WARNING: choking, descriptions of violence

At the End of Their Rope

'Hold him down!' Virgil shouted.

'I'm trying,' John yelled back. 'Just hurry up!'

They were responding to a distress call from a GDF facility. Ordinarily, the GDF didn't like to ask for their help – whether that was because they knew International Rescue had enough on their plate already, or just plain pride was unclear. Usually, when they did ask, it came from Colonel Casey, because she was usually the only one with enough sense to recognise when they needed help. Today, however, was a rare instance in which someone else had put out the distress call.

Colonel Hart had requested their assistance with an evacuation, saying that he could use a few extra hands. When John and Virgil arrived, it was clear to see why. The facility was huge. So not only had International Rescue been called to help, but so had local fire and rescue. It really was an all-hands-on-deck situation. And the fire – because that's what it was – was spreading fast. They'd put out a quick call to Scott requesting further back-up when someone became available, though with the day they were having, help couldn't come soon enough. So, Virgil and John resigned themselves to the fact that it was just them for a while.

They received a quick brief from the Colonel, who only had further bad news for them. The cause of the fire was still unknown, and it was proving near impossible to extinguish. That was why they were prioritising evacuation. They were banking on the fire simply burning itself out, so for now about half the fire and rescue teams were focusing on containment. But worse still was the impact it seemed to be having on the soldiers. Hart swore they had no bioweapons or strange chemicals on the site, yet for some reason the behaviour of the soldiers in the building was erratic. It was more than fear, he said, as if they had lost all ability to reason.

He recommended they go in armed. Guns weren't really International Rescue's style, even if they were the tranquilising sort. John certainly hadn't been trained to use one and neither had Virgil. So, they politely declined the offer and went in with some methods of their own ready to hand. Which was to say, packs full of sedative-loaded needles, collapsible hover stretchers, and heavy restraints. They worked out a pretty good system, too. Observe behaviour from a distance, and if the soldier seemed lucid, they walked them out calmly. If, however, they showed any concerning signs, one of them would either sneak up on them or distract them, while the other jabbed them with the needle. It had been working pretty well. Until this guy.

They were on their last preloaded sedative and were just discussing returning to Two to prep some more when the soldier jumped them. He came from nowhere, not even registering on scanners. His uniform was scruffy and torn, and at some point he must have abandoned his helmet because it was nowhere in sight. As a result, his hair was up on all ends and in knots. Every part of him was wild, right down to the look in his eye.

More concerning was his behaviour. He wasn't just erratic like the others; he was violent too. Between them, John and Virgil conducted evasive manoeuvres until they got him into a position where they could corner him. They pinned him down, only for the man to strike out, knocking their last sedative out of Virgil's hand. It rolled through a sizable gap under a nearby door. Driven by instinct, Virgil scrambled after it, leaving John to keep the man in place.

Now, John could hold his own fairly well – he was one of five brothers, after all. The quiet one he may be, but that wasn't to say he wasn't part of the many wrestling matches they all had growing up. He knew all the best ways to get his brothers to yield (not that they always worked). But this man was not his brothers, nor was he in his right mind. John liked to think he was pretty strong, but there wasn't a whole lot he could do against crazed-induced brute strength.

The man's foot landed square on his chest. John flew backwards, all the air rushing out of his lungs. Sprawled out on his back, he tried to suck in some air. Their soldier had other ideas. He was on the attack once more, throwing himself bodily on top of him, he wrapped his hands around John's throat. Just as little black spots began to swim in front of him, the man dropped, landing heavily beside him. A needle stuck out the back of his neck.

'Thanks,' John wheezed, barely audible, even to his own ears.

'Don't mention it,' Virgil replied. He was panting hard, shaking with adrenaline. 'Would've been quicker, but the door was locked. You, okay?'

He coughed. 'Been better.'

'Stay down, try not to speak. I'll strap this guy in and we'll get back to Two.'

F.A.B., John signed.

He let himself flop backwards, staring at the ceiling. Yeah, he was done for the day. There was no way Virgil would let him carry on after that and, honestly, John had to agree with him. Even without the chocking, that kick had been hard, and his chest was aching. He was no good to anyone right now.

But injured or not, there was no way John was letting Virgil walk back into this building alone. Not if whatever was happening to the soldiers was making them more violent. No. Virgil would just have to stay with him in Two until back up arrived.

John just hoped it was soon.