Chapter 22, Happy Trails (Part 3)
Cerulean walked with a false confidence deeper into the maze of stark white hallways. Behind her was Amos, who was currently muttering dark somethings in that same harsh language he had used back in the computer room. He pulled off the white cloth he had pressed to the hole in his neck, observing the red blotch with an unusually angry growl.
"Do you see this? Did you see what he did? He cheated, that son of a bitch cheated." He snarled, waving the cloth in front of her face. The reek of copper and ammonia wafted her way.
She didn't answer. She couldn't. She simply continued walking down the corridor at the same matching pace as Amos, eyes set dead ahead. Blinking every five seconds on the dot.
She had been counting.
The man hissed as his Aura flickered slightly for reasons beyond her. Nothing was attacking him, at least not here. Albeit, she didn't know much about the proper inner workings of Aura, only how to recognize it and the best ways to fight against it if necessary. Her Aura training in the VPD had been largely about recognition, and knowing when to call in a Huntsmen. Even with her baseline knowledge, she knew his Aura was wrong. It was the same green as his eyes had flashed, but underneath she saw the flickering of a different color entirely, a light sky blue. It was like a sick green sheen had been slathered over his Aura. Over his soul.
As Amos continued to twitch and flinch and mutter dark curses to himself, she began to understand why Hakke had just shot the man. The words were abrasive, like a fine sandpaper being slowly dragged over her eardrums. She didn't understand what he was saying, but every fiber of her being was telling her she didn't want to understand.
Another step. Then another. One foot in front of the other. Eyes straight ahead. Face emotionless.
She wanted to scream, but her mouth refused to obey her.
All it had taken was a tap on her shoulder. One tap, and her body stopped being her and became a prison. She had watched Hakke vanish around a corner, and then she had walked into a side room alongside a walking corpse. She had confirmed he was dead, there had been no pulse. But there he had stood, one hand shoving that white cloth into his neck, and a finger placed vertical against his lips.
She couldn't move, she couldn't speak, she couldn't fight back. She tried everything in her power to regain even an iota of control over herself, but nothing seemed to work. Panic had been the first instinct to course through her body, but it soon gave way to a cold dread coiling in her gut.
An unheard, unfelt command from Amos had her open an unmarked door. She entered and undid a padlocked cabinet, one that was unmarked and identical to all the others in this room. Her hand reached out and grabbed a small injector of a make she wasn't familiar with, before turning around and handing it over to Amos. As she was made to relock the cabinet, she heard a pneumatic snap from behind her. She turned, once again not of her own accord, and watched as her captor snarled soundlessly as a wash of sickly green flooded over his body. The injector was firmly pressed into his thigh.
It had to be Boost. The description she had been given matched what she was seeing perfectly. So what the hell was this stuff?
Amos turned away for a moment as the wave swirled through his Aura, holding himself up on a door frame. The moment his head turned away from her, she looked around the room, trying to find anything that could help her get away from this monster. It took a second for the realization to hit her. She moved her eyes. She could move her eyes.
Focusing, she tried to regain control over anything else. Her pointer finger on her dominant hand seemed like the next best thing, and she tried with all her might to twitch it. It was like getting a rusted hinge to swing loose. It was stiff, unresponsive, but eventually it curled inwards from its relaxed, dangling position, and she then had full control of it again.
"Ah, that's better." Amos sniffed. "Let's get back to it."
When his eyes realigned on her, a thin locking sensation ran through her one more as she began to walk against her will once more. As they continued on their way, she tried to slowly twitch her finger once more. It responded, as did her eyes.
Once she regained control of a part, it seemed that part remained in her control. But she hadn't been able to break out any portion earlier, so what changed? As Amos had her walk back out to the front, it clicked in her head. He couldn't keep as strong a level of control if he broke line of sight.
She heard a device snap open, and Amos began talking. "Hey. It's Amos. We have a problem. Uh huh. You know? Huh. That's fantastic. I have one puppeted, the Detective. No, I didn't get the other. Well, if the good Doctor had given me androids that had more metal than rust, he'd be dead right now. No. Tore right through 'em, think he's heading for the jammer. Nah, that won't be a problem, she doesn't even have Aura." A laugh. "Less than a minute."
Whatever he had spoken into he snapped shut again, silence once again reigning over the hallway. A few more bends in the hallway and she exited the building. The sun was low over the horizon, washing the farm in warm, august colors. She found herself approaching a low building towards the back of the farm's property, a rustic fence extending off its far end and earth working machinery parked near an open garage door.
She entered a side door. Inside it was wide open outside of a conveyor belt made of polished steel dominating the center. Running parallel to the conveyor belt were several processing stations containing what looked like meat cutters and other animal processing tools. At the end of the conveyor was a large funnel that fed into a massive grinding machine. The stations were covered by plastic tarps for the time being, as it seemed that the place was being renovated.
