Visitors


Disclaimer: So very not mine.

Summary: Crossover between Stargate Atlantis and Power Rangers Dino Thunder. Secret identity meet military paranoia.

Warnings: Some swearing, a surprising amount of violence in later chapters.


Chapter 4: Encounter

"This is Alien," Ethan says, sounding surprisingly calm. "This is the fourth movie, and we're Ripley stuck in her cell while the aliens crawl through the ship."

"Not helping," Conner snaps, assessing what weapons they have. The chairs will be good for one big swing maybe, but not much else. Themselves, of course. Cut off from the Grid, they can't morph, but they're a long way from helpless and their civilian powers still work.

Trent casually lays a hand on Conner's shoulder, angling them away from the security camera's line of sight.

"I have this." He pushes back his sleeve just enough to show the handle of the steak knife tucked up there. It looks like it may have been 'liberated' from the kitchens.

"Dude," Conner's both impressed and a little pissed off. "How were you going to explain that if they searched us?"

Trent shrugged.

"If they were searching us, they'd have been arresting us anyway. Besides, I never go into an interrogation unarmed."

Conner wants to ask what he was planning on doing if they were arrested. A weapon might be reassuring, but Conner can't see how four inches of sharp steel lodged in a marine's neck would have done anything except get everyone killed. Of course, this is Trent they're talking about. He practically has a degree in paranoia, sabotage and psychological warfare. This is one of those things that Dr O usually talks to Trent about, but since Dr O isn't here, is probably Conner's responsibility.

"Never carry a weapon I don't know about," he says, and knows right away it was the wrong way to start. Trent's expression shifts, assuming that assured, polished demeanour that reminds Conner way too much of Anton Mercer.

"Anything you say." There's a definite bite to his pleasant tone. "I'll drop everything in the middle of a fight to give you an inventory."

"Don't be such a drama queen," Conner snaps. God, Trent pisses him off sometimes. At least if Kira and Ethan are angry, they'll tell him so. Trent's default reaction is to smile at your face while taking a knife to your hamstring. "If you start a fight, you won't be the only one in trouble. We'll have to deal with it, and I'll have to explain to Dr O why we killed a bunch of people we didn't have to."

That shuts Trent up. The faint smirk disappears and it's just Trent again, looking just a little bit shaken.

"Sorry. I keep forgetting…"

He trails off, but Conner knows where he was going with it."I keep forgetting I'm not alone". Since rejoining the world of the sane, Trent's biggest problem – aside from the screaming nightmares, phobia of needles and pathological inability to trust anyone – is that he can't figure out how to work with a team. And not like Dr O, who's a natural solo fighter but always keeps track of who's doing what. Trent keeps forgetting he now has a team to guard his back. Worse, he forgets he's supposed to be guarding theirs, that what he does affects them too. It's not that he's not trying to fit in – and trying desperately – just that too many times his first instinct is to protect himself.

Conner's pretty sure that this, like Trent's ability to lie seamlessly, is another survival tactic adopted to cope with Mesagog and never quite dropped. Which pisses Conner off for a whole other reason, but doesn't make it any less of a liability.

"Don't forget," is all he says before turning to Kira. "Can you get us out?"

She considers the door thoughtfully.

"One good scream should do it. Want me to try?"

It's tempting. Conner really doesn't want them stuck here if there's some kind of attack. On the other hand, the timing is pretty convenient and if Sheppard's just trying to rattle their cage, Conner would rather not show him what they can do.

"Wait a little longer," he decides reluctantly. "I'd rather not blow our cover unless we really have to."

There's a sudden, shrill scream and gunfire from somewhere on the upper level. They all flinch, and the knife is suddenly in Trent's hand, his body planted between the others and the door (in the back of his mind, Conner notes absently that as often as Trent's instincts are off, sometimes they're dead on).

Fuck it, he decides. That scream had not been faked.

"Kira, blast it down. Trent, get out of the way."

He's barely got his hands over his ears when Kira's mouth opens. Not that it would do him any good if the sonic wave were directed at him. Kira's power at full blast is like jumping off a hundred foot bridge onto concrete. The body might look intact, but inside it's mush. Even at this relatively low level and standing safely behind her, Conner can feel his teeth shuddering in their sockets. The door shivers, hinges buckling and crumpling under the pressure, and for a second Conner thinks Kira's miscalculated and she's going to need a second breath. Then it rips right off the hinges, crashing backwards into the hallway.

