"God, I know we haven't spoken in a while-"
Perimeter's compromised, contacts front, expect hostiles in backdoor assault-
"-but I've got a teeny tiny request for you."
Grab pistol, fit flash suppressor, heavy gear's still packed-
"The whole 'lots of things trying to eat my soul' gig isn't that bad-"
Move to Shepard's six, cover from doorway-
"-but could I have a day with no one trying to kill me?"
Nothing visible, then again it's ghosts, how'd he see them wait why's he looking at me-
Oh, right. Pants.
Murphy was grateful that the doorway hid most of her body. Before she'd sat down and closed her eyes "just for a second," she'd put her more-dirt-than-cloth pants in the washer. Now, wearing nothing but a shirt and skivvies, she really wished she'd taken the time earlier to hunt around for a pair of sweats.
"Evenin', ma'am," Shepard greeted her with a short glance, before his eyes flicked outward again. "Dressed to impress?"
"You bastard," she hissed. "And where are those fucking ghosts you were yelling about?"
"Three contacts total, closest a meter left of your mailbox. You got a visual?" Shepard asked tonelessly, his unfolded pistol steady next to his hip.
"I can't see ghosts, not without help," Murphy answered a moment later. "And how can you see them anyway?" An irreverent thought reminded her that she was trusting the judgment of a man who'd probably never seen a real ghost in his life.
"No idea," Shepard responded. "Sure as shit looks like 'em, though." He cocked his head to the side. "Know anything else looks like mist, hovers around, cold as-ohfuck!" He ducked, scrambling to the right as he brought his weapon up.
Murphy trained her Sig Sauer on the same area, although she knew that the metal bullets wouldn't do much to inconvenience the ghost doubtlessly hovering there. "Hey, there," she began uncertainly. "What's up?"
"Sitrep?" Shepard asked, his voice faint. Murphy ignored him, her mind racing. "I know you want something, but none of us can communicate with you. Is there," she trailed off as a sudden thought struck here. "Hold here, Shepard." Quickly running inside, Murphy made a quick detour to the laundry room before grabbing a bag of flour from the kitchen and shaking it over her front step. Stifling a momentary laugh at the sight of a cop flinging white powder around, she pointed at the doorstep. "Write."
"Murph?" The marine's voice shook slightly. Murphy glanced over at him as she dressed quickly, surprised to see the taciturn giant showing any emotion whatsoever. "Shepard, it's a ghost," she said briskly, as the powder flattened itself out as though smoothed by an invisible hand. "Wait, are you scared of it?"
"No," Shepard said immediately. "Yes. Crap."
"Don't worry, then, I'll be here to keep the big bad ghosts away," Murphy snickered. "Want me to turn the nightlight on and get you some warm milk and cookies, too?"
"Fuck you."
Letting out another laugh, Murphy watched her front porch as the invisible hands made letters in the flour. "Mort-" Shepard read slowly, trailing off in confusion. It took Murphy a moment longer to recognize the word.
"Load for bear. We leave in two," she ordered curtly, beckoning the Marine in and shutting the door.
"Bear?" Shepard asked quizzically, before his expression suddenly cleared. "Oh, right. Plan?"
"Bring everything, expect anything. We're securing a home of a local contact, and we need him alive. That means no shooting people you don't like, understood?"
"But what if I really don't like them?" Shepard asked as he grabbed his discarded gear from Murphy's guest room.
Murphy stopped short in the hallway. "Did you just crack a joke?"
The Marine's face popped out of the door for a second. His face stone-cold steady, Shepard replied, "Maybe."
Murphy shook her head. "Don't pull that shit again. You're freaky enough when you're...you."
Shepard's voice echoed behind her as Murphy went to grab her gear. "Me?"
Grabbing her bloody and dirty tac gear, guns, and on-the-run first aid kit, Murphy tried to guess out the conversational landmines waiting here. "You know, a giant armored soldier from the future with freaky space magic and no conversational skills."
The Marine was waiting for her as she left her room, most of his armor and weapons already in place. Shepard pumped his fist to create a massive purple halo around it, saying simply, "Biotics."
"Freaky space magic," Murphy snapped. Someone she knew was in trouble, and she didn't have time for this. Shepard blocked her way, and much as her instincts screamed at her to push the bastard and get moving, she realized that trying to move two hundred-something pounds of man-mountain wouldn't end too well.
"Biotics," Shepard repeated, his face still. "Trust me, Murph."
Trust, Murphy realized in a moment of clarity. She still didn't trust this...intruder, this replacement, if she was being honest with herself. He wouldn't stab her in the back, or in her sleep, but she didn't know him and didn't really believe him. She knew, without a shred of doubt, that Shepard showing up seconds after...after the shooting wasn't a coincidence. He showed up one day and turned her world upside down, he had artifacts and abilities and did things she couldn't explain, he broke every rule she held dear and she somehow respected him for it anyway...
