Red Sun
The Maw
Sorry about the repost, guys! Some of my readers brought some really glaring errors in the document that definitely should not have been there; I have no clue how I missed them. Again, I'm sorry. I hope you enjoy this a bit better!
…
Clunk, clunk, clunk, clunk.
Metal boots rhythmically crashed against the metal floor. The vibrations continued along the hallway until the man had caught up with them, proceeding to generate more vibrations in the old metal. The lieutenant rounded the corner at top speed, only slowing down slightly to check every corner, every door ahead of him for possible hostiles.
After all, it was only a matter of time.
I should have seen it coming. Krogh felt the lactic acid creeping up his legs as his run began to catch up with him. He ignored the building pressure and continued to sprint, almost knocking over a passing Blue Suns merc on his way. Krogh took no notice of the man's protests as he made his way to his medical wing. At any moment, that mercenary, or any mercenary in the base, could be sent to deal with the lieutenant. That son of a bitch. We should have left as soon as we had the chance. I really hope he hasn't issued a kill order, because my death would certainly ruin some of my plans.
Krogh's right foot entered the door first, taking his first steps into the infirmary hallway. Emilia and the Carson brothers were just around the next two corners. As the lieutenant stepped inside, the door behind him closed too suddenly, too violently. He heard the familiar click of a locked door behind him and the doors ahead of him also turned red, save for the door directly across the hallway.
That door opened.
Icy blue eyes and slick, gelled hair, Lieutenant Hook entered the hallway looking only mildly surprised. His expression almost instantly turned to predatory content, satisfied as he located his prey. His hands were folded behind his back, though a knife and pistol hung at his sides. Behind him, at least a squadron of Blue Suns mercenaries.
"Lieutenant John Krogh," he spoke at last. "I have to admit, I didn't think I would see you here. What are you doing in such a hurry?"
He's smart. Playing dumb might not even work if there's already been a kill order. Still, it's worth a shot."I heard some of my friends were in critical condition," said Krogh carefully, though not overtly so. "Is that why you're here as well?"
Hook's eyes glided over Krogh, taking in his appearance, his composure, and his attitude. Sizing him up and declaring him to be…unknown? Although there was a great deal of suspicion flitting about his eyes, there was also skepticism and relief. Good. He doesn't think I'm a complete threat. Yet.
"Unfortunately, no," replied Hook smoothly, half a second later. There had barely been a break in the conversation. "Sort of. I came to bring some news to you all. Well, to your friends, but you as well. We've lost contact with Major Coats' vehicle in the convoy. Last I checked, his squad had split up from the convoy to attack a husk position, but they were quickly overwhelmed. He may as well be dead for all we know."
Krogh felt a pang of remorse, but only a pang, as he was still focused on the immediate danger around him. "That's…not good," said Krogh tightly. "When was this?"
"An hour ago," said Hook dismissively. The Blue Suns lieutenant looked to the left, almost casually. And then he shifted, his feet sliding to the span of his shoulders. Almost silently, his right hand moved to a different position behind his back. His icy blue eyes had become blank, as if they were more focused on the things happening around them rather than in front of them.
Subtle movements. He's checking behind me for witnesses. And he's stopped caring about the conversation. He knows something's up. Krogh frowned, as if confused. His own right hand slipped to his side. "Have you heard anything from Pershing's convoy since then?"
But Lieutenant Hook's face barely betrayed anything at all. "Not that I'm aware of. Right now, I don't even think that they've even reached the—
Lieutenant Krogh's left hand suddenly appeared next to Hook's shoulder, grabbing and twisting his shoulder plate. Hook, expecting this, attempted to block the maneuver, but Krogh quickly coiled around his outstretched arm and roughly forced Hook against the wall. He lashed his left leg around Hook's legs and used them as a fulcrum with his hand, sending Hook crashing to the ground.
One down.
The first guard tried to draw his weapon. Krogh chopped at his wrist and hooked him across the face. The second guard tried to tackle him. Krogh simply ducked and threw the guard over his back. The third guard and fourth guard rushed at him.
Block a jab to the left. Throw a cross to the right side of the guard's face. Dodge a haymaker from the next guard. Grab his arm, pull him behind, and elbow to the unarmored neck. Other guard comes back, fist raised. Grab his arm, twist hard. Guard screams, take the distraction to drag an elbow across his neck and bring him to the ground. Both guards down and unconscious, at the very least.
The fifth guard attempted to the run. Krogh quickly drew his pistol and fired, twice. Both shots landed on the guard's legs, knocking him to the ground. Krogh pressed his knee against his back as the guard groaned in pain. "Who sent you?"Almost a redundant question, really.
