Chapter 2: Blood
Sand battered against the bulletproof glass, like violent hailstones against corrugated iron.
This was the first sound that broke DJ's sleep, as it reverberated in his ears. Pulling himself up slowly from underneath the faintly bloodstained sheets that covered him, DJ reached out for the lamp next to the bed.
Click.
The mirror in the corner of the room invited his tired gaze.
Once again, the scales on his body had advanced and grown. They had reached the top of his neck on his right side, and were under his hairline now.
The right arm he had mutated from the start appeared very much the same. However upon closer inspection, the scales appeared to be more defined than before, boasting a thicker look to each scale. This however appeared to have increased the weight of the scales, as DJ discovered it was a little bit more of an effort to move the arm about to look at it properly.
Sharp talons had appeared where his nails once were, their dark silver colouration glinting softly in the faint lamplight. They appeared to be retractable, as DJ tested this out a few times, discovering the retracted talons looked like regular fingernails.
"Damn… looks like those extra drinks last night kinda did the trick. No wonder I was actually able to sleep through this… I don't even want to think about how painful it would have been."
DJ groaned as the sun's first rays dancing across his eyelids. He had grown used to sleepless nights and weary, daytime patrols. A full night's sleep left his body feeling sluggish, yet refreshed-drowsily alert. With a grunt of effort, DJ sat up, the bedsheets reluctantly sliding off his shoulders. Wandering over to the bathroom, he turned on the hot water in the shower and searched through the cabinets for towels. After removing the now faintly bloodstained clothes from last night, he entered the shower. DJ savoured that feeling of the nearly boiling hot water running over his back, loosening up his still tense body and reminding him what it felt like to actually be clean.
Figuring that his half hour long shower was enough, DJ got out and dressed into some non-combat seen clothes. Picking a white t-shirt and blue jeans from his bag, he discarded his dirtied ones in the large duffel bag's side pocket before heading downstairs, leaving his gear behind in the room and making sure to take the card with him.
"If his forces are united, separate them..." Garm muttered, making a subtle joke to himself about separating the numbers as he updated the business ledger at the front desk, moving some numbers to another identical book sitting next to the first.
DJ came out of the elevator and approached the desk, still looking tired as he leaned on it.
"Morning Garm. Is your gun guy in today?"
Garm looked up from his ledger. "Yeah, he's in. Out the back in that store of his, as usual."
DJ nodded and exited. He went out the rear of the complex, covering his face as he went to the smaller building attached to the back.
Entering and quickly closing the door, he scanned the room and its contents. The room was lined to the roof with small arms sitting on display racks, with the larger ones behind the large counter. Sitting behind the counter was a rather slim yet broad shouldered man, filing what appeared to be the end of a shotgun barrel. Approaching the counter, the man looked up from his work.
"Morning," the man spoke, with an accent that DJ felt was familiar, but couldn't recognize.
"Hey," DJ gestured to the shotgun being worked on. "I see my shotgun is coming along well."
The gunsmith had finished his filing of the barrel muzzle, blowing away the metal filings. He had chiseled sharp teeth to the end, seemingly with the intent of making it a more lethal close-quarters weapon.
"Yeah, she's coming along fine mate. Why you choose to have a lever action is beyond me. Automatic's are where it's at now, man."
DJ took a Sig 22 from the wall, inspecting it. "Automatics are shit for rounds though. This old thing can take in just about any shot I need it to."
The man took the gun out of the vice and gave its reloading mechanism a test, before nodding in agreement. "I removed and replaced the firing pin and the reloading lever with an easy grip to make it faster. Should be smoother and have less chance of misfire, now that it doesn't look like it got dragged through the sand."
He opened the firing chamber with the lever, then closed it again as to show the result. He placed the shotgun down on the counter and went to a crate behind him as DJ came over after placing the Sig back. The gunsmith removed the crate's contents: a rather obscene looking M16 DJ had 'obtained' from his previous mission and two sets of handguns.
"How you found this thing I don't know and don't want to know, but it's a real piece of work," he remarked, placing it down on the counter with care. "I changed out the firing pin, it was made of brass and looked like it was about to bust."
