A/N: I am posting this on ffnet for the one person who asked me to: MJ, here you go. =)
Cold War Chapter 8 - Unfinished Business-by Infie
The hour of the exchange arrived with little fanfare. White waited at the corner of Main and Peliza, almost jittery with anticipation. Finally, he would have 452 in his hands, and have the uninterrupted opportunity to beat the location of his son, or of his son's body, out of her protesting body. The addition of 494 to the mix had been a stroke of genius. Now that he knew that the immunity to their virus was vaccine based, he could go as far as he wished with 452, and not jeapardize their plan. Having 494 in his grasp would allow them to bypass the transgenic immunity, and at the same time eliminate the only... non-person... likely to stage a rescue attempt. He laughed to himself. If the trangenics were willing to turn on each other so readily, his job would be considered well done. He grinned widely, and Andrei and Otto smiled with him.
Of course, those two were not his only assets on the street. He was taking no chances; his Familiars were stuffed into practically every nook and cranny, and they were impressively armed. He had snipers on several rooftops as well. This exchange was going to happen, no matter what. His eyes sharpened as he saw movement, someone turning onto Peliza on foot, about two hundred metres away. Two someones, he corrected himself.
The one in front was hooded, dressed in tan cargos, a white tshirt, and a grey leather jacket. His arms were bound behind his back. His ankles were tied together by a short length of rope, preventing him from taking large steps and making him stagger frequently. White's lips curled in a smile. 494. A burlap hood was draped over his head, and he was being pushed roughly by a second man.
The second man looked as though he hadn't washed in days. His black hair was short but greasy, and the dark skin of his face was dirty with sweat and a day or so without shaving. White could tell he normally wore a goatee, but it was almost obscured by the new growth. The expression on his face was one of arrogance and disdain, and he carried a woman slung across one shoulder. He turned to the side briefly as he neared the intersection, and White could see the woman's long dark hair and olive skin clearly. He chuckled. 452. He keyed his mic.
"All teams. Any sign of trangenic movement?" One by one, his teams checked in with the all clear. Reassured, White returned his radio to his pocket.
White assessed the scruffy transgenic as he approached, pushing the struggling 494 forward and carrying a limp 452. "Stop there," he ordered, and the other man paused. 494 took one more staggering step and halted too, head coming up under the hood as White's voice registered. "Put 452 down where I can see her." Otto shifted uneasily beside him, but Andrei was still as stone at his left shoulder. The transgenic dropped his burden unceremoniously on the ground, and 452 spilled bonelessly onto her back.
White gestured the traitor back, then approached 452 and knelt on one knee beside her, checking her pulse. It beat strongly under his fingertips, and he rolled her roughly onto her stomch to check her barcode. The transgenic tensed, but White ignored him, safe in the knowledge of the weapons at his back. "It's her," he announced, pushing her once more onto her back. He rose, and approached 494. Zane and Otto exchanged a look and drew their pistols in unison, training them on the handcuffed man.
White circled 494, a smile breaking out on his face. "I'm so glad to see you again," he said. "I have all new plans for you." He reached forward and pulled the hood roughly off of 494's head. He had a glimpse of a bare, unmarked neck before the man turned his head.
The transgenic in front of him was the same height and weight as 494, but it was definitely not him. He heard Otto gasp behind him. White gave an inarticulate growl, then grabbed the blond man in front of him and shouted his fury into his face.
"Where the fuck is 494?"
A sudden flare of light made White squint his eyes and look up.
Alec surveyed the scene through the scope of his silenced Nighthawk 2204 rifle. He counted four snipers on nearby rooftops, plus an additional thirty or so Familiars in hidden around the area. He shifted slightly, his foot brushing against the now dead Familiar who had had the good taste, and bad luck, to choose this vantage point for his own position to cover the exchange. Alec had dispatched him with ruthless efficiency. He had examined the MP-8876 rifle the Familiar had brought, but discarded it in favour of keeping his own.