Piles of metal I-beams and steel reinforcements were stacked in piles and against the walls, alongside the tools needed to install them. Overhead and hanging by rope or wire were even more beams, held just underneath where they were going to be installed to reinforce the roof. The rest of the building was dedicated to storing various farm equipment, everything needed to maintain and keep a healthy herd of animals.
"Now, you know what to do. Get to it." Amos said.
Cerulean would have gritted her teeth if she could, instead she found herself grabbing a staple gun from one of the shelves and dragging a tarp over to an open spot between two wooden support beams. She stapled the tarp across the gap, just a touch higher than she was, and stretched the tarp out along the ground.
Her blood ran cold as she recognized what she was being forced to make, the gun in her holster suddenly far heavier than it had any right being.
Amos snapped out that same strange Scroll and stabbed at it with his finger. "Basil, get over to the sausage building. I have something I need you to see." With that he snapped it shut.
She stood on the tarp, facing the monster. He stood there with his arms crossed, a knowing smirk on his face. The man slowly pointed a finger gun her way, before slowly turning it to point at his own head, mimicking it going off and mouthing a 'pow'. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was reveling in it.
Cerulean had never been so glad to control a pointer finger in her life.
The seconds creeped by. Eventually, Basil walked in, looking around nervously before his eyes fell on the scene Amos had arranged. To the young man's credit, his face paled.
"I figured a little demonstration for our accountant here would be needed. Just so you remember the price of speaking up about how we run things here. Go ahead, Ms. Cerulean."
Her hand grabbed her gun. Pulled it out of the holster. Began to raise it. Every fiber of her being screamed for control as the barrel slowly made its way towards her head. She had thought that she hated her partner, Ponci, for what he did. Before that, she thought she had hated one or two of her exes. She now realized that she had no idea what hate was until now. She hated Amos. Fear began to give way, and with it, the muscles in her face began to twitch slightly, the gun began to shake. But it didn't go down.
It was pointing at her temple now. He saw her fighting his perverse control. He saw she wasn't winning. His smile widened.
The finger gun came up one more time.
And flipped up to indicate a pause.
Amos hummed, looking at something off to one side of the building. "You know what? I have a better idea for a lesson. One that'll stick. Basil, earn your keep and turn that grinder on. I know a better way to get rid of a pig."
Hakke stared at the contents of the drum, his stomach churning. It suddenly made sense why he felt the Dark down here. He closed the viewport. Whoever was responsible for… this... was going to die. He didn't care if executions were frowned upon on this planet. He knew of only one punishment fitting for a crime of this magnitude.
A portion of his mind, the one dedicated and obsessed with machinery, noted how the drum was designed and was able to ascertain the purpose that it served in making Boost. Was able to put together how the drum kept its occupant alive, even after the frankly irreversible alterations would have made that impossible otherwise. In equal parts he was sickened and impressed. The machine was doing things that he had only read about in dissections of debased Hive rituals.
The runic texts that had been installed on the interior of the drum were a bit of a dead giveaway.
"Where is the jammer?"
Callie didn't say anything outside of directions. He turned away from the abominable machine and began to make his way there. There was no way to undo what had been done here, he doubted there was anything that could actually be saved from that. The only thing left to do was prevent it from ever happening again. He had seen plenty of things he wished he hadn't over the years, Sol was no stranger to nightmares after all. It was rare for him to see it up close and personal, however. A familiar rage was beginning to fester inside him.
Drop pods and drums. He really wasn't looking forward to the next time he had to sleep.
It was a short way to the jammer, a complicated, squat device that had been bolted into the concrete floor. Without a word, Hakke destroyed it in a burst of auto rifle fire, leaving it to spark and ignite as the Dust fueling it detonated in a fiery cascade.
"Jammer's down."
"I'm picking up Cerulean - oh no. She's with Amos. We have to move."
Hakke nodded and began to run, ducking and dodging around the machinery around him as he returned to the Boost Machine. He paused for a moment, looking the machine over. He squeezed the grip of his auto rifle tight. Nothing would bring him more joy than to destroy this thing and put a stop to the process right here and now, but a different thought stayed his hand. If he destroyed this machine, he wouldn't understand what it was doing.
This was an actual, real piece of Dŭl Yurnath's plan for Remnant right here, and if he didn't take the time to identify what was going on, there was a real chance the opportunity would slip away forever. Only the Hive could come up with something this foul, and as evil as they were, they were anything but inefficient.
Finally, he tore his eyes away from the device and the misery it no doubt had brought to this world. He rolled his shoulders and began to trace the path he had taken down into this pit before pain exploded across the side of his head.
Hakke rocketed over a table, assorted tools and beakers flying alongside him as he crashed into the ground. Ears ringing, teeth aching, he looked in the direction the hit had come from. A large bronze hand was draped over the edge of the light folding table, a complicated mechanism that wouldn't have looked out of place as a prosthetic for a Titan. The hand grabbed the table's edge, and tore the thing backwards.
