A/N: This is the chapter that wouldn't die. I'm serious; every time I wanted to wind it down, my brain would go 'Oooh! Ohhh! Perfect plot opportunity, right here!' I wasn't even sure I'd get it done, it was that freakin' long. I actually had to take bathroom and food breaks.
Here it is, though. Chapter 2 of Bohica. Like it? Hate it? Think it's ridiculously long? Drop me a line and review!
May, 2003
"You're late."
Biggs blinked, bleary eyed, up at Patrick Swanson from his sprawled out position on the cot of his cell.
"Huh?" Was the only logical thought he could come up with.
"Your new assignment. You're late. Get dressed."
"New assignment?" Biggs blinked again, sincerely confused. "What was the old one?"
"Basic training in the yards. You oversaw the drills. Don't you remember?"
"Not really, no." His head felt like it was full of cotton and his mouth…
"Dude, how long have I been here?" He peered around him. "And where the hell is here?"
"One of the empty cells in the north wing," Swanson replied, peering down at Biggs with no small amount of concern. "We dragged your sorry ass here after you passed out drunk last night."
"I was drunk?" His head and mouth did faintly resemble the after effects of a hangover, but…usually he remembered drinking.
"As a skunk. We were celebrating your promotion. You seriously don't remember?"
"No. Sorry. Empty head," Biggs gave Swanson a wry smile as he climbed to his feet and nearly fell over.
"Geezus," Swanson caught him before he could kiss the concrete floor, grunting under the sudden influx of wait.
"Jesus," Biggs echoed on a groan, reaching up with the hand that wasn't holding Swanson's shirt in a death grip. "My head."
Lying down had been bad enough, with the disorienting cotton, but standing up on legs of jelly had started off a horrible clanging that had his stomach threatening revolt.
"Whoa there, buddy," Swanson maneuvered him back onto his cot and shook his head with his own wry smile. "You're not going anywhere today. Not with that hangover. I'll radio command, tell them you're taking a sick day."
"We get sick days?"
Awfully nice of them.
The whole thought struck Biggs as inherently wrong, but for the life of him he couldn't figure out why.
After all, Manticore had given him a job when he needed one.
Right?
"Take a nap, buddy. I'll check on you in the morning."
"Yeah, sure. Whatever."
Thinking hurt, so he was just gonna sleep…
June, 2004
"How you holding up?" Shelby grunted her reply as she tapped her fingers on her desk and tilted her head back to look up at Biggs.
"You ever had one of those days where you feel like something invisible is breathing down your neck?"
Biggs laughed out that, but it was without humor.
"Every damn day, Shelbs. Every damn day."
"That's what I was afraid of."
"So how's our boy doing?" Biggs asked, sliding into a seat across from Shelby and kicking his heels up on her desk.
"I thought evaluations were your department." Biggs pulled a face at that.
"Group evaluations. I don't do individuals. And as far as group standings go, Squad 6 is pretty damn low on the totem pole."
It was their damn CO. 764 was a good soldier, but good soldier didn't necessarily equate to good leader.
The kid got by through sheer grit and luck. The grit was all his, but lately Biggs had been getting the feeling that the luck was less luck and more direct intervention from above.
"He's incompetent as a leader," Biggs had complained to JJ earlier that week.
"So file a complaint," had been JJ's helpful contribution around a mouthful of eggs and toast.
"I wouldn't." Major Jacobs hadn't spoken loudly, but his words carried.
"What? Sir, if he's not doing his job, then he should be removed from his position," JJ had sputtered, shocked that their supervisor would even consider letting Squad 6's CO's incompetency fly.
"764 is Shepherd's pride and joy. You tell him that his chosen one is inept and you'll end up retired real quick."
"So you're going to let 764 risk the lives of thirty-one other kids because you're too cowardly to do the right thing?"
"JJ," Biggs spoke, drawing the hot-heads attention to him. "Let it go."
"Fuck this," JJ tossed his napkin onto his tray and climbed to his feet, shaking his head and muttering to himself as he stormed away.
Biggs watched him go for a moment before turning his attention back to Jacobs.
"You have a plan, Sir?" Biggs knew the Major, and Jacobs wouldn't have warned him off of 764 unless he already had something in works to fix the problem.
"Working on, Staff Sergeant. Though I would suggest you give the best glowing recommendation possible for that train wreck in the making on your next report."
"What do I look like, the miracle man?" Jacobs had given him another of those grim smiles before walking away.
Biggs was trying, too. He'd been positively cordial in his last two reports about their group performance.
He couldn't, however, alter their performance scores. They spoke for themselves.
"494's fine," Shelby stated, tapping the folder on her desk for emphasis. "Health, intelligence, and fitness are all within normal ranges."
"Normal ranges?"
"Acceptable performance levels," Shelby elaborated with a wry smile. "As seen by command."
"But…" Biggs had known Shelby for close to five years now, and never once had she gotten away with hiding something from him.
"He's holding back. He can do better. I know he can do better."
