Unlocking the door to the BBFO office, Danny stepped aside, letting Mark and a couple of his people go past him, then followed them in. One of the security team was towing a trolley that rode on four large balloon-like tires. He maneuvered this to a halt next to the table. "Those eight boxes there, I think," Danny said, looking at the plastic crates sitting on the table-top. Mark opened one and investigated the contents, nodding with satisfaction when he pulled out a respirator mask of similar design to the ones used in the paint shop, although clearly not the same make.
Danny took the mask when his colleague handed it to him, Mark pulling out another one and inspecting it. He smiled at the small logo on the side next to the word 'FamTech™' which Taylor liked to put on all her stuff at the moment. "These look good, Danny," the other man said, trying the fit of the one he was playing with. "Nice and comfortable, too. Much better than a lot of ones I've used in the past. Good work."
"Saurial did warn that she couldn't guarantee they'd keep all the smell out since this thioacetone stuff is apparently pretty horrible, but she thought it would help a lot," he replied. Handing the mask back, he watched as Mark put both of them back in the crate, then motioned to his two people, who quickly loaded them onto the cart.
"Better than nothing," Mark nodded. He picked up a sheet of paper that had been held down by the crates, quickly scanning it, then handed it over. "They made one hundred and fifty four of them. That's more than enough, with some spares."
"OK. Let's go and talk to the volunteers, then," Danny replied, checking the time. "They'll need to leave in a half an hour. Director Piggot wanted our people to liaise with the BBPD at the central station by half past six."
"We can make that," Mark replied as they followed the two security men out, Danny locking up on the way. "I've got the buses standing by already. Everyone's kitted up and fed, all they need is a pep talk from the boss." He grinned when Danny muttered something under his breath, rolling his eyes. "You'll give in sooner or later. Boss."
"Sure, whatever you say. Minion."
"That's the spirit."
Mark snickered when Danny glared at him, although there was no heat in it.
Shortly they were back in the large shed that had been used for the deployment during the tanker move operation, a smaller but still substantial crowd of DWU workers gathered in small groups, drinking coffee and bundled up against the early morning chill. The unheated building got quite cold overnight, he mused, looking around. At some point it might be wise to sort that out.
Moving to the front he climbed up to the same place he'd used before, Mark beside him, and Zephron and Kurt both joining the other two moments later.
"Quiet!" the huge black man shouted, his bass voice easily overriding the background chatter. Everyone turned to look at them. "Friends, Minions, DWU workers, all quiet for the wise words of… The Boss!" He made an elaborate gesture towards Danny, who had a hand over his face by this point. The man was worse than his daughter.
Mark and Kurt were both fighting to keep straight faces, and most of the others weren't even trying. When the laughter died down, Danny pushed Zephron to one side, his old friend grinning widely. "You are a menace, Zephron. Have you been taking lessons from Saurial?"
"Don't need lessons, Sir!" Zephron shouted, snapping to attention and saluting with yet another of his invented gestures, then looking at his own hand. "No, still not right," he mumbled.
"Stop that."
"Yes, Sir! Stopping, Sir!"
"Now."
"Sir!" Zephron gave him another salute, then took two steps backward, as neatly as any drill sergeant, still holding the salute. Mark was almost convulsed with laughter as were quite a few other people.
Danny watched him with an incredulous look, wondering if Varga madness was catching, then shook his head and turned back to the crowd, waiting for them to stop snickering. Behind him, he could hear Mark still giggling to himself, but didn't look. He didn't want to know. "My apologies, everyone. Apparently some people need… whatever the hell it is that Zephron needs. Sanity, probably."
"None of that round here, Danny!" someone shouted.
"Don't remind me," he replied, which made them laugh again. "OK. Settle down, children." When he had quiet once more, he continued, "Our mission for today, should you accept it, is to go and help the BBPD and the PRT with a similar crowd control exercise as during our recent memorable outing with Kaiju. The PRT is involved with a major offensive against a local villain. This information is currently embargoed, so it's a DWU-only secret, clear?"