The hand was attached by a bronze chain to a mechanical forearm. A massive bald man with an impressive brown beard stood in the dingy darkness, the chain pulling his right hand back into place with a loud clunk. A thick rubber apron was strapped to his front, alongside a thick rubber glove on his other hand and a bandolier of tools hanging from his side. Judging by the lack of Syndicate blue on the man's person, he was similar to Amos. This was probably Burgundy, if he had to make a guess.
Unlike practically every other person that he had been forced to deal with, Burgundy didn't say a single thing, merely staring at him with unblinking, dead eyes before he punched at the air and sent the bronze fist hurtling back his way.
Hakke dodged to the side as the fist smashed through a metal cabinet behind him, and began to send bursts of auto rifle fire down at the man. He bobbed and weaved through the various support beams and tables of materials, sending fire downrange and narrowly avoiding two more launched fists. The man tore a heavy sheet of metal off the floor, holding it in front of him and began to charge.
Dust rounds exploded against the sheet as the man bull rushed towards Hakke, crashing through everything in his way to close the distance. The Warlock began to pull on the Light, a fusion grenade forming in his grasp as he charged to meet his enemy head on. He leapt into a Dash at the last moment, throwing himself sideways to clear the gap between Burgundy's shield and the ceiling and letting the grenade fly as he passed overhead.
He managed to nail the landing, pulling the auto rifle to bear as the grenade detonated, sending cascades of fire through Burgundy's sickly green Aura. As he pulled the trigger, he confirmed his hypothesis. This man was the same as Amos. A follower of the Sword Logic.
There were more of them.
Undeterred by the weaponized energy tearing its way through his soul, Burgundy whipped his shield around, simultaneously detaching his fist as he swung. The makeshift mace hit Hakke dead on, knocking the Warlock off his feet. As he scrambled up and to cover, the fist retracted and fired again and hit him center mass. The force knocked him back down, but more alarmingly, it's fingers dug their way into his flesh and managed to hold him tight. When the fist retracted, Hakke was pulled alongside it.
And right into a vicious left hook. The blow was hard enough to free him from the mechanical hand and simultaneously break his nose. Probably more. The Warlock flew backwards and crashed into a support beam. Sight in his right eye was temporarily gone, or at least it would be temporary as Callie got to healing, and he scanned the area for anything of use.
Too little too late, as the hand once again rammed into his face and latched on to drag him back. Desperately, Hakke burned Light on another Dash, using the force to straighten out his body as he flew towards the bald man. Instead of a target, Hakke had turned himself into a makeshift weapon. He kicked out as hard as he could, the strength of his entire body being amplified by the force pulling him, and caught Burgundy in the neck and face.
The bald man roared and fell back. Hakke followed up by cupping both hands and slamming them into the man's ears. With Aura, it would be significantly less effective, but it would still have some effect. As Burgundy took two shaky steps back, Hakke focused, drawing Light through the Barrier and down into both hands.
It was significantly harder than he had anticipated, but he managed to grow two balls of kinetic force in each hand. Finally, he shoved both at Burgundy, the twin palm strikes crashing into the man and throwing him off his feet in a maelstrom of green Aura.
Hakke laughed to himself. It seemed Remnant was beginning to rub off on him. Normally, something that flashy and drawn out was used as a finisher, specifically for when a Guardian wanted to both confirm an enemy died and to style on them in the same move. What they didn't do was use something like that as an in-the-middle-of-a-fight move. However, it was exactly the sort of thing a Remnant Huntsman would do.
Still, he had only seen the man's Aura flash, not break. This fight was far from over. He slammed a new magazine into his gun and began firing on Burgundy again. The first few rounds went wide as Hakke instinctively raised the sights to his still blind right eye. Adjusting, the next flurry found his target.
Burgundy shielded his face with his metal hand, before grabbing a metal canister and whipping it at the Warlock. Hakke slapped it aside with the butt of his rifle, distracted just long enough for Burgundy to close the distance and seize him by the throat.
He was bodily lifted off the ground, his gun torn from his hands. Burgundy's grip was like a vice, crushing his windpipe as Hakke tried to dislodge or move either his arm or hand. When neither of those techniques worked, he instead threw another palm strike at point blank range into Burgundy's head. Even through his Aura, the force was akin to a sledgehammer being bashed into the man, forcing his head to turn. When he looked back, it was with fury.
As Hakke threw punch after punch into the man's head, Burgundy walked a few paces forward before choke slamming the Warlock down onto a metal counter. Before he even had an opportunity to draw a breath, Burgundy smashed his bronze hand down into Hakke's chest, smashing his ribs and forcing what little air was left in his lungs out in a bloody wind. He bodily maneuvered Hakke so his head was dangling off the edge of the counter, and raised his metal hand to deliver another such blow to his head.