"And you're wondering if Command shares the thought." Manticore Brass took a very negative view on soldiers failing to perform at peak proficiency.
"Maybe. I don't know." She didn't even try to mask her fear at the thought.
"We'll fix this, Shelbs. I promise you. We'll fix this."
"He's just a little boy," Shelby bit her lip as she choked back her sob and peered up and Biggs through tear-filled eyes. "He shouldn't have to worry about things like that. His life should be baseball in the park and movies on Saturdays, not training and punishments."
"I know." It was a piss poor response, but it was the only one Biggs could come up with. He knew it was wrong, felt it to the bottom of his soul, but he was stuck between the rock and the grave. And he was doing his damn best to keep from getting smothered by either.
He just wished that his survival could make the world a better place for these kids.
"Just do what we talked about," Biggs let his feet drop the floor and he reached across and clasped Shelby's hands in his own.
"They killed my sister, Michael. They killed my baby sister." Sheila had been nine minutes younger than her. Nine minutes, but it was enough for Shelby to assume the mantle of older sister. Protector, guardian, confidante, and friend.
Until Sheila had met her douche of an ex-husband who'd gotten her hooked on drugs. They'd lost touch, but seven years ago Sheila had contacted her, clean and sober.
They'd made plans to meet, plans Shelby had been eager to share with her colleagues only…
Sheila never showed. Nobody knew where she was, or even where she'd been. It was like she'd dropped off the face of the earth.
She may as well have.
Ever since she'd looked into the eyes of those little boys and knew, knew who their mother was, she'd been left to wonder…
Sheila had been missing for two and a half years before those little boys came along, which was plenty enough time for Manticore to squeeze in at least two more births.
Waste not, want not. In her investigations into her sister's disappearance and subsequent reappearance inside these walls, she'd discovered a few things she could end up dying for if Command ever found out she knew.
She'd discovered that a lot of the women recruited to be surrogates weren't volunteers. She'd discovered an alarmingly high rate of death among those who's progeny either failed to achieve anything more than mediocrity or failed to achieve anything at all.
The lucky ones were the ones who got shipped off to the psychiatric facilities, but Shelby wasn't delusional enough to believe that was a good thing. Their names were changed, their minds chemical altered, and their lives completely destroyed.
Of the alarmingly large number of surrogates recruited, only a small portion were actual volunteers. And the majority of them had been recruited from foreign locales, given the promise a new life in America in exchange for a child.
For a lot them, originating from third world countries, it wasn't too much to ask.
It made her sick to her stomach.
"They'll pay for that, too," Biggs promised her, slipping around her desk to wrap her in his arms, holding her tightly as she sobbed out her pain. "I promise you."
Strangely, that made her feel better. Because in all the years she'd known Staff Sergeant Michael Biggs, he had never once broken a promise he made to her.
Biggs left only when he was positive Shelby had pulled herself together.
Which was great, cause he was losing it.
"How is she?" Staff Sergeant Patrick Swanson was a good man, one of the few Biggs could talk freely with.
"She'll make it. She's strong, tough. Like her sister was."
Swanson nodded, but kept his peace on the subject. Biggs felt foolish for the words even as they left his mouth.
If anybody knew how strong Sheila Coates had been, it would be Swanson.
They were going to get married. Sheila wanted kids, real kids of her very own, and Swanson wanted to give them to her.
Personally, Biggs thought he'd been delusional at the time. Once Manticore got its claws into you, it never let go, not until you were either used beyond repair, or completely deceased.
Whatever delusions Swanson had had about the place had long since been disabused.
He'd tried to get her out, before they'd killed her, but he hadn't gotten to her in time.
He'd buried her, though. Found a nice plot with sun in the morning and shade from a tree in the afternoon.
He'd brought Shelby there, but he'd never stayed to visit.
He threw himself into his work, justifying his decisions with the thought that Sheila would have wanted him to move on with his life, with his career.
He'd lived in his circle of delusions for eighteen long months before that night.
He'd been given his story, actually rehearsing it without fully comprehending it's purpose.
Biggs had been promoted, and they'd been out celebrating. Biggs had drunk too much and passed out in an empty cell in the north section.
Swanson could still repeat the script even now.
The alarming thing was neither of them could remember anything that had happened before then.
"Psy-Ops," Swanson had reported to him with grim faced disgust. "You got the full treatment and I just got the whammy."
"And the rest of the base? Why is it that nobody can remember what I did prior to two weeks ago?"
"Drugs in the water?" Swanson had hazarded with a tired sigh before running his hand through his hair. "Fuck if I know, Biggs. All I know, is that you did something that pissed Shepherd off. Not even the Major knows what, and that's saying something."
"Does the Major know what happened to me?"
Basic deduction had given him a time frame in which to operate. That, and talking to Shelby, who'd told him that first day back that he'd been missing, or shipped out for extra training, for at least a month.
That was a month of his life that was out and out missing, and at least a couple of years that were so fuzzy he could barely remember the basics, let alone retrieve any details about them.
It made him wonder…what had he done that pissed Shepherd off so much?