He scanned the crowd, seeing to his quiet pleasure that almost as one they all nodded, looking resolute. He reflected yet again how much he loved these people, and wondered how he'd been lucky enough to end up part of such a huge family.
"Shortly, there is going to be an incident which will require a localized evacuation of the center of the city. I'm reliably informed that the conditions in the affected area will get very unpleasant from the point of view of smell for a while, which is why we have those." He indicated the cart full of respirator masks, which one of the security men held up an example of, then tossed it to him. He raised it in his hand. "Saurial and her sister made these for us. You'll want to thank them later, I suspect, since this incident is really going to smell pretty bad. She told me that they probably won't cut everything out entirely but they'll help a lot."
Lowering the mask, he said, "If anyone wants to back out, or has a particularly weak stomach, now would be a good time."
No one said anything, or moved.
"Great. All right, the plan is to meet up with the BBPD at the main station shortly. The incident will have started around..." He checked the time again. "Now, actually. Very soon city hall will release the first press briefing, I believe. As soon as we receive the call, you lot are heading over there. Same as last time, the cops will tell you where you're needed to man the barricades and that sort of thing. They'll have a briefing for you at the station to tell you what to tell anyone who wants to get into the affected area. If what I've been told is even slightly correct, I doubt many people will, to be honest, but you know as well as I do that there's always some difficult bastard with no common sense."
A ripple of laughter ran around the room.
"Back up the cops, keep out of trouble, don't start anything, but make sure that if someone else does you show them why the DWU isn't a pushover, OK?"
The nods were very firm this time.
"New Wave is on standby, deployed with the PRT squads who will be arranged around the place, so be nice to them if they turn up. They're friends." He was pleased to note that most of the assembled volunteers nodded again. "That's it. Stay safe, help the city and the people stay safe too, and everyone involved earns a nice bonus."
Everyone roared their approval. "Beer and steak?" someone yelled hopefully.
"I think that can be arranged," he grinned. "If anyone wants anything after the mission."
"How bad can it be, Danny?" that man called.
About fifteen seconds later the first traces of the worst smell anyone present had ever encountered answered him.
There was a moment's appalled silence, then a mass rush to the crates of respirators, both security people already wearing them over slightly pale faces and handing more out as quickly as they could.
When everyone in the entire room had one on, Danny swallowed, feeling green. This was several miles away, and the wind was blowing towards the stench zone. He didn't even want to think what it must be like downwind of it.
"Question..." The man gagged a little. "...Withdrawn..."
"I think Saurial should have made some more of these," Mark wheezed. "But they seem to work. It just takes a while to clear out of the lungs. Christ, what a stink."
Danny's phone rang. He pulled it out and answered it. "You can deploy your volunteers, Danny," Director Piggot's voice said without preamble. "We've got our incident."
"We definitely didn't miss it," Danny told her dryly. "All right. Everyone is ready."
"Thank you."
"Good luck."
The woman snorted slightly, almost inaudibly. "Thanks. I'll be in touch later." She disconnected without another word. Putting the phone away, he looked at the room of masked people, inwardly amused that they nearly did look like a gang at this point. Taylor and Lisa would both laugh like idiots if he ever mentioned it, so he decided not to.
"That's the call. Everyone on the buses, and remember, you're getting paid pretty well for this. That should help."
"Slightly," a muscular woman, one of the demolition team, said loudly. Eddies in the breeze outside brought a fresh waft of the hellish stink. "Possibly not enough," she added, shaking her head. Even so, she along with all the others headed for the vehicles that were starting up outside one after the other, without pause.
He watched them go, then turned to Mark, who was doing the same. "They definitely deserve beer after this."
"Damn right they do," his friend and colleague nodded, still looking slightly unwell. "And a fucking medal in my opinion."
Smiling a little, both of them followed after Zephron and Kurt who were leaving the building, all of them getting back to work as much as they could with the horrible scent still present. Oddly enough, none of them felt like visiting the cafeteria at the moment.
"Holy fuck!" Randall slapped both hands over his nose, then glared at his best friend. "What the hell did you have to eat last night, man?!"