It didn't take a genius to figure out what would happen next. His body was supported by the counter. His head wasn't. His neck was the connecting point. A blow as heavy as the last, Hakke would be lucky if it only broke his neck instead of decapitating him.
Neither option was very attractive.
As he was being maneuvered, Hakke unclipped his baton and swung it into a vertical position next to his head before thumbing the extension button. The baton extended in an instant, one end ramming into the floor and the other ramming into Burgundy's incoming fist. Burgundy's own strength worked against him, as he plunged his artificial hand down hard enough that the staff pierced his aura and smashed in between the bronze knuckles with the shriek of tearing metal.
Burgundy withdrew both his fist and the staff, staring at this recent development with a shocked fury. It was just enough time for Hakke to scrabble a hand around the counter for something useful. His hand found the handle of a screwdriver, which he quickly clutched, before grabbing the distracted man's beard in his opposite hand. Items acquired, he dragged Burgundy's head forward and rammed the screwdriver directly into his eye.
Hakke's strength was not equal to his opponents as it turned out, Burgundy's Aura flaring up aggressively around his eye. Still, it seemed to be enough for the man to howl in pain and stumble back. Finally, Hakke was able to suck air into his burning lungs, and roll off the counter and onto his feet.
He had a set of broken ribs, again, one eye was blind, and he had just about been thrown through everything this Dark lab had to offer. He had landed more than his fair share of blows, but it seemed that this man had more than enough Aura to take whatever he was capable of throwing his way. He needed a new strategy and fast.
Time was everything right now.
Running along the ceiling were a multitude of smaller diameter pipes, most of which had sprinkler attachments running off of them. A fire suppression system.
He had an idea.
"Callie, transmat me some bolas rounds." He muttered under his breath. Across the room, Burgundy had shaken his head clear and returned his attention to the Warlock, one eye now bloodshot. One undamaged table stood partway between himself and Burgundy, and separated Hakke from his fallen gun.
They charged simultaneously, Burgundy ripping the staff out of his hand as he went. His fist extended and launched and Hakke slid under the attack, angling to slip under the table as he went. He rose on the other side, grabbing the edge of the table and flipping it into the air. One last palm strike sent the table hurtling towards Burgundy, slowing him down long enough for Hakke to grab his auto rifle off the floor.
He held the trigger down, firing round after concussive round into the ceiling and into the fire suppression system. Immediately, water began spraying out in a torrential downpour.
Finally, Burgundy spoke. "No!"
Confused, Hakke looked closer. The water was soaking into several very expensive and very custom pieces of hardware, smoke and the sound of sizzling emanating from them. If he didn't want his fancy tools getting destroyed by water, he shouldn't have had a water based fire system put into place. Still, this may be an opportunity for answers.
"Why?" Hakke cried, brandishing the gun at his face. Anything to distract the bald man from what had just materialized in his left hand. "Why all this? What's the point? Surely the Syndicate would have a better use for prisoners than this."
Across the way, Burgundy raised an eyebrow. "It ain't for those like you to know. They failed the test. This'n is a better use of their lives than whatever inane thing they was going to do otherwise. It is the way."
"Oh, of course you justify this with Sword Logic. I'd think you'd find a different calling card by now."
"You know?" Burgundy seemed surprised. "Ah. Amos talks too much."
"What's the point of this? Why are you doing this?"
"Hrmm. I've wasted enough breath on your corpse."
Well, it had been worth a shot.
The water by now had reached both of their boots. Burgundy began approaching, arms raised to ward off gunfire, water splashing with every step. Perfect. Still, this was going to suck.
Hakke slammed the hand with the freshly transmatted bolas rounds into the water, and poured every scrap of loose Light he had into them. Back at the apartments, he had supercharged only one. This time he had three.
Both men screamed as an untold amount of voltage coursed through them both. A deafening explosion rang out, and Hakke felt an eardrum rupture and a shrill ringing overtake that sense. He was launched backwards where he skidded along the floor for a distance. He couldn't see yet, he could barely breathe, but all the same he forced himself up.
He let himself stay still for a bit, the familiar feel of Light tending to his wounds stretched across every fiber of his being. Sight returned to his right eye, and he used it to review his injuries. Nothing out of the ordinary, except for the fact that most of the material from his glove was completely gone, and the flesh underneath was burned with deep running lightning scars. With his own checkup revealing nothing he couldn't deal with, he looked out to check on the status of his enemy.
Green flickered dangerously behind the cascade of water as a very angry, very much so not down Burgundy got up. Hakke matched the movement. Separated by the splattering of water on concrete, they stared each other down. They had fought their way back towards the entrance to this lab, and Hakke stole a glance at the drums stacked in the corner.