Though, in truth, Shepherd had never liked him. In all the alterations to his memory Shepherd had had someone make, he hadn't thought to change the knowledge of that basic fact. That he had tried to included warm fuzzies about Manticore almost made Biggs laugh now.
He had never, not once, since the first day he'd stepped foot on the grounds and realized what they wanted him to do, had anything that even vaguely resembled warm feelings towards the program. The projects, he liked. The methods and the brass?
"I don't think so, but who knows? Jacobs keeps his own council on these things."
"Yeah, he's a lot smarter than the rest of us."
And he was planning something, or waiting for something, because he'd gotten downright frosty the last couple of weeks.
"Things are changing, Biggs. You feel it, right?"
"Yeah, I feel it." He just hoped those changes were for the better.
January, 2005
Biggs was in a classroom doing an eval on Squad 6 when the locking mechanism for the door clanged into place without so much as a warning.
"The fuck?" Biggs muttered quietly to himself, frowning in puzzlement at the door. Some of the X5's near the back had turned, eyeing the door with curiosity and a little bit of fear, but their instructor remained oblivious.
Civilians, Biggs thought with a grunt. Oh, he had nothing against them, as long as they stayed the hell away from military matters. No training usually equated to no common sense, especially amongst the elite crop of boneheads Manticore recruited to teach their science experiments.
He was the only senior Trainer in the room. His subordinate, Sergeant Gales, had heard the door clang shut, but unlike Biggs, he didn't seem the least bit surprised.
"What the hell is going on, soldier?" Biggs asked, his voice quiet but forceful as he rounded in on the older man.
"Revolution," was Gales reply before, in a move so smooth Biggs never saw it coming, he slammed his taser into Biggs' gut and flicked it on.
Sonofabitch, was Biggs last thought before everything went dark.
Shelby had been doing a blood work-up on one of the Special Ops soldiers when guards had come pouring into the room, weapons at the ready.
"What the hell?" Her shift supervisor climbed to her feet, expression livid as she rounded in on the nearest guard.
"You're not authorized to breach this sector without my expressed permission!" She snapped, coming to a stop in front of the nearest guard, completely ignoring the gun pressed against her chest.
She never saw it coming; none of them did. One second she was yelling, the next, she was on the ground, dead, her chest nothing but raw meat.
Screaming erupted then, high pitched wailing that made Shelby want to cover her ears, but she was too busy gaping in horror.
"Son of a bitch," the DAC she'd been looking over murmured, blinking his red eyes in out and out surprise. "Biggs was right."
That caught Shelby's attention.
"Biggs? You know Biggs?"
"Hell yeah," the DAC replied, staring at her in out and out surprise. "He was only my Trainer for three years."
"You?" Shelby blinked in surprise at the scaly faced Transhuman. "You were where he was for the past three years?"
"Me and my squad, and why do you look so surprised? He told us he got flack from the upstairs people every damn day for it."
"He did?" the DAC was frowning now, his attention expertly divided between the guards, who had made quick work of getting the rest of the room to shut up, and Shelby, who's reactions to his words told him a lot.
"What happened to Biggs?" Shelby stared at the lizard man for a few seconds longer as the guards spread throughout the room, a couple coming close enough to sneer at the DAC before beating a hasty retreat as he sneered back.
"He got reassigned, two years ago. But he can't remember from where. Nobody can."
"Psy-Ops?" the DAC's eyes got real wide at that thought. "They used Psy-Ops on him?"
"On everybody, apparently. Either that, or they threatened them, because Biggs hasn't been able to find any information about his previous assignment. Anywhere."
"Quiet!" One of the guards snapped harshly, raising his gun slightly to level it at Shelby's chest. The DAC hissed in response, moving far more rapidly than one thought possible to insert his body between Shelby and the gunman.
He must have been new, or easily excitable. Or maybe he just hated the transhumans, because he pulled the trigger.
"No!" Shelby yelled, grunting under the weight of the injured transhuman as she darted forward to catch him. "You bastard!"
"Shut up," was the sneered reply as the guard lowered his weapon and watched the transhuman bleed.
"I need a first aid kit," Shelby snapped in reply, hands already moving over the wound. It was a through and through, high enough in the shoulder to have caused only basic damage, but it had to hurt like hell.
"Why bother?" The guard spit on the ground. "Fucking animal doesn't deserve to live."
"Who died and made you god?"
"This," the guard hefted his M16 with a toothy grin and dead eyes.
"Yeah, well, your boss isn't going to like you shooting one of their top money makers, so unless you want to be the next person getting a bullet put in them, I suggest you get me a fucking first aid kit."
Shelby had no idea who the guys boss was, or even anything about the financial income of the DAC's, but something she said struck a chord in the guard and less than a minute later, she had a first aid kit and an extremely grateful transhuman.
"I'm Mole," the transhuman introduced himself with a wince.
"Shelby," Shelby replied. "Shelby Coates."
"I figured," Mole replied with a wry smile, causing Shelby to do a double take.