"It wasn't me," Kevin protested, his voice muffled under his own hands. "Jesus. What the fuck is that?"
"Smells like someone fermented twenty tons of old whale and dropped it outside the door," Randall gasped, trying to keep his stomach where it belonged. "Only worse." The smell kept getting stronger. "Much worse."
They exchanged an appalled look, then scrambled for the nearest machinery with built-in life support. Five minutes later, Randall was ensconced in the safety of the power armor his friend had recently repaired, while Kevin was slamming the door of his bipedal combat mech and turning the air supply up as high as it would go. Even so, it took another several minutes before either man could breath without wanting to upchuck.
Clomping over to the computer bench, Randall reached out with an armored finger and prodded the power switch on the large screen TV they kept there for watching the news on. It was about a quarter the size of the other one that was reserved for the more important pursuits of watching movies and playing games on, which lived safely in their games room.
Already set to the local news channel, the screen came up with the logo of Brockton Bay's TV station, above the words 'Breaking news, chemical incident in central city area.'
"No fucking kidding," Randall grumbled. "What chemical?"
He heard the heavy footsteps of his friend's machine approach, looking back to see the smaller man peering through the armor-glass windshield at the TV. Moments later, the broadcast switched to a live feed from city hall. They listened to the report, then turned the TV off when it was finished.
"That's… a little implausible," Kevin said, his voice coming from the mech's external speakers and sounding slightly bemused. "I know that lab, I checked it out once, and they're extremely careful with their equipment. I suppose it's possible but…" He shrugged momentarily. "Just seems slightly off to me."
"Where else would it come from?" Randall asked. "I mean, from what they said, that stuff is incredibly nasty, and not something you'd normally find lying around. I've never even heard of it before."
"I have, but not recently," his friend replied absently, working on the console to one side of the main controls in his cabin. "Ah. OK, thioacetone… Here it is." He studied the screen for a few seconds. "Mmm... Barely possible they could have been doing something with organo-sulphur compounds and had it go wrong, but..." He still didn't look entirely convinced.
"Some sort of attack, then, maybe?"
"Might be. It's certainly going to clear out the entire fucking commercial district. No one with a functioning nose is going to stick around until it's gone."
"So it might be a diversion," Randall mused. "Maybe for some sort of robbery? Be a good way to get the guards away from a bank or something, and there are a lot of vaults around there. Right in the middle of the financial area, from what that report said."
"Possible. Or… it might be the PRT doing something." Kevin raised his eyebrows meaningfully. "If they wanted to make a move on someone, some villain, who was lurking in the middle of the city… That would do it. And it might even surprise them, if they're watching the news. It's a plausible scenario after all if you don't know any chemistry or that BBU lab."
"Who?" Randall pondered the concept. "Not Merchants, or ABB, wrong area entirely, not to mention Skid's little gang is history… E88, possibly? I'm pretty sure that Kaiser is connected to some of the businesses down town."
"Could be. Or, it might be Coil." Kevin shrugged. "Or someone we don't know about who's hiding somewhere there. Or, it might just be exactly what the news claims it is."
"Well, if it's anything to do with taking down a villain, I can guarantee that Taylor and her friends are in the middle of it," Randall grinned.
"What makes you say that?"
"Come on. DWU people helping out with crowd control?" Randall gave his friend a look. "That means Danny knows about it, and if he knows about it, Lisa sure as hell does, and if she knows about it, they all do. And we both know that there's no way that Taylor would let any of her friends get involved without providing backup."
"True enough." Kevin looked thoughtful, then amused. "In which case we can probably find out later. But until that stink clears out, I'm staying where I am."
"Me too."
They both fell silent, looking around the room for a moment. "I wonder if I can use the controller in this armor?" Randall asked thoughtfully, thirty seconds later, casting a glance towards the games room, then looking at his armored hands. "The dexterity is first rate."
"I do good work, of course you can," his friend said with some asperity. After a moment, Kevin's face fell. "But I can't from in here. Damn. I need to add some sort of remote link to the games boxes..."
