Ch. 2: Who are you?
A.N.:
Hello to anyone who takes the time to read this. I know that it is not as good as my main story but I want to tell Alpha 1's story to give him some justice as well as to give some insight into Becket and Alma's story as well.
Review if you want. I will try to answer any questions as best I can. After I post a chapter, I always go through and correct any grammatical or game canon errors. Please keep that in mind the first day or two after I post something. After that, if there is still an error that bugs you, feel free to tell me.
Oh, the way Alma speaks at the beginning is me trying to imitate the weird way that she speaks in the game. So…it is not grammatical mistakes. I did the same thing in the early chapters and flashbacks in my main story too.
To my fellow Southern readers, I hope you were all fortunate during this horrible winter storm.
Over the rhythmic sound of machinery, I heard the sound of footsteps getting closer and closer until they were about to pass me. I could hear more gunshots and the sound of my fellow Replicas calling out to each other as they engaged the Delta Force Operative.
I shook my head in disgust as I muttered, "Damn fools. They are throwing themselves at him. You don't win like that." I contacted them, "Attention all nearby units, this is Alpha 1. Target is to be encircled. Do you copy?"
The response that I received was, "Piss off you freak."
My real eyes narrowed behind my armored face as I contacted Replica Command, "Command, requesting permission to terminate this soldier for insubordination."
Command replied, "Granted."
That got through to the Replica Trooper and he fell back in line. He asked, "What are your orders, Alpha 1?"
I replied, "Fall back and make sure that he follows you. I will flank him."
He said, "Roger that, Alpha 1."
I crept forward through the main storage area beneath The Arena. Overhead, machinery transported stasis pods to an unknown location. Moving down the concrete path that was illuminated by the orange glow of the overhead lights, I located a crevice to slip into. After a moment of waiting, a man dressed in brown Special Forces attire passed me and from my hidden position, I was able to study him. Once again, I noted the strange ability to know differences in color even though my armored eyes saw the world with an orange hue.
He was Caucasian, had brown hair that was cut short but was styled with a civilian haircut instead of a military haircut, was clean-shaven, was around thirty years old, and appeared to be in admittedly outstanding physical fitness. I noted the recent injuries to his face that would likely become scars once they healed. Despite the green tinted HUD glasses that he wore, I saw that his eyes were grey.
His demeanor was one of intense focus. The way that he handled the Patten PK470 7.8mm Assault Rifle in his grasp was as if it were an extension of himself instead of a weapon. I realized that he would be a dangerous adversary. He was all-military. I would not have been surprised if he had very few friends outside the service, let alone any close personal relationships with anyone. Just as I was about to creep up behind him, I noticed three pods open in front of him.
Wanting to see how skilled the man was, I decided to observe how effectively he handled the three standard Replica grunts. As I watched him, he suddenly started moving as a blur. Before my eyes, he rapidly cut down the three Replica grunts with pinpoint accuracy before they could even raise their assault rifles. Immediately following his victory, as if he had thrown a switch, the man's movements slowed back down to normal human levels.
I had to admit that he was extremely fast and accurate for a non-Replica. That must have been the "slow-mo" ability that I had been hearing about. The older variant that Commander Fettel had taken with him when he went rogue had whispered to the rest of us about someone called "him". The way they talked about that individual, you would think that he was some kind of demon or monster rather than a man.
It did not make sense that this soldier had the "slow-mo" ability too though. He could not be the same individual that the older variant had encountered. That would be impossible. The last report was that the individual had been sighted near The Vault, which was clear on the other side of the city, less than half an hour before the explosion. The Vault was Ground Zero. Even if the individual had, by some miracle, survived the blast, it was unfeasible that he had transverse the damaged city to infiltrate this facility.
There was no way that this soldier and that soldier were the same person. Why did this Delta Force Operative have the same ability then? Only Armacham had the necessary technology and knowledge to give it to an individual. That meant another possibility.