"Biggs," Mole stated by way of explanation. "He told us the prettiest nurse topside was a woman with red hair and a temper."
"A temper, huh?" Shelby grinned faintly as she deftly wrapped his wound. "Next time I see Biggs, we're going to have words."
The transhuman chuckled faintly at that.
"Can I watch?"
He had that faint ringing in his ears and surreal feeling that always came with being on the receiving end of a high-voltage electrical shock.
"Motherfucker," Biggs breathed, coming to awareness in painful increments.
First thing he was aware of was the hard surface under his body. A quick inhalation confirmed his initial theory; concrete.
Opening his eyes and squinting against the harsh overhead light, the first thing he saw was the familiar face of Swanson.
"You're awake," was Swanson's masterful statement of the obvious when Biggs managed to open his eyes and keep them open.
"No shit. What the fuck is going on?"
"Didn't you hear?" JJ sassed from somewhere behind him. "It's a revolution, Biggs baby. And we're not invited."
"Revolution? By who? And for what?" His thought process was fuzzy, but he was fairly certain that if he was in here, whoever was out there was not on his side.
"My money's on Shepherd," Lieutenant Henry Jade ground out, his voice full of pain.
"What the hell, man?" Biggs stared at the bloody mess that was Jade's leg with open horror.
"Gibson," Jade grunted his reply to Biggs' unspoken question. "Dumb fuck thought he could take me."
"He got you here, didn't he?" JJ was obviously riding the bitter train, thunking his head back against the wall with a monumental scowl.
"No, he didn't." They took a moment to absorb the ramifications of that statement.
"So, I guess I should count myself lucky, then," Biggs murmured, levying himself upright with a grunt.
"Yeah, real lucky man. I think you pissed yourself on the way down."
"Fuck you, JJ. Like hell I did." Scowling at the other man, Biggs turned his attention to their surroundings.
"Does anybody know what wing we're in?"
"Psy-Ops," Jade replied grimly.
"Well, shit."
Revolution.
494 cocked his head to the side as he read the dictionary, intrigued by the idea of the word.
Revolution (noun) - a radical and pervasive change in society and the social structure, esp. one made suddenly and often accompanied by violence.
494 understood violence. At six years of age, he knew how to kill a man without making a sound, how to render someone unconscious in one move, and how to shoot a gun at a hundred yards and hit what he was aiming at dead-on.
He didn't understand, however, why Trainer Gales had used his taser on Trainer Biggs.
He didn't completely comprehend why Gales had told Biggs there was a revolution, but he was beginning to get an idea.
Two hours earlier, shortly after Gales had hauled Biggs' unconscious form away, Squad 6 had been marched out to the main tarmac along with the rest of the squads, where they'd received, by far, their most interesting briefing to date.
"As of 1530 hundred hours today, this facility has been repatriated from the United States government and now operates solely by my jurisdiction," Director Shepherd had informed them from the front of the tarmac.
"Anybody protesting this change of command will be shot." As if to demonstrate, the struggling figure of one of their trainers was brought forth.
494 didn't flinch as the gunshot echoed through the clearing, but his stomach did clench as the putrid stench of voided bowels reached his delicate nose.
Down the line, 036, a female who occupied the rack next to his, broke rank, ever so slightly, to press a hand against her mouth and fight back her own wave of nausea.
Next to her, 202 hastily yanked the other girls hand down, the two of them snapping to attention as a Trainer paced the line in front of them.
They'd been returned to their barracks in short order, but not until after Shepherd had informed them of a few rule changes.
The first was failures wouldn't be tolerated. If you screwed up, you would be shot. Another demonstration had followed, with an X5 from Squad 1 taking a bullet to the leg for his failure to achieve the minimal time on the obstacle course the day before.
Three other X5's from different squads had been shot as well for a variety of offenses. And, instead of help, they had been ordered to make their way to the infirmary by themselves.
494 had never been shot before, but he had broken his leg the year before. He'd barely been able to stand, let alone walk. He couldn't fathom how the X5 from Squad 1 had managed to get to his feet and stumble to the main doors.
The second had been a listing of additional training they were going to be undertaking.
Interrogation Training, which didn't sound all that different from what they had been doing before, only, instead of being tortured, they were going to be the ones doing the torturing. To each other.
"Think of it as a character building exercise," Shepherd had informed them with a wry smile.
Extortion, murder, and terrorism.
Biggs had always told them they were supposed to be the good guys, but Shepherd was telling them the exact opposite.
"You were designed to be the perfect killers," he had lectured, his voice booming through the wide space. "But your training has been lacking so far. You will learn how to kill with ruthless force and you will learn how to do it well."
"I don't want to be a killer," 036 was still pale, still shaky, but better than before.
"Me neither," her closest companion, 295, stated. Normally very mellow and full of humor, 295 hadn't so much as cracked a smile since Biggs had hit the floor.
"They hurt Staff Sergeant Biggs," 501 stated, his expression stricken. "Why would they do that?"