They shared another look.
Eventually, Randall sighed faintly. He wasn't going to abandon his best friend in their hour of need. Looking around again, he said, "I spy with my little eye, something beginning with… X."
Kevin started snickering, but also started guessing. It kept them amused for some time.
"Gahhh!"
Missy pulled the pillow over her head and tried to block out the stink. It didn't work very well. The appalling smell had woken her ten minutes ago, very nearly causing her to throw up. She'd heard her mother run for the toilet seconds later, the retching sounds coming through the two walls between her and the smallest room. By the sounds of it the poor woman was probably getting a good look at things she'd eaten last week.
Pale-faced and sweating, Missy thought hard, then lowered the pillow and looked around. After a moment, she got up and opened the window, recoiling as the smell got, impossibly, even worse. Looking out towards the sea with her eyes streaming, she concentrated hard, forming a spacial warp between just in front of her face and as far out over the horizon as she could manage. She was trying to keep the visible distortions to a minimum and thought it had worked as she couldn't really see anything. That said, it was still dark out.
Moments later a wave of cool damp air started blowing towards her face. She nearly collapsed in relief, the simple tang of salt was a phenomenal change to whatever waft straight from hell was afflicting the whole area. Widening the warp and fiddling with it, she managed to get quite a strong wind blowing in the window, making loose papers fly around.
The smell gradually began to dissipate. Hearing a sound at the door to her room she looked over her shoulder to see her father staring at her. She gave him a tremulous smile. "It's pretty bad, Dad," she explained. "I needed to do something."
"Thank you, Missy," he said with enormous relief, coming over to sit on her bed, breathing deeply to rid his lungs of the horrible stink. A little later her mother came in as well, pale and sweating, wiping her face with a damp cloth.
Despite their differences, Missy was pleased that her parents sat quietly in her room and simply luxuriated in the fresh air, neither one for once sniping at the other.
It was oddly nice, and made her wish that it would happen more often.
'They're not idiots, are they?' Taylor asked, watching as the mercenaries ran around checking everything.
Very soon after she and the Varga, who was currently controlling another Saurial aspect, had teleported into the base, they'd had to quickly move out of the way of a team of four men who had turned up, very carefully inspecting the inside of the escape tunnel they'd appeared in. There was a background drone from huge fans that had wound up to full power as they'd arrived, blowing air through the entire place and getting rid of a lot of the smell. Clearly the diversion wasn't being taken on face value without some double-checking, proving that the mercs were professionals.
On the up-side, though, none of them looked desperately suspicious, although most of them did look rather ill. They were wearing gas masks which obviously didn't work as well as they'd like, and she could smell traces of vomit in the air. Having mentally edited out the thioacetone stench, something she was profoundly grateful was possible seeing the impact it had on normal people, she could easily tell that it had caused significant gastrointestinal issues on the people in the base.
"No, they are obviously well trained and suspicious of sudden events like this," the Varga replied silently. "One would expect that a successful mercenary team would be at least as effective as any regular military group, and it's likely that they are mostly ex-military in any case. Much like the people of a similar background at the DWU, I suspect."
'Like Mark and his people,' she nodded. They carefully moved past another group of four mercs who were walking slowly along the corridor, one of them using some sort of hand-held scanning device and checking everything, while his colleagues kept their weapons at the ready. She inspected the guns with interest, seeing they were some form of high-end automatic rifle with a transparent plastic magazine on the top, and an underslung tube with heat-dissipating fins on it. This was presumable the beam emitter that they'd been told the mercenaries used as well as normal firearms.
Their cloaking spell was easily up to the job, all the men walking past without pause or notice. It would have been trivial to deal with them right then and there, but considering the way they were talking on headsets, and the high levels of paranoia and observation currently on display, there was a good chance that they might get an alert out. Even if they didn't, the people on the other end would probably work it out very quickly.