He was too damn familiar to who she'd lost, in other words. "Understood," she replied curtly, not trusting her own voice to betray her. "Let's go."
Fitz saluted the Commander the moment he saw him.
He didn't know what the hell a "commander" was. He'd never seen an actual salute aside from that one time at the Independence Day parade. He'd never seen or heard of the Commander before in his life.
Yet the music played for him, and Fitz knew to follow his ear. He stood still and silent, holding an unfamiliar gesture for an unfamiliar man, as the two people walked up the steps to the ghost guy's house. The woman looked at him like he'd grown another head, but the Commander stopped in his tracks to return the salute. Feeling like a massive weight had lifted from his chest, Fitz barely resisted the urge to run back inside.
"You know what that means, son?" asked the Commander as he pointed to his hand.
"No idea, sir," Fitz said softly.
"Respect. You respect me, I respect you. Goes both ways. You got a name?"
"Fitz, sir," he answered hesitantly.
"Fitz," Shepard mused out loud. "Means 'son of.' You got a family? Got a father?"
He thought of dead Aristedes, the abuse and the bullying barely masked by the talk of "parenting," and barely resisted the urge to spit. "Nossir." He waited for the useless "sorry," the damn pity and bullshit the grown-ups always gave him for it-
Shepard's gaze stayed steady. "Gonna give you a little secret, Fitz. What you belong to, who you belong to - that's what really matters. You got people like that?"
Fitz straightened up, nodding sincerely. The Commander gave a feral grin. "Looks like you got a family after all, Fitz." The Commander looked him over, appraising. "Why're you here, son?"
"Our old boss got killed," Fitz said, his grin matching the Commander's at the thought of Aristedes dead. The old bastard had been fast, but the shadow was faster. "The shadow told me to leave, the voices told me to come here, and after I did," he shrugged, "well, the music started playing when I saw you."
"Fair enough, son." The Commander nodded, although he seemed doubtful.
"Commander, they-," Fitz struggled to put the words into English, "they told me, 'trust the outlander, break the tower.' Nothin' more, just that. They've never been real specific about things, but they ain't ever been wrong, either."
"Trust the outlander, break the tower? Real fucking help that is," the Commander said, shrugging. "Not your fault though, Fitz. Rest easy; you earned it."
The old oak porch creaked under their footsteps, and a quick gust of summer wind shot through as Shepard pushed the front door open.
Murphy could remember a time when Mort's house was a tourist trap, full of gimmicks like crystal balls and faked pentagrams to bilk the unwary out of their pocket change. In truth, though she'd bitched about the obvious lie it represented, Murphy hadn't minded the old decor. Mort had been a quack, possibly intriguing but mostly harmless. Walking into his place felt like going into the haunted house ride at Disneyland.
Now? She didn't so much see the ancient house as feel it in her bones, a deep ache of memories and moments built up over centuries until the air seemed choked with them.
Insubstantial whispers tickled at the edge of her hearing, and the hairs at the back of her neck stood on end. A slight wind whistled at their backs, though the summer air was still. This was a house for the dead, and it felt like it.
"Okay, what the hell was that all about?" Murphy asked she stepped forward, followed hesitantly by the hulking Marine. Although Mort's place might creep her out, that kid was even freakier somehow.
"Not sure," Shepard said, pulling out his shotgun. "Was a Lt. Commander back in my time. Hadn't got promoted yet."
"Creepy people who know too much. Welcome to the home of the dead guy," Murphy quietly muttered to herself.
"Dead guy?" Shepard asked warily.
"How did you even hear that?" Murphy said, confused. She'd barely heard herself say it!
"Gene mods," the Marine responded curtly. "Now, dead guy?"
"Mortimer Lindquist, ghost whisperer," she answered. "A bunch of them live here, which is probably why he had some of them call us." She continued, a little maliciously, "Just think! We've probably got dozens, maybe even hundreds of ghosts swimming around us right this moment!" Murphy glanced over at Shepard, and felt a little bad at seeing him grit his jaw and draw a deep, shuddering breath.
"Murph! Thank God you're-what the Hell?" The sudden shout came from a small, stocky man in black - Mortimer Linquist, the spooks' spook. He had his customary black robes on, which Murphy suspected he wore simply to ease up on the cleaning costs, and a less customary look of utter shock. Murphy wearily followed his white-faced gaze towards her erstwhile companion
On second thought, she realized, Shepard could be intimidating. Over the past day, she'd gotten so used to an armored space marine following her around that she'd practically blanked the weirdness out. Then again, considering how much weirdness she normally ran into during her day and night jobs, this was probably a good survival tactic.