"Maybe he wasn't one of them," 202 stated, expression thoughtful.
"He's a Trainer," 295 pointed out, confused. "He has to be one of them. Right?"
"Maybe." 494 spoke, his head turned towards the door as he frowned, deep in thought.
"What's that supposed to mean?" 678 asked. The youngest of the squad, she was huddled into 036's side as the five of them talked.
494 said nothing, slipping silently from his rack instead. The room went silent for a moment, all eyes tracking him, but 494 kept his focus on the door.
"What are you doing, soldier?" 764 snapped, getting to his own feet with a thunderous scowl.
"There's nobody outside the door," 494 stated by way of reply.
"What relevancy is that?"
"There's always somebody outside the door," 253 moved from his rack to place his ear next to 494's.
The SIC of their squad, 253 was quiet and kept to himself. An introvert, he didn't seem to care much for his authoritative position and it showed. Easily tolerable, 494 would be hard pressed to say that he liked his squadmate, but he had faith in his abilities.
"You're right," 253, stoic-mannered in all things, actually managed to sound surprised.
"Where did the guards go?" 202 slipped from her rack to pad over, the rest of the squad exchanging looks as 764's jaw clenched.
"Don't know," 253 answered her question with a faint frown.
"Is it important?" 501 kept his gaze on 494.
"No," 764 snapped, grabbing 501 by his arm and jerking him back and away from the door with such force the smaller transgenic went tumbling to the ground.
"Hey!" 202 snarled as she inserted her slightly larger form between 501 and 764.
"This is my squad, soldier," 764 snapped in reply, raising a fist to her. "You follow my orders, not 494's."
"He hasn't given us any orders," 295 pointed out with just the barest hints of anger as he came to stand on 202's right side, 036 moving onto her left.
"Shh!" 494 hissed, his ear still firmly pressed against the door. 764 opened his mouth to protest but 294 stepped up, slapping a hand over the other transgenics mouth, growling low in his throat, a warning that struck a primal chord in 764.
494 spared 294 a brief glance, but kept the majority of his attention on the conversation taking place on the other side of the door.
"Can you believe this shit?" an unknown male was saying. He heard the click and hiss of a match flaring to life and could just detect the barest hint of nicotine in the air.
"Our own personal fucking army," another guard chortled. "How sick is that?"
"We can take over the world, man," the first guard agreed, his breath a faint whoosh as the smell of smoke chased the odor of nicotine.
"Fuck that. Dude, have you seen some of those X4's? Fucking pussy for the taking, man. First thing tomorrow I'm gonna get me some of that, you dig?"
"Oh yeah. There's one – 215 I think is her designation – she fucking spit on me the other day when I suggested a little one on one private handling. I'm gonna enjoy 'training' her."
There was laughter that 494 couldn't completely understand but definitely did not like. Glancing over, he saw the shared sentiment in 253's eyes.
The two guards chuckled some more before shuffling away, their gaits lazy and relaxed.
"What's going on?" 202 spoke for the squad as 294 released 764 who whirled on him.
"I'm going to report you for this, soldier! Your behavior is insubordinate, not to mention treasonous." 764 was practically foaming at the mouth, and his anger filled the air, a faintly burnt pepper taste to it.
"Director Shepherd is turning us into his own private army," 494 stated, fixing his gaze on 764, who turned to glare at him.
"So?"
"So that's treason," 519 pointed out.
"We follow orders," 764 snapped back. "And our orders come from Director Shepherd."
"Who gets his orders from the United States government. Or is supposed to be," 036 scowled at the older transgenic.
"By repatriating the facility from the United States, Director Shepherd is committing the highest form of treason," 294 stated, his voice steady. 294 and 253 were a lot alike. Both were quiet, preferring to keep their thoughts and emotions to themselves, but 294 had his own group he looked out for; 519, 051, and 411.
The only other X5 who truly got along with 253 in their Squad was 111.
"So what are we supposed to do about it?" 276 let her eyes dart about the room, her expression mixed between dread and out and out fear.
"Our duty," 494 stated, straightening upright as he turned to face the rest of the squad.
"We need an end-to-end plan," 494 nodded his head in agreement to 294's statement.
"We don't have enough intel," 202 stated, straightening from her crouch over 501, deftly reaching behind her to haul him to his feet.
"We have knowledge of the schematics of the base," 494 stated. "We know where the weapons are."
"But we don't know where the guards are," 501 rubbed his arm where 764 had grabbed him, but kept his gaze steady on 494. Whatever was going down, 501 didn't trust 764 to handle it.
He wasn't sure he trusted 494, either, but so far the other transgenic had displayed more skill and adaptability in the last ten minutes than 764 had displayed in the last five years.
494 was quiet for a moment as he thought this over.
Truly excellent mission planning would have already given him this intel. In all their training missions so far, it had always been one of the key pieces of information imparted to them by their instructors.
But they didn't have instructors here, and they didn't have any information aside from conjecture.
"We can't not do anything," 295 finally stated, moving to stand behind 036, pressing his shoulder against her body for contact comfort.
