"Come on, wake up." whispered Rin Sagami. "Wake up, Mr. Legoria!"
Cyrus slowly opened his eyes. Rin was stooping over him as he sat in his wheelchair.
"I think it's safe to say that you won." Rin smiled at him.
"I did, huh?" asked Cyrus. "I didn't realize we were having a contest."
"We were, remember? Well you managed to beat me." said Rin. "I managed to outdrink everyone else that challenged me."
"Well, I had years of practice from Miami." frowned Cyrus.
"You're from Miami?" asked Rin. "I thought Florida was destroyed during the flood."
"Some buildings in Miami were tall enough to escape the tides." said Cyrus.
"What was it like?" asked Rin, curiously. "Before the floods. Was it like it was in all those films and TV programs?"
"More or less." said Cyrus. "It was one of the most beautiful cities in the world. And I got to live there with my family. My wife, son, and daughter."
"What happened to them?" asked Rin. "They didn't...die, did they?"
Cyrus nodded. Rin frowned.
"All except my son." said Cyrus. "He didn't stay long though. He fell in with some mercenary group that was passing through. He was sick of having the town drunk for a dad."
"I'm sorry." said Rin. "I shouldn't have cut in on you while you were grieving."
"Oh, it's fine." said Cyrus. "I like being competitive when it comes to my drinking. It lets me channel my sorrow into positive energy. To be honest though, I usually lost against everyone else I got into drinking contests with."
"Really. Well I'd hate to go up against those other guys."
Rin laughed.
Cyrus sat in his wheelchair, clasping his hands together.
"Well, you may have lost your old family." said Rin. "But you can always find yourself a new one."
"Yeah, but..." said Cyrus, muttering under his breath. "They were supposed to be my new family."
As the small convoy of escapees were beginning to rev up their engines, more jeeps and trucks began to follow them. The vehicles scattered, but still kept driving in the same general direction. Drivers maintained constant communication with each other through walkie talkies and radios. In their pursuit the escaping vehicles exchanged gunfire with their pursuers.
"Floor it!" shouted Walsh.
His truck kicked into high gear and raced through the forest. As it drove off, Walsh stuck a full magazine into his M4 and fired a burst at the nearest jeep. The bullets went through the windshield, taking out the driver and sending it careening into a gully. Another jeep came along with a mounted M2 Browning. The gunner fired several shots, but Walsh was able to take cover in time. Two of his fellow soldiers took his place, firing their guns at the jeep. One soldier got hit in the arm and collapsed to the floor howling in pain. The other soldier dragged him out of the way as Walsh went back in to fire at the jeep. He kept shooting until the magazine ran dry.
"Soldier! Toss me a mag!" he shouted to his uninjured comrade.
"I'll do you one better." groaned the injured soldier, slowly handing him his SIG MPX-K submachine gun. "Take my weapon. It has selective fire."
Walsh nodded and set it to full-auto. He aimed at the jeep behind them and sprayed the gunner full of holes.
"Two more coming in from the right!" said the uninjured soldier.
Walsh aimed down the sights, but it was fruitless since the truck took a turn into the thicker part of the woods. Still, he did not let his guard down for a second. His vigilance soon paid off, since he started to hear the sound of rotary blades above him. When the truck came into a meadow, he caught sight of a helicopter flying over them.
"Looks like they've already sent out a chopper." said Walsh. "Lose it!"
"Yes, sir!" said the driver.
"How far is the next town?" asked Wells.
"E.T.A. is two hours, sir." said the driver of his truck.
Bullets shot through the canopy of the truck, killing one of the soldiers aboard.
"We won't live long enough to see two hours!" said Salvatore.
"Hang on, I've got this." said Riggs.
He took the Colt M4A1 with M203 grenade launcher attachment from the fallen soldier. He stuck his head out the back to see the helicopter was pursuing them. It fired two missiles, but it missed and hit the trees above them, sending burning twigs and leaves scattering in all directions. The helicopter slowly descended so that it could get a better shot at the truck. Aiming carefully himself, Riggs pulled the trigger on the M203, lobbing a grenade upwards. The grenade hit the underside of the helicopter. It shook, but it wasn't enough to destroy it. He frantically reloaded the M203 and fired another grenade at the enemy aircraft. It took out the left stabilizer, causing the helicopter to swerve into a tree, where it caused a fiery eruption on impact. It also caused the tree trunk to fall onto a pursuing jeep, taking out the gunner who was aiming down the sights.