"That's Shepard. Don't be sc-...actually, be nervous around him; it sounds like a good way to stay alive," Murphy answered, waving her hand. "Think of him like a big, sociopathic puppy. With a shotgun."
Mort scowled. "Murphy, you're really not reassuring me right now."
"I'm a Special Investigations cop. If me showing up makes you reassured, then your life must be pretty FUBAR." She frowned, thinking. "In fact, why did you send a ghost to call me, Mort? And what's with creepy kid out front?"
The short ectomancer's eyes widened in surprise. "Call you with a ghost? Murphy, I have a telephone. If I really needed help, I'd send you a text instead of hoping that a ghost would get you right now instead of getting distracted for half a decade."
Shepard spoke up: "Ghosts showed up at her place. Reasons?"
Mort's eyes narrowed. "I didn't send anyone to you, Murphy. They might have gone on their own, or they might've been forced. Hell, they might be asking for help for something that'll happen two days from now. I'll ask around." He closed his eyes, massaging his temples. "Although while you're here, can you help me with the kids?"
"Kids?"
"Shit."
"C'mon! It's not that bad!"
"For you, maybe."
"Did they surgically remove your sense of fun at space boot camp?"
"...No."
Murphy gave her first genuine laugh in what felt like forever at Shepard's death glare. The children - they weren't sure how or why they'd ended up here, anyway - had dove into the McDonalds Mort had ordered with the gusto of the truly famished. Almost absentmindedly brushing away a child trying to steal her wallet, Murphy shook her head at the sheer exuberance of the kids tearing around the tiny yard. It might be more than a little crazy, but they certainly did wonders in dispelling the perpetual doom and gloom that hung around Mort's house.
"Just get into the action! C'mon, put your left foot in, take your left foot out-"
"Nein."
Murphy giggled as she balanced precariously on her right leg, surrounded by half a dozen kids doing the same.
"-put your left foot in, and you shake it all about-"
"Nyet."
"You do the hokey-pokey and you turn yourself around-"
"Please, Murph."
"-and that's what it's all ab-"
"Stop." The cop glanced over to see Shepard glaring at a shivering child, his hand still hesitantly held forward towards the hulking Marine. She'd seen the same kid happy a moment ago, and Murphy felt her insides twisting as she put two and two together. Fear of male authority figures - Shit, why didn't you spot it earlier!
"Go inside," she said curtly in Shepard's direction, kneeling down at the young boy's level and carefully hugging him. The boy's facade dissolved into helpless tears, and Murphy held him as he sobbed uncontrollably into her shoulder. Shepard loomed over them both, and the cop wished that she could fry him with a proper glare.
"Shepard," Murphy said warningly. "Where are their parents?" She watched his impassive face go blank for a moment before going slack in surprise and understanding. He moved away soundlessly, and Murphy abandoned thoughts of bloody revenge against whatever fucker would do this as she held the crying boy.
Whirr-click. The Avenger assault rifle quickly expanded outwards, the double frame extending while the rifle's scope popped out of storage. Gauntleted hands efficiently disassembled the stock, pulling a small cleaning kit out before continuing to break apart the gun.
A single foot carefully and silently stepped out onto the front porch. Another followed it, each one carefully spread apart to reduce the weight as they moved forward. Step followed step, each one silent across the polished oak floorboards. The only sounds were the dull rumble of faraway cars and the quiet scratches of the cleaning brush on metal. The two feet crept closer and closer until-
A gauntleted hand swept the hidden pistol up, steadying the massive gun in a bullseye stance. The shooter's head stayed riveted on the disassembled rifle in front of it, seemingly fascinated by the worn and battered weapon. "Don't try to sneak up on men with guns," rumbled Shepard.
"Hey, it didn't stop me before," Fitz responded before his brain could catch up with his mouth. He gulped as Shepard looked at him directly, the gun disappearing from his hand as if by magic. "Explain."
"My..." Fitz trailed off as he tried to explain what Aristedes had been to them, "we had to raid another gang. Show 'em we could hold our own turf. We needed respect." Despite himself, he could feel the stirrings of pride he'd felt then when his boys had went out together, when they'd snuck up on the 62nd Street bastards and put a hundred new holes in their place.
"Respect," Shepard said slowly, drawing the word out. "You shot up a pack of inner city gangers. That respect these days?"
Fitz swallowed the words waiting to erupt at the casual insult. Shepard nodded once as he saw the reaction. "Pride. Anger. A Jedi cares not for these things."
It took Fitz a moment to process the words, and another few seconds to compare them against Shepard's impassive face. He let out a strangled giggle, making Shepard's mask crack slightly, and as Fitz kept laughing Shepard's face slowly relaxed into a faint grin.