"I'm not saying we shouldn't do anything," 501 argued. "I'm saying that we require more information."
"We have no way of acquiring that information," 253 finally stated.
"We don't have to." 494's words once more had the squad turning to look at him.
"What do you mean, 494?" 294 was curious. 494 had displayed no outstanding characteristics in training. He wasn't the best, the brightest. He didn't get heaps of praise like 764, and he didn't ace all their tests, like 253.
In short, he had done nothing to make any of them believe he was anything more than average.
But the solid way he said those words, the surety with which he held himself, had 294 hesitating to dismiss him outright.
"We can hear them coming. We can see them before they see us, and we can even smell them. We don't have to know where they are now, because we'll already know."
"I'm bored." Mole threw the words out casually, but there was a tightness to his expression that hinted to his pain.
There was nothing Shelby could do about it, either. Mole's metabolism had already eaten through two shots of morphine and advanced immune system or not, she wasn't about to give him a third, not with the chance of risking his life.
"Shut up," the guard snarled, his grip on his weapon tightening as he sneered down at the transhuman.
Mole sneered back, but the steady pressure of Shelby's hand on his knee kept him from doing anything more.
"So what do you think?" Shelby asked once the guard had wandered away. "How much trouble are we in?"
"You, not so much. Keep your pretty little head down and listen to the nasty man with his gun and you'll be fine. Me?" Mole shook his head, expression grim. "Chances of survival are dipping from twenty percent."
"Your shoulder's not that bad."
"It's not my shoulder I'm worried about."
They'd gotten the briefing, same as everybody else. Shepherd had had the whole thing broadcasted throughout the base.
Cocksure bastard.
He was an idiot. A goddamn, too stupid to live, idiot.
And he hated the transhumans and anomalies with a passion.
He would always spit when he saw one of them, mumbling something under his breath in a language Mole couldn't understand. But he always got the basic message.
Watch your back, he would threaten silently. Because the second the opportunity comes along, I will end you.
Opportunity was knocking, and Mole was pissed as hell that he was up here and his squad was down there.
Pissed, and worried. Because it was his job to protect them, and if he wasn't there to do it…
He'd seen death up close and personal. He'd lost one member of his squad early on in life, an up close and personal view into his future that made his stomach roil and changed him completely from that day forward.
He never, ever, wanted to see another of his buddies, his family, lying in the dirt, staring up at him with dead eyes.
He'd die himself first before he ever let that happen again.
"Well," Biggs had gotten to his feet and done a cursory inspection of the cell they were all locked in. "I can't see a way out. Anybody?"
"Notta," Jade replied, face pale from blood loss, expression borderline catonic.
"I don't know," JJ stated. "The more I look, the more Swanson's head starts to look just the right shape for a battering ram."
"Fuck you," Swanson snapped back, surly with his discomfort as he watched Biggs continue to pace.
"Nah," Biggs replied to JJ's statement. "Not hard-headed enough."
Swanson repeated his response to Biggs, causing the other man to shoot him a cocky grin from over his shoulder.
"They got a camera hooked up in here?"
Biggs knew from his investigation into his own little foray into the realm of Psy-Ops that some of the rooms were hooked up with remote surveillance. Probably designed to detect subversive elements or behaviors command sought to correct, which was exactly why Biggs needed to know if there was one in this room so he could get rid of it before they really started to plot.
"Up in the corner," JJ grunted, jerking his head to the northeast corner. "I tried to get to it while you were out, but it's too high."
"So boost me up," Biggs shrugged his shoulders. "Should be easy enough."
"So says the man who was drooling on the floor ten minutes ago." But JJ obediently got to his feet, hunching over so Biggs could stand on his back and reach the camera.
"Fucking Psy-Ops," Biggs swore, punching into the concrete with accurate force, wincing as the shock of the impact reverberated down his arm. Despite the moment of pain, though, he deftly yanked the power cord to the camera before pulling the whole thing from the wall.
"Catch," he called, tossing the disconnected apparatus to Swanson, who obediently held out his hands.
"What are we supposed to do with this?" Swanson asked, turning the useless piece of equipment over in his hands.
"Escape," Biggs smiled widely at the group. "Now, who's with me?"
"This is treason," 764 was still insisting half an hour later.
"Then don't come," 294 shot back with no small amount of annoyance as the squad stood in two separate groups on opposite sides of the barracks.
494 had come up with a plan, however slapped together.
Their first order of business was to collect armaments.
"We're going to shoot the Trainers?" 276 had blinked in surprise at that. "But isn't that a violation of orders? How will we know if we're shooting at the enemy?"
"They took Sergeant Biggs, didn't they?" 501 had taken up position on 494's left, with 294 occupying his right. "I think it's safe to assume that the only people walking around the base right now are the enemy."
He had a valid point, too. One that 494 was banking on to get them through this.
"What about the others? The ones who didn't cooperate, like Sergeant Biggs?" 510 asked from where she sat on her rack, arms wrapped around her knees as her gaze darted between the two groups.