"Is this place yours? Are you the one who did that?" His voice was level, but only just.
"I grab 'em, chop 'em." He gestured to the piled drums. "Stack 'em."
Hakke's fists tightened, rage boiling underneath his skin.
Burgundy shook his head as he began to pace forward. "Never did get why you Huntsmen care so deep for somethin' so useless."
The bald man pulled off his rubber glove, revealing a hand with a brand etched into the palm. A sharp, angular rune that began to glow green. Hakke began pulling Light through the Barrier, holding it in his chest. If the damn thing wouldn't let him draw normal amounts at once, then he would build it over time.
Burgundy charged and fired his broken hand. Hakke dodged to the side, expecting the thing to fly past. It did, but it seemed Burgundy had a trick for dealing with this exact thing, snapping the return faster and redirecting the hand into the back of Hakke's shoulder. Once again hooked, Hakke was dragged back to the bald man.
He tried to jab an elbow into the bald man's nose, but merely impacted his Aura. Burgundy meanwhile slammed his rune hand into Hakke's chest. "Least yer Aura'll be good fer somethin'."
Dark. Coiling tendrils of Darkness slithered their way into his core, sliding and slicing at his very being until they reached the mass of Light he had been accumulating in his chest. They twisted around his Light, eagerly sliding down towards it and then were burned. The tendrils recoiled and retreated, the calculated dead eyes of Burgundy widened.
"Wha? Where's yer- you ain't got no Aura! There's nothin' there! The hell are ya?"
Hakke twisted, slamming Burgundy in the crook of his elbow to drive the hand away, tendrils of black steam wafted from the rune and retreated. He willed every scrap of raw Light he had into its Solar form, and sent it shooting down his arm and into his hand. There was no effort to form it into a given shape, or even control its current. As his hand erupted and his arm transmuted into a transparency of fire, he snarled out an answer.
"A Guardian."
He slammed his open palm into Burgundy's chest, the Solar Light immediately chewing into the Hive growth surrounding the bald man's soul. That's what it was, he could feel it, an infestation that had burrowed into his very being and corrupted him into the uncaring monster before him. Burgundy began to roar, then scream as Hakke added more and more Light into the attack, pushing his hand further with all his strength.
The Barrier only let him gather minute amounts of Light at any given time, like a ration or a tithe. But Hakke was a Guardian. A being that was by definition impossible. Something that by the very act of willing it could bend reality to operate by his terms. His rules. Could create effect without cause. Paracausal.
As Hakke summoned more and more Light, he hit the Barrier's limit, the cap on the amount of energy it allowed him to draw without the Light escaping his control. But this time, Hakke didn't try to control it, merely direct it from him and into Burgundy. And with a roar that tore his throat raw, Hakke managed to do something impossible.
He ripped open the Barrier. Just a tiny bit.
Burgundy's Aura, battered as it had been by heavy blow after heavy blow, finally gave in. A green and gold shimmer shattered around him as Hakke pushed a wall of Light into and through the man's chest. The scream stopped as Burgundy's body was ripped asunder in a wash of flame, a wash that didn't stop until it had flowed down every limb and burned every scrap of evidence that Burgundy ever existed away.
As the last licks of cosmic flame that had once been Burgundy evaporated onto the open air, Hakke collapsed. Sweat poured off everything that could sweat, and he felt like someone had just hollowed him out with a weed wacker. It was still Dark in the lab, but Burgundy's death had eased back the worst of it. He doubted this place would ever be properly free of its taint, but it would lessen.
He lay motionless, breathing heavily as Callie appeared over his prone form.
"You have to get up, there's no time to waste." She spun anxiously. "Look, I'll collect your weapons for you, but we need to get to Cerulean before something bad happens."
"Right." He mumbled, and forced himself to his feet. He had no idea why he felt like this, his best guess was whatever Burgundy had tried to do to him, while unsuccessful, had done something unpleasant. The familiar weight of Midnight Coup settled on his lower back, and the baton appeared on his hip.
He focused, the Light coming to him just a touch easier than it had before. He breathed a sigh of relief. It seems the hole in the Barrier he had just tore was there to stay. His Light was just that much more accessible. His unnatural exhaustion fading, he stumbled his way towards the exit of the lab and out of the Dark.
"Wh-what?" Basil asked.
"You heard me. The grinder. Get to it, we don't have all day." Amos said, light irritation creeping into his voice. "Wait too long and I'll toss you in after her."
With one last scared look at the Detective, Basil began to slowly make his way towards a control panel at the far end of the building. Cerulean meanwhile had her eyes locked on her captor. He wasn't looking her way at the moment, and she was spending the time attempting to regain control of anything else, her hand, her arm, anything. The spasms grew in her right arm as she fought for control, nearly managing to move the limb before Amos looked her way once more.
