Chapter 4

Jefferson Square- Williamsburg, Virginia

Miller and Radcliffe gripped their assault rifles, while slowly scanning the dark corners of the once thriving shopping center. "I feel like we're chasing shadows." Miller stated, quietly.

Radcliffe looked to the squad of soldiers behind him and turned back to her, "You really think Colonel Harper is the leader of The Rancors?" He asked.

"Don't know." Miller said, "The leaked holo could have been faked. Or worse, this is a death trap."

"I don't know Captain. Judging by the looks of the place, it could be true, and he fled." He replied.

"Just stay focused. Harper was a smart son of a bitch, so expect anything." She said.

After another hour of scouring the mall, they were convinced that the place was abandoned. From behind the two-way mirror of a former department store, Silas and his team of four watched Light's men begin to take their leave. Silas was a muscular man in his late forties. He wore an olive green T-shirt under his combat vest, and a beret to match. A black patch covered his missing right eye, courtesy of Phillip Branson, his second in command turned national terrorist and traitor. So it was no surprise that he was Shroud's go-to right hand man. His days as Colonel had bred harsh terrain for today's "new world".

"Graves," Silas said quietly, in his deep cold voice.

"Yes sir?" Graves whispered.

"I did say to feed the bait to Wily's men, correct?" He asked.

Graves nodded, quickly, "Yes, sir. And that is exactly what I did, I'm sure of it."

"Why are we watching Light's people scour this place? They are going to fuck the entire plan, unless they leave five minutes ago." Silas replied.

"We can always 'take care' of them before Wily's men show up." Graves suggested.

Silas gave him a look, "They are cowards and apathetic. But they don't deserve to be executed. One enemy at a time, Graves."

The ground beneath their feet began to tremble. The change of tone was caught by Miller and her men as well, as they turned back toward the low hum in the distance. "Ah shit." Silas said, shaking his head, "This is gonna be fun."

The south wall exploded suddenly. Avoiding debris Miller took cover behind a brick bench. "Post up!" She screamed to her men. "C-two-nines, now!"

On the order, a dozen metal orbs hailed down on Wily's forces like stones, bursting into a blue, glowing substance, coating the ranks. Miller and Radcliffe took cover, firing their assault rifles straight up, as the fusion bolts flew like wasps to the covered enemies. If there was one thing Miller could say about Tracy Bonne, she knew how to make people die. Looking across to Radcliffe, she gave him a nod, and in an instant he drew a baton-shaped rod. Putting his foot on the horizontal bar, he stomped the bottom into the ground, causing it to explode, launching him to the second level.

As the bolts rained in on them, Radcliffe drew his scoped sidearm and began removing vital portions of their foes heads. As if having enough, Wily's men rolled out several cylinders, filling the room with black smoke.

"Alright men, this is getting too ugly." Silas said. "Stay low, and if you find Branson, get him out of here at any cost." Seeing the chaos in front of him, he made the call for help. "We will have this day." He stated plainly before sliding the mirror back and scaling the back of the room.

The hoards of soldiers in black were closing in violently, Miller fell back, unloading a flurry of bolts into the crowd. She ducked into an old appliance shop and commed Tracy, "Bonne, get your machine-man and get to Jefferson Square, no questions!"

"Copy." Tracy replied.

Hiding behind a counter, Miller unraveled a small chain from her left leg pocket. "Let's see how you fuckers like this." She muttered, throwing it over the heads of the advancing troops. The chain extended into a large net above them, then shifted density becoming the weight of a bus. She looked on as the three-ton net fell on the men and machines, turning them to chopped meat.

Units were beginning to flank Radcliffe, from all sides. He holstered his pistol as they closed in by the twenties. Pulling a grenade, he beckoned them closer, "C'mon!" He yelled, "You ready to leave this place together?!" The soldiers began to back away to a safe distance, when their heads began popping in the blink of an eye. They didn't even have time to catch a glance at the three snipers at the opposite end of the building. Radcliffe looked across, but could only make out scopes, before they were gone. We didn't bring snipers. He thought to himself, before focusing on the troops below.

Graves and his accomplices pulled up their rifles and descended back to the ground level. He pulled off his balaclava, ruffling his spiked, black and royal blue hair. "Help Light's folks best you can." He said to them, "Wily's men think they're Rancors, let them keep thinking that." The men nodded. "I'll comm you if I find Branson, at that point get the hell outta here, let them fend for themselves." And in an instant, he drew his sub-machine guns and disappeared into the smoke.

Miller saw the men invading her store from the employee entrance. Tryin to out-flank me, huh? She thought, chuckling. These men weren't real soldiers before the takeover and it showed, they were clumsy, untrained, and all-around just bad at this. She rolled from behind the counter and crept around the empty shelves. The men came to the counter, opening fire at nothing but carpet. By the time they realized she was gone, it was too late. Like a twisted ballerina, she drew her knives from her vest and began slashing them to ribbons, one by one, from behind. She spun, sweeping the leg of the last man, mounting his back. "You never flank in a straight line, with everyone facing the same direction." She scolded him, before cutting his throat.

She stood up, not even out of breath, when she saw him across the lobby. Phillip Branson, with his heavy, silver armor, and slick bald head. She opened comms to her unit, "We have a celebrity among us, men. HVT identified as Phillip Branson, new objective: Capture him alive." She clicked off and began sneaking in his direction.

"Don't worry about the pawns, you dipshits!" Branson screamed, hacking through his enemies with large, iron, machetes. "Find Harper!"

As if perfectly timed, he was struck from behind and driven into the abandoned restaurant. Smashing into the three-foot wall, he spun swinging his blades, meeting only open air. Silas ducked low, striking him across the gut with a steel rod, dropping him to his knees. "Somehow I knew you would show your fucking face here, Phil." He said, kicking him across the face. "I'm bringing the package from the old Chili's on the north side." Silas commed. A gun pressed against his skull.