Riggs aimed the M4A1, pulled the trigger, and did a sweep of the windshield. The driver and passenger were both killed and the jeep crashed. But before they could celebrate, another jeep drove into view. Riggs fired at the gunner and the passenger before either of them could shoot the truck. But he ran out of ammo before he could get the driver.
"I've got this one!" Wells staggered beside Riggs.
He unpinned a grenade and tossed it into the gap in the windshield left by Riggs. The grenade landed in the lap of the passenger. The driver panicked to get the grenade out of the vehicle, and he ended up swerving into a ditch, where the jeep went up in a fiery blob of metal.
"I've still got it, even after all these years." Wells smiled.
After many days of traveling across the ocean, Blue-6 was just hours away from Scandinavia. Very soon they would arrive at their destination. All the Grampuses were docked inside the submarine. Kino walked down to the gym section of the submarine to get some exercising done when she heard a loud crash. She ran to investigate. Pete was sitting on a bench, looking down with frustration at a dumbbell laying on the floor, as he held up his sore hands.
"Are you okay?" she asked him.
"Yeah, I'm...fine." grumbled Pete. "I guess. I just thought I'd get some exercising done while I was still on board. But I ended up dropping it because it was heavier than I thought."
"Pete, I feel sorry about what happened earlier." said Kino.
"Hey, don't worry about it." said Pete, waving his hand dismissively.
"So you're not bothered by it?" asked Kino.
"No, I don't want you to worry about it because you don't need to." said Pete. "I'm not even a part of Blue Fleet, and I make a very lousy mercenary. When we get to dry land, I'm getting the hell out of here before more trouble starts."
"But you can't just leave your friends behind." said Kino.
"Friends? That's making a lot of assumptions, sister." spat Pete. "I just stuck with them because the alternative was getting shot full of holes by the Riptides. I just want to stay alive, maybe get married, and start a family. Though I doubt anyone would want to be with a fat bastard like me."
"That's not true, Pete." said Kino. "I'm sure there are lots of people out there that would want to be with someone like you."
Pete blinked and made eye contact with Kino.
"Really?" he asked her.
"Sure." said Kino.
"Would you be...interested?" asked Pete.
"No way." Kino shook her head.
"Thought as much." said Pete. "Typical. You know, you were the first woman I've seen in years."
"Really? But what about Mutio?"
"The first human woman I've seen in years." said Pete. "Miami was a hell of a sausage fest after the floods. It sucks to be straight when there's nobody of the opposite gender to keep you company."
Kino got slightly pink.
"I'm surprised someone like you can control your...inner demons." said Kino.
"Well I'm lonely, but I'm not a caveman." said Pete. "I mean do you have anyone?"
"N-No." said Kino, flustered.
"What about Hayami? Or that Deidson guy?"
"They're just shipmates. Comrades in arms." said Kino. "I don't have anyone."
"Well, if you're in the market..."
"No thanks." said Kino.
"Hayami is a big enough idiot for me to deal with on a daily basis." she thought. "I don't need a bigger idiot in my life. Speaking of which, I need to wake him up."
"Fine." said Pete.
Kino left the room. Pete exhaled in frustration, and picked up the dumbbell and went back to exercising.
Jason Long climbed out of a truck, followed by several other mercenaries. He found himself approaching a rundown eight-story building. When he reached the door, he found himself challenged by a Norwegian soldier in full winterized armor.
"Stopp!" said the soldier. "Identifiser deg selv."
Jason fumbled around, looking for ID. He produced a card.
"Jason Long, 88th Reserve Troop." he said.
The soldier nodded and beckoned him and his squadmates inside. They came into a hallway lined up with several soldiers as well as many civilians. There was a lot of grumbling and groaning from the latter. Another soldier in uniform greeted Jason and his squad.
"Our commander will see you now." said the soldier, in surprisingly fluent English. "Follow me."
They continued down the corridor and passed many rooms with sick and injured civilians. They were being tended to by medics, and soldiers with shotguns were stationed nearby. The sight of some of them made Jason sick to his stomach. There were people covered in scars and/or burns, or had limbs missing (either they were bitten off or amputated), and some of them were even in full-body casts. Jason tried as best he could not to look in the rooms for more than a couple seconds.