Without doubt they could take the base in minutes but there would be a lot of gunfire in the process, and it risked giving away more about their abilities than anyone was keen on. The same problem as simply grabbing Calvert and teleporting out again. So, for now, they'd play their part, map out the entire place, and arrange to disable any likelihood of wiping the computers, before doing anything more obvious.
After that, though…
They exchanged a look of anticipation.
After that, it was time to play for a while.
'You go right, I'll go left,' Taylor said as they reached the point the escape tunnel met up with the main base complex. 'We'll scan the entire place.' Looking at the device that Dragon had given her, she double-checked it was on and collecting data. The Varga had modified the Assassin's cloak spell to allow it to work correctly.
"All right." Her companion did the same with the other unit they had, then they split up. Not that this was actually a wildly good description, since due to her, or their, nature, it was more like two hands being moved apart, but it sufficed for the moment. She mused that sooner or later they needed to come up with some better words to explain what it was that they did, but considering how few people knew anyway, it wasn't important.
Pleased with the progress so far, she and her other aspect proceeded to walk among the mercenaries without any of them realizing it, carefully mapping the entire base and sending the data to the PRT.
Jolting awake, Thomas sat bolt upright, inchoate images blurring his thought processes. A residual sensation of terror went through him, causing him to shiver and look around at the room, flinching as the automatic systems turned the lights on to a low-level glow.
Moments later and whatever it was he'd been dreaming about left him, something he was half worried about, half thankful for.
He really hadn't been sleeping well recently.
As the disorientation passed, he became aware that something smelled absolutely ungodly awful. Slapping both hands over his face he tried to suppress the urge to hurl, managing after some seconds. Presumably this was what had woken him, since when he looked at his bedside clock, it was only just after six AM, a good hour before his normal waking time.
Gagging, he climbed out of his bed, leaving the wrinkled and sweaty sheets behind, then headed for his office next door. Turning the ventilation up as high as it would go, which didn't help as much as he'd have liked, he quickly logged in to the base computer system and checked the alarm status. It showed that the environmental system had been manually transferred to internal closed-system operation six minutes earlier, with a full air-exchange purge having been done before the output vents were closed.
'Christ, this is what it smells like after a purge?' he thought in dismay. 'What the fuck is making that smell?' Clearly it was coming in from outside the base, and his first and obvious worry was an attack. Frantically going through the logs, bringing up all the external cameras and sensors on the video wall on the other side of the office, and checking all the internal security as well, he slowly relaxed just a little when he saw that nothing other than the stench showed up.
The streets outside were clear of any form of official or otherwise Parahumans, law enforcement, or even villain gangs. None of the tunnel sensors showed anything out of the ordinary, not even the final resort tunnel that he alone knew of, which ultimately led to the waterline below the low-tide point. No microphones or seismic sensors had detected anything digging around the walls, floor, or ceiling. All the air pressure sensors were showing normal levels, consistent with the internal environmental systems. There was a spike when the purge had happened and another one when the internal switchover was completed, but both of those were identical to the logged ones from tests.
Ultimately he couldn't see any indications that anyone was actually attacking his base. Internal cameras showed that Smith's people had increased their patrols and sweeps, were carefully checking all the entrances and exits, and doing in fact everything that he would have ordered himself. Even so, he kept flipping between camera views on the main and largest monitor for some minutes, suspiciously looking for anything out of the ordinary in any way at all.
Not finding anything, he prodded a control and brought up the external TV feed, quickly finding the local news broadcast. Resting his elbows on the desk he folded his hands and watched the live report for a few minutes, then turned to the computer and did some quick research. Splitting his timeline to allow him to investigate two separate chains of thought at once, he finally collapsed the new one and relaxed back into his chair.
This thioacetone chemical appeared legitimate, was indeed horrific in odor yet more or less harmless in other ways, and could quite possibly have been created by accident. It would only take a minute amount in the right place to cause exactly what he was witnessing.
So, on the face of it, this did look like an accident.
Why, then, was he still worried? Aside from the smell, which was still horrible.
Thomas pondered the matter for a little while, then brought up a map of Brockton and highlighted the lab being blamed for the spill. Overlaying the exclusion zone which was now up on the city hall website, he stared at the result with narrowed eyes.
