- infie
Recap: (Sunday)
"Uh, Ahmad?" 529's voice was even, not a trace of fear, though his eyes were telling a different story.
"Fuck this." 494 said. "Fight."
Immediately 529 responded, throwing all of the impressive power of his healed body into obtaining a singluar goal: get loose now. The chains twanged with a mellow gong as they snapped taut, and there was a howl of tortured metal as one of the connections to the metal table tore away. Suddenly, 529's left arm was free, and he planted his hand into the middle of Manatov's chest, sending him sprawling several metres away. 529 curled and wrapped his left hand around his right wrist, heaving against the steel restraint, desperate to free his other arm. The metal of the table screamed as it began to buckle under the force.
494 didn't wait to watch 529's efforts; he dropped in a blur of speed to one knee over the cage lock, withdrew the graphite-epoxy pick he'd slid between the mesh after the last time he escaped and began to pick the lock. His face was blank, his concentration absolute, fingers working furiously. The tumblers began to click against his fingertips.
Ashkovich was frozen, stunned. Everything had gone to hell so quickly. "Which one?" Andrei asked, then grabbed his shoulders and shook him. "Which one?" he shouted into Ashkovich's face. Ashkovich blinked, looked at 529 struggling furiously with his bonds, and at 494's absolute focus on the lock.
"529! Take 529!"
Andrei drew the Browning and took aim. Ashkovich slapped the barrel of the gun down. "Don't shoot him! Take them alive!"
Andrei waved the tensely waiting guards toward the table where 529 was redoubling his efforts to free his right arm. Muscles bulged across his shoulders, veins standing out clearly against his dark skin as he twisted against the constraining metal. Just as the first guards reached him, the weld to the table gave. The guards piled onto him, turning the surface of the table into a fighting, struggling tangle of arms and legs. Manatov rose awkwardly to his feet, face furious, and advanced on the group with his syringe at the ready. 529 punched one of the guards with a brutal uppercut, propelling him into one of the metal cabinets, where he slumped to the ground with his neck at an impossible angle. It gave Manatov the opening he'd been waiting for and he lunged, burying the syringe into 529's right shoulder and pressing the plunger. Even as Manatov cried out in triumph, the lock on 494's cage opened, and 494 dropped to the floor with lithe grace.
Ashkovich put his hand out in a warding gesture as 494 stepped towards him. "You can't harm me, 494." he said clearly, confidently. "Your superiors need my help, yes?"
494 paused, tilted his head. Behind him, the struggles to subdue 529 continued unabated. A sudden crash indicated that the table had finally collapsed under the combined weight. Ashkovich jumped. 494 didn't so much as flinch. "Mikhail," he said, voice low and silky with menace. "Aside from the fact that I have no superiors, what ever gives you the impression that my bosses want you alive?"
Ashkovich was confused. "You need me." he repeated, a little uncertain.
494's lips pursed, and he raised his eyebrows, looking up and talking to himself. "Well... let's see. I have the cure, in me, and now I have the virus, in him...." he shook his head, pitiless eyes coming back to rest on Ashkovich, piercing him with a glare. "That seems to be my whole shopping list. I just can't see any further need for you at all, Mikhail."
Ashkovich turned white under his tan as he looked his death in the face. A muffled 'whump' could just be heard faintly over the noise of 529, ankles still shacked to the collapsed table, snapping another guard's neck. An instant later, the entire room rocked underfoot, sand spraying in a fine mist from the ceiling. "What the fuck was that?" Ashkovich's voice was high with terror in the startled silence.
"Reinforcement." 494 said, a wicked smile twisting his lips.
511 could not believe his luck.
He'd been heading at a dead run for the cache of Russian weapons he had liberated from an abandoned enclave, cursing with every step the fact that it would take him at least fifteen minutes each way and his unit mates would likely be dead in that time, and {Fuck, fuck, fuck!}, when he became aware of the low, deep rumbling shaking his bootsoles. He'd stopped dead and looked around wildly, recognizing the vibration. His face came alive with delight and he laughed out loud as he saw, less than 200 metres away, his new best friend.
{That has got to be the most beautiful Russian Black Eagle I have ever seen!}
The Black Eagle was, of course, a tank. A big-assed, mean, wonderful piece of 15 year old equipment that could certainly kick the shit out of anything 511 wanted it to. Better yet, it could kick ass at almost 60 kilometers an hour, and that meant that 511 could be on site in less than 5 minutes, even with the delay required for.. uh.. convincing the crew.