"Flytte ut av veien!" said the guide, brushing through a couple of elderly civilians.
They came to a room on the top floor, where the man that would be their commanding officer was waiting for them. He had blond hair with a bushy mustache. He and the soldier exchanged salutes.
"These are the new recruits?" he asked.
The soldier nodded.
"Good." said the officer. "I am Commander Jurgens. I take it you were debriefed back at headquarters?"
"Yes, sir." said Jason.
"Good." said Jurgens. "Then you know what your next objective is."
"Meet up with the rest of my unit, then secure the checkpoint fifteen kilometers East of here."
"Correct." said Jurgens. "The area is infested with plague beasts, so make sure you have enough firepower. And try not to lose too many men. We have reports that the Swedes might try securing the checkpoint first."
The corridors of Site-G were flooded with an intense red light. The various hues and colors of the bio-robots were nearly indistinguishable from each other.
There was a burst of gunfire in the distance. There were still intruders in the facility. NEROC readied his firearm.
"Stay here." he instructed the bio-robots, before turning to Kyra. "Keep them safe."
Kyra nodded.
NEROC walked down the halls, the barrel of his minigun spinning. More commandos appeared from around the corner, firing bursts at him. But he returned fire, shredding one soldier to pieces. The rest retreated. NEROC followed after them. He wouldn't spare any of them for the damage they caused his master's work. He pursued them throughout the complex, as did other robots. Eventually, only one commando remained.
"Ms. Donovan, this is Corporal Evans!" said the commando. "Everyone else is dead, but I've secured the data."
"Upload it to our servers." said the voice of Donovan.
"Doing it immediately." said Evans, pressing a button on his wrist-mounted device.
"Good work." said Donovan.
"Requesting immediate evac." said Evans.
"Get back to the extraction point." said Donovan.
"Of course, I'll-"
But he was cut off by a stream of gunfire. In seconds, he was dead.
"Evans? Evans?!" Donovan called into his headset. "Ugh. Damn those machines."
However, even though Evans was cut down, the data continued to be uploaded to Donovan's servers.
A middle-aged Caucasian woman sat outside her estate on the Isle of Man, looking out into the gray water of the Atlantic and the overcast sky above. She had a heart-shaped face with sapphire blue eyes, long golden blonde hair, and dark red lipstick. She was wearing a dark blue jumpsuit and had a pistol fastened to her belt. She held a PDA in her hand, waiting as the data finished uploading. Ninety-five percent. Ninety-seven percent. Done.
"Your sacrifice wasn't in vain, gentlemen." she said with a smile. "Let's see what they've acquired."
She opened a file and started skimming through the contents.
"Hmm...very interesting." said Donovan, with a sneer that bared both of her canines. "Yesss...Tornovich, you old fool."
A man in a suit approached her.
"Ma'am, the other prisoners have arrived." he told her.
"Excellent, Travers." she said to him. "Bring them down to the dungeons, will you? I will see to them personally, once I finish making a call."
"Yes, ma'am." nodded Travers.
"And would you care to send a fleet to deal with that riffraff up North?" asked Donovan. "I imagine the boys are starving for a good fight."
"Of course, ma'am."
Gina went down the hall and stood in a remote corner, making sure she was out of the viewing range of the nearest surveillance cameras. She rolled up her sleeve and then spoke into a wrist device she had.
"I can confirm that their secret weapon is almost finished." she spoke into it. "It won't be long before they unleash that mechanical menace. And it looks like GEOS is involved too."
"Ah, it's worse than we thought." said the voice on her communicator. "Our troops will be slaughtered. We need you to discover what else you can and then get out of there. After that, we'll send in the troops."
"Understood."
Then she heard footsteps behind her. A guard came up behind Gina and seized her by the arms. She was forced to turn around and face two other people. It was Mulder and his mustachioed accomplice.
"What do we have here?" asked Mulder. "A spy in our ranks?"
"Then we guess we'll have to get rid of you, won't we?" asked the man with the mustache, getting up to face her. "Mulder, silence her. Now!"
"With pleasure." nodded Mulder.