Before the guard could answer, an electrifying shock rippled across his back, leaving him on the ground convulsing and wracked with pain. Through the mind-numbingheat and pain, Krogh could feel something very cold press against his lower back. And then…
"It appears they do teach Alliance soldiers something, after all," said Hook quietly, very close to his ear. "But not enough I'm afraid."
Krogh began to turn over, his limbs refusing to cooperate with instructions from his brain. Just as his head was upright, he felt another shock, one that raced from his toes to the top of his head, where he finally blacked out, though not before catching a glimpse of Hook's icy blue stare.
…
Captain Clark was many things, but he was definitely not idle. When Coats had left Fort Hannover, the captain had quickly moved out of the medical wing and slipped deep into the base, planning to do some investigating of his own. For the past hour, he had wandered the halls, quietly searching every unlocked room and observing every unsuspecting mercenary and refugee. Currently, he was...somewhere in the base.
I'm lost. Clark looked left and right, but every hallway looked the same. Even his omni-tool's short range signals were fizzling out this deep into the fort. Maybe I should have grabbed a ball of yarn or something to find my way back. He put his right hand against the wall and began to move forward. At least this way, I'll eventually find an exit, even if it takes a couple of hours. As his hand brushed against the smooth metal surface of the fort's walls, Clark suddenly detected almost minute vibrations in the metal that pulsated against his knuckles. And, just as quickly as they had appeared, they disappeared.
Clark frowned. Moving a bit faster, he swept his hand across the wall. Again, the small vibrations rippled across his fingers. The vibrations seemed to disappear and appear in a steady rhythm, as if…
Barely louder than the vibrations, Clark heard the soft pounding of boots on metal echo through the hall. The sound of the footfalls grew closer and louder each second, and Clark quickly noticed his undesirable position. He looked around.
Several seconds later, a man in blue and white armor strolled through the hallway. His eyes looked straight ahead as he walked to his destination. His purposeful stride quickly led him to a set of doors near the center of the fort level. The man stopped in front of the doors, and looked around himself. Then, he quietly entered the room. As the door closed behind him, a small black object, not much bigger than the average person's hand, slid across the floor and wedged itself between the door and the doorway, leaving a thin space of two centimeters.
Inside, the man sat down at a large round table in the center of the room, where several other people were waiting. "Good for you to join us, Lieutenant Bryce," said Commander Singh, standing up. Everyone's eyes were focused on him. Singh looked around and sighed, as if disappointed.
"Looking at us now, I'm surprised how far we've come since the Blue Suns landed in Arizona. Although we've lost men along the way, I think that we've all done an excellent job of eluding the attention of the Reapers. It's no easy task to avoid several hundred thousand dreadnoughts roaming the Earth."
"I'm sorry, sir," interrupted one of the younger-looking men. "But what are the Reapers exactly?"
Someone sharply drew breath, and the air grew still. Only slightly miffed, Singh continued. "For the benefit of some of ournewer members, I will quickly elaborate. The Reapers are a race of immortal sentient starships that have lain in wait in dark space until recently. They seek to exterminate all sentient life in the galaxy, and will stop at nothing until they've done so."
"The Reapers are unimaginably powerful. A single capital ship could hold a fleet at bay; there are hundreds of thousands of them in the galaxy now. Which brings me to my next point."
How does he know about the Reapers?!Clark had barely stopped himself from falling over in shock as he crouched next to the door. He quickly activated his omni-tool's record function, and held it expectantly towards the door.
"We've avoided detection for a month now. We've played it safe, rationing our resources and quietly appropriating anything left in the city. However, I don't believe that we have much time. Our operations, however clandestine they may be, must cease—soon. As the Reapers begin to specifically target remaining survivors, we will have to remain underground until they eventually leave. We have to prepare to seal off the surface."
"But we're behind schedule," another officer protested. "We haven't met our supply quota for the past few weeks. We won't have enough to sustain our entire population as it is now."
Singh looked thoughtful. "As it is now," he repeated.
"Yes," replied the officer warily. "We have roughly one hundred and twenty seven people in this base. Our supplies, as of this moment, could last us half a year at best."
"You are correct," said Singh. "We do not have the necessary resources to sustain our current population. So, we will have to…reorganize a bit."
A bearded officer nodded. "I have already prepared the list of potential personnel."
"Excellent," said another officer. "We can begin ejecting them now. No need to waste our precious supplies on people who won't even be here within the week."
"Now, now," chided Singh. "We can't afford to be reckless, not now. We will remove the Alliance personnel from the base first. Tell the people that they attempted to stage a coup."
"And if they resist?" said the first man in blue and white armor, frowning. "What about that 103rd Marine Division that arrived a few days ago?"