"You're, an, asshole," Fitz gasped out in between whoops of laughter. Shepard relaxed slightly, leaning back in his chair and waving his hand imperiously. "Kids these days, ain't got no respect for the classics." For a moment, the teen and the soldier simply sat and looked out over the dark front yard. Fitz had watched Shepard's screwup with Jake, and it took him a moment to find the right words to explain.
"I-" Fitz paused as his voice cracked. "I can't tell you what it was really like, with Aristedes. He'd be fine one day, then the next he'd be moving like he did and hitting Johnny and he just wouldn't stop. Then he'd talk family again and we'd be good a moment later, except we weren't. Then-" he trailed off, unable to continue.
"Come here," Shepard said quietly. Fitz walked over slowly, still wiping tears from his face, as Shepard pulled a dull black knife from a hidden sheath. "Elkoss Nightshade-patten blade," he said quietly, tilting the weapon so that it reflected the dim light from inside. "It'll cut steel, long as you don't mind losing the edge. You used a knife before, yeah?"
Fitz snorted. He was an Englewood kid; like he didn't know how to use a shank or something! Shepard nodded, holding the dull black knife up by its blade. He was on his feet in an instant, pivoting and chopping his hand down so fast that Fitz barely saw the knife fly. The weapon shot forward, burying itself in the wooden pillar ten feet away with a dull thunk!
"Practice," Shepard said simply as he walked over to retrieve it. "Practice makes better." He yanked the knife free, flipped it in his hand, and held it hilt-first out towards Fitz. "It's yours."
He didn't need the music to know how what this meant. Nodding in respect, Fitz carefully picked up the lethal weapon and watched it glint in the reflected moonlight. He turned to Shepard, his grin a mile wide, but faltered at the look on Shepard's face.
Murphy followed the gunshots outside.
Her hand on her Sig, she watched as Shepard fired at three targets downrange, a gaggle of kids watching as the massive Marine aimed down the sight of a pistol which would be compensation for anyone smaller.
Thock! Thock! Thock! The sound was muted, a quiet noise next to the loud gunshots she'd heard from when Shepard had been firing at the Denarians. Each trash can lid rocked slightly as a low-velocity shot hit them; the kids cheered as Shepard fired again, each shot unerringly hitting its target.
Murphy leaned on a pillar on the back porch, watching as Shepard switched hands. Holding the gigantic pistol in his left hand, Shepard turned to the side before repeating the same exercise. Slowly walking and switching the weapon as he did, the operative kept steadily hitting each target with each new stance.
One of the kids, slightly larger than the others, grabbed a rock from the yard and threw it into the air. Shepard, barely missing a beat, tracked and fired as the stone rose above the group; the rock wobbled, clearly hit, before falling again. Shepard hit it again as it fell, before switching back to his targets. His face remained blank, a tabula rasa that Murphy recognized from earlier. Something had Shepard spooked.
"I can see the story," Murphy began in a light tone, waving her arms above her head as she stepped out into the backyard, "The grizzled veteran just wanted to retire...but the trash can lid mafia had other plans. They took his family from him...now he'll take their lives!" she finished with a grin and her best reverb voice.
"Was batarians killed my family," Shepard said, his face still blank as he stared her down. Murphy stopped in her tracks, wishing she could pry her foot from her mouth. He saw her look and shrugged in return. "Don't worry. Killed 'em back. Got to help when we went after their base camp. Fun times," he grunted, switching his gun stance again before repeating his shooting routine one-handed. Each shot connected with a ping!, the Chicago night strangely quiet.
Murphy tried to reorganize her thoughts. "Something's obviously got you rattled. Do you feel like talking about it?"
"Ghosts," Shepard cursed quietly. The pistol dropped to his side, his hand almost absentmindedly flicking the safety on as he did. "Just...ghosts. Started fighting in the front yard, the kid watching 'em like it was a football game, and..."
"Let me guess," Murphy finished for him. "You know of enough personal ghosts to be afraid of seeing them?" Shepard dropped his head in mute confirmation.
"Inside, kids," Murphy said to the assembled children, pointing at the eldest. "Make sure you pick up your trash, alright?" The children quickly cleared out, with only a few whispers between them.
"Personal ghosts?" the cop asked quietly after the children had left.
"Lots of 'em," Shepard whispered to himself. "Already an Eighter, Murph. Alliance crazy men, the go-to folks do you need some heads cracked. Been on psych eval for years, now, ain't a shrink out there would call me sane. Saw another Eighter said he could see ghosts, too, an' he's livin' in a padded room. What if I'm losin' it, now?"
Murphy swallowed. "Commander Shepard, if you truly go insane, I promise that I will do whatever it takes to stop you before," she trailed off, "before anything happens." She held out her hand. "You have my word."