He brandished a Desert Eagle, chambered in .357 Magnum with black nickel plating and a laser sight, from his holster. Then he cocked the pistol, switched the safety off, and aimed it between Gina's eyes. Gina kicked back with one of her high-heeled pumps, knocking back the guard that was restraining her and took his pistol. She ran back down the hall.
"Activate the sentry guns!" said the guard.
As Gina ran down the corridor, autoguns dropped down from the ceiling. Just as they were turning to shoot her, a nearby elevator opened and she dove into it. But not without getting hit in the shoulder by a .50 Caliber round. As she hit the ground, her pumps cascaded against the walls. She limped to the controls to take her to the ground floor.
"Kill the power to that elevator! Now!" ordered Mulder.
"Yes, sir." said the security guard, getting out his walkie talkie.
As the elevator lowered, Gina collected her pumps and put them back on. Suddenly, the elevator stopped dead in between the second and third floors, and the lights turned off. Thinking fast, Gina scrambled up to the emergency hatch at the top. To her horror, Mulder were standing at the elevator doors for the eighth floor. Gina quivered as Mulder stared down at her.
"So who are you working for?" asked Mulder, his voice echoing down to her. "The Norwegians? The Swedish? Interpol? Or perhaps a rival corporation?"
"I...I'm not telling you anything!" Gina called back up to him.
"Fine." said Mulder, with a tone in his voice that was eerily calm and accepting.
Pointing his pistol forward, he shot one of the cables for the elevator, and the cable snapped. The elevator began to rock, causing Gina to lose her grip and fall back into the elevator. She start whimpering and whining as she hit the floor. Perhaps just in time, or else the cable would have slashed her arm off if she had held on. There was another gunshot and another cable snapped, causing the elevator to shake uncontrollably. It would fall very soon.
"Wait! Stop! Please!" she pleaded. "I won't say a word to anyone about anything!"
"I know you won't." said Mulder.
He fired another shot at the third cable. Gina held onto the rim of the emergency hatch. The elevator was now dangling by only one cable. Gina was now sobbing.
"I promise I won't tell anyone! Just please let me live! I won't tell anyone! I promise!"
BANG!
"I promiiiiiisssssee!" Gina's shrieking voice rang down the shaft on an ear-splitting note as she and the elevator vanished into the darkness. After a brief moment, there was a loud crash in the lower levels below. Elgen ran up to Mulder, followed by the man with the mustache, who walked at a very relaxed pace with his hands in his pockets.
"Is she...is she dead?" Elgen asked, trying hard not to sound upset about it.
"Dead or alive, she can stay down there." said Mulder. "Deep underground, where a mole belongs."
Elgen looked down the shaft, trying hard to listen for any kind of sound suggesting that Gina was moving down there.
"Now, it looks like there's an elevator that needs fixing." said Mulder, tapping him on the shoulder. "And you also have an opening for a new intern."
A squad of Swedish troops were seated on a gunship. They were all wearing heavily armored winterized uniforms, and three wore masks that covered their mouth and nose. These masks they wore were carved to resemble the snout and snarling mouth of a bear. These latter three were Berzerkers. They had been flying across the Norwegian-Swedish landscape for hours now, but they were still not close to their target. Beatrix, who had been previously upbeat and excited about going on her first mission with her comrades, started shivering in her outfit.
"Feeling the cold, Allisson?" asked Holmberg.
"Y-Yes…" she shuddered. "Yes I do. I could d-do with some hot cocoa right now."
Despite the cold, she did as best as she could to smile and not show weakness.
"There's only one warm liquid that I want." said Viklund. "And it's Norwegian blood, specifically on my knife."
He held up a Bowie knife, twirling it in his hand.
"I'd rather feel their blood on my bare hands." said Holmberg. "In life and death, they will be screaming for Valhalla to give them salvation. Spines, skulls, I'll shatter them all!"
The other troops in the gunship shifted nervously hearing the two of them talk. Even Allisson was disturbed by their words.
"What is this rage-dust that they've been taking?" she thought. "And how much of it have they had?"
She started fingering her face-mask, wondering what was supposed to be in it.
"Attention!" said a voice.
"Huh?" Beatrix looked over at Holmberg, who was now gazing at her. Then she looked at the commanding officer of the squad.
"We are nearing the drop site!" said the officer. "We will be intercepting a Norwegian patrol and commandeering a ride to get to Elgen. Berzerkers, make sure your face-masks are functioning, because you will need them. Soon, you will be unleashing hell on our enemies!"