Commander Singh shrugged. "Major Coats is off base on a search and destroy mission. And, from what I've gathered, the mission is currently faring badly. If he manages to return at all, we'll remove him. As for the others, Sergeant Emilia Guarez and the other marines are currently resting in the medical wing. As we speak, Lieutenant Hook is retrieving them."
Clark tried to move, but his feet were glued to the floor as he continued to listen with growing shock. Krogh was right. He couldn't say anything else.
"What about that Captain Ferrell in the prison below?" said another officer. "He's been a good source of information so far."
"We have almost everything we need from him," dismissed the bearded officer. "He's expendable. Major Coats, however, is a different story. When he arrives, if he does at all, we'll need to keep him for a bit. We still need to find Admiral Anderson."
"Finding Admiral Anderson will be the last thing we do," said Singh. "Once we do, we'll take what we can from the Alliance and seal off the base. We can definitely last more than a year once we have their resources."
"Agreed," said one officer.
"Maybe we shouldn't remove Captain Ferrell just yet," said another officer, a bald one. "I don't think he's told us everything yet."
"Once we have Major Coats in custody, it won't matter."
"All pertinent statements," said Singh. "However, we should focus on removing the Alliance personnel at this time, not in the future. How many men do we have stationed in the base currently?"
"Forty combat-ready soldiers, sir," said one of the aides next to Singh.
"That should be enough," reasoned the commander, nodding. "That should be more than enough to detain the Alliance soldiers. Lieutenants, return to your original stations. I will give the order soon enough."
The men at the table stood up, and so did Clark. Shit! The captain quietly tiptoed away until he was at least several meters from the door. At that point, he began sprinting in the direction opposite the door, not even caring which way he was going as long as it was away.
Got to tell Emilia and the others. Got to tell Emilia and the others. Got to—
…
"Hey, the doctor said not to move."
"The doctor isn't even a doctor, so shut it." Emilia closed the door behind her, quietly slipping into the hallway. She tightened her belt and made sure her pistol was secure on her hip before she moved on.Don't go. They're going to be all over us if you find something you're not supposed to find.
Shut it, she told herself. She could afford a little risk. Infiltration was her specialty, in any case. If she was caught, then she deserved it.
Footsteps sounded off to her right. A lot of them, if sound was any judge. Her tactical cloak quickly slid over her body, tiny reflective surfaces that mirrored the image of her surrounding environment. As her boots became invisible as well, a group of Blue Suns soldiers marched into the hallway, a steady, determined tempo of footfalls. They were obviously on a mission, though what their mission was exactly had yet to be determined.
She hid behind them and mirrored their footsteps as they made their way into the medical wing, where Emilia herself had come from. Wait, they couldn't be…
They stopped at the Carsons' door. As they surrounded the door, another group of mercs appeared on the other end of the hallway. A lean, bearded man with slick, dark hair headed the group, making his way to the room. He stopped and frowned.
"Well?" the man questioned. "Open it."
The door opened, and they marched inside. A few moments later, the Carson brothers were brought out, struggling against the grips of their captors. The bearded man looked at them expectantly, as if waiting for a reply. They got one.
"What the hell is going on?!" Kevin grunted, trying to free himself. "Who the hell are you?"
"That's right," said the man in mock surprise. "You don't know who I am. My apologies. My name is Lieutenant Hook, and these are my men. We're here to apprehend those who commit treason on these grounds." He looked pointedly at the two brothers. "That would be you two."
Their cries of shock and outrage were ignored as the mercenaries dragged them to the other end of the hallway. As Hook began to turn around, he stopped. Then, he whirled around, staring straight at Emilia. She froze, not even breathing as his eyes glossed over her position over and over again. His eyes were searching for something, scanning and rescanning the area. There's no way he could notice me, right? As he looked at her with his icy blue eyes, she took one step back.
Quick as a flash, a gun suddenly appeared in his right hand and fired off two shots, barely missing her as they glanced off the floor beneath her feet. She sprinted in the other direction, dodging and weaving around the hall as Hook emptied the rest of his clip at her. His men turned around to join him, firing into what seemed to be empty space. "I knew we were missing one!" Hook announced, grinning wickedly. "Why don't you just surrender now and save us the trouble, Miss Guarez?"
Emilia rounded the corner, taking random turns around the hallways and descending any staircase she found. Eventually, she stopped to breathe, taking huge breaths as she leaned against the wall. She looked around; the only door in the hallway was in the center. There was a staircase behind her, and another hallway in the other direction. She heard footsteps again, this time from the staircase. Emilia slid in front of the door, and attempted to open it.
Locked? Nothing's ever locked. She quickly accessed the lock and entered its maintenance settings, tearing down the firewalls and backups along the way. Soon, the door lock glowed green and, just as quickly, she slipped into the room.