"Go," He said softly into his throat mic. Below, he saw Rhys shove Johan roughly into the street, and step out after him carrying Max. He spun the scope back to view White, and saw the man practically dancing with excitement. White lifted his radio, and Alec lifted the Familiar's earpiece to his own ear.
[..teams. Any sign of transgenic movement?]
Alec quickly stripped the Familiar of his throat mic, and held it against his own neck. He waited a moment as other voices came over the line, then grunted his own "Clear". Apparently satisfied, White returned the radio to his pocket, watching Rhys approach with avid eyes. He had bet heavily on White's rage and desire to get his hands on Max clouding his judgement. Alec dropped the Familiar's mic and returned to his rifle.
He scanned the nearby rooftops again. No new assets. Satisfied, he pumped the bolt on the rifle and systematically dropped each of the rival snipers with swift single shots. By the fourth shot, he could clearly hear the muffled pffft of the bullet leaving the barrel, and rapidly he replaced the silencer with a new one. He rescanned the roofs, but his targets remained down and still. Alec smirked with satisfaction and returned his view to White. "Top deck clear." he muttered.
[Copy that.] Mole's growl sounded in his ear. Alec could just make his out inside a window on the top floor of the building directly opposite him. [Upper deck clear.]
Below him, White rose from Max's side and approached Johan. "Get ready." White ripped the hood from Johan's head, and froze as Johan turned his head. White flushed bright red, the veins popping out in stark relief on his face. He grabbed Johan and shook him, not noticing that Johan's hands came loose immediately. Alec focussed tightly on White's face and saw his lips form the words, even as the enraged shout dimly reached his ears. "Where the fuck is 494?"
Alec grinned and deliberately shifted ever so slightly, letting the sun hit the glass of his scope and flash briefly across White's eyes. White squinted and looked up, right at Alec's position. His eyes widened, and Alec saw the pupils dilate with shock even as his finger caressed the trigger. "Night night, Ames." He squeezed, and watched White's head disappear in a puff of blood and bone.
Zane watched as White's head exploded. He saw Rhys slash Johan's ankle bindings, freeing the other man as Familiars poured from everywhere in reaction. Otto gave a blurt of shock, and Zane spun and pistol-whipped hi across the face, knocking him out cold. A Familiar tackled Johan, bowling him over, and Zane moved even as Rhys scooped up Max and headed for the safety of a nearby building. He heard a faint whine, and turned his head in time to hear the pfffft of a bullet striking flesh. A Familiar fell behind him, outstretched hand still clenching a pistol, aimed at Rhys. Zane stepped on the wrist, crouched, and pried the pistol loose. He knelt on one knee and coolly shot the Familiar straddling Johan in the back of the head. An instant later, the trangenics arrived in force and the scene dissolved into chaos.
Alec watched the scene develop, restraining the desire to jump to his feet, laughing and pointing. He covered Rhys' extraction of Max from the fray, shooting one Familiar who had Rhys in his sights. Alec saw Zane pick up the gun and shoot Johan's attacker. He smiled, and moved on to his next target, dropping three more of the onrushing Familiars with easy shots. As he pumped the bolt, the rifle breech clicked empty. An instant later, the backup arrived and Alec dropped the rifle and raced for the stairs. It was time to join the fight.
Rhys had his hands full.
He had dumped Max in a defensible alcove and had taken his position in front of it. Alec's words of warning were still ringing in his ears.
"For this to work, I need to send the real deal." Alec's eyes were hard, but Rhys could see the conflict underneath. "Which means that Max will be at the exchange. If she gets hurt..." Alec stared at Rhys and Johan fiercely. "Do I really need to finish that sentence?"
"No." Rhys had replied, full of resolve. "Max isn't gonna have so much as a hair out of place, Alec. I swear."