{I think I'm in love!} 511 chortled. {Plan B, come to Poppa!}
He raced up to the tank and leapt to the top of the chassis in one clean movement, crouching on one knee over the entry port. He spun the locking wheel and wrenched open the hatch, reaching inside and pulling out the first soldier by the scruff of the neck before he had time to do more than begin to look up. Half a second later he dropped into the body of the tank, and with movements too quick to follow knocked out the other two occupants. He heaved their limp bodies out of the tank, being careful to make sure that they fell far enough that they wouldn't be damaged by the treads, then rubbed his hands together and gently grasped the yoke. {This is so much better than waiting around for orders.}
511 hit the throttle, and laughed again as the tank responded smoothly to his touch. He turned her to face towards Ashkovich's compound. "Let's give 'em something to think about, Baby." He slid halfway into the gunner's seat, using the computer-based sighting system to aim the turret towards Ashkovich's camp. "We're a bit far out, but let's make 'em shake." He pressed the firing toggle, and the entire tank shook as the shell left the barrel. "Thank god for autoload!" He looked at the compound and grinned fiercely. "Let's go introduce you to some enemies of mine."
"Sir! I've got it! 511's signal!"
Lydecker just stared at the operator, who seemed to be waiting for applause. A moment passed. "Well, put it on!"
"Uh, yes, sir!" The flustered operator flipped a switch, and abruptly 511's soft breathing filled the com centre. A moment later there was a click and a metallic thud.
[Thank god for autoload!] 511's voice was exultant. [Let's go introduce you to some enemies of mine.] A heavy rumbling filled the channel.
Lydecker's eyes narrowed, but he was helpless to intervene. The transmitters were one way only, meant for surveillance, and even if he had wanted to, he wouldn't be able to call 511 back. The rumbling peaked, and Lydecker's eyebrows rose with shock. "Wait a minute! Is that a tank?"
Ashkovich's face paled even further, if that was possible. "Kill them!" he hissed. Andrei pulled the Browning, but hesitated as he and 494 exchanged a long look. Another guard was propelled past them as 529 wrenched a foot free.
"Can't do it." Andrei closed his eyes, shook his head and dropped the gun, kicking it to one side.
Ashkovich gave an inarticulate noise of rage, and turned to run out of the room. He hit the red intercom button on his way out the door, and the entire complex was filled with the sound of a whooping siren. "Kill them!" he screamed, amplified voice echoing throughout the room, before disappearing out the door. 494 moved to go after him, but Andrei stepped sideways to block his way.
"Can't do that either." he said, shaking his head again, looking reluctant.
"Out of my way." 494's voice brooked no argument.
Andrei looked at 494 assessingly. "No." he said. "I don't want the other bodyguards to make fun of me, do I?"
494 gritted his teeth, but the decision was taken from him as the remaining guard contingent poured through the door, guns at the ready. He sprinted for the safety of the metal cabinets as bullets stitched their way across the room towards him, vaguely aware of Andrei beside him. They crashed behind the cabinets barely in time, and the cabinets 'tinked' as they absorbed the enemy fire. The guards turned their attention to 529, who rolled the heavy metal table up on its edge and crouched behind it, one leg still trapped. Two more guards fell as they failed to clear the field of fire in time. 494 did a quick tally. {Thirteen left.} He turned a cold glare on Andrei.
"So, which one are you, anyway?"
"British SAS." Andrei's voice took on the clipped sound of a native British accent.
494 grabbed his head, pulling it down and wiping a hand across the back of his neck. His fingers came away with makeup on them. 494 held up the smears in front of Andrei accusingly. "Which one are you?" He articulated each word of the question slowly and coldly. Andrei sighed. Bullets pinged against the cabinets and 529's table. 494 waited.
"Zane! I'm Zane. Fuck." Zane smacked his head backwards against the cabinet. "I can't fucking believe I'm outed in fucking Uzbekistan, after all of these years."
"Don't sweat it." 494 curled to look around the edge of the cabinet, attracting a new hail of bullets. "I don't actually care. I was just curious."
"How could you tell? I am very careful." Zane sounded tired.
"Nothing human moves as fast as you drew on me." 494 rubbed his fingers gingerly over his still-aching re-opened calf wound. "I knew then. But even if I hadn't, you should never have been able to keep up with me across the room." He looked at the other transgenic soberly. "So," he said. "How's the mercenary life treating you, anyway? I may end up looking for another line of work if this keeps up."
Zane stared at him in shock, then laughed. "Pays real well. Though, after this, I may be looking for another line of work myself."
494 risked another look around the cabinet edge. The guards were advancing on 529's position. "Look," he said. "We need help to get out of this. Give it, and I forget I ever even speculated as to the identity of Andrei. What do you say?" He turned back, but Zane was already gone. 494 looked up to see the vent screen hanging by a single screw. "Well, shit." Dimly, over the wail of the siren, 494 could hear explosions, and felt the floor shake again. 529 was still pinned down, and the five advancing guards would soon be on him. 494 closed his eyes, feeling fatigue racing in overcome the adrenaline high and slow him down. He rested his forehead against the cool metal of the cabinet. {Couldn't have waited one more day, Ashkovich, you asshole. I could have handled this single handedly tomorrow.} He filled himself with resolve, then moved.