Inside, Emilia could see almost nothing. Darkness permeated the room as she blindly made her way across the space. Across the room, she could see dim red lights in a connecting room. Lit by the red lights, she could see metal bars running along the walls—no, not walls.
Prison cells, with a rickety bed, a small sink, and a toilet. I guess this is where the Alliance would keep their criminals. I wonder if the Blue Suns do the same. Most of them were empty, save for one on her right.
A man sat in the corner of the cell, his head facing down. His dusty brown hair was longer than what Alliance regs dictated, but still short enough so that it didn't cover his face. His beard was scraggly from lack of care and his eyes looked distant. His hands were clasped over his legs as his forehead lay across his knees. He was still recognizable, though.
"Captain Ferrell?"
The Alliance officer looked up, and grinned. "Sergeant Emilia Guarez. I was wondering when someone without chains would come here."
Her cloak flickered off, and Emilia gripped the bars. A small panel to her right controlled the door. "How long have you been here?"
"Long enough," he responded, standing up. "Lieutenant Krogh is in here, too."
"Where?"
His head cocked to the left, and Emilia turned. John was leaning against his cell wall, calm and collected as usual. He looked up at her. "I guess it didn't take long before Singh issued the capture order," he said.
"Where are the rest of the marines?" Ferrel asked.
Before she could answer, Krogh cut her off. "Emilia, duck!"
Her hands touched the ground and her leg arched back as she crouched low to the ground. Not a millisecond later, a meaty fist swung over her head, creating air currents above her. She quickly backed up as her cloak slid over her again, rendering her invisible to her assailant.
Her assailant. A large krogan stepped across the cells towards her, grinning. A ragged scar marred the krogan's face, extending from the bottom right of his neck to the top left edge of his plate. His body was covered with black armor, with a Blue Sun symbol painted on a shoulder plate. The alien held a nasty-looking shotgun in his right hand. In the dim light, Emilia could see the gun was stamped with the word "Devastator" across its barrel.
"You brought friends, Captain," the krogan rumbled, checking the ammunition in his gun. "Let me greet your guest…if she would show herself."
"Fat chance," Emilia spoke, but she was already moving to flank the krogan. The mercenary looked to the sound of her voice. Perfect.
"Only a coward fights with cloaks and daggers," he growled.
"And only an idiot lets her get behind him," she teased, firing her pistol at him. His shields flickered blue and then disappeared altogether as the slugs punctured his kinetic barriers, digging themselves into his hide. The krogan whirled around and blasted the air with his shotgun, still missing her as she slid to the side and reloaded. Small pinging sounds echoed throughout the room as the slugs that had been buried in the krogan's back popped out. She imagined the steam rising off his skin as his body regenerated itself. Stupid krogan regen.And then she looked to her belt. And stupid low ammo.
Emilia almost yelped as another salvo of shotgun slugs discharged right next to her, leaving the ground smoking. The krogan turned the opposite direction and fired again.
"Now you're just guessing," said Emilia, apparently from out of thin-air. She barely avoided another shotgun blast as she dove to the side, readying her pistol. The krogan sniffed the air.
Like a dog,Emilia thought. Then her body hit the ground as shotgun pellets raced overhead.Or a bloodhound.
"Come out and fight me, human!" the krogan roared, ripping out a metal bar from one of the cells. "No one hides from Mogran!" He wielded the two-meter long bar like a club in his hand, and the shotgun in the other.
Right, like I'm going to approach him now. She emptied another clip into his back and quickly reloaded, spitting more bullets him.
At the second clip, the krogan whirled around to face her and swung the bar. She ducked, but the bar barely glanced the top of her head, which was enough to send her to the ground, head ringing. Mogran yelled a battle-cry and brought the bar down.
Quick as a flash, Emilia rolled to the side and kicked herself away, firing as she slid. The krogan's arm was suddenly riddled with holes, spilling orange blood like hoses. Mogran dropped the bar and changed to his good arm. Her vision flashed bright blue as the shotgun shells tore away the rest of her shields.
Discarding her pistol, Emilia swung her omni-tool towards the krogan and blasted him with several thousand volts of electricity. The arc zapped him between the eyes, leaving a burnt smear of flesh across his face. The krogan roared, loud as a jet engine, and tumbled to the ground, clutching at his eyes. Acting quickly, Emilia scooped up his shotgun and fired it, point-blank, into his face. The screaming stopped, but she fired again for good-measure. The Devastator splashed into the growing pool of orange blood.
Krogh talked as she hacked at the lock panel. "Thanks for rescuing me, Emilia, but I was actually thinking about taking that shotgun when you were done. Now, I think it's a health hazard if I even touch it."
"You want the damn thing, you kill a krogan in blood-rage next time," she snapped, and his door slid open. Krogh stepped out and stretched.