The scream fades and Kira gasps for breath, her face flushed. Conner would stop to make certain she's okay, but the other screaming (the human kind) has started again somewhere on the upper levels, and Ethan and Trent are both shouting at him to go.

He activates his speed and blurs out the door, up two flights of stairs and around the corner.

He stops when he finds a white-haired monster bent over a marine.

This is not an unusual sight in Reefside, except it's usually a civilian instead of a marine, and the white hair is new. The monster bit, though, that's pretty standard, and Conner's subconscious takes over, filtering and prioritising information in a split-second. There's no hard and fast rule for how to kill a monster, but you can make some pretty good guesses just by looking at the anatomy.

This one's smaller than the ones he's used to; no bigger than a good-sized tyrannodrone. Skinnier too, more streamlined, less like a personal fuck-you to Mother Nature and more like evolution had had some time to smooth out the kinks. No natural armour either, just corpse-like skin and a bone mask. Its weapon – some kind of organic looking blaster shaped vaguely like a long rifle – is lying forgotten on the floor. Conner's subconscious analyses these factors, generates several possible solutions, and selects the most effective.

While the monster is still straightening, turning to face him, he smashes a kick through its knee cap. There's a wet snap and it topples, way easier than he expected, flopping on the ground as it tries to get its bearings. He kicks the weapon down the hall and grabs the marine's arm, intending to haul him to his feet. The withered face and white hair stop him.

Huh. Aging attack. Interesting.

And totally irrelevant. On the long list of ways Conner's seen people die this past year, instant aging is nasty, but not the worst. Anyway the guy clearly can't move, so Conner graps both arms and hauls the guy along on his back until they come to a room that looks like some kind of rec area. He drags him behind the battered old couch and throws a blanket over him. Not the greatest hiding place in the world, but better than nothing.

"Stay down," he tells him pointlessly. "You'll be safe here."

It's not totally a lie. Once Conner kills that monster, the world's going to be a much safer place anyway. He turns the marine's head to the side and leaves a fold of the blanket open so he can breathe. Helpless bystander taken care of, he heads back out to where he left the monster.

He walks out the door right into a stun blast.

At least that's what he thinks it is. It's definitely an energy attack. He can feel his body absorbing and re-directing the energy. It's always a weird feeling, like standing too close to a fire, just hot enough to be uncomfortable, but not close enough to burn. This time is barely a flicker of heat, which tells him it's not meant to kill, or even hurt. Could be meant to stun or paralyse. They'd run across a few of those in the early days before Mesagog wised up to the fact the things just didn't work on rangers.

Conner's almost more annoyed at himself – Dr O always says to watch your surroundings – than he is with the monster, which is on its feet and aiming its retrieved weapon. Almost.

"I could have sworn I broke your knee," he remarks.

It shoots him again. He rolls his shoulders to dispel the fading tingle of energy and wonders idly how the monster manages to aim without eyes. Ethan would probably know.

"Look," he says. "I don't know anything about the monsters here. Usually I'd be ripping your head off right about now, but I figure since I could stand here all day and let you shoot me and only feel a slight tickle, we've got some time. If you're a person – like a regular, innocent person – who's been kidnapped and brainwashed and transformed, or anything like that, you need to make some kind of signal. Wave your hand or nod, or something. Because otherwise things are about to get very ugly."

The monster shoots him again. Twice. In the face. Then, when nothing happens, it flings the weapon aside and stalks toward him. Still limping, but moving way faster than it should be able to with a broken leg.

"I'll take that as a no."

Conner ducks under its reaching hand and punches it in the throat. There's a nice juicy crunch, but he's not about to underestimate it again, and he's right. It doesn't slow down in the slightest, swiping at him with a vicious backhand so close to connecting he can feel the air brushing his cheek as he rolls under it. He comes up next to the weapon.

Score.

He doesn't have a clue how to fire it, but he doesn't need it to. There's this lovely loud crack as he slams the butt into the monster's mask. The monster staggers, and he hits its side until he feels the ribs snap, and follows it up with another smashing blow to the face. The mask splits down the middle and blue-green blood spills out. The monster staggers a few steps and falls. It's head twists, frantically trying to locate him. Blind. Good.