Again, it looked plausible. His base was off to one side, nowhere near the middle of the zone, which was in the form of an ellipse covering the bulk of the commercial district with some of the nearer residential areas also included. There was nothing there to indicate that this was some subtle diversion, to take him off guard while the PRT kicked the door in. Aside from anything else, the streets were empty, when he brought up feeds from the city CCTV network which he'd put backdoors into years before.
The nearest PRT presence was at the lab itself, which was being invaded by a team in hazmat suits, looking like they were trying to deal with a nuclear reactor problem based on the sheer amount of equipment involved. Beyond that, the BBPD was in the process of putting barriers across every street into the area in question, with a lot of people in safety vests with 'DWU' written on the back aiding them. Nearer in, several PRT vans were also blocking some of the critical streets, all of which led to the lab, not his base.
Everything looked kosher and met the published information perfectly.
Even so, his paranoia, which was always fairly high but in the last eight or nine weeks had gone entirely off-scale, kept prodding him that something was wrong. He began checking everything all over again, spawning another alternate time line to try different avenues of investigation.
By the time there was a knock on the door, he'd run at least eight different variants of the scenario trying to figure out the trap. Twitching a little, he looked at the screen on his desk which was fed from the camera outside the door, then checked the sensor system to make sure that the picture was genuine. The height, weight, and every other measurement he could detect matched Captain Smith.
Pressing the intercom button, he said, "Two minutes."
The mercenary nodded, casually standing at ease with his hands clasped behind his back in a manner that implied he could stand there all day. Thomas got up and went back into his quarters, quickly washing his face and drying it, then drinking a glass of water. Pulling his costume on, he checked his appearance in the mirror of the bathroom, deliberately trying to calm himself as much as possible. After thirty seconds he nodded and went back to his desk. He toggled the control that unlocked the door, his other hand on the pistol in the holster mounted to the underside of his desk.
Captain Smith came in, walking over and resuming his stance on the other side of the desk. The man was somehow managing to suppress any visible signs of being affected by the horrible smell, which was something that genuinely impressed Thomas, not that he'd say it. "Sir," he stated as he stopped.
"Report, Captain," he said.
"According to the night shift, the smell is caused by a chemical called thioacetone, resulting from a chemical spill at the BBU lab downtown. It was detected at 0605 hours. The environmental system was switched to manual control, the base purged on maximum override at 0607, then switched fully over to internal air at 0611. We have reserves sufficient for sixteen days of normal operation without refilling from external atmosphere. No intrusion of any sort has been detected at this time. I have doubled patrols, ordered full checks on all entrances, and have all the men ready for action should it become necessary. External news reports suggest that the situation will be resolved by mid afternoon."
The mercenary made his report in a calm professional voice. His expression didn't change at all the entire time.
Calvert nodded. "I see. That matches what I can also determine. Do you believe this could be a precursor to some form of attack?"
"There is no evidence of such a thing happening, sir," Smith replied. "We have checked for any form of unusual radio activity, with negative results. No unexpected personnel are present in the surrounding area, the buildings above us, which have been evacuated, or the tunnels. PRT activity is high, but concentrated on the chemical incident. BBPD patrols are restricted to the boundaries of the quarantined area, assisted by DWU helpers. The nearest of any of these are over three quarters of a mile away." Pausing for breath, he looked at Thomas, who waved him to continue.
"We cannot detect any hostile activity through any conventional method, and none of the Parahuman methods we have the ability to measure. I cannot guarantee that there are not Parahuman methods we can't measure, obviously, but the evidence would strongly suggest that the situation is exactly what it appears."
"So, on the whole, you think this is merely a very unpleasant smell that has caused irritation, rather than anything we should be worried about?"
"Yes, sir. I would recommend keeping the enhanced patrol schedule until the situation is resolved, and for the remainder of the shift after that, but I believe that absent any other data we can revert to normal operations following that point. We should also continue to monitor the external situation and keep alert for any unusual activity, just in case this is some form of diversion, but based on current information I don't feel we need to be too worried."