I sensed the massive telesthetic signature that he gave off. Perhaps he was one of their experiments. I doubted that he was aware of what they had done to him. If he had been, he would have realized that he could have taken control of us easily. His signature felt familiar but I could not place it. The more I focused on his signature, the more the feeling of nostalgia increased.
I shook my head to clear the unnecessary thoughts. I just wanted to get the business over with so I could begin my search for Michael and the girl. I may have been turned into a monster, but surely, they would still accept me. They just had to. That is what friends were supposed to do, right? I had been alone for so long. Surely, they would understand that and still accept me despite the fact that I had been turned into an armored killer. This soldier was in the way of me being reunited with them.
He had taken cover behind a metal box to avoid the incoming fire of the squad of Replicas that had fallen back at my direction. He was concentrating on them and had his back to me. His reflexes may give him an advantage, but he had to activate them before he could use them. That would not do him much good if I got behind him and killed him before he could activate them.
Crouching down, I advanced towards him. He was aiming down his rifle's scope, completely oblivious to his surroundings. With my footsteps disguised by the machinery and the firefight inches away from me, he was completely ignorant of my presence. He crouched down behind the box once more as he began to reload his rifle. By that time, I had snuck up behind him within an arm's length. I aimed my shotgun pointblank at his head.
His fate was sealed; there was no way that he would survive my shot. My right finger began to pull my shotgun's trigger. Just before I could terminate him, an unseen force possessed my body. I was lifted off my feet and onto my back. Strangely oblivious to what was happening inches behind him, the soldier began to advance on the other Replicas with his reflexes activated.
Unable to get to my feet or free myself from the force that had seized me, I began to slide across the floor as if I was being dragged by something. Desperately, I reached out with my left hand to try to grab something that would give me enough leverage to halt my involuntary slide. I cried out in pain as I collided with various obstacles.
Within seconds, I was well away from the area were Becket was located. As I turned a corner, a severe headache erupted inside my head and I started to hear what sounded like a woman mumbling incoherent statements. At the end of the hallway that I being dragged towards, I saw a pale, nude, emaciated young woman with tangled black hair.
Her demeanor was one of pure menace and rage. The rage disturbed me the most. It was so thick in the air that it was suffocating. Changing my posture so I sliding along on my ass, I raised my left hand up to the fore-grip/pump of my automatic shotgun. I began to hip fire my scattergun at the demonic being.
Despite emptying my shotgun's magazine into the woman, I continued to be dragged towards her. Moreover, my 12 gauge rounds seemed to have little to no effect on the being despite the fact that they were double-aught buckshot. At that range, nothing mortal could have survived that amount of buckshot. Realizing the extent of the extreme danger that I was in, I dropped my weapon as I rolled over and started clawing at the floor while I simultaneously started kicking to try to get back on my feet.
The closer I got to the demon, the more my headache throbbed in my head. When it finally reached the intensity that I became nauseated, I was picked up by my neck from behind and thrown into the wall. As my back collided with the hard surface, I had to force the groan to not to escape my lips while several of my ribs popped and cracked. The raw energy of the impact with the wall had been staggering. My armor had been the only thing that prevented my spine from outright snapping.
The demon's pale skinny right hand held me around my neck with a bone-crushing grip that I knew would be impossible to escape. She held me against the wall with her face only inches from the ceramic surface of my face. This close, it felt like every single molecule inside my body was on fire. Not wanting to show any signs of weakness, I gave off a low threatening growl that sounded slightly mechanical due to the voice modifier built into my mask.
The bottomless black pits that were her eyes bore into me as I involuntarily twitched from the unbearable agony throbbing inside me as if my body had suddenly become one single nerve ending. Any normal human being would have already blacked out.
She whispered with a dead, emotionless voice, "Hurt. You try hurt. Will not let you." Her grip around my neck started to tighten. She was going to snap my neck! No, I was not going to die before I got to see my friends just one more time. Forcing my body to rally despite the maddening pain that it was in, I balled my right fist and then sent a right punch into the left side of her skull.