"That wasn't blood-rage," he responded coolly, walking over to Captain Ferrell. "You never want to see a krogan in blood-rage."
"Specifics," said Emilia, and began to hack at the captain's lock. "He was a krogan, he had blood on him, and he was angry. That's as close as I want to get."
A few minutes later, the captain was free. "Thank you," he said, and smoothed his hair down.
"I guess you want to know what's going on," said Emilia.
"We can fill him in later," interrupted Krogh, brushing past her. "We need to move now and find the others. Commander Singh has become much more dangerous. Where are the Carsons?"
"Captured," said Emilia shortly.
"…I see," Krogh replied, quickly opening the door. He checked outside first before leaving the room. "In that case, we need to grab a shuttle and get the hell out of here."
"What about your old captain?"
As if on cue, Captain Clark stepped down from the staircase, taking two steps at a time. Soon, most of the remaining 103rd Marine Division was assembled.
"Singh is about to kick out all Alliance personnel from the base," said Clark. "Dead or alive."
"So we've gathered," said Krogh. "Where's Major Coats?"
"Still on his mission," answered Emilia, checking her omni-tool. "Won't be back for a while."
"We don't have—
"Attention, residents of Fort Hannover!" broadcasted the base intercom. "The soldiers of the System Alliance are attempting to take over control of the base. Any Alliance soldier must be considered hostile and should be dealt with extreme prejudice. Please approach all Alliance soldiers with caution. Our base security forces will be dealing with them shortly."
"And there's the pin dropping," said Emilia, "Son of a bitch."
"Let's grab our weapons," Clark suggested, stepping to the staircase. "We might need them."
"Where are they?"
"Probably still in the medical wing," Krogh answered.
"Then we have our next mission," said Clark, nodding. "Let's go get them."
…
"Close that door, now!"
The steel door slammed shut, sealing itself airtight as it turned red. Outside, hundreds of husks pressed themselves against the door and the surrounding wall, threatening to push it over all together. The windows, thankfully, were already barricaded from the initial invasion. Still, the weight of the horde was beginning to take its toll on the building.
"Burn these motherfuckers!" The last remaining member of Captain Horst's squad yelled as he literally sprayed bullets down at the horde mass.
Major Coats had abandoned scoping with his rifle, choosing instead to simply fire into the horde. Every bullet fired seemed to drill through five husks, yet there were always ten more to take their places. Sweat dripped down his face, pooling on his breastplate. He gritted his teeth and slid yet another thermal clip into his rifle, throwing the empty one against the pile on the floor. His eyes burned, but his hands still kept moving. Not here.
The lobby walls began to crack. "They won't hold much longer," announced Devon over the gunfire. "The whole building might even collapse."
Coats eyed the drop down. At least we're only on the third floor. He continued to fire at the husks. "Nothing to consider until it actually happens," he said. "Keep shooting!"
"Major, what do we do?" yelled Carter, eyes darting around. "They're not going down!"
"Keep shooting!"
Then the building came down. Not slowly.
The first floor caved in on itself as the husk horde pressed inside, snapping the walls and foundations. The building began to tip down towards the fountain. Data pads and desks slid towards the windows, falling right out of the room. Coats barely avoided a lamp as it hurtled outside, spinning. He heard screaming behind him; the major turned around just in time to see Private Dan Lewis fly out the window.
"Go the other way!" Coats yelled, climbing up the slope that the floor had become. "Opposite the direction the building's falling!"
Private Carter reached the edge, looking out the window. Then he looked back. "Are you sure you can't find an elevator or something?"
"Jump!" Together, the remaining members of Captain Martland's squad jumped out of the building. Coats was the first to hit the building walls, quickly sliding down the sloped surface. If it works in the movies…
Coats rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding a protruding windowsill. Dust and debris battered his face, blinding and nearly choking him. Rock fragments pelted his face and left bloody scratches across his cheek as the major tumbled down the side of the building. Objects moved toward him at frightening speeds, each missing him with inches to spare. Then, his body righted itself as it landed on solid ground, sending him spinning on his back several meters away from the building. He stopped.
Silence. Coats could dimly hear a few more thuds as the rest of the group made it to the ground. He flipped over; his chest throbbed and his ribs burned, but he managed a standing position, hunched over. Over the rubble of the office building, he could still make out the enemy stronghold.
Then we still have a mission. "Devon!" Coats yelled, his throat raw. "Jarar! Carter!"
"Reporting for duty," said a voice weakly to his left. "Major Coats."
Coats took Carter's outstretched arm and pulled him up, leaving the private on shaky feet. "T-Thanks," he stuttered, clutching his arm. "Hurts-s."
"Is it broken?" said Coats, examining the arm.