Shepard glanced at her. "No. Ain't enough as is." He spun his pistol in his grip and held it out to her, the massive gun still folded out in its firing position. "Safety's here, dial-a-yield here. 'S on low now, just twist here to put holes in light armor or krogan." He stared at her levelly.
"Whatever it takes."
"Shepard..." Murphy tried to imagine why the Marine, of all people, would be following her into a crime scene.
"Yeah?"
Murphy cocked an eyebrow. "Why the hell are you here, anyway?"
Shepard shifted in place. "Creepy kid - Fitz - told me to come here. Said I'd need you."
"And?"
"I dressed for infil, left the heavy gear in your car. Also, you need a better lock."
Murphy let her voice raise slightly. "Aaand?"
"And I got bored. And freaked out." He scuffed his feet. "Oops."
Murphy groaned dramatically. "I'd bawl you out for leaving Mort's house defenseless, but you might have a point if creepy ghost kid said you should be here. While you're at it, come over here and have a look at the place."
Shepard obediently followed her past the Denny's at the corner, his eyes watching the crowd gathered around the well-lit diner. They walked down a deserted alleyway next to an abandoned warehouse, both of them consciously looking for threats hidden along the dimly-lit streets. Whatever "shadow" had killed Aristedes was obviously long gone, but Murphy liked taking a look at crime scenes for herself.
Shepard's helmet and the bulky guns on his back were apparently in her car, kept semi-safe by the occasional off-duty cop at the diner, but Murphy could spot the combat armor barely hidden by the Marine's ratty clothing.
"Is that a shotgun in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?" Murphy asked lightly.
"Both."
Murphy spun on her heel to stare up at Shepard, his face impassive save for a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. "Your sarcasm is inhuman," she said petulantly. "One of these days, I'm going to make you laugh at your own jokes like a normal human being."
"Cold day in Hell, Murph. Cold day in Hell." Shepard walked past her, carefully looking at the door blasted off its hinges. "I don't know guns of this time too well. Your guess?"
Murphy took a look at the kids' old home. Their former leader, Aristedes, was weapons-grade bastard with bastard filling - and a minor talent at magic. He had been unnaturally quick, and perhaps charismatic as well, if the kids' stories were true.
Emphasis on "had." The corpse hung to dry outside the warehouse, pinned to the brick wall with an iron bar shoved through its stomach, made it fairly obvious what had happened to him. Aristedes was dead and soon to be buried - now it was a "whodunit" for the detectives to deal with. Murphy knelt down near the door, keeping her distance so as not to contaminate the scene. "Those aren't gun blasts," she announced after a short pause. "Take a look - the impact marks don't match up with a shell or bullet, and there's no scorch marks from an explosive or shaped charge. It looks like a direct physical impact, although I can't think of a ram which could do this."
"Nope." Shepard almost seemed smug as he leaned back and crossed his arms. "Alliance door-breach protocol, if it's weak enough, is just punch it out. Done it before; I know the signs." He whistled softly. "Strong bastard, whatever it was."
"Whatever?" Murphy asked. "Could you have done this?"
"Yeah," Shepard responded sourly. "'Course, how many Systems Alliance soldiers be runnin' around in ancient history?" He looked behind them, his hand drifting towards his concealed shotgun. "Murph, on your five, do you see-" The bullet cut him off mid-sentence, that weird purple barrier flaring and dying in an instant as blood flew from his left temple. The crack! of the bullet's passing hit a moment later, almost muted compared to the crumpling soldier in front of her.
Murphy reacted on instinct as the hulking Marine started to fall. Slamming into Shepard's chest, Murphy put a foot past the collapsing soldier before hefting him over her right hip. Quickly hooking her right arm around Shepard's waist as she shifted her weight to balance him above her center of gravity, she reached above her head to yank Shepard's head over her left shoulder. With an adrenaline-fueled step, the tiny cop stepped forward with the massive armored soldier draped in a classic fireman's carry.
One step forward. She ignored the next gunshot, focused on the alley's exit as the bullet hit Shepard and the semi-conscious Marine grunted in pain. Two steps forward. She snarled as the Marine tried to stand himself upright, causing her to stumble to the left. Shepard's head impacted the brick wall, and he immediately fell limp. Three steps forward. Murphy cursed and tried to rebalance herself as another bullet whizzed by to her right.
Four steps forward. Murphy could feel the Marine's armor slowly ripping her coat apart as the Marine slid slowly off, and jumped in place to keep the body steady. Five steps forward. The chipped alleyway corner beckoned, promising a temporary illusion of safety. Six steps forward. The dull wham! of another sniper bullet seemed almost muted, probably from one of Shepard's magic bullet-deflect thingies, but the impact still threw her forward. Seven steps forward. Eight. Nine. Ten.