He then put a pouch onto the counter next to it; the pouch had a suspicious 'Property of US Ranger 13th Division' badge on the side.
"The grenades this thing fires from the underslung are a special thing from the old conspiracy days of the US military, so I found some more."
He put a rather large double drum magazine on the counter with a thick and heavy clunk; thankfully the counter was quite big to fit all of this.
"These magazines… I won't lie, they scare me. 100 rounds in each. Side-by-side drum formation with interlocking feed system. That's 200 rounds before you have to reload and the whole thing is made of carbon fiber, so it weighs only as much as the bullet themselves."
He assembled the rifle for DJ all the while being careful, especially with the grenades. "I feel sorry for anyone caught downrange of this beast."
DJ smirked, leaning back on a rack. "Don't. Anyone caught downrange of El Cancer here is usually too dead to feel the pain. Now then, what about my sidearms?"
The gunsmith nodded and turned his attention to the handgun set's; one set were M1911's and the others were Automag V's.
He chuckled a little to himself, before picking up the twin belt holster. "I think I get why you're called 'The Walking Armory,' you crazy bastard."
"The M1911's simply needed a tune up, they're much cleaner now. I took care of them as you told me to in the past. Told me this was your first assigned pistol back in your trainee days after all."
Nostalgia hit him in waves as he picked up the black one out of its holster. "My first gun was this one. Named the pair after the loveable fuckwitts I was assigned to that I lost on the mission I got El Cancer."
DJ noted the black one. "Leroy…"
He then picked up the white bodied, chrome plated one.
"... and Jenkins."
DJ put them back down in their holsters, facing the gunsmith again. "As for my larger ones?"
The gunsmith moved the Colt's aside and placed the thigh-holstered guns at the front. "You have a fine taste in shit that blows heads to bits, I'll say that. Your Automag's are fine tools of the trade, but you had pieces of flesh stuck in them. I have no clue how, but try avoiding that so you won't have the ammunition blow up in your face."
DJ grimaced; he had run out of bullets and had shoved the barrel so deep into a poor Agent's head that the brain matter had lodged in the gun itself. Not the fondest of memories...
Picking up each weapon, he placed them in another duffle bag the man gave him with quite a fair amount of ammunition for each. The gunsmith finally moved onto DJ's prize possession: his black carbon sword.
"Beats me what this thing's made out of, but judging by the quality, I assumed it's some sort of special shit. Just needed a good sharpening."
He put it back in its sheath and handed it over to DJ, who added it to the duffle bag. "As per usual with clientele, thank you for using my services, and have a nice day."
He sat back on his chair, looking down behind the counter. DJ picked up the bag.
"I would thank you personally but I still do not know your name."
The gunsmith looked up at him again. "Call me what you will. But if you insist, name's Murry."
"Thank you then, Murry. Have a good day."
DJ left, quickly opening and closing the door as to not let sand get blown in.
Re-entering the complex with the bag, he went back up the elevator.
He took note that Garm had left his post, which meant he could take the bag up without any issues regarding its rather lethal contents.
Arriving back at his room, he entered the surprisingly now cleaned bedroom. Evidently Garm had been by to clean the room.
Walking into the room past the table, DJ put the bag down on the bed, being careful not to damage the contents.
Opening his own duffle bag he brought with him on the table, he pulled out what appeared to be a solid MRE bar, deciding that it would be better if he just ate that instead of waiting for food downstairs.
He opened the packet and took a bite from the dry, somewhat unappealing contents. It was supposedly meant to be apple-cinnamon, but really it tasted more like too much sugar and a little bit of spice.
He contemplated getting rid of it when he reminded himself that he was the one who bought it, and that would be a waste.
Taking another bite, he finally decided to put the rest down. Casually munching on the piece as he took out his gear, he donned his jet black scaled metal/kevlar vest over top of the white shirt. The metal ID tag with X13 written on it gleamed softly in the lamp light, showing the several scars and scratches across the tags surface.
Looking over at the hamper with the blood stained and ruined clothes, he approached the linen lined basket.