"I think it's just sprained, but it should be f-fine."
Coats looked around again. Movement on his left captured his attention. The turian corporal rose from the rubble, shrugging off small rocks from his cowl. Then he stood in front of Major Coats, ramrod straight. "Available for duty, Major," said Jarar, not betraying any fatigue in his voice.
As always. Now we're just missing that other one…
Footsteps behind him confirmed his prediction. "Yeah, I'm here," the bald man replied. "Fit for another suicide mission."
"Contact Captain Pershing," Coats commanded, grabbing his fallen pistol from the ground. "We might need that fire support."
"Yes, sir." Jarar answered, and proceeded to dial on his omni-tool.
"Let's finish this," said Coats, and trudged towards the building. The group continued towards the building in silence, stepping over the rubble and the bodies of the Blue Suns. One mercenary's head lay facedown in the fountain, decapitated from the initial husk charge. It was a sobering thought to think about what lay inside.
"Lewis is dead," said Devon, after a while.
Coats's right fist tightened. A brief haze passed over his eyes and his teeth clenched slightly. He continued walking. "Yes," he replied.
"Major, Captain Pershing isn't responding. Neither is Captain Marshall nor the other officers." Jarar lowered his omni-tool. "It might be safe to assume that they're either dead or incapacitated, Major."
"You're probably right," Coats sighed, looking up at the enemy stronghold. An old decrepit sign hanging above a smashed window read "Bakers Hospital".
"There's something to be said about fighting in hospitals," said Coats, taking his first step inside. He kept his pistol between him and whatever remained in the building. "Not by me, though."
"Major," said Jarar again. "I've made a cursory sweep of this hospital. The foundations are solid, but most of them are exposed in the basement. We can sever them from down there. Also, I'm picking up readings of large energy spikes towards the basement. Might be some resistance."
"Noted," replied Coats, and he entered the hospital.
Bakers Hospital might have been a nice hospital at one point in its lifetime. The lobby was spacious and floored with marble. The front counter was lined with a dozen different desks that would have allowed the hospital to deal with multiple patients at once. A number of plaques and certificates still hung from the walls, detailing the highdegree of education and practice that the doctors at Bakers Hospital held.
Not anymore.
The hospital lobby was bloodied and war-torn like its front lawn. Blood seeped into the cracks between the marble blocks in the floor, staining the once pearl-white stone. The desks were cracked and some were torn off the main counter, scattered in pieces across the floor. The plagues and certificates on the wall were splattered with blood, some red and some blue, among other colors.
And it was nearly pitch-black in the room.
Major Coats stepped over a husk corpse, omni-tool and pistol in both hands. His 'tool glowed bright orange as it emitted a white light beam from its interface, illuminating a solid area around the size of his arm. Not much, but it'll have to do.Other flashlights behind him blazoned into existence, enlargening his field of vision. Coats swept his eyes behind the counter and saw a long, dark hallway leading deeper into the hospital, with a door labeled "staircase" at its end. He looked back to the mercenaries behind him.
"You want to, or should I?" said Coats, raising an eyebrow.
Jarar stepped forward, walking past the major and into the hallway. His rifle never wavered. Coats just shook his head and followed him, pistol-checking each door before moving on.
You won't find a finer specimen of "soldier" anywhere else. Loyal, obedient, and steadfast. I'm truly glad that we never had to continue fighting the turians in the war. It's too bad that it doesn't mean a damn thing in the face of the Reapers.
"Major Coats."
Private Carter was pointing at something on the wall. It was dark, so Coats aimed his light at it. Five long furrows marred the metal. Each gouge was wide in the middle and tapered off to a point at each end, as if something had raked the wall. Many things could have made the marks, but given the presence of the Reaper forces, Coats knew exactly what had made them.
"Stay close," said Coats, holding his pistol even tighter. "If you see anything you haven't seen before, let me know."
"What made those marks, Major Coats?"
"Something beyond your wildest imaginations and from deep into your worst nightmares. You don't want to know."
Somewhere on the first floor, water dripped, echoing across the hallways every few seconds. Coats could feel every drop hit the ground, and he shivered despite himself. His breath fanned out before him in an icy cloud of vapor. It's still barely fall, but it's freezing in here. He persevered.
"The walls feel like they're caving in around us," muttered Devon, moving slower than the rest of them. His body was tense, ready to unleash all of his pent-up energy at once. "And the shadows look like they're reaching out."
"Just keep moving," Coats reminded them, finally stopping at the staircase. "The sooner we plant the ordinance at the bottom of the hospital, the faster we can get out."
Before him, the staircase leading to the floors below was a mouth of darkness, threatening to swallow him whole if he wasn't careful. Coats's flashlight was miniscule by comparison, penetrating only a small fraction of its depths. Thankfully, the others added their own light to the darkness, and Coats once more stepped deeper into the hospital. Soon, the group was descending the stairs, as silent as the building around them.