Locked down again, she raged internally. Although she could feel the muscles in her face respond to her commands. Another piece slowly came under her control.
Amos walked up to her slowly. "Now, don't you go thinking I can't see what you're doing. You use these last seconds to come to term switch what happens next. Because, little puppet, I hold your strings, and I'm going to make you feed yourself into that thing right down there." He clapped her on the shoulder. "And once that's done, me and Burgundy are gonna find your partner and do the same thing to him. How's that make you feel?"
She forced herself not to look at him, not to reveal that she was breaking free. It took everything she had. It got harder as he reached into her coat and retrieved her wallet, flipping through its contents.
"Ooh, now looky here! And who might this be?" He asked, pulling out a picture and holding it in front of her. Her breathing hitched. It was a picture taken five years ago, back when she and Nicole had finally managed to save enough to take a trip to Argus. It had been one of the happiest trips of her life, just her and her spouse, enjoying the sights of one of the grandest cities outside of the capitals.
It was one of her most treasured possessions, a physical copy made afterwards as a memento. Now it was in the hands of this monster. She locked eyes with Amos, who appeared to register her emotions. He looked at the writing on the back, nodded in understanding.
"Well, you won't be needing this, now will you?" He said as he tore it in half.
Her heart skipped a beat as he gave her a saccharine smile. She began to move once again, although it felt stilted. Like she was being piloted through water. Her eyes never left his as she was forcibly turned to begin the walk to the grinder. Right before Amos left her field of view however, she could have sworn that his grin turned sour.
"Basil," He yelled, a slight hint of alarm in his voice, "why isn't that thing on yet?"
Down at the controls, Basil had frozen. He jumped at his superior's yell, turning around to reply. "I-I don't know how. I'm an accountant, I don't know how to do any of this." He excused.
"Gods damn it. Turn it on. It's a single button, you useless..." Amos hissed, before a beep from his Scroll distracted him. He pulled it out and checked it. "Signal? Why can I connect to the CCT? The hell is going on down there?"
He sounded equal parts frustrated and worried. Small dividends when she was still incapable of moving of her own volition, but it was something. Amos had gone back to snarling to himself in that horrid language, and she could hear his boots shuffling on the ground. Scratch that, he was mostly worried. Why having a CCTS signal was worth worrying about was odd, but if she had to guess, it meant that the jammer he had mentioned must have been down. Devices like that were hard to come by and incredibly illegal. Which would make it perfect for a place like this.
She screamed internally as she approached the grinder, stopping only a few feet from its stainless steel feeding cone. At the bottom of the funnel, two reciprocating screws were silent and still, waiting for power to begin rending whatever was thrown in.
"By the Brothers, you incompetent, good for nothing imbecile!" Amos nearly shrieked. Something had gotten under his skin, a deep worm of panic and hysteria creeping into his voice. She heard a dull crunch followed by a cry, and then the sound of a body hitting the ground. FInally, the grinder lurched into action. "I have to do everything myself around here."
Her hand lifted and she leaned over the edge before extending her hand towards the screws. Her blood froze, the bladed screws whirring hungrily below her.
She was going to die. He was trying to kill her in the singularly most foul way possible; ground up like one of the livestock animals they kept at this slaughterhouse. A deep reservoir of determination welled up in her chest, from some untapped place she didn't know had been there. She couldn't die, not here, not like this. Not with the traitorous Ponci running free. Not with the Syndicate operating uncontested. Not with Nicole still missing.
Nicole.
She was still in danger. Still lost somewhere in Vale, under the control or custody of either her corrupt coworkers or a vicious criminal organization. She didn't know where she was, or if she was okay, and that terrified her.
She couldn't lose her. Not like this.
The reservoir spilled out, a sensation unlike anything she had ever felt flowing over her person. It was like a splash of ice water on a hot day, clearing her head and knocking her sense of gloom clean out of her. The air she was breathing suddenly felt more full, the metal she was grabbing less sturdy.
Her hand had been hovering over the blades for several seconds now, unmoving. She tried clenching her fist, and found it was back under her control. Slowly, she pulled herself back from the lip of the grinder, and found she was back in control of herself. Her gun was still clenched in her right hand, and she turned to find Amos on his Scroll, shakily tapping his finger against the interface. Further away Basil was on the ground, clutching an arm that had been nearly broken in half.
Amos had Aura, and all the benefits that provided. Basil, did not. With enough training, anyone could reach the point that their unactivated Aura could provide just enough resistance under the hood to have a better chance of surviving an injury. It was how so many of the criminals she had fought in the past had survived getting shot, or how they survived getting hit by Huntsmen. Anyone who hadn't been trained would just get pulped.
It was subtle, but present. It didn't take a genius to figure out Basil didn't even have the training advantage. She raised her gun and pointed it at Amos's head. He turned, and looked up in disbelief.