Slowly spinning to the left to move Shepard's head past the chipped brick, Murphy studiously ignored the blood decorating the ground as she rounded the corner. "Move! Get inside!" she yelled at the civilians standing outside the Denny's diner, dimly amazed at how quickly they'd shifted in her mind from "citizens" to "targets." Staggering under the soldier's weight, she stepped steadily towards her Civic as the nearby civvies scattered.
The walk to her car took half a lifetime. Shepard groaned slightly as Murphy banged his head on the car's low roof, muttering disjointed sentences as the cop unceremoniously dumped him into the passenger seat. Seizing the backpack that the soldier had stowed under her car, Murphy tossed it onto Shepard's lap before sprinting to the driver's side door. A small-caliber bullet whizzed over her head as she ducked to fit the key in the door, and Murphy cursed as it embedded itself in the car's roof.
Murphy snatched her Sig from its holster, wishing that she'd taken Shepard's advice and brought his compensation pistol with her. With a round already chambered, she flicked the safety before firing twice at the unknown shooter. Snarling at the key still stuck in the door, she got lucky as the lock turned smoothly. Flinging the door open and throwing herself into the driver's seat, Murphy jammed the key into the ignition while quickly throwing the car into first gear.
"Hail Mary full of grace the lord is with thee hail o virgin-" Clearly, she'd have to bring cookies over to the Carpenters' place more often; the engine caught without a hitch as four men sprinted out from the alleyway the sniper had shot from, obviously the attackers' grab team to pick up the bodies. Murphy caught a glimpse of the nondescript men, each one dressed for obscurity and carrying pistols. Throwing the car into reverse, she ducked as two of the attackers started shooting at the windshield.
"Magnificat anima mea domin-fuck!" Murphy cursed as an SUV cut her off, a passenger firing an assault rifle at her rear window. Glass shattered as the bullets flew, but Shepard's armor stopped the shells from hitting them even as the soldier lay unconscious. Throwing the car into first gear, Murphy sped forward through the alleyway as the four men of the grab team scattered. Their small-caliber weapons didn't go through the side of her car, and the SUV couldn't follow down the cramped passageway.
"We're gonna lose them, Shepard. Hold on." Murphy knew that the Marine was lights-out and couldn't hear her, but she kept up her mantra as she sped towards St. Mary's, three cars in hot pursuit.
"S'what? 'M gonna stop it this time. Ain't gonna get so bad, ain't gonna need ta fail-deadly. Y' hear-"
"Shut up and move." With one of Shepard's arms draped over her shoulder, Murphy slowly staggered towards St. Mary's Church. She'd lost the pursuers for a moment in the nighttime Chicago traffic, but she already heard revving engines and didn't believe for a second that she'd completely lost them.
"In here," Murphy growled, shoving Shepard bodily into a tiny closet off of the foyer. "Shut up and live, damnit!" she hissed, more to herself than to Shepard. She'd grabbed the Marine's helmet, and she quickly fixed it in place on his armor even as Shepard lay motionless.
Tires screeched outside, and Murphy knew she was out of time. Shoving the door closed, she darted to a nearby window and watched surreptitiously as the two four-man teams spilled out of their cars, the third vehicle prowling by without stopping. As it slowed to yell orders to the other men, Murphy got a good look at the driver. She cursed quietly to herself as she spotted the same creature which had attacked them at Dresden's apartment.
Just like before, the crack! of the striking bullet seemed almost quiet next to the impact. Murphy gasped at the pain in her left side, but turned in place and immediately shot back. The shooter, one of the lightly-armed grab team, fell backwards as the three-shot spread stitched up his body armor into his face. Lowering her pistol, Murphy quickly hobbled away before his buddies could retaliate.
She paused for a second in the dark cathedral, trying to catch her breath. She didn't have extra fabric to bind, so Murphy stepped silently into a nearby bathroom to grab a small towel. Bracing the cloth against her side, she desperately tried to even out her breathing and slow her panicked mind.
I can't breathe, she realized in a sudden moment of clarity. The bullet had hit her under the armpit, bypassing her body armor to strike her chest; it'd pierced her lung and was causing a tension pneumothorax. Grimacing as she carefully pulled the impromptu bandage away, Murphy carefully reached into the bullet wound until she found the tiny shell. Pulling it free with a dull pop! of escaping air, she gasped in gratitude as the pain underneath her chest seemed to vanish. Slowly pushing the bullet back into place to keep her insides in one piece, Murphy grimaced at the sound of the wooden stairs creaking.
As the first attacker rounded the corner, Murphy sighted and fired a single shot. The bullet struck true, hitting the soldier in the head and killing him instantly. Ducking out of the way of his buddy's shots, Murphy retreated silently across the balcony to the other side, where she waited again as footsteps pounded on the stairs. As the two attackers passed by, each trying to cover their formation's blind spots, she let the two move past her before backtracking down the first flight of stairs.