A piercing scream shattered the air. Flashlights wildly whirled around the stairs as Coats and the others whipped beams of light around the room to find the source. Coats had already heard the scream more than twice. So it is here. Bloody hell. And Coats barely registered the irony of that statement.
"Where is it?!" Carter yelled, waving his flashlight back and forth.
Coats flashed his light on one particular corner near the door and froze. Then, he shook his head and continued to search. No one else noticed.
The deafening cry echoed down the stairwell, continuing to the bottom of the hospital. One flashlight beam was literally shaking.
"What made that sound?" said Carter, and quickly fell silent as Coats turned away from him.
"The same thing that made those marks," answered Coats tersely. "Let's move on down the stairs. They probably lead to the basement anyways."
As Coats made his way down the steps, his mind stayed on the landing. That was Leo's face I just saw. I'm sure of it. The image of his pale white face burned in his mind. His eyes had stared straight into the major's eyes.
Suddenly, Coats was in a different place. A swirling mass of darkness roiled around him, threatening to smother him. Someone else was standing in front of him.
So you followed me even here. It certainly suits a place like this. A physical hell, where the living join the dead.
You should have known you couldn't have left me forever. After all, you already abandoned me once.
Coats paced back and forth. Why can't you understand what I was forced to do and accept it?
Why do you feel the need to justify it and ask yourself the same questions?
…I never meant for it to happen. If that Blue Suns mercenary hadn't pulled me out—
You're still blaming yourself for it. You think you've left it all behind, that you can fix it all now. You're on a sinking ship, and you've brought a bucket when you should have brought a life vest. You can't save everyone, Andrew.
And why not? Every person I save, every life I prolong, their friends and families are spared another heartache.
Not everyone's like you, Andrew. Most people know how to move on.
Damn it, Leo! Stop—
"Shit!"
The world rushed back to reality, and Coats found himself in the hospital again. Carter was holding a smoking gun, jittery from fright. "That, that thing on the wall!" he sputtered, pointing at a dark corner. "That…thing! I swear it moved across the walls like a fucking mutated spider and disappeared!"
"Calm down," said Devon, though he looked unsettled himself. "Or we're not getting out of here at all. How much further?"
"Not long," replied Jarar, with the same stoic attitude. There was a noticeable lack of intensity and energy in his voice, as if he could barely hold the same face he held when they had first arrived.
Suddenly, images flashed in his mind. A mother kissing a young boy as he stepped outside the building, lunchbox in hand. A turian soldier marching in step with thousands of others. A balding young man strapping on a blue-and-white armor piece for the first time. A helicopter taking off a building, leaving one person alone on the rooftop as the entire city became engulfed in a fiery explosion.
Only of these I actually remember.
Coats, you're still in denial. Why risk your life? Why waste your time helping these mercenaries?
Because I will never stop helping people.
You couldn't save me; why bother trying to save people who don't even want to be saved?
Because I can.
Then you're just being a damn fool. Like every other person out there who wants to be a hero. There's no place for idealism in this world.
If there aren't any heroes, how do we define good and evil? How can you call something evil when there is no opposite? What should we fight for, and what should we fight against?
And you're not sure anymore, are you? I can feel the doubt and reluctance in your voice.
Stop it.
Just turn back while you still can, Andrew. There's nothing but death and darkness to be found here.
Leave it, Leo.
Turn back.
This doesn't concern you anymore, Leo.
Turn back!
Leo!
TURN BACK!
"Major Coats!"
Andrew Coats stumbled to the ground, his chest heaving. His head was pounding and sweat ran down his head and neck, even in the frigid atmosphere of Bakers Hospital. He didn't say a word for the next minute, simply trying to breathe normally again. Eventually, he stood up.
"What?" he said.
Devon pointed in front of them, with an expression akin to shock. "Look."
And for the first time in several minutes, Coats looked ahead. My God.
A long, dark tentacle stretched from the floor into the air, curved as if grasping something. Smaller limbs also extended towards the ceiling, arranged in a rough circle around a strange, glowing blue object. The device was surrounded in a dark blue miasma. For the most part, it appeared blue, but there were spots where the light completely disappeared, leaving spaces of the darkest color Coats had ever seen. It was as if no light was able to enter those areas.
And like the one he had seen in the factory weeks ago, bodies were lying prostrate on the ground, heads and arms pointed towards the device as if in prayer. These bodies, however, were simply skeletons, long dead.
There's nothing alive in here to kill us. I should be happy, but then again, there is nothing alive in here. Well, almost nothing…
Coats swallowed. "Let's get rid of it then," he said, and began slowly walking to the Reaper device.