I was unable to stop the grunt from escaping my lips as I felt and heard the bones in my hand shatter like a cold piece of steel hit with a sledgehammer. A forced thought went through my mind.
'Analysis: Comminuted fractures to the metacarpals and carpus. Right hand functionality is down to one percent.'
It felt like I had punched a reinforced steel wall that was several feet thick. My engineered, inhuman strength and increased bone density literally allowed me to punch through brick walls. I should have been able to reduce her skull to powder. Instead, the demon had shattered my hand with seemingly no effort. What was she?
She seemed to be enjoying my torment and she even gave off a dry cackle. As darkness started to overtake my vision, I gasped out, "If…you…expect…me…to…beg…I…will…not."
She whispered, "You different Replica. Die anyway."
My left hand instinctively tried to remove her hand by squeezing down on her wrist. My strength should have been able to crush her bones easily but even at full pressure, I was unable to.
As my mind began to slip into unconsciousness, the image of Michael and the girl flashed through my mind. Instantly, her grip around my neck slackened enough to let me breathe and the agonizingly throbbing sensation inside my body and mind ceased. She whispered, "What that?" She continued to hold me but now it was merely to keep me from moving as she seemed to study me. She whispered with an obsessive tone, "Who are you? Who are you? Who are you?"
I felt a strange sensation inside my head. It did not hurt but it did feel unnatural. After a moment, I noticed her demeanor shift to one that vaguely resembled remorse. Before I realized what was happening, I had been released and was on my knees with my torso and head resting against something small and soft.
I felt a pair of skinny arms wrap around my neck, but this time, it was so gentle that it felt angelic compared to the murderous grip seconds earlier. Though not entirely sure why, I wrapped my arms around the small form as I enjoyed the feeling of relief that was being emitted from her. As she continued to hold me, she whispered soothing statements like a mother consoling her frightened child.
As she held me, I felt my body mend itself by her command and aid. After what seemed like an eternity, she pushed me away slightly. She placed her right hand beneath my armored chin and gently lifted my head up to look at her. It was her! The same girl that I had met twenty years prior was the same entity that had been trying to kill me moments ago. Unsure if I should be resentful, happy, or frightened, I simply continued to look into her agonized eyes.
As if she sensed my inner conflict, she spoke into my mind, "Sorry. I not know you with armor. Forgive?" I nodded slowly in response. She smiled slightly as she guided me to my feet. As I towered over her, she briefly studied my changed appearance.
She remarked, "You big, strong now. Like Michael."
Excited, I asked, "You know where he is?" Her expression saddened and I felt my stomach drop as I feared what she was about to reveal. She said nothing. Instead, she glanced in the direction that I had been dragged.
She could not have been clearer if she had tried. Shocked, I exclaimed, "No way! Sergeant Becket?!" She nodded sadly. Confused, I asked, "Why is he…?"
She interrupted me as she explained, "Don't have memories. Armacham." In an instant, nearly all of my willingness to fight left me. My prayers had been answered: we had all been reunited. However, none of us were the same person that we had once been.
Broken, I asked, "And you?"
I felt a surge of fury emanate from her that was so chilling that I wanted to recoil away from her touch no matter how motherly it might seem. The rage I felt inside of her was indescribably negative. For whoever had been foolish enough to instill her with that boiling cauldron of raw anger, I prayed that, if there was indeed a higher deity or deities that judged us upon death, that said being or beings would have mercy on them because she would not.
She must have sensed the distress that she was causing me because the anger vanished as a look of sorrow formed on her pale heart-shaped face. She shook her head as she stated with a desperate tone, "No. No. No. Don't be afraid. Don't go. Stay with me. Please!"
The fragile, desperate tone in her voice relit the fire inside of me. My willingness to kill and fight returned. I laughed with repeated grunts before I said, "I don't have anywhere to go. I'm all your's."