"Seriously, dude," he says, letting his voice go light and easy. The 'dumb jock' voice Ethan calls it, that never fails to make Mesagog dismiss him, even as it drives Elsa and Zeltrax insane with rage and frustration. Oneday Conner's going to use that dumb jock voice as he takes Mesagog apart piece by piece. "Persistence is all good and all, but you've got to know when to fold 'em."

He smashes the weapon into the monster's right hand, shattering the bones.

"When to walk away."

He breaks the monster's other hand.

"And when to run."

Two vicious blows break the left knee. Conner circles around until he gets to its head.

"I mean, you're not going to be walking or running anytime soon," he says. "But you get the idea."

He slams the weapon onto the monster's skull until it stops trying to crawl away. By then he's pretty sure it's dead. There's blue-green blood spattered all up the wall and over his hands. He lets the weapon drop and takes a deep, cleansing breath. Fuck, this is going to be a nightmare on his clothes. He's used to the morph taking care of things. He's only got a limited number of red shirts, mostly borrowed from the scientists and marines, and with his luck this stuff stains.

"Nice." Ethan is standing at the corner, eyeing the dead monster with both approval and envy. He looks at Conner. "Civilian?"

"Marine, actually. Third room on the right, under the blanket."

"Dead?"

"Not yet. You mind?"

Ethan goes to check on the marine and Conner wipes a sticky hand on his jeans. Back home, killing the monster sometimes reverses the effects of their attacks on their victims. But not every single time, and not always perfectly. And even if your body is fine, you still have to carry around the memory of what was done to you, which can fuck you up like you wouldn't believe. Just look at Trent.

Right then, Trent and Kira come running round the corner. They stop, evaluating the scene with professional interest, and Kira raises her eyebrows at Conner.

"You good?" It's asked casually enough, but they both relax visibly when he nods.

"That monster was weak. Not much better than a tyrannodrone."

"Good." Trent circles the body warily. "That'll help when we kill the rest."

"The rest?"

"Sheppard said 'they', remember. As in plural."

"Ah." Conner had forgotten that. He's used to dealing with one monster at a time, sometimes with a helping of cyborg and psychopath, and a few tyrannodrones on the side. He nudges the weapon with his foot. "This was a stun weapon, maybe. Didn't do much, unless you count giving me something to bash its brains in with."

"What did it feel like?" Kira asks. "On a scale of one to ten?"

"Um…Point five?"

Kira and Trent look at each other and smile. It would be kind of creepy, that pleased predatory look like Cassidy Cornwell at a closing down sale, if Conner couldn't feel his mouth curling into the same wolfish expression. He can see what they're thinking, is thinking it himself. This is going to be fun.

Ethan sticks his head out the door. He's not smiling.

"Uh, Conner? This guy is not looking good. We need to get him to the infirmiry."

Just like that, everyone is all business. Conner mentally pits the others' powers against the monster he just fought, and starts distributing his resources.

"Ethan, you and I will carry him. Kira, do you remember the way to the infirmiry?"

"Maybe." Kira frowns as she thinks. "Yes. Yes, I do."

"Good, you lead the way. You see any of these things, scream their heads off. Trent, you're the guy with the knife. You watch our backs. No running off. I mean it."

"I'm not going to run away," Trent says coldly, looking insulted. Conner rolls his eyes.

"I didn't mean like that, jeez. I meant the usual sixth ranger splitting off to do your own thing isn't going to cut it. We can't morph here. We need to stick together or we'll get ourselves killed."

Trent looks somewhat mollified.

"Don't worry," he says in a more normal tone, drawing the knife with a casual flourish. "I know how to fight unmorphed."

"Whatever. You die, I'm telling Hayley."

They get the marine. He's so out of it, he can't even walk. Actually carrying him would put too much strain on even Power-augmented bodies, so Conner slings one arm over his shoulders, and Ethan gets the other arm over his, and they sort of haul him along between them, feet dragging on the ground. The guy's wheezing, really struggling to breathe, to the point that Conner wonders if he's even going to make it to the infirmiry.

Kira picks up the weapon Conner dropped and hefts it, testing its weight before resting it easily over one shoulder. She hesitates over the marine's gun, looking at Conner and he shakes his head. Projectile weapons weren't included in the information download when they first morphed, and they can't rely on a weapon they can't even find the safety on. The monster's weapon is okay; if it goes off accidentally, the worst it can do is stun someone. The gun can kill.

Trent pauses beside the monster, which has started to twitch. He stamps down hard, snapping its neck. Conner gives him a sharp nod of approval, and they move on.