Deciding that it would be best to throw the whole thing away, given how difficult getting blood stains out of white can be, he took the hamper out into the hallway, and dumped it down the trash chute, clothes and all.
Returning to his room, he swapped out his red Bi-Techs that were sitting on the table with some A.A.H.W styled shades, but with a dark blue tinge in the terminator shades style instead of the usual red.
He stuffed the other items in this bag and put it on the ground as he turned to the other one.
Picking it up and putting it on the chair, he unloaded the weapons onto the table
Putting on the holsters, the M1911's at the hip and the Automag's to his thighs,
he got to his rather unique knife, and paused.
The knife was styled like a Bowie Knife, but it was made out of black obsidian, and was sharper than even his iconic sword from lack of use but insane care regime he implemented for it. He remembered all too well how he came across having the rather unique knife like it was yesterday...
Outpost Dead
04:00
"Move your ass or hand it over to them, Anderson!" The young operative's commanding officer, Wolf, ordered.
The youth quickly left his exposed position, sliding across the polished floor to the cover of the upturned table. The cafeteria had become a massive cover-filled battlefield, littered with shell casings. A few disabled operatives spasmed in agony on the ground; while the bullets weren't actually live, the electric shocks they released on impact were extremely painful.
Ditching his spent SMG, he procured a FAL rifle laying next to one of his disabled comrades, pulling back the heavy bolt. Hearing a break in the sound of static emanating from the dummy rounds' impact, he hefted the rifle and himself above the table. He quickly identified the targets before planting shots in both of them, sending them to the floor tazed.
Taking cover again, he sent the empty magazine flying across the room with a metallic clang as it hit the floor, fishing another one from his disabled and clearly peeved comrade.
Wolf discarded the loose magazine in his AK74. He started scavenging what supplies he could from the now disabled operatives around the cafeteria. "Cutting it close Anderson, but none the less, you took them down clean. Nice shots."
Only DJ, his leading officer and his female squad member were active; the techie, Hanz's, cockiness resulted in him taking a bullet at the start of the skirmish.
"Sorry Hanz, you're out for this mission. Next time don't stick your fucking head out." Wolf remarked, casting the downed teammate a disappointed glare before going over to the door and checking for any opposition.
DJ covered the door from the front, ignoring the muttering rants of his fallen and paralysed comrade as he left. He followed up his female comrade, who took point with her shotgun as Wolf gave them the all clear.
Wolf closed the door behind them. "Keep your eyes peeled. PDA still shows that squads Manovai and Shadow Storm are still active."
They came to a heavily reinforced door at the end of the hallway, with a faint fluorescent bulb lighting up a sign labeled: 'Armory.'
"Red, you know what to do," Wolf remarked to the female comrade.
Red passed her shotgun to DJ and punched the door quite hard. This action solicited shouting from the team on other side. Whether it was Manovai or Shadow Storm, would decide if Red would be eliminated here or not.
As soon as the door was down from the second hit, she took a rather hard shot from what sounded like a high caliber rifle. Her armor crumpled from the impact; had she not been wearing it, the shot would have killed her regardless.
Manovai; the sniper specialization squad.
The fifty-fifty shot was not in their favor.
DJ pulled Red out of danger. Wolf turned to him.
"Alright, Mr. Tactics. Got any muscle in your brain to get us out of this, or is all of it in that arm of yours?"
Looking around, there really was no other conventional way in from this side, as the armory had been designed as a 'Last Stand' point when the place was built.
"Nope. This armory was designed as a last-stand point when the place was built. Only way in from here is through the door... unless you want to try the dodgy air vent."
Wolf grunted as a shot grazed the door frame next to him, sending shards of plaster and concrete flying. "DJ, I wanted a solution, not a goddamn progress report!"
DJ gave it a think, before remembering a quote from a game he used to play before the war.
"Think around the battlefield."
He chucked the FAL to the Wolf, and charged his fist. "Here. Hold my gun."
"The flying fuck are you doing Anderson?! They aren't close enough for that!"
"So, let's make them close. Mind giving me some cover, Wolf?"