"They're either dead or imprisoned," 494 stated with complete confidence. "That's one of our objectives, to determine which it is."
"Why?" 386 asked, expression tight. "What purpose does that serve?"
"If they're alive, we need to free them and add to our resistance," 202 answered for them.
"And if they're dead?" 294 was firmly in 494's corner; the other X5 had always been quiet, careful. His scores were so average, it was suspicious.
294 was fairly adept at picking up on random patterns and he could say with one glance that nothing about 494's scores was random. The other X5 had planned everything very carefully, thereby demonstrating an immeasurable amount of intelligence and strength that was the sole reason 294 was placing his faith on 494's shoulders.
But he wanted an answer to his question; he wanted to know how far 494 was going to push things.
"Then we find a way to take back the base and hold it until command sends reinforcements."
494 kept his voice calm and steady, but inside he was worried.
If the rest of the command staff was dead, then 494 wasn't sure he could keep the rest of his squad from quickly following.
"I don't want to go," 361 was 295's twin, and she was all but shaking as she wrapped her arms around herself and peered anxiously at her brother. "Please, stay with me?"
"No." 764 surprised all of them with that proclamation, his angry eyes steady on 494. "If he goes, we all go."
"But – "
"That's an order, soldier," 764 barked at the protesting female before turning his gaze back to 494 with a sneer.
They was a challenge in his eyes that 494 didn't like. It stirred something in him, deep in his chest that urged him to react to the unspoken threat, but he pushed it back with sheer force of will.
They had a mission to accomplish, one that their very lives depended on.
"This is fun," JJ grunted, straining against the locked door. The apparatus the camera had been hanging from had provided them with a makeshift crow bar they were using to attempt to pry the doors open. So far, they'd managed to strain already sore muscles and maybe cause some mild damage to the locking mechanism, but that was pretty much it.
"How's your leg?" Biggs was concerned about Jade; his coloring was shit, and his breathing was shittier. And his leg was still bleeding, despite the hour or so they'd been here.
"I'll live," Jade promised him with steely eyed determination. "Just get that fucking door open. General Hospital starts in an hour."
Biggs laughed at that one.
"General Hospital, man." He chuckled before moving to take his turn at the door from JJ.
"Seriously?" JJ panted, surrendering his position to pant and turning his head to stare at Jade. "You watch that shit?"
"Every damn day," Jade replied with a toothy smile. "I love the plot lines."
They were down to four. Four pissed off, mean as a snake, itchy-fingered guards who paced through the room with smiles that sent chills down Shelby's spine.
"Don't worry, Princess," Mole promised her around a shaky breath. "I won't let them touch you."
Despite his joking manner, Mole was dead serious. Biggs had done a lot for him over the years, the least he could do to return the favor was protect this chick.
Shelby gave him a faint smile in reply as she worked. They'd managed to assemble themselves back into some sort of order, with the medical staff returning to their jobs with the instructions that they weren't going to be allowed to leave just yet.
For some of them, they weren't going to be allowed to leave ever.
They'd been permitted to move the body of their dead supervisor into one of the back rooms. It'd been such a messy, disgusting affair that two techs had outright vomited, adding more of a mess to the already gore soaked floor.
A pale-faced and glassy eyed janitor had been ushered into the room to clean it up. Even now, the old man was swiping at the floor with a sponge.
Shelby was currently working, going back to what she had been doing before, but only after she'd been permitted to fix up Mole. Removing the bullet had been a crude affair, her hands steady despite the trembling fear that radiated throughout her body, but she'd managed to get him stitched up and to stem the blood flow, which he was extremely grateful for.
She'd even managed to get him some water, which was even better, as well as a blanket.
He was currently occupying a bed in the back corner, the curtains pulled just enough to give them the vaguest semblance of privacy.
"I give it an hour," Mole stated, breaking the silence that had fallen over them.
"Hmmm? What?" Shelby blinked at him, her expression confused and scared, but it was the determination that had Mole blinking.
"What?" He asked, completely forgetting his previous line of thought.
"You said you gave it an hour. An hour for what?"
"Oh." Mole smiled. "Until Biggs hauls his stubborn ass in here, guns blazing, and kills these motherfuckers."
He'd seen Biggs do it, too.
One of the guards – a monster if there'd ever been one – had tried something with Callie.
Callie had been terrified, scared to death both of the gun pointed at her head and the man holding it, who had insisted she undress.
He'd been groping her, gun to her forehead, when Biggs had walked in, wondering why it was taking Callie so long to use the head.
Biggs may have been out of combat for a couple of years, but his reflexes were as sharp as ever, his aim dead on.
Biggs had told him later, after Callie was asleep, comfortably curled up under a pile of bodies, that he'd been sorry he had to do it.
"You're sorry?" Mole had been furious; up until that moment, he'd viewed Biggs as a stand up guy. He didn't treat them like animals, but like people, and now he was changing his mind?