Now he was regretting that promise, as it seemed that every Familiar in White's coven had a bead on him. He ducked back into the grotto as bullets stitched the wall beside him, and saw Johan across the street, huddled in a doorway. Johan moved as if to leave the safety of his location to join Rhys, and a bullet pinged off the brick beside his head. A knot of struggling bodies crashed into his position, and Johan disappeared under them. Rhys tucked Max into a smaller ball behind him and tried to think large thoughts. A blurring figure resolved itself into Zane, who joined Rhys in the small area. He wedged himself in beside Rhys, shielding Max's other side.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Rhys growled. Zane handed him a gun.
"Max is my sister, man. I couldn't leave her with just you for protection." Zane looked down, noticing with disgust a bloody chunk of flesh on his white sneaker, leaving a bright red stain. He shook it off violently. "Man, I knew that was going to happen."
In the street, the shooting was dying down as both sides spent their ammunition. Dozens of bodies littered the street, and still there were dozens more fighting, hand to hand now. The Familiars had the advantage of numbers, and were gaining the upper hand. It was into this melee that Alec burst, and Rhys grinned.
Alec hit the first group of struggling figures at top speed, gliding into their centre like fire made flesh. He barely took the time to count them [four] before he struck, punching the nearest with all the power of his speed and anger. The Familiar dropped like a sack of potatos, and Alec whirled into a kick even as the second grabbed at him. The transgenic they had been fighting, [Gem] he noted distantly, clutched at the grasping arm and pulled that Familiar down, kneeing him in the face. Alec's kick connected with the stomach of the third transgenic, a woman, and Alec wrapped an arm around her throat as she bent over in reaction. He twisted, and she dropped, her neck at an impossible angle. A knife flashed in Gem's hand as she gutted the last Familiar. A second swipe across his throat, and it was time to move on.
They moved across the street as if they had been working together for years, heading for their last sight of Johan. They found him immediately, one Familiar holding him while a second kicked him repeatedly in the ribs. Alec stopped the kicker by the expedient method of breaking his neck with a precisely placed kick to the base of the skull, and Gem tackled the other at a run, driving them both backwards into the brick wall behind them. Johan flipped over from where he fell when the Familiar dropped him, and pulled a knife out of an ankle sheath. He stabbed it through his attacker's eye, pinning the now dead man to the ground.
Alec looked around, and caught sight of Rhys and Zane huddled in an alcove across the street. He could just barely make out a spill of dark hair behind Rhys' bulk, and nodded with approval. His eyes scanned the tiring fighters, and he grinned as he heard the bellow of Mole's shotgun. A quick movement caught his eye, and his lashes narrowed as he saw a small group of six Familiars prepare to rush Rhys' position. Rhys saw them too, and across the street his gaze met Alec's, face grim. Rhys spoke rapidly with his hands. Four bullets. Not enough to defend them. Zane caught the exchange and his face tightened. Rhys tapped him on the leg, and said something. Zane nodded with a curt movement.
The Familiars tensed, and Alec and Rhys moved at the same time, hurtling into the group from opposite directions. Rhys fired once, taking the leader of the little band in the centre of the forehead. An instant later, Alec had a second's head in his hands and twisted savagely. He let the man drop without slowing, plowing into the third Familiar as Rhys engaged a fourth. This one wasn't taken by surprise, and blocked Alec's punch easily, replying with a backhand fist that rocked Alec on his heels. Rhys' pistol spat again, and suddenly Familiar number four was missing his heart. The fifth Familiar kicked the gun out of Rhys' hand, and Rhys grabbed her ankle with his left, wrenching her leg upward and taking her off her feet. She landed on her back and Rhys was beside her in a blur of movement, the blade of his hand striking her throat like a sledgehammer. She gurgled through her crushed windpipe.
Alec blocked a kick from his opponent, gliding backwards. When the next kick came, Alec dropped to one knee under it, planting a vicious uppercut into the other man's groin. The Familiar toppled over backwards, landing beside the kneeling Rhys, who punched him. Alec rose, turning, and heard a click. He froze.
The last Familiar had picked up Rhys' pistol, and was aiming it unerringly at the center of Alec's chest. Alec's eyes met Rhys', and the stunned fury in his friend's dark gaze told him what he needed to know. The gun was still loaded.