Shepard was hidden, at least momentarily. The half-leopard things seemed reluctant to enter holy ground, which left her ironically somewhat safer in St. Mary's. She'd hold out here, call for help, and let SWAT handle these goons. Murphy ducked down a side corridor-
-and nearly ran headfirst into one of the armored soldiers, her pistol bouncing off the man's body armor. With no space to move, Murphy reached up and yanked the man's rifle down, using his deathgrip on his M4 as leverage to pull the soldier off-balance. As he stumbled forward, she reached out with her Sig to shoot at his buddy behind him. The other soldier ducked behind cover, giving Murphy the room she needed to retreat. Dodging shots from the other two pairs of soldiers, she kept hobbling towards the nave and a hope of safety.
"Surrender," a voice called out in accented English. The syllables rolled among the rafters, bouncing from wall to wall.
"Fuck you," Murphy grunted. She shifted her weight, trying to get a bead on any of the attackers. Ducking her head to avoid another three-round burst of submachine-gun fire from the two remaining men of the grab team, she scooted away on her butt as more shots echoed through the massive room.
Footsteps echoed suddenly on the stone floor; Murphy leaned out and sighted her Sig on the moving target. Wearing armor, go for legs- and the man dropped, cursing in Spanish, as the 9mm bullet went through his left thigh. Murphy dodged away in time to avoid the bullets, but one of the rounds kicked up a shard of stone that zipped by her face.
Blinking away blood dripping into her eyes, Murphy scooted away again as disciplined bursts of fire stuttered from the dark cathedral. There wouldn't be any surrender for her anymore, not after she'd put rounds into one of their buddies after they'd called for an end. The cop swore as more rounds shot overhead, accompanied by the scuffing of combat boots on stone. They were moving up.
A tiny grey shape shot overhead, barely visible in the moonlight. Murphy cursed and covered her ears while she screwed her eyes shut. The flashbang grenade detonated in a massive explosion of light and sound, the sudden flare and noise blinding and deafening her. Murphy rocked in place as the telltale shuffle of booted feet came closer and closer. Another grenade arced into the nave, another explosion of light and sound.
Murphy looked up, her vision blurry from the flashbangs, to see darkened shapes carefully sweeping the nave. Their vision must have also been affected by the second flashbang, she realized, which was the only reason she was still alive. A shape passed by her, the soldier's gun swinging slowly over her head, before the team passed on to continue up towards the altar. She had ten seconds, maybe fifteen, before they turned around and swept back down again; when they found her, they wouldn't offer a surrender. Mouthing a half-remembered prayer, Murphy raised her pistol and fired.
Her first shot caught the nearest soldier in the gap between his body armor and helmet. His spine shattered, the man dropped to the ground in an instant; Murphy was already swinging her weapon to the next target, who didn't try to turn and instead dived for the nearest cover available. Hitting her target with a shot to the leg, Murphy's vision suddenly blurred as a dull impact smacked the side of her head. She tried to steady herself, but her vision swam around her and her Sig dropped slowly from her hands. Bracing herself against the pew, she held herself upright as blurry shades closed in and stared her down.
The darkness to her right spoke: "Where's the map?"
Murphy shook her head drunkenly. "Dunno."
"Don't play any fucking games, puta!" snarled the shadow in front of her. "You burned the apartment to cover your tracks, but the thing's too big to put in a bus locker. Now, where did you stash the fucking map?"
The cop tried to spit, but her mouth was too dry. "Go fuck yourself."
"Easy there, Four," spoke another shadow, the first stepping backwards. "Lieutenant Murphy, we've got a great deal of respect for your work here. All things considered, we'd like to keep you alive. At the same time, our objective takes priority over my conscience." A shrug. "I'm quite sure you understand, considering your history. Now...the map, please."
Murphy faked unconsciousness, dropping her left hand slowly for the holdout revolver at her right ankle. A hand roughly yanked her head up, until she dazedly stared at the barrel of a rifle. The first man spoke again: "If you don't know, puta, there ain't no use in keeping you alive. Any last words?"
"Yes."
Shepard didn't use his guns.
He didn't need them.
Murphy watched as the purple blur went through three soldiers to strike a fourth, the humans sent flying by the blast. Shepard chopped forward, his knife-hand striking his first target's spine as his hand wrapped around it. Yanking his target off his feet, Shepard swung the dying man into another soldier still struggling to stand. The soldier and the corpse tumbled together down the steps of the nave in a tangle of arms and legs.