Allisson, Holmberg, and Viklund all adjusted their face-masks accordingly. The rest of the soldiers inspected their firearms, making sure they were loaded with the safeties off.
Allisson pressed a button on her face-mask, and in mere seconds, a soft hissing sound became audible from within her mask. Some kind of vapor began to enter her nostrils and mouth. At the same time, a sense of dread, fear, and then inconsolable rage entered her mind. Horrid sounds and images, traumatic memories long repressed or forgotten were beginning to resurface. She was now reliving anything and everything that had ever hurt, scared, angered, or simply annoyed her. The time she fell on the sidewalk and banged her knees on the pavement when she was six years old. When that girl Hilda from elementary school spat in her face and pulled her pants down in front of the entire social studies class. When her pet newt died of pneumonia. When her favorite television program was cancelled. When she watched her first slasher movie and had nightmares from a particularly gory scene. When she watched a news report of an old woman being beaten by police officers over a parking fine. When she made an embarrassing post on a now-defunct social media site that caused her favorite internet celebrity to block her. All of these and many, many more horrible memories emerged from her sub-conscious. Each more painful than the last.
On the outside, her expression had become completely vacant and her disposition disturbingly tranquil. Her eyes were now fixed with a baleful malice that would make anyone that saw her take three steps back and run away, but there was otherwise no indication that she was angry. She did not even saying anything. She could not say anything, for she was too angry to talk. She was too angry to think about anything else. She just wanted to kill someone. In the most brutal way possible.
The sky was dark and the wind was howling. On a deserted and war-torn street in Norway, several armed men wearing gas masks and body armor sprinted down the sidewalk. One of the men was armed with an Barrett M82 sniper rifle, and the other a SITES Spectre submachine gun. The sniper had a Colt Anaconda revolver for his sidearm, while the man with the submachine gun had a Colt M1911A1.
"All right, Bernard. let's find a good vantage point." said one of the men, in English.
"Got it, Jason." said the other, also in English.
They came upon a rundown apartment building, and searched it for enemy soldiers or plague beasts. They found a few corpses, but there was nobody in the building that remained alive; clearly the building was already cleared out before they got there. Eventually, they came to the ninth floor, where they split into pairs and settled into apartments with windows facing towards the street. Bernard and Jason took an apartment together.
Bernard sat on a couch and inspected the ammunition he had for his Spectre, while his partner got to the window and looked through the window. After he was done inspecting the ammo, Bernard spoke up.
"Hey, Jason." said Bernard. "Do you see anything?"
"Not yet." said Jason. "I think we might've gotten here a little early."
"Early for the Swedes maybe." said Bernard. "Let's just hope they don't come."
"Why? Are you afraid of people that can shoot back?" asked Jason.
"No, it's those Berzerkers they're supposed to have." said Bernard. "I admit my knowledge of Scandinavia is rusty, but I remember reading about the berzerkers they had in the Viking days. I hear they inspired all the stories of werewolves. If these Berzerkers are anything like that, then...oh god."
Bernard picked up a walkie-talkie from his pocket and clicked it.
"We're in position." he said. "How are you guys doing?"
Sound emitted from the receiver: squeals, screams, and crackling which sounded like gunshots.
"Lovely right now, thank you!" said a British-accented voice, yelling over the background noises. "We're just doing some spring cleaning in the laundromat!"
The laundromat was one of the buildings in the plaza across the street. As the noises carried on, they saw pieces of the glass window at the front shatter due to being hit by bullets firing outwards. Followed by blotches of blood. Eventually an entire body of an infected human came crashing through the glass. It landed in a crumpled heap just four feet to the left of the front door, where it lay motionless forever after.
"All right, we're finished down here." said the Englishman. "Make sure you've got the next floor."
"Right." said Bernard. "Did any of you get bitten?"
"I do not think so!" said the Englishman. "We're bloody good shots and fast on our feet! My men would never let an enemy get within two feet of us alive!"
"Uh-huh." said Bernard, turning to Jason. "All right, you're up next."
Jason nodded, aiming down the scope of his rifle. He switched to night vision so he could see in the darkness. He could barely make out an infected person sitting on a chair in a room on the second floor. He was struggling to open a can of beer. Not by biting or gnawing at it, but simply trying to open it by prying open the tab on the top. Did the infected retain pieces of their humanity after all?