"Sorry she had to see that," Biggs had replied, eyes still locked on the sleeping female. He'd been silent for a few beats, letting Mole come to terms with that fact, before he'd turned to face the transhuman, his eyes shiny with tears, it seemed.
"She's just a fucking kid. You all are. Nobody should have to through that." He'd shaken his head, turning his attention back to the sleeping pile. "Nobody."
Biggs was a fucking Saint, practically on the level of God in Mole's eyes.
Call it dumb hero worship, but Mole couldn't fight the feeling that Biggs was going to be the one to ride in and save the day like he had so many times before.
Despite his earlier words, 764 quickly decided that some of them needed to stay behind – the majority, as a matter of fact.
If too many of them went missing, chances were good that somebody would notice and their element of surprise would be destroyed.
So instead of a full compliment of soldiers, there were eight of them.
494, 253, 294, 202, 501, 683, 820 and himself.
They moved carefully through the halls, avoiding the guards and the cameras until, with barely breathed sighs, they arrived at the first weapons locker.
"Small arms only," 494 reminded them, earning himself a sneer from 764, who reached past him to grab an M16.
494 let him, wordlessly handing 501 a 9mm Berretta before passing 202 a Sig Sauer, her preferred weapon of choice. 820 slinked silently by to procure a second M16 from the back
Grabbing another Sig for his own use, 494 carefully adjusted his grip before ducking his head out of the armory.
"We need to find the others," he murmured, his voice low as he checked the halls.
"Where?" 294 asked, checking the magazine in his own Berretta before sliding it home and chambering a round.
"Where they put all the bad soldiers," 202 replied, her voice quiet, head bowed as she stared at the gun in her hand.
Even 253 paled at that.
"This way." 494 didn't give them time to think, already moving down the hall. 294 followed wordlessly, 202 and 501 exchanging a quick look before trotting after them on cats feet with 683 trailing behind.
253 hesitated a moment, glancing over at 764, who was scowling again. Shooting his SIC an angry look, 764 padded after the others, leaving 253 and 820 to watch their six.
Giving their surroundings one last anxious look, 253 carefully closed the door to the weapons locker before slinking silently after them.
Two floors below, watching monitors of cameras that had been strategically placed over the years without Manticore's explicit knowledge, Major David Jacobs double checked the straps holding his small arsenal to his body, one eye on the task at hand, the other on the X5's slipping silently down the halls.
"That's one hell of a squad leader they have there." Colton Danvers had been one of the men Jacobs had silently inserted into Manticore's command structure over the years.
He, along with the eleven other men occupying the small sub-basement room, long forgotten but hardly without its uses, were part of a small strike teams Jacobs had personally trained in light of this eventuality.
He'd known Shepherd was fucking nuts for years now, but he also knew that the Committee wasn't in any hurry to replace him. Shepherd got them results and as long as his methods worked, they continued to keep him in charge.
Jacobs had warned them, though, for years that this was going to happen. And now that it had, he didn't even get to say an I-told-you-so for good effect.
No, he was here, in a dank basement room, with a bunch of other men, watching through secretly placed cameras as a small group of seven X5's moved like quiet phantoms through the levels above them.
Squinting at the screen, Jacobs struggled to differentiate their barcodes, but the pixilation on the screens had all the lines blurring together. He'd recognized two of them, though, right off the bat.
He was surprised as hell to see 764 out and about – the X5 had shown decent leadership capabilities under Shepherds rule, but most of those 'capabilities' had been exaggerated or outright falsified by Biggs.
Sides, kid was more of a follower than an actual leader.
The other kid, though…
494 was a natural born leader if Jacobs had ever seen one. If it hadn't been his idea to raid the weapons locker, Jacobs would eat his hat.
"That ain't a squad leader," Jacobs replied, giving the strap of his thigh holster one last firm tug before swinging the M16 on his shoulder around in its strap so he could get a grip on it.
"Should be," Creed Sheba stated, quietly slipping a knife into its holster.
Colton grunted his agreement.
"Alright, people," Jacobs called to the room in general, careful to keep his voice pitched just so.
"We've got a base to secure," he ordered, his gaze steady on each and every one of his men.
"Alpha Team, secure the communications room. Beta, get the main armory. Charlie, you're in charge of retrieving the friendlies. And Delta, well," Jacobs smiled, a feral bearing of teeth that brought to mind the more animalistic of the transgenics. "We're going hunting."
"Almost there," Swanson grunted through his straining as he pulled back on the door with everything he had.
They were tired, sweaty, sore, and rapidly becoming dehydrated, but none of them were any less determined to get than they had been when they started.
"Fuck!" Swanson wasn't the only one who cursed as the makeshift crowbar snapped clear in half sending him stumbling back into JJ, who caught him with a startled grunt.
"Well, shit," Biggs murmured, hands on hips as he quietly panted and stared at the broken piece of metal lodged firmly in the crevice of the door.
They could still try and get some leverage out of it, but without a handle to push on, they were going to have to bleed – quite possibly a lot – before they were going to go anywhere.
A/N: No real editing aside from separating it into two chapters. Enjoy.