He nodded, firing his AK around the corner. The Manovai team ducked for cover, giving DJ the opportunity to bust through the wall connecting the hallway to the bathroom. A useful thing that he had learned when he got here was that the facility was very symmetrical, as was the room layout.
Wolf rolled across to the other side of the door frame, dodging a few pistol shots during his maneuver.
"Mind hurrying the fuck up?!"
DJ charged up again; feeling silent appreciation for investing into the Class A Endurants during his training.
His wallet didn't share the same sentiments, however...
Wolf's shoulder went numb from a stray round. He growled, returning the favor by supplying one of the Manovai members with a lucky headshot.
"DJ!"
The final wall between DJ and his opposition was before him; one more charge and…
FFPT!
DJ groaned from the impact; a round had hit him square in the shoulder. It apparently didn't penetrate the scales, but it weakened his arm visibly upon impact. Guess the rumors about Manovai slamming the Class B Awareants were true after all...
He shook off the numbness as best he could and resumed for a slower, but equally powerful charge. Leaning back and slamming his fist into the thin plaster and concrete wall sent debris flying in all directions, sending Manovai scrambling for cover.
DJ drew his Five-Seven and fired at the team with limited results; the dust clouded the room lightly, and the knocked over empty weapon racks didn't help the traverse.
Wolf however, came in for the save, gunning down the two remaining younger operatives and their leader with DJ's FAL. As the team laid unable to move, Wolf came in and checked on an exhausted DJ, who was downing an unmarked canister of something.
He went to the back to scrounge up more ammunition. "Nice work. Just Shadow left. Take a breather then see what you can find off of them."
DJ only panted in response. The frequent use of his Smash ability had left him quite exhausted, and the ricocheted shot off his shoulder didn't make things any easier. He sighed, moved his "KDED News" hoodie to make it rub less against the injury, and stood up. Discarding the blank and now empty can, he moved to the disabled team to recover what he could:
Two Five-Seven clips, a TAC-50 with 1 round, a bottle of Class-B Stratigents and… a condom?
Discarding the last item and moving on out the back of the armory, he met up with a rather relaxed Wolf. The commanding officer had recovered from the shot and was already back to smoking his cigars. Something about whatever experiment he was part of had led to him being immune to the "Devil's Mark" that smoking brought.
"You ready to hunt down the last team yet?" He questioned, taking a long drag on his cigar and breathing out the thick smoke.
"Yep." DJ got his FAL back and slung the sniper rifle over his shoulder, pulling back the bolt and readying himself in case the final squad was behind the door.
Wolf opened said secondary exit door to a hallway that had a few disabled operatives littering the floor, groaning. Working around them and making their way to the final room of the facility, they readied themselves for a perhaps long range fight.
"Here, I found 10 more rounds for the sniper. The loading bay is very open so pick your shots wisely. Every bullet counts. Remember what I taught you." Wolf handed 2 stripper clips of heavy caliber rounds to DJ, who pocketed the spare clips. "Just as water retains no constant shape, so in warfare there are no constant conditions. They could be right behind the door."
Opening the iridium door with a loud metal on metal grinding noise, both Wolf and DJ ran for cover behind some crates, as they were already taking fire from the three assault team members.
"Give up already, Wolf! Those million credits are mine and you know it!" The leader of the squad yelled, taking more shots.
"Fuck off! I intend to keep my money! I saved it up for a reason!" Wolf shouted back. He peered over the crates before taking cover again and looking to DJ. "Well, they have us pinned. No way we can get a shot on them from this ang… the fuck are you doing?"
Wolf frowned while watching DJ, who had pried a hole open in the crate. DJ had hit the tactical jackpot:
Smoke grenades.
"Shit, this is gonna come out of my pay… Those grenades are expensive, you know. Don't waste too many of them on a training exercise!" Wolf warned, flinching as a bullet hit just behind his head.
DJ removed the pin and rolled it across the debris littered loading bay floor, releasing the dense red smoke into the open area. Moving quickly, DJ got a better angle on the ground behind a larger crate, aiming and taking down the youngest of the Shadow team members quickly with the 'procured' sniper rifle.