"How in the godda-" She shot him. Green Aura flared around his head and he clutched at his head with a howl. "You bitch!"
With a roar he swung an Aura-enhanced punch at her. She had no hope of dodging, not at this range. It caught her under the chin, throwing her clean over the grinder and up towards the ceiling where she crashed into one of the hanging steel beams, knocking it and a loop of wire loose. She landed hard, bouncing once before stopping.
It hurt alright, but nowhere near as painful as it should have been. The fact that she could even process that thought properly meant something was off. She pushed herself up, spitting a shockingly little amount of blood from her mouth.
She was hidden from view for the moment, although she hadn't managed to keep hold of her gun. Over the din of the processing machine, she could hear Amos raging.
"How the hell did she break free? How? That shouldn't have, I can't, I-" He was in a full panic now. Slowly, the rational part of her mind began pulling together the details. He had a Semblance, and a hell of a nasty one to boot. He had begun to 'puppeteer' her when he had initially tapped her on the shoulder in the hallway, which meant he needed to touch his victims to use his Semblance.
When had she begun to regain control of herself? When he wasn't looking to start, but that had been subtle in comparison to later. She had begun to break free properly once he had noticed he wasn't in full control, and that control had only worsened when he realized he had connection to the CCTS. He hadn't even been paying attention at the end, simply giving his silent command before messing with his Scroll.
As he had lost composure, she had regained hers. He hadn't mastered his Semblance fully, at least that was her guess. And judging by his current tantrum, he needed a clear head to use it properly.
She touched her chin gingerly. It hurt, but that punch should have broken her jaw, even with the training advantage. That and the ricochet off the beam now dangling over the grinder's mouth, she should at the very least be unconscious right now. Yes it hurt, but she could still move.
She looked around for her gun, finding it on the floor out in the open. With one last look over to where Amos was raging, she went for it, breaking into a crouched run. She was nearly there when her enemy noticed her movement.
"I don't believe this." He snarled as he went after her. She grabbed the gun off the ground and spun about, falling into a shooting position. Instinct and her training kicked in as she fired as many rounds into him center mass, only for his Aura to hold strong. He swatted the gun from her hand and grabbed her arm, and she felt his Semblance kick in to imprison her once more.
Unlike last time however, she could feel it try to freeze her in place. She could notice the attempt, and with a short clash of will, she was free again. Somehow, Amos didn't seem to notice, a victorious grin plastered over his face. A grin that died when she punched him square in his bandaged nose.
He staggered backwards, less from the actual punch and more from the shock that she had punched him. Taking advantage of his lack of action, she chopped his neck in the place that Hakke had shot him, and kicked him between the legs. He let out a wordless scream and grabbed her again, this time bodily throwing her across the room. She hit the edge of a bench and fell to the ground. Pain arced through her back, but not nearly as extreme as she had been expecting.
Her gun was nowhere to be found, and Amos was coming for blood. She climbed to her feet once more, using the bench as support as a gunshot rang out. Cerulean looked around to see where the shot had come from, only to see Basil pointing her gun in the direction of Amos.
He had missed. But he had distracted Amos. She looked around for a weapon, and found a shovel that had been knocked to the floor by her crash. Grabbing the shovel, Cerulean mustered what strength she could and charged, slamming her shoulder into Amos and forcing him backwards. He was knocked off balance and barely got his arms up to defend himself as Cerulean began swinging.
Once. Twice. Three times. She slammed the shovel into him over and over, slowly driving him backwards. At this point, she was barely thinking. Instinct drove her to wail on the man, before he finally caught the shovel.
He looked at her and she looked at him. His eyes were filled with a level of hatred that wouldn't have been out of place on a Grimm. It suddenly became painfully obvious to her what was necessary to end this. There would be no arrest with this man, nor any meaningful rehabilitation. Looking behind him, she came to a decision.
She threw her weight into the shovel, forcing Amos backwards. Her own strength surprised her, as the man actually went back despite his best efforts. He snarled, wriggling the shovel out of the way and began to flail at her. Despite everything he had done, all the posturing and gloating, she realized he couldn't actually back it up. At least not once his trump card of a Semblance failed him. Any hint of technique or skill vanished as he lashed out wildly, Cerulean shoving him back against the conveyor belt. Near the grinder was the loop of thick wire that had been holding the now dangling I-beam in place, and she reached over with one hand and grabbed it.
She had wanted to try to wrap his arms in it, but with how wildly he was flailing that was unfeasible. Instead, she looped it around his neck, twisted herself, and used it as a leverage point to throw him to the ground. He was up nearly immediately, one hand reaching for her neck, the other throwing more wild punches.
Suddenly, he gave a gasp as his head was pulled back viciously, the wire going tight around his neck. He grabbed at it as he was dragged backwards, ramming into the funnel of the grinder, and then over the edge. His hands flashed out, grabbing the edges of the funnel as he strained to stop himself from going in.