"Jason, do you have a shot?" asked Bernard.
"Uh-huh." said Jason, blankly. "I just feel a little weird about this."
"Well you can feel weird about it later." said Bernard. "Right now we have to accomplish our mission, or we won't get paid."
"Okay, okay." said Jason.
BANG!
The infected human fell dead in his chair, dropping the beer can on the floor. The infected that were in the room slowly limped and lumbered over to investigate.
BANG! BANG!
Two more fell dead. The rest scattered. Suddenly, they heard the sounds of an approaching helicopter.
"Keep your eyes peeled, snipers!" said the Englishman's voice. "That can't be one of ours."
"Jason, watch the skies."
Jason nodded, looking around.
"I don't see them." he said, looking out the window through the scope of his rifle.
Then the sound came closer until it stopped above the building they were in.
"They're on top of us." said Bernard. "Clemens, do you have a visual?"
"Hang on, I'm coming over." said the Englishman.
A thin figure walked out the front door of the laundromat and looked up. He held up his walkie-talkie.
"Shite." said Clemens. "It's a Swedish chopper."
"What are they doing, Matthew?" asked Bernard.
"They're unloading troops." said Clemens. "And...oh my god, those are Berzerkers! Get the hell out of there, on the double!"
"Did he say Berzerkers?" asked Jason.
"He said Berzerkers." confirmed Bernard. "We need to move."
Two doors down, another pair of snipers were on watch. Theodore Bowman and Laurence Gunderson, both armed with Heckler & Koch PSG1 sniper rifles, were getting ready to leave the building. But just before they reached the door, they heard a rustling from the window.
"Watch the door, I'm going to investigate." said Bowman.
"Right." nodded Gunderson.
Bowman approached the window, brandishing an FN Model 1922 from the holster on his belt. Then there were hurried footsteps outside the door. Gunderson put his hand on the door and quickly opened it, turning around the corner and aiming ahead.
"Tango spotted!" he yelled, firing shot after shot without looking through the scope.
He kept firing until he fell dead at the hands of his enemy. Bowman turned around to help, when he heard a thud behind him. Before he knew it, he felt a sharp, intense pain as a gloved fist forced itself through his abdomen and out through his navel.
"Oh my g..." He was choking out his last words within seconds.
Jason saw Bowman's corpse as it was sent flying out the window. He didn't need to be reminded of what was waiting for him.
"Let's go!" he shouted to Bernard.
They both made a break from the door in time to see a lightly armored Swedish soldier in a face-mask viciously mutilating Gunderson's corpse. But as brutal as the soldier was, it made no sound. No grunting, no yelling, no vocalization of any sort. He looked up at Jason and Bernard, and stared at them. While his eyes seemed blank, they had a deep, hateful malice in them.
"Oh my god!" said Bernard. "Jason, get downstairs."
He aimed his Spectre at the Berzerker, and pulled the trigger. Despite multiple hits, the Berzerker kept coming. Jason ran towards the stairs, firing back with his revolver. But Bernard stayed behind, shooting at the Berzerker until the magazine ran dry. He dropped the Spectre and pulled out his Colt. Aiming down the sights, he fired a bullet into the Berzerker's shoulder. The Berzerker's arm was bleeding, but he still didn't cry in pain. The deep, seething rage he felt burning in his head overruled his self-preservation or ability to feel any damage he received in combat. Bernard backed up against the floor-length window behind him. He turned himself around and stopped hopping backwards.
BANG!
He jumped back.
BANG!
Again.
BANG!
And again.
Before he was right in front of Bernard. The Berzerker jumped back and sent Bernard and himself crashing through the window and falling to the street below.
Another Berzerker emerged from the room where Bowman and Gunderson were assigned, his arms and torso covered in blood. He pursued Jason down the stairs.
"We've got to get in there and help!" said Matthew Clemens to his squad, reloading his Browning Automatic Rifle.
He and four other men were running across the street towards the building, but they were met with gunfire from the rooftops. Multiple Swedish commandos armed with submachine guns were firing down on them. They all took cover to avoid the bullets. As he hid behind a broken down truck, Matthews got out his walkie-talkie.