The same deafening boom from before echoed in the loading bay, as the youngest of Shadow squad took the shot hard in the shoulder, giving DJ enough time to load the stripper clip of 5 rounds into the heavy sniper.
"Good shot! Two more and that's a wrap!" Wolf lowered his head into cover as the top splintered with a rather loud CRACK.
DJ rolled another grenade into the smoke of the now slowly fading first, unleashing an equally dense purple smoke into the red.
"If they wanna play that way…" Shadow team's leader said, gritting his teeth. He ripped the pin from his own strange blue grenade and tossed it overhead.
The grenade landed next to Wolf, who glanced over it. Immediately realizing what it was, he accepted his fate just as the casing ripped open.
There was no escaping an EMP grenade.
An electronic burst flooded out, stunning and paralysing Wolf. DJ just gripped his gun tightly; he didn't need to turn around to know the now shitshow he was in now.
Two on one.
"You're done, kid!" Shadow's younger operative shouted; he had what appeared to be a mechanical eye, which seemed to act as an aiming device.
DJ was coming up with a plan, when he remembered a little trick he had discovered while pissing around with his fist one day in training, which enabled him to unleash electricity from his punches.
Figuring this was his chance to even the playing field, he laid down the sniper and battle rifle.
Making his bold move, he bolted out from behind his cover and ran to one of the platforms metal support beams.
Spotting DJ's actions, Shadows leader made a hasty retreat off the platform.
His operative was not so lucky.
As soon as DJ's fist made contact with the metal supports, the entire platform lit up like a christmas poor operative was shocked into submission, causing him to fall unconscious.
Quickly retreating before he could be shot, DJ made it back behind his crate. Panting from the exertion, he was left with a harsh truth. If he didn't end it now he would most likely lose from passing out.
Grabbing the sniper, he leveled it with the crate and looked for the team's leader. He had already taken a much better position up top, and had already taken aim at DJ.
The two stared at each other through their scopes for a few seconds before Shadows leader fired a shot, causing DJ to duck behind the crate again.
"Hiding forever won't get you a victory." He remarked as he reloaded, a chance to attack that DJ sorely missed.
Figuring it was a do or die situation, DJ did something quite strange. He ripped the scope off the rifle and ran out from behind the crate, taking a wild shot at the experienced agent up top.
The shot was a miss but the move confused the older agent, who aimed and fired, missing only barely.
DJ suddenly stopped and looked down the small iron sight on the top of the rifle, only now revealing his plan:
He had run to a position where his aim was perfect, and because of the angle the older agent could only run towards him, as there was no other way off the platform.
"Well shit…" The squad leader muttered, staring down the barrel of his inevitable fate.
DJ fired his shot and knocked the older man back off his feet, who was still in awe at what had just transpired.
A rather loud automated female voice came over the intercom, "Simulation over, Blood Pack Squad wins."
The defeated squads around the facility got up slowly as the constant non-lethal numbing shocks deactivated. Some had taken harder hits than others after all.
Wolf got up as well, clicking his shoulder back into place as the rather forceful blast from the grenade had displaced it.
"Nicely done, looks like you get the reward for this one." He removed a rather unique looking knife from his hip mounted ammo bag, and passed it to DJ as he came over.
DJ looked at the strange yet wonderful dagger. It was not made of metal, yet appeared very sharp and subtly beautiful.
"My obsidian knife. Black obsidian taken from a raided A.A.H.W R&D lab. Something those fuckers did made it stronger than most steel. It is special though, so take care of it."
"Now then…" Wolf looked to Shadow's leader grinning.
"Hey Markus, mind if I collect my credits?" He grinned, getting a groan of disapproval from Shadows humiliated leader as he came down from the platform. A kill tally of nearly 4,000 agents, and he got taken down by a junior agent who exploited a distancing issue.
Chances were that he would never live this down.
DJ took one last look at the knife before pocketing it carefully. Picking up the weapons he acquired during the exercise he headed back to his room, moving his shoulder around as it was still sore from the snipers impact.
The silence had broken him from his memories. It appeared that the ambient thudding from the sandstorm had stopped and the blistering Nevadian sun had returned.
Gathering his things and putting the knife in its hidden sheath at his back, he picked up both of the heavy bags.
