't subtle. Princess and Keyop blew the doors off the place and drove inside, Mark and Jason as passengers. Tiny held the Phoenix overhead, blasting the jets at the goons who tried to counter-attack.
Once in the base, the four birds went on the hunt.
Mala sighed as the alarms started. "Too bad. It was fun while it lasted." She dressed. "You know, Z'ólt'ár saw every minute of this."
Oh, hell.
"He saw every last, full color, high definition second of our time together. As did the world."
He should have known that Z'ólt'ár would watch this. Freed prisoners had told of Z'ólt'ár's unusual tastes.
"You know the drill," she said, pointing to an LED display on the wall. "G-Force attacks, and we destroy the base. Your flock has ten minutes to find and rescue you."
Ten minutes? How large was this base?
"See you later, lover. And there will be a later, if I know your team." She trotted out the door.
"Shit!" Z'ólt'ár and the assassin snapped, for different reasons. The leader of Spectra untangled himself from his companion. "Basic emergency procedures, just in case. They're going to be angry." They were on another planet, but one never knew.
Patricia pulled on her jumpsuit. "It won't be a total loss, sir. If I know my species, that will be on the Web forever. He'll never escape it."
He laughed. "I'd forgotten that."
Jason and Mala almost literally ran into each other. "You!" he snarled, drawing his gun. "Where is he?"
"That's for me to know, and you to find out," she sang-taunted as she dodged his shots, then closed in.
"Damn you, bitch, what did you do with him? Where is he?" He'd better be alive, bitch.
They grappled, giving no quarter to each other. Just as Jason was about to shoot her in the gut, she twisted his arm aside and said, "So that's how it is, eh, Condor?"
"What are you talking about?"
"You know. And you have four minutes to rescue him."
With a snarl, he threw her aside. I can do this, I can do this. Check down the hallway she'd come from.
On another level, Mark kicked in door after door. "Chief! Where are you?"
He'd killed or injured every goon that crossed his path, after asking for Anderson's location. None of them knew, and all of them had smirked.
"Chief!"
A hoarse voice responded. "Mark? Mark, here!"
At a half-open door, he hesitated. Then he pushed it open. "Oh, shit, Chief." He threw his 'rang, cutting the restraints. "Chief." He picked Anderson up, shrouding him with his wings. The man hung an arm around his neck and buried his face in Mark's shoulder.
He called the others as he ran for the exit: "I found him. Let's get out of here."
They lost thirty seconds when Mark insisted Keyop ride pillion with Princess while he and Jason carried Anderson in the buggy. No way was he going to let the boy see this, and they had no time to waste. "You drive," Jason insisted. "I'll do something stupid and wreck us." He sat on the buggy floor, wings and arms wrapped around Anderson, glowering protectively at the world.
What did she do to you? What did that bitch do? This wasn't right, he should not be holding Anderson like this, should not be looking at blood and bruises and bite marks and knowing that only willpower was keeping their founder and leader from crying tears of shame and humiliation. Not like this, never like this. "She's dead," he whispered hoarsely. "Next time I see her, I'll kill her. Slowly."
"No."
"Why not?" He could see the reasons in blood.
"We're better than that."
I don't care. That bitch hurt you and she knows how I feel about you and she has to die for what she did.
They made it to the Phoenix just seconds before the base exploded.