{Well, shit.}
Rhys exploded up from the ground as the gun spat fire, too late. Alec saw the flash, and everything slowed. A millisecond later, he felt like he was struck by a freight train as something crashed into him from the side, sending him sprawling. He grunted, curling into a roll and back to his feet even as he struck the pavement. He heard a second shot.
The Familiar was dead, missing the top of his head, an angry Rhys standing over him with the smoking pistol in his fist. Slowly, Alec looked down.
Mole sprawled at his feet, a tidy bullet hole in his temple.
Mole's death seemed to signal the end of the fighting. The few remaining Familiars withdrew, and the transgenics began the process of cataloguing the dead and helping the wounded. Alec hated this part. It was why he loathed being in charge. The deaths were painful enough without adding the responsibility for them to the mix, and Alec pushed all the guilt and rage deep down inside, until he had time to deal with it. He smiled faintly. Later.
Max approached, Zane at her back. She looked disheveled and angey, but otherwise undamaged. Her eyes were tired and haunted. "I see you made your point, Alec." she said.
Alec looked around at the bodies still littering the ground. "Yes. I think I did. And a nice, big, messy fucking point it was."
"They'll never stand for this, Alec." Max's eyes were bright with tears. "They'll never leave us alone now."
Zane and Rhys exchanged a look and withdrew to a safer distance, giving them some privacy.
Alec cupped Max's face in his hands. "No ordinaries were even hurt here today, Max. We've shown Otto the caduceus marks on the Familiars, and we gave him a copy of all the virus files to take back with him. We also have it all on video, and Sketchy is doing an article on the breeding cult. It's not perfect, but it's a start. And it won't be long before they won't be able to tell us apart anymore, anyway."
Max stared up into his intent gaze. "I want you to be right." She told him simply. She pulled away to sweep her eyes over the dead. "But the price, Alec...."
"Grief comes later, Max. Right now, there's the problem with every kind of mess; a lot of cleaning to do." Alec looked over her head at Rhys, and gave a curt nod. Rhys turned to Zane.
"There's someone who wants to talk to you, Zane," he said, and decked the other man with all his strength. Zane was out before he hit the ground. Max watched with shock, but did not interfere.
"We need to know what he knows, Max." Alec began to explain, but she placed her fingers against his mouth to stop him.
"I remember what Zane did, Alec. And you're right." Her eyes filled with tears. "I wish you weren't." Alec pulled her into the circle of his arms.
"You're still leaving, aren't you?" he whispered against her hair. She nodded into his chest. Reluctantly he pulled away, looking around at the growing group of survivors gathering nearby.
"Have.. have you seen Joshua?" Max's eyes were fearful.
Alec smiled reassuringly. "Yes." The smile fled. "He's with Mole."
Max nodded, her face full of compassion. Rhys nudged Zane with his toe, then broke in to the conversation in an attempt to lighten the mood.
"Alec. You don't have so much as a speck of dirt on you. How the hell did you manage that?" Rhys asked loudly, gesturing to his own disheveled state. Max edged away, heading for Joshua, and the small crowd laughed. Alec looked down. His jeans and shirt were still immaculately clean. His lips quirked in a grin.
"Well, Rhys, you see, it's a matter of skill and training. You'll catch up to me some day." Another ripple of laughter ran through the crowd, and Alec sobered. He looked at them each in turn, searchingly. When he spoke again, it was with a quiet intensity that caught the attention of all, instantly. "I have never been so proud to be who I am," he said. "And I have never been more proud of each and every one of you. Thank you." Several of the listening transgenics blinked hard.
Joshua made his way through the crowd, Max at his side. His face was marked by his grief, but he threw an arm around Alec and hugged him close. His eyes were grave. "No," he said. "Thank you."
The watching group broke into a raucous round of cheers and whistles. Alec grinned, then his eyes returned to Zane's unconscious form. His face hardened. "All right." A menacing pleasure flavoured his voice. "We've got work to do. Let's get to it."