Her sorrow left and she even smiled briefly before she said, "I need your help."
Without hesitation, I asked, "What needs to be done…boss?"
She giggled at the pet name before she replied, "Leave Becket to me. I need you to find someone for me while I concentrate on reawakening Michael's personality."
I nodded before I asked, "Who?"
She replied, "A Replica Trooper codenamed Foxtrot 813."
I thought for a minute before I informed her, "Command Post Sigma. The Foxtrots were sent there to secure the site from Armacham. If he is still alive, that is where I will find him."
She stated simply, "Kill him."
Stunned, I asked, "Why?"
She explained, "He is a clone of Fettel."
I asked, "As in Paxton Fettel?" She nodded.
I saw it in her eyes. I said, "I see…so the two Origin Prototypes…"
She interrupted me with a sad tone, "Mine."
Flashes of memories overtook my vision temporarily. I saw everything: Project Origin, The Synchronicity Events, Alma's (I finally learned her name) death and release from The Vault, Paxton Fettel, Point Man, and the death of the rogue commander by his own brother's hands. My vision returned to normal and I said softly, "I'm sorry."
She smiled in gratitude before she said, "Fettel…I told him not to revive himself. He is corrupt and power hungry now…he is no longer my son. He plans to use Foxtrot 813 to bring himself back into the physical realm. We must move quickly to prevent that from happening."
Curious, I asked, "How do you know that he is planning to use Foxtrot 813?"
Her eyes narrowed as she replied, "He told me."
Feeling stupid, I said, "Right…" I then asked, "Is there some way that Foxtrot 813 does not have to die?"
She shook her head before she said with an apologetic voice, "No, I'm sorry. It has to be done."
I nodded before I said with a plain voice, "Alright, Foxtrot 813 is as good as dead."
She smiled as she dissolved into a cloud of ash. In my mind, I heard her say, "I will be in touch. If you need help, just let me know. By the way, I am in control of your Replica Variant so my orders out rank any that your Replica Command gives you."
I nodded as I replied with my mind, "Copy that, ma'am." I retrieved my shotgun and reloaded it. As I mentally calculated the fastest way to get to Command Post Sigma, I spoke into my com link, "Alpha Team, this is your Heavy Trooper. Sound off."
They replied, "Alpha 2 here, sir."
"Alpha 3 here, sir."
"Alpha 4 here, sir."
"Alpha 5 here, sir."
Alpha 2, the team's second-in-command, asked, "What are your orders, sir?"
I replied, "Disregard primary orders. New orders are to track down and eliminate Replica Trooper Foxtrot 813. This comes directly from the top so disregard anything at command tells you. For now, rendezvous at the underground cargo train. Once we are above ground, we will proceed to Command Post Sigma to intercept Foxtrot 813."
Simultaneously, my men replied, "Roger that, sir. Proceeding to the cargo train."
Gripping my shotgun, I started running towards the hidden train that connected this facility with the facility at Still Island. As the facility started to shake from the demolition charges that the ATC Black-ops had deployed, I hoped that Michael and Alma were able to find the way out in time. The only other way out other than the train was the hydraulic cargo lift but it was habitually unreliable, as the valves had to be manually re-closed nearly every time that someone tried to use it.
Foxtrot 813 had to die. I hated the thought of killing one of my own kind when he had not personally done any harm to me, but it had to be done for the greater good. It would be the first time that a Replica was deliberately targeted for termination by his own brethren. He was a threat, however. For my friends, I would do it.
As I ran, I reflected on the change in Alma's personality. She seemed darker and more twisted than I remembered. Perhaps she and I were not so different. Isolation does horrible things to people's minds. I just hoped that, despite what ATC had done to her, she had retained enough of who she was to not accidentally or absentmindedly hurt Michael. Because I would not personally be able to be there to protect him, I would have to trust her.
