Standard disclaimers apply-
Rated: PG
Prologue: Stayin' Alive:
A Tale of Mercenaries in Polyester
The dark figure crouched in the shadows of the safehouse
hall, one hand pressed flat against the cold stone floor
of the safehouse as his keen orange eyes scanned the
corridor for any hint of movement of the building's
formidable residents. 'Clear,' he noted, face impassive as
he rose and despite his bulk ran lightly down the hallway
towards his destination. For all his external composure,
though, his heart thudded quickly in his chest as it
always did on missions, pulse quickening in response to
the adrenaline coursing though his body.
'I live for this shit,' he thought, running one hand
through his pale hair as the other unconsciously patted the
bulging pouch strapped to his right thigh. Imagining the
satisfaction if he completed the job, he grinned, one
sharp canine tooth glinting dangerously in the flourescent
light.
He didn't even pause when the hallway deadended into
another corridor running perpendicular to it, merely spun
on a booted heel and turned right, huge muscles rippling
underneath his customary black fatigues as he did so. He
looked right up at the surveillance cameras as he passed,
favoring one with a wink and a quick salute. He chuckled
deeply, a bass rumble sounding low in his huge chest.
About halfway down a hallway littered with them, he
stopped, standing outside a plain, inconspicuous, and-
best of all- unlocked door. He stepped inside.
This room at the heart of the citadel was small, dark, and
lined wall to wall with an incredibly sophisticated
computer system that was still, even with everything he'd
seen in a decade of mercenary work, breathtaking. 'Amazing.'
Breaking himself out of his reverie, he snapped open the
pouch and took from it a plastic cartridge with strange,
bright markings on its cover. Thumb caressing it gently as
he did so, he deftly slid the cartridge into a slot in the
machine and entered the appropriate command sequence
necessary to activate it.
Sensitive ears heard the machine whirr as it read the
precious information contained within the sheath, and he
grinned broadly in triumph. Then, spinning away from the
huge machine in one fluid, practiced motion, he smoothly
ducked and rolled out of the room to rush down the hall to
safety, arms instinctively raised to protect his head
against the explosion that was soon to come.
****************
In one of the several upstairs bedrooms, the owner of the
safehouse stirred in his sleep, troubled by the nightmares
that were his constant nighttime companions. Brown hair
beginning to silver around the temples was matted with
perspiration, and the usually slight scars around his
right eye stood out bright red against a face drained of
all color. Fists- one flesh and bone, one shiny metal-
clenched tightly in the orange and brown plaid sheet.
Cracked lips parted to whisper "Jen, no, don't. . . ."
Across the hall, in the relative quiet of the night, his
teammates, his companions-in-arms, slept as well. During
these hours of rest, exhausted bodies and weary minds
renewed resources necessary to pursue the trying lives
they had chosen. Between jobs as they were now, this time
of replenishment of depleted reserves of strength was
especially important. In the field, during battle, days
might pass without sleep or rest, and professionals such
as those presently residing in this outpost were well
aware of that fact.
Suddenly, without warning, this brief respite from the
chaos of the life they had chosen, this precious somnolent
tranquility was shattered by a blaring cacophony of sound
so loud that it shook the fortified concrete walls. Up and
down the hall, bodies shot up out of burrowed cocoons of
warmth and instinctively, if blearily, staggered out to
deal with the situation.
Three men and one woman in various states of undress met
in the hall. The first man out- a towering mountain of a
muscle, almost seven feet tall- began issuing orders
immediately in a voice accustomed to command, a voice that
held no hint of the nightmares he'd fought so fiercely
only moments before. He had to yell to make himself heard
over the booming sounds shaking the fortress, and his left
eye flashed once in the dim hall. "G.W., check the
perimeter. Standard defensive procedure, people. Hammer,
get to the comm system. Dom, go-"
He suddenly stopped. He stopped speaking mid-sentence, and
a look of purest disdain formed on his handsome chiseled
features. Inhaling sharply, his fists clenched once more
by his sides. A quick glance down the hall to a
still-empty bedroom verified his suspicions, and only a
repeated calm-inducing mantra from his youth kept him from
exploding in anger.