Incredibly, it worked. The grinder's din slowed, replaced with the protest of machinery as Amos halted himself, and began to slowly pull himself back out. She stared, horrified, as the Aura around his neck flared violently and his head emerged enough to stare at her.
His eyes were glowing that same awful green, spittle flying out of his lips as he strained against the metal wire that had been pulled into the grinder. The metal edges of the funnel buckled where he gripped it. She turned to Basil.
"The gun!" Cerulean cried.
Using his good arm, Basil slid the gun over to her. She took aim.
He was almost free, the foul language pouring out of him. Alien words that felt like knives against her soul. A bullet wouldn't kill him. But she saw something that would. He looked at her, then her gun, and then finally at what she was aiming at.
Amos let out one last inhuman roar as she shot the thread of wire holding the I-beam over the grinder. It fell like a spear, smashing into his head and shoving him down into the screws. His Aura flared, then shattered, followed shortly by the sound of the grinder breaking as it tried to chew through the I-beam.
Cerulean took a shaky step backwards and slid down the side of the conveyor belt. Only the man's boots were visible now, unmoving. She looked over to Basil.
"Thank you."
He merely nodded mutely. His face was pale and he was clutching the arm that Amos had broken. Now that she had a moment to actually look, it was worse than she had thought. His forearm had an extra bend to it. She closed her eyes and let her head rest against the conveyor belt.
It was over.
Footsteps approached from outside the building. Suddenly aware again, Cerulean leveled the gun at the door the footsteps were moving towards. A man with a freakishly large gold and white revolver stumbled out, looking around wildly. Her mind eventually identified it as Hakke, although it took longer than she anticipated.
At least she could guess why he hadn't shown up to help her with Amos. His face was mostly black and blue, a blood trail flowing from his nose and one ear. His left hand was torched and lines with black zig zagging burns.
Her gun dropped. "Took you long enough."
His head snapped to her, one eye barely open. "Cerulean? Oh thank the Light. Where's that creepy - oh."
His head was facing the pair of boots sticking out of the grinder.
"Holy shit, you mulched him."
She couldn't help it. She burst out laughing.
And lo, the Happy Trails arc comes to a close. This one was stressful as hell, and stupidly hard to write. Especially the Amos stuff. He and Burgundy (mostly Amos TBH) were my first real attempts to make truly despicable antagonists for the good guys to face down, the sort that actually deserve the ending they receive. So, please, lemme know if this actually worked or was too far or what have you.
Fun Fact: This chapter has the first actual, purposeful kills by the heroes in the story. Some goons probably bit it along the way, gunfights with a Guardian tend to be fatal after all, but Remnant's criminal population be built different. The forces they get smacked with, especially in earlier volumes, should be enough to liquefy 'em, but they don't.
Also, there is basically no information out there as to how you can get Aura for yourself outside of "just train a lot lol" or through having someone else activate it. So I'm taking a page from Worm for this one: it's possible to naturally awaken Aura if you're caught in a truly horrible situation. Caveats being it takes someone with a tremendous amount of willpower and raw potential to do. Originally, Cerulean was going to go the whole story without Aura, for some dumb reason or another. The problem I quickly found is that without that power up, having her tag along to deal with the worst the Syndicate has to offer would basically be a death sentence. Not to mention she generally needs more proper development. I've got Hakke's stuff down good, but I definitely need to sink some more thought into Cerulean's side of the equation.
RangoTango
Wow! Review Time!
Al the Obsessive - The Barrier is probably one of my favorite things in this story, it serves way more than one purpose. Stuff from character development to major plot details. It's one of those MAJOR plot things I can't wait to bring to the fore properly.
Master-ofmanga - How dare you be so accurate. Those guns'll make a return in not too terribly long, as things ramp up in terms of danger. The blow they strike at Happy Trails is one that the villains can't ignore.
zirnitradandm - Holy moly my guy, thank you!
SpartanDelta-118 - Yeah, that's exactly what it stands for. Truth be told, your reaction is what I was going for, as this multi-parter is an experiment in making villains that are actually despicable (Amos/Burgundy) in both action and what they represent.
The Baz - Wandering Warlockite. Nah, fuck sword logic, all my homies hate sword logic.
joshingblock - First off, thank ye kindly stranger. I'm glad you're enjoying what I'm writing here. I hadn't thought about it, but Hakke's introduction could have easily led to him being the ultimate edgelord, which is damn funny to me. I'm also glad to hear that the explanations and background info is landing in a way that doesn't remove you from the story. It's one of the elements I usually fret about a fair bit as I write.
Guest - You dare challenge ME? Kidding aside, eventually Hakke's gonna seriously upgrade that baton of his, and I unironically have been considering the logistics of a fusion rifle (ish) attachment using Dust as ammo.