"Hello, is anyone still alive in there?!" he yelled over the gunshots of both his comrades and enemies. "Anyone at all?"
"We've got Berzerkers in the building!" Jason's voice yelled back. "I've got one of them on my tail!"
"Hang in there." said Matthew. "We've got Swedes shooting down at us from the roof, but I promise we'll get in there soon. Just don't die on me!"
They continued exchanging gunfire. Matthew saw what they were doing. As the Berzerkers went inside and slaughtered the men that were in the building, the regular soldiers would stay on the rooftop and provide cover fire. Matthew carefully aimed the rifle at the head of a Swedish soldier and fired away. His target was dead.
"Ryan, come with me." he said. "We need to get in there."
"Right!"
"The rest of you, stay out here and keep drawing their fire."
Suddenly, they heard a sound coming from further down the road. The sound of loud whirring and grinding against concrete. A large humped shape came approaching out of the darkness, and two large floodlights activated on the front. Then several more appeared behind it.
Jason ran down the hallway, ignoring the sound of gunfire coming from outside, but the Berzerker caught up to him. He picked him up with incredible strength and smashed him through an indoor glass window. Jason went through the glass and landed on a desk in an office. He staggered off the table just in time, as the Berzerker dove in after him. Cut off from his rifle, Jason fired the Colt Anaconda twice into the Berzerker's chest. But despite getting hit with two .44 Magnum bullets, his enemy kept moving. Jason was out of bullets, and forced himself to pistol whip the Berzerker in the head to no avail. The Berzerker seized him by the shoulders and headbutted him hard, nailing him in the nose. Then he shoved him against another desk, causing him to flip over the side where he landed with a loud thud. Then his enemy climbed over the desk like a feral beast and pounced on top of Jason. He punched him repeatedly, turned him over so he was face-down and then grabbed him by the scruff of his neck. He was about to smash his face into the floor.
Another mercenary entered the room and proceeded to shoot the Berzerker with a .38 Special revolver. Three shots hit him in the back to no avail, but it was enough to break the Berzerker's focus. Then when the Berzerker approached him, the mercenary pulled out a machete and lopped the Berzerker's right arm off with one clean swipe and then stabbed him through the belly. The Berzerker pulled the weapon out of him, and then braced himself for a counter-attack.
"Tough son of a bitch, aren't ya?" said the mercenary, speaking with a thick Afrikaaner accent.
Jason, even while he was injured, could recognize the mercenary's voice. It was Matthys Krige.
"What do you think yer goin' to do wit dat?!" he said, as the Berzerker held up Krige's machete.
The Berzerker slashed at Krige, but he ducked and rolled out of the way. Krige picked up a nearby chair, and positioned it between himself and the Berzerker. The Berzerker stabbed the machete through the chair, where it was embedded in the wood. Now deprived of his weapon and one of his arms, Krige began walloping him with the chair until he backed away against a partially demolished wall with a gap big enough for a very large person to go through.
Krige produced a flask and started pouring liquor into his mouth. As the Berzerker approached him, Krige squirted the liquor from his mouth, dousing his enemy's head and upper torso with the liquid. Then he pulled out a lighter and set the Berzerker's body ablaze. Then he finished with a straight kick to the stomach, sending the Berzerker falling down several floors to the street below. While he was fighting, Jason got up. He was pushing a nearby couch towards the gap in the wall. After much effort, he pushed it through the gap and dropped it directly on top of the Berzerker. If the fall and multiple burns and fractures didn't kill the Berzerker, that would've surely finished it off.
"Just like Johannesburg." said Krige.
He started licking the blood off the machete, much to Jason's disgust. Krige quickly spat it back out.
"Whoo! That's some bitter blood!" said Krige.
"What the hell was Johannesburg like?" asked Jason, almost involuntarily.
"I fought Zorndyke's creatures there." said Krige. "Big ugly ones. I still keep a bunch of their severed head and arms as trophies. I'm like a big game hunter of sorts. Too bad we're not allowed to kill them anymore."
"Krige, what the hell are you doing in this sector anyway?" asked Jason. "I thought you and your squad were sent to the next town over?"
"Well, we were goin' daun there..." began Krige. "But...heh, heh...we got bored and decided we would check up on the rest of yeh morons. Oh, and yer welcome by the way."
He pointed to the gap in the wall.