Thomas regarded the other man for a few seconds. Smith was a very competent military man, and he was probably entirely correct. All the evidence suggest that as well.
"And if you're wrong?"
Smith inspected him for a moment. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"
He waved a hand in a gesture of acceptance.
The mercenary relaxed a little, then shrugged. "If I'm wrong, we may have a problem. But I don't think I am based on what my men have found out, and what I can see for myself. The PRT and the cops are running around dealing with whatever idiot managed to stink out the entire city, and when they find him are going to make an example of the guy, I'm sure. But it really doesn't look like it's aimed at us." He nodded at the news broadcast which was still playing, muted, on one of the monitors. "If it's an attack, it's a weird one. The amount of effort it would take to coordinate the PRT, the BBPD, city hall, the DWU, and everything else, just to cause some sort of diversion to attack us, is ridiculous. Brockton Bay isn't exactly the most efficient place, after all. And none of your agents in the PRT have said anything about this either, have they?"
"No, they haven't," Thomas mused. "The computer taps show normal activity as well, or at least activity compatible with this sort of incident." The recent security crackdown spearheaded by Miss Militia had taken out a few of his less-important plants in the PRT, apparently after the E88 got careless and attracted too much attention to their own double-agents. Typical Nazis, causing problems for everyone. But then, those people weren't important in the grand scheme of things, they provided useful information at times but their main purpose was to protect his real agents.
Both of those were still reporting regularly, and hadn't mentioned anything at all about some sort of operation on this scale. He couldn't believe Emily could manage to hide something this big, so Smith was probably correct.
"Sir, I know you've had a lot on your mind recently, but I think we're fine," the mercenary added after he'd let Thomas stew over his thoughts for a while. "There's no sign of anyone at all anywhere near us. We'll keep on high alert until things go back to normal, but there is such a thing as being too paranoid. Even if they are out to get you. You end up jumping at shadows and make mistakes. I've seen it before."
Studying his hired gun, Thomas thought some more. The man seemed sincere and he made a good point. But…
Calvert split the timelines.
In one timeline, he pulled his weapon, pointing it at Smith. "You're working for them, aren't you?" he snapped. "Tell me what is going on."
The mercenary had got half-way to his own sidearm before freezing. Staring at Thomas's face, his own entirely blank, he slowly shook his head. "I am not working for anyone other than you, Coil," he replied.
The way he didn't look at the gun was impressive.
He lowered the weapon slightly, then pulled the trigger. Captain Smith shuddered as the bullet went through his lower left side, the report astoundingly loud in the confines of the room. "Tell me what the plan is," the Parahuman said in a quiet yet intense voice.
Dropping to his knees, Smith put a hand over the hole in his side, which was oozing blood, the flow steadily increasing. "I'm telling you, there is no plan," he gritted, sweat running down his face. "I'm not working for anyone else, I swear."
The gun fired again, hitting him in the right shoulder. "The plan," Calvert snarled.
"There is no plan, you fucking lunatic!" Smith shouted, his voice ragged.
Watching him bleed, Thomas finally nodded. "I believe you, Captain," he said. Then he shot the other man in the face. When the body was still, he dropped that timeline.
In the other one, Thomas nodded, saying "Thank you, Captain. Maintain the current alert status, monitor the situation, and update me immediately if anything unusual happens."
The mercenary went to attention, saluting him. "Sir."
"Dismissed."
Thomas watched him leave the office, then locked the door again.
He leaned back in his chair. The stench was still horrible but it was becoming very slightly less intrusive over time. He could live with it for now. Even so, he decided that when he finally managed to work out what was causing his power to have problems, one of the first things he was going to do was blow the fucking place up just on general principals, for causing him to feel so unwell.
Sighing a little, he split the timelines once more and began work, trying yet again to discern what the problem was that was screwing with him. In both of them he kept one eye on the situation outside the bunker, since despite the words from his mercenary, he still wasn't entirely reassured.