The pale young woman at his side looked up at him in
concern. Following his glance down the hall, she, too,
took note of the sole member of their band who wasn't
present. Violet eyes widened in dawning comprehension, and
her lips twitched, fighting back laughter. Lowering the
large rifle grabbed in haste from beside her bed to the
floor, she held out a slender, muscled arm to halt the
other two men dashing purposefully down the hall.
"Waitaminit, guys." Her voice was low and amused, and a
bare foot began tapping unconsciously on the tiled floor.
A well-built black man of medium height, already halfway
down the hall, snorted derisively "What? Don't wanna get
your nighty dirty, girl? Get to work and stop whining."
She didn't even spare him a glance. She did, however, pull
the belt of her thin robe tighter, and responded in an
annoyed tone. "Screw you, too, Hammer. I'm serious. Nate,"
she turned to the man who had barked out orders. "Tell
'em." At his disgusted look Domino, unable to contain her
amusement any longer, burst out in loud peals of laughter.
Nathan Dayspring, the time-traveling mercenary known as
Cable, glared at her and growled something very vile in a
beautiful lilting language that ended in "He's a dead
man," muttered finally in English. Wincing at a
particularly loud note assaulted his sensitive hearing, he
sighed and turned to the other men. "Focus past the boom and listen."
Puzzled glances changed to disgusted understanding as the
booming bass klaxon tones solidified into strains of
something resembling music. The sheer decibel level made
understanding difficult, but as the shifting, undulating
notes changed shape and took form, and all confusion was
quickly erased.
The blaring attack on their sleep-fogged senses, the
attack from an unnamed foe, the incredibly loud crackling
noises coming from every intercom and speaker in the
building coalesced into a distinct rhythm. The senseless
cacophony of sound lengthened into beats, into rhythms,
into . . . music?
In the dead of the night, breaking the quiet calm, the
distinct strains of "Funkytown" shook the Appalachian
headquarters of the mercenary band called the Wild Pack
down to its very foundations.
~Dum dum dum . . Won't you take me to . . .~
The walls shook.
~Dum dum dum . . . Funky-Town?~
The rafters creaked.
~Dum dum dum . . . Won't you take me to. . .~
The floor reverberated.
~Dum dum dum . . . Fun-kee-Town?. . .~
Blood pressures rose.
Putting her hands over her ears, Domino, eyes still
twinkling in amusement, yawned. "I'm goin' back to bed,
and I'm tellin' you- anybody wakes me up before noon, and
it's their ass."
Waving a sleepy farewell to the others, she turned and
went back to her room.
Cable, eyes still haunted with night terrors, watched her
leave, his expression unreadable. Looking away, he sighed
"Please take care of this, G.W.." Rubbing his eyes blearily,
he walked away and back to his room, broad shoulders bent
with the weight of memory. As a last thought, he yelled
over the raucous rhythms of the music "And if any of
you see him before I do, tell Grizzly he's got double
guard duty this week."
Bridge looked at Hammer, who shrugged. His dark eyes
narrowed. "Son of a bitch," was all he said, then he too
returned to his room.
G.W. Bridge, muscles tense in anger, bounded down the
stairwell and through a wall of iridescent orange beads to
stalk down the hall towards the computer com center.
Standing in front of it with his hands over his ears, he
punched a round button with far more vigor than was
absolutely necessary. A simple 8-track cassette shot out,
the music stopped, and the room was full of blessed
silence. Finally able to think clearly for the first time
since he'd been awakened, G.W. yanked the tape from the
player that Grizzly had just last week insisted be
incorporated into the computer system's mainframe.
Dropping it to the floor, he stepped on it, crushing it to
pieces. Leaving broken shards on the mustard colored
floor, he stormed back to his bed, plotting his teammate's
demise all the while.
Outside the building, perched on a fallen tree stump,
Grizzly's huge body shook with silent laughter. When the
music abruptly stopped, he took another puff of his cigar.
'It was worth it,' he grinned, and blew a satisfied stream
of thick smoke into the clear night sky, pulling his Nehru
jacket tighter against the chill of the night.
To be cont'd
===
-DuAnn
Peace I leave with you; my peace I give unto you. Not as
the world gives, give I unto you. Do not let your hearts
be troubled and do not be afraid.
-John 14:27
===
-DuAnn
Peace I leave with you; my peace I give unto you. Not as
the world gives, give I unto you. Do not let your hearts
be troubled and do not be afraid.
-John 14:27