One of the men on overwatch fired bursts, the small-caliber bullets barely even making Shepard's shields flicker. In response, Shepard curled his fist, glowing with that unnatural light as his target literally exploded in a shower of gore. Sidestepping to dodge another stuttering burst of SMG fire, the Marine took two steps forward and slammed the shooter into a buttress with an elbow that left his target choking on blood. Spinning in place to dodge another soldier charging with a knife, Shepard let the attacker's strike slice past his shields and skitter along his armor before grabbing the man's head and twisting sharply. The wet crack of snapping tendons and tearing muscles echoed through the dark cathedral.
One shadow still moved, pulling himself from his comrade's corpse at the foot of the stairs. Shepard walked soundlessly across the tile floor, a predator in its natural environment; the glowing blade on his arm almost seemed like an afterthought. "No," the terrified man whispered, his face white with fear.
"No!" he gasped, his breath short and choppy. The soldier scrambled on his hands and feet to get away from the approaching danger, his right hand fumbling desperately at his combat webbing. Pulling a silenced pistol from his gear, the soldier fired the weapon with a shaking hand at the oncoming force. The bullets sparked away harmlessly from Shepard's shields, the Marine not even slowing as the shots pinged away. Blood dripped steadily from Shepard's gauntlets, bits of flesh and gore sliding away to hit the ground with meaty smacks.
"NO!" Murphy tried to sit up at the man's panicked yell, but the tearing pain in her side forced her to stop. Hyperventilating as her left lung began collapsing, she watched mutely as Shepard's omniblade rose gracefully above the pew blocking her sight. It hung there for a single moment before chopping downward, the sound of tearing flesh almost anticlimactic after the panicked chaos of the night.
Her vision blacked out at the edges, and Murphy dropped.
"That'll be all, sir. Thank you." The cop seemed suspicious, but Shepard didn't give a damn. Ignoring the man's glare and hand on his pistol, the Marine weaved his way through the crowded emergency room. He shadowed a doctor, catching up to the harried woman as she stopped to glance at her clipboard.
"How is she, ma'am?" The exhausted woman, bags under her eyes, stared dully at the towering soldier before shaking her head to wake herself up. "I haven't really seen anything like it," she said, glancing at Shepard's poorly disguised military gear. "The bleeding stopped incredibly fast, all things considered, and unless anything goes wrong she should make a full recovery." She quirked an eyebrow. "You didn't have anything to do with that weird bacteria on her wounds, did you? The lab techs are beating down my door to get a pure sample of that stuff."
"Ain't got a clue, ma'am," Shepard responded as honestly as he could. He hated using up his irreplaceable stocks of medi-gel, but Murphy had lost a lot of blood by the time he'd gotten to her. "She looked pretty iffy first I seed her, so I just picked 'er up an' got 'er here."
The doctor laughed. "Layin' it on a bit thick there, pardner?" She dropped her voice, motioning Shepard towards a quiet corner of the ER. "Don't worry. No one's going to know a thing." She snorted at Shepard's look. "What? Did you think we haven't seen Murphy here before? Did you all were the only ones in this fight? We'll keep her safe, whoever you are."
The Marine nodded, spinning on his heel and striding out. Other patients jumped out of his way as he made a beeline for the door, brushing past the cop who'd taken his statement earlier. "Sir, I need you to hold up for a moment."
Shepard stepped outside into the muggy Midwestern night, glancing up at the cloud-obscured stars. The parking lot, almost deserted at midnight, seemed almost eerie in his low-light vision, with only two streetlights casting dim pools of light across the wide cement ground. Seeing Murphy's car with the bullet still in the roof, he turned to go. "Sir! Stop right there!"
The soldier slowly turned in place to stare down the shorter man, grinning faintly as the cop gulped at the sight of the deserted parking lot. "Sir, we need to take your statement down at the station."
"Why?"
"Because you were a witness to a shooting, sir," the cop said carefully, glancing at the Marine as he did.
"Son," Shepard said slowly, "I'm an N6-qual'ed soldier, been declared clinically insane and volunteered as a lab rat and expendable shooter. I just been killed by a demon, brought back by an archangel, and been told I do things right back here in time of smash-circuit-make-Internet or reality ends. Son, no way in hell you want me as a witness."
The cop stood in the deserted parking lot, his eyes picking out the combat armor barely disguised under Shepard's clothing. After several long seconds, he tipped his hat and muttered, "Don't leave town. That's an order."
Shepard gave a faint grin as the cop left, which disappeared as he looked back at the lit-up hospital. Murphy was alive, but only barely. The local asset's house was unguarded, because you couldn't control your issues for a single turn on watch! The situation was FUBAR, and plenty of it was his own damn fault. Slumping down onto the sidewalk, the Marine cradled his head in his hands and drew out a long sigh.
"Why me?"
"Why not?" a soft voice behind him whispered.