"…what is that thing?" said Carter.
The key to your salvation.
There was no sound. When Coats heard that voice, it was as if someone was speaking in his mind. What had been a whisper at the back of his head was now a booming voice that resonated in his mind, reverberating around his head. This voice was filled an absolute tone. When it spoke, Coats could only listen; his thoughts flew into disarray with every word that emitted from this device.
Suddenly, he couldn't move. It wasn't that he had run out of energy, or he was too sleepy. His body had frozen, surrounded by particles of light that somehow restricted his movement. Feels like a biotic stasis.
Behind him, the device also affected the rest of the group, frozen in time and place. Coats looked ahead.
"What are you?" said Coats. I know it's a Reaper, but I can't shake the feeling that it's much more complex than a simple answer.
You fumble in the dark, and you seek the light to your questions. We are beyond your wildest imaginations, and hidden in your deepest nightmares.
"I guess that ignores the question, 'what the fuck are you'", snarled Devon. His hand twitched as he attempted to move without prevail.
We have existed since the beginning of the galaxy. Your kind refers to us as "Reapers", yet we are infinitely more.
"And I wonder how the hell something like you managed to hide in this hospital for so long," spat Devon.
Your confidence is misplaced. Your species is merely one of millions that survived the previous cycle. You are no different.
"Why are you here?" said Coats quietly.
To influence you. To manipulate your kind to the correct path, as we have done time and time again. Your race is not the first, nor is it the last. It is a cycle that will last for an eternity.
"Why did you invade Earth? What's the point of all this?" Coats struggled to move. He noted that his right leg seemed easier to move than his left.
Your organic race has been selected for this cycle's harvest. Your genetic material will provide the substance for the next line. And your worlds will be destroyed to pave the path for the next cycle.
"Wait, you destroy us?" said Devon in disbelief. "And then you wait for more races to rise up and then you kill them again? What's the point?"
There exists no motive or reason that drives our actions. We simply…are.
"We will stop you either way," said Coats resolutely.
Though the device had no recognizable means of expression other than the light that emitted from its center, Coats felt as if the Reaper fragment was staring at him.
You remind us of the one you call Shepard. Your resistance is futile, and your defiance is foolish. There is no end. There is only the harvest.
"There's always room for surprises," replied Coats with a confidence he did not feel. "You'll find that we're just full of them."
I am Felle. This contact has been terminated.
As the device began to glow brighter, possibly sensing the major's intent, Coats suddenly dashed forward, free of the stasis. He had only taken several steps when the energy surrounded him again, closing around his body. His right arm stretched behind him in the middle of a throwing motion.
An intense pressure squeezed his head, nearly dropping him to the ground. Coats dully felt a pins-and-needles sensation scatter across his skin, as if the Reaper was trying to find a way inside him. In all likelihood, that's probably not far from the truth.
Coats could hear the groans of the others behind him. I can't stop now. Otherwise, it would have all been for nothing. His hand clenched tightly around the object in his hand and he directed all his energy at moving his right arm. Veins appeared on his arm as he struggled to move his disabled limb. It was only when his arm had moved an inch that Coats knew he could move it again.
Your struggle is in vain. There is no war. There is only the harvest.
"Shut up," Coats muttered, an explicable surge of willpower surged through his muscles. Quick as a flash, Coats swung his arm at the device. The object floated through the air slowly, as if impeded by the Reaper's aura, but nevertheless landed near the center of the device. Coats froze again, but the deed had been done.
The object flashed once. Then, a second later, it flashed again. And flashed. And began flashing several times each second, accompanied by a warning beep. Coats closed his eyes.
Your destruction is inevitable.
The grenade exploded, rupturing the device that powered the Reaper fragment in a white flash. Coats was thrown bodily backwards, landing several feet away. Smoke and fire engulfed the fragment, and the bodies that had lain around the device disintegrated in the sudden heat. Then, the fire died down, and Coats could see again. The device now lay in thousands of pieces around the room, shattered by the force of the grenade. There's no way we can let those things exist. The major coughed.
"Jarar, plant the explosives now."
"Yes, major."
"Let's see if we can find a vehicle outside. Mission complete, men."
…
…
…
How was that guys? This chapter is a bit longer than the rest, a reward for waiting for me so long. I know that many authors ask their readers to read and then review, but I'll have to do the same. I've written around 50,000 words, but the story still only has 10 reviews. How can I get better as a writer and make a better story if no one tells me what I'm doing wrong and what I'm doing right? Does that make sense? Maybe I'm being a bit too arrogant, but a review isn't that much to ask for, I hope? In any case, I enjoy writing this story. Thanks for being here. Enjoy. This arc is about to get a lot more hectic.
Gamer