"Oh, right." Jason nodded. "Thanks. That Berzerker almost got me."
"Yes, now excuse me while I help myself." said Krige.
He walked to a nearby cabinet, and pulled out a large bottle of liquor and a small glass. He poured some in his glass and started sipping it down. Then there were hurried footsteps.
"Please be reinforcements..." said Jason.
It was Matthew and his squadmate Ryan.
"Long, we need to get the hell out of here!" he said. "The Swedes are sending in a tank column as we speak!"
"Well, how d'ya like that?!" guffawed Krige.
Before Beatrix knew it, the effects of the rage dust had worn off; she was now standing over a number of horribly mutilated bodies of Norwegian soldiers. Her arms were drenched with their blood, and there was now a rip in her left pants leg, with a gaping bullet wound underneath. There was a similar wound on the right hip and left arm, but neither were as deep.
She started to pant heavily. Tears began to run down from her eyes, both from the returning pain and from remorse for what had happened. Viklund, who was similarly covered in blood, walked up behind her and patted her on the shoulder. Blotches of still-wet blood were smeared on her uniform where he touched her.
"You've fought well, little one." he told her. "Do you know what those soldiers saw before they died?"
Allisson winced, nervous about responding.
"A valkyrie, right out of Valhalla." Viklund whispered excitedly. "Yes, you've sent their souls to Fólkvangr."
"I don't know what any of that is." said Allisson. "I honestly don't know much about Norse mythology."
"Don't talk such nonsense." said Viklund. "You are a daughter of Sweden. Norse blood runs through your veins as it does mine. Just as it used to run through their veins when they were still alive."
He chuckled.
"But I'm not a Viking!" said Allisson.
"Enough, both of you!" said Holmberg. "We still have a mission to complete! Get on the trucks with the rest of the men."
"But I have a bullet wound." said Allisson.
"Pull the slug out." said Viklund.
Allisson obeyed, and inspected her wound. Slowly, she pulled the slug out of her bleeding wound. More tears fell from her eyes and she groaned in pain.
"It hurts so much." she cried. "How was I able to...?"
She was nauseous as she looked at the slug.
"Just get in the truck." said Holmberg.
Allisson offered no word of protest. She boarded a nearby truck in a stiff and robotic manner. Mentally, she was very drained. Though she was no longer in a blinding rage, her mind was still in a very dark place. Once all three boarded the truck, the commanding officer spoke to everyone.
"Listen, our mission just received an update." he said to them. "We've lost contact with our insider, and discovered that there's an opening for a new intern at Elgen Electronics. Instead of storming the complex immediately, we'll need to send someone else in to take the place of our missing operative."
Viklund and Holmberg took a look at the semi-catatonic Allisson.
Rockefeller was walking about the corridor where the Grampus pilots had their own personal quarters when he noticed Kino was standing outside of Hayami's room. Curious, he decided to investigate.
"Hey, uh. What's up?"
Kino slowly turned and put her finger to her mouth, gesturing for him to be quiet.
"Be quiet." said Kino. "Take a look inside."
Rockefeller walked up to her and took a peek through the door. His eyes widened. Inside, Hayami and Mutio were both sitting on the bed, their backs against the wall. They were resting against each other, with their heads touching together. Hayami was frowning, while Mutio was smiling and seeming to have the time of her life even as she slept.
"Oh my god, that's so cute." whispered Rockefeller.
Matt walked up to them.
"Hey, what's goin' on?" asked Matt.
He looked inside too.
"Wow..."
Hayami stirred himself from his sleep. He looked at Mutio and gently tapped her on the shoulder to wake her up. Mutio woke up as well.
"Hey, why's everyone spying on us?" he asked, groggily.
"Hayami, we've just arrived in Norway." said Kino. "We're unloading everyone."
"Oh." said Hayami. "Well that's good. Maybe now we can get a bigger room."
Mutio nodded and smiled. Hayami slowly got up while Mutio climbed off the bed after him.
A/N: I apologize for the long wait. I'm in a Danganronpa phase right now and have been working on fanfiction based on that series. But don't worry, I haven't given up on this story. I thought I would at least get this chapter out in time for this story's fifth anniversary. I admit this chapter is a little rushed, but I plan to come back and improve it later.
Once I'm finished with Danganronpa: Lucky Future, I'm going back to finishing this story.