Slinging the bags over his back and checking the room to make sure nothing was left behind, he grabbed the keycard from the power slot and locked the door on the way out.
As he left, he encountered the 'Kissass', Mr terminator shades, walking down the hall to the elevator with him.
Entering the elevator, DJ glanced over to him, lifting his dark purple terminator shades onto his forehead.
"Morning" DJ said cheerfully, the agent nodded and yawned in return, he was evidently not an early riser.
Once at the lobby, DJ went to the desk as the agent went inside the other room off to the side that had "Cafeteria" above the door. He strapped the bags over his back in a crossed formation to free up his hands, giving the card to Garm, who had apparently finally finished his book and started on a new one.
"Hey, you gonna read that again?" DJ asked pointing to it.
"Nope. I'm done with it now. You want it or something?" Garm picked it up and put it on the desk, "You can have it."
"Thanks." DJ smiled and added it to one of the bags.
"Alright, oh yeah, this came for you. Western Division SFO, didn't catch his name." Garm fished a large envelope out of his desk, handing it to DJ.
DJ drew his knife and opened the top of it, drawing out its contents.
"It details about recent events needing urgent attention. As a result, I have been issued with a promotion to Senior Field Operative and have been ordered to investigate disturbances, then report to the eastern division instead of returning back home west." DJ skimmed through it.
"Congratulations. Don't let it go to your head." Garm mused.
DJ smirked, putting the letter inside the non-weapon bag. "Pfft, it's just a title with a few perks, I'm still gonna be sent on the same suicide missions I always am."
Giving a last smile, Garm sighed, apparently tired. "Stay safe out there. I intend to make my money back." Garm remarked smirking.
DJ smiled and dropped his shades back over his eyes, heading outside to the now repaired jeep.
Garm had quite the repair crew on hand, being able to do miracle repairs in overnight sessions, but no one had even seen their faces, only staff anyone ever saw was Steve.
Packing the bags into the back and closing the tailgate, he got in the vehicle and started it after a few attempts. Its age was still a factor, as it was outdated by the newer vehicles by nearly 4 years.
While putting it into gear, something on the clifftop caught his eye.
A dark shadow on the cliffside above seemed out of place, but DJ shrugged it off.
Weirder shit had happened before, a shadow was the least of his worries. For all he knew it was his old CO back during the Madness squad days lurking around.
"That was close Devus. If he figured out that we are more than just shadows…" One voice remarked in a mild but young tone.
"He won't. Trust me Zai. The man is quite ignorant." A second voice replied, this one deep and almost angry in its tone.
"Shush. Don't talk about him like that. You'll piss off Pavel, and then we will both be in the shit." The first retorted, hissing in a slight fear of a third unknown, evidently named Pavel.
"Pavel won't find out. The man's blood father already gave us the information we need."
"You sure we can trust this outside source? He may work in the engineer department, but he could just be trying to…"
"Enough. The information is good, and we can trust him. As infuriating as he is to work with, Derek Jameson has not betrayed us ever. I see no reason to believe he would now."
"Your legally blind Devus."
"...Fuck off."
The two beings faded away, leaving the sand where they stood glassed over and a few dead desert shrubs burnt to ash instantly.
A/N: Ok, that kicks off another chapter. But before I go into anything else, I have a few words to say.
First of all: A massive thank you to Spirit9871 and Alias Maxima for assisting with the production and for beta-reading this chapter and future ones. Not only has this improved the content, but it has helped me on a personal level by giving me that little bit of hope that someday my content will be decent enough for people to enjoy reading. (I may sound like I'm just belittling myself but ignore that, it's not like that.)
Now this chapter is not yet finished with revision, as Spirit is busy with reformatting the Madness discord and I am going away for military training quite literally tomorrow, so chapters 2 and 3 are just gonna be posted in the mean time to fill the quite long time gap. A rewrite of Chapter 1 will be in development when I return sometime between the 20th and the 25th of January.
Cheers everyone who supports this and hope everyone had a good christmas.
Stay zesty my dudes, and don't forget to blow on the pie.
~TDMD