"I'm afraid that's not an option." Miller said, as he raised his palms. "Everyone fall back, we're leaving the way we came in." She told her men, walking around to Branson, restraining his wrists and picking him up.

"That's not your catch, Captain." Silas said, through his teeth, reading her patch.

"With all do respect, Colonel, you're both coming with me." She replied.

He chuckled, "What does Light have to do with any of this? Why don't you just go back to patrolling for litterers and let the real fighters do our part."

"And what is your part, Harper? Or should I call you Silas?" She asked, "Never took 'Silas' for a Rancor, a common thug burning down the civilians supplies out of spite. You're not hurting anyone but the innocent."

He put his hands down, "You really don't know dick, do you?" He said, disgusted. "Do me a favor, doll, go back to your tower, hide from the war, because you ain't helpin'."

She was about to reply when her arm was suddenly wrapped and twisted, from behind. The lady in exo-armor twisted her wrist and flung her hard into the glass display box. Miller stood up, staring into her mask before rushing her. She threw lightning-fast punches that were easily dodged and countered. The woman shoved her right shoulder, simultaneously kicking the back of Miller's knee, sending her to her back. But she never hit the floor, her attacker met her fall with a hard kick to the back, sending her into a world of pain.

"Give him here." The other man said, walking in. He had a long black goatee and a jet-black mohawk that draped his shoulder. The masked woman lifted Branson, pushing him to the man. "Silas, tell your guys to evacuate. We're done here."

The three opened the rear door, leaving Miller in a writhing heap in the dining room. There was a short burst of panic when the exit opened and their vehicle was gone. Standing in it's place were two figures, a man and a woman, each clad in grey and red. Their faces were both covered with red wraps and black goggles. The woman had her black hair pulled up in a ponytail, while the man wore a red helmet.

When their quarry emerged, Tron pulled the pin on her silver box, filling the sky with a flash of white light. The three all screamed in pain, blinded. "Grab the Wily guy, and get him to the van!" Protoman yelled. As he rushed Rancor trio. Extending his staff, he swung it deliberately, batting them back into the kitchen. The leader fell back grabbing two frying pans. He used them to deflect the flurry, while Silas and the woman circled around the sides.

Silas swung wide and downward, gripping one end of the staff, as the woman advanced from the other side, intending to land a right cross. Protoman clicked his thumb, causing the free end of his weapon to extend from a cord and met her across the helmet, before spinning back on Silas, knocking him loose.

The staff now a pair of nunchucks, he kicked the leader in the chest, driving him backward onto a prep table. The man recovered immediately, rolling over the back of the table and kicking it forward into his attacker's face. "Go!" He shouted to his cohorts, instructing them to follow the girl.

Protoman closed in quickly, on his rival, who grabbed a large brazing pot, to shield him from the blows. The staccato of pings sounded like a bad punk rock song on the pot, before the man spun low driving it into his foe's back. He looked at the huge dent on the pan in shock, as the masked figure slowly turn around. "A fucking android?" He muttered, before being gripped around the throat. The leader thought it was over, when the android jolted and fell to his knees.

"Sorry we're late sir." Graves said, holstering his voltage rod.

"We need to leave, now." He replied.

Tron rounded the corner with her captive, who began to laugh, through a bloody smile, when what was left of his platoon stood in wait by her van. She stopped in her tracks, turning the other way, only to see Silas, the leader, the masked woman, and three more Rancors approaching at high speeds. "Fuck!" She exclaimed in a panic.

When the guns came up from both sides, she dropped to the ground and the bolts soared overhead. The Rancors were more skilled than she had assumed, they took up tactical cover posts, laying down soldiers like it was a game.

She scurried with Branson toward the van, firing wildly with her sidearm. Ducking behind a dumpster, she began to pull and explosive from her vest, when she looked up to see the woman in the white exosuit lunging a boot at her face. She narrowly avoided the blow, falling to the right and pointing her weapon up at her. The woman took a step back, before stomping the gun to the ground and pulling her up. She slammed Tracy hard against the block wall, knocking her protective goggles from her face.

I really need to learn to fight. Tron thought before a handful of dirt was thrown in her eyes. "Ah shit!" She yelled clawing at her face, ripping her mask down in the process.

The woman spun her around, quickly and cuffed her wrists. She looked back to the leader, "She's coming with us!" She screamed as the last of Wily's squad was shot dead.

"We don't take Light forces. Toss it back." He replied plainly.

She spun Tracy around to face him.

His eyes grew larger than dinner plates, "Is that who I think it is?! No fucking way!"

After treating Tracy and Branson to a dose of sleeping fumes, The Rancors ran back inside the kitchen, where Protoman was on his way to chase them. They stopped him in his tracks, drawing the largest guns he had ever seen. "Stop." The leader said, "We aren't your enemy. Remove your mask." He demanded.

"How about you settle for this." Protoman said, giving them the middle finger.

The woman pulled Tracy forward, putting a gun to her head. "Do it, now." The leader reiterated.

Scott put his palms up, "Alright, just calm down." He said, removing his helmet and pulling his mask down.

The leader looked shocked, "Who made you?" He asked quietly.

Scott pointed to Tracy, "Her and Dr. Light."

"Come with us, we really need to talk." The leader said, hearing Light's troops helping Miller in the dining room.

"Give me my sister and just go." Scott said, "I can't trust you."

The leader's mohawk shifted to shoulder-length crimson hair. His goatee vanished and his face became that of an angry man in his mid-twenties, wearing a yellow electronic eye-mask. "I beg to differ." Helix said, before they exited the building, leaving Miller and Radcliffe to dash into an empty kitchen.