X5-939 was never the perfect soldier Manticore wanted him to be. Then the red series attacked Lydecker's camp and X5-939 never looked back…
A VS3 based fic.
Enjoy!
Buying Time
He had watched them coming for some time before they arrived. They were lumbering creatures with little or no poise or grace. They moved like stubborn mules, oblivious to even their own unnecessary existence. He smiled as they approached. He watched them not noticing, not realizing that he and his brothers and sisters were waiting for them. They just plodded along as one occasionally dropped taking sniper fire from hidden locations.
They had no idea what could happen to them under ideal battle conditions. They would not have stood a chance if they hadn't got to the ammo dump yesterday. Today, though, they were somewhat in control. X5-939 wasn't going to let them have it if he could help it. A hand absentmindedly caressed the Bowie knife on his left leg. It seemed to twitch as he touched it. A glance to his right leg caught a glint from the second Bowie knife hanging there.
"Soon." He whispered. "I can feel it coming. Today is going to be a great day." His smile widened.
X5- 939 had been a mediocre student at best back in Manticore. He was not the perfect soldier they had dreamed of. He had been a problem since '09. He had been one of the first ones caught and returned to that holding cell. He had been viewed as a mistake for a long time after that.
Training was where he showed the most potential. Out on the training grounds though there was only one soldier that could best him with the blade. X5-822, a team leader and mission specialist was the only Manticore soldier that could disarm and defeat him, but then 822 was the combat specialist. 822 had ability above and beyond even other transgenics. No Manticore soldier could defeat 822.
With the blades, however, only 822 could defeat 939. Not even 822s buddy 494 could hold a candle to the prowess 939 possessed with the blade. 939 was good, probably in the top ten Manticore had ever trained, but with blades, his ability was off the scale. He understood the curve of the blade. He knew its motions as it sliced through the air with the intention of entering, of opening a target. There wasn't a blade he couldn't throw. There wasn't an edge he didn't recognize. He knew the meaning in a razor sharp curve as it sliced through anything. He joked once that he had been born on the edge of the blade.
Manticore had never mattered to him. He had always been envious of the Rogues. He had tried to go with them that night, but he had hesitated. He said something to X5-359 as she stood there watching. He tried to convince her to go with them. He had tried and because he had hesitated, they caught him first.
He didn't resist. They cuffed and dragged him back past Colonel Lydecker anyway. The look on the Colonel's face made him laugh. It was the first time any of them had ever seen the man worried. 939 swore an oath that day as they threw him very forcefully into a cell inside the compound to sit beside 359 and others. Even the dead ones were in there.
He swore he would never hesitate again. It wasn't for the Colonel. It wasn't for Manticore. It was merely for himself.
They were close. The first of many came through a break in the rock. He judged the distance. He had two minutes before the next closest could get to their position. It would be a good test.
He stepped out and fired a shot at the red's arm. He didn't even flinch. The man simply adjusted his stride and headed straight for 939 with an angry grin on his face. Another shot, this time in the leg got his attention but still did not slow him. A third and fourth shot slowed the red's forward progress. 939 slowly backtracked, astonished and stunned at the resilient nature of the soldier he was facing.
He remembered the words of Zack in that moment. "Head shots only! Body shots won't stop them!" He lifted the weapon and took aim at the red's only vulnerable spot. He fired right between the eyes. The red fell to his knees but still struggled forward another ten feet before falling cold and dead in front of 939. He couldn't help but marvel at the fact that 452 had defeated three reds in straight up combat. She had done it by herself.
But he remembered that she'd been… modified. He remembered that she had used an implant. She had become one of them and she had survived. He hadn't been cleared for that information, but he knew she had one in her head. He had seen the lump beneath her barcode.
939 was distracted just long enough for two more reds to appear in his area. A sniper bullet took one out as he emptied three shots into the second one. Three bodies lay strewn about the small clearing as two more reds approached from the rocks forty yards away. They turned toward him.
The moment became surreal almost. He was firing wildly, landing every bullet, but not deliberately trying to save ammo. He was testing tolerances. The battle had slowed. Combat was moving by in bursts. Fire, adjust position and then fire again. He monitored the pain threshold the implants gave them. He observed patterns in strength and agility at various stages of wounds. He took mental notes that he would need for later. Notes he could put to use.
His second clip ran out on the sixth red, leaving two wounded, still standing in his clearing. A third was approaching from a distance. The weapon dropped to the ground and he couldn't help but smile as he felt the Bowie knives in his hands.
He moved fast, faster than the reds could track. He was in between them instantly slicing their arms and legs at key points and moving out of range before they could strike back at him. They fell, bleeding out and unable to move, only capable of watching the battle with number nine before their lives fell into darkness.
He moved to face off against the ninth soldier. This one dropped into a defensive posture and started to circle the clearing with the transgenic. 939 knew what he was doing. He was stalling for time, trying to give his comrades a chance to get to the clearing and help him.
"Do you really believe you have a chance?" The red asked. "Do you really think you will win?"
"Winning doesn't matter." 939 said.
"What matters to you then?" The red demanded.
"Only the moment matters." 939 answered him. He moved fast. The red fell with a scream from the depths of his pain filled hell. The body was still twitching as 939 watched the implant he had taken rewind itself around its base. Reluctantly, he dropped it to the ground, watching it fall as if losing a part of himself.
"FALL BACK 939!" X5-301 shouted as she ran into the clearing. "Map reference 4-17. Move out." She stopped just long enough to acknowledge the kills 939 had apparently been collecting. "Good work, soldier." She smiled, noticing his face for the first time. She did not like what she saw in his eyes.
The nine dead red series soldiers lying on the ground in front of him remained as a testament to his ability. He was preparing for number ten when a bullet ripped into his lower leg. A ricochet from a misfire caught him as the red was crawling over the rock and trudging into the clearing. The regroup and redeploy had been given and most of his brothers and sisters had begun to fall back.
He had taken a ricocheted shot in the leg just before the position had been overrun. X5-301 had transferred the fall back order. He ignored her with a nod and a salute and adjusted his grip on the two large blades from his belt. "I'll cover your retreat." He said, gesturing to his leg. He turned then, as a red presented an easy target, stumbling over the still struggling body of a dying red that had fallen before him. He knew 301 had gone at that point. He could hear her footsteps. He could hear her spouting orders as she fell back with the rest.
Now, eleven bodies later, a twelfth falling before him, he knew he was running out of time. He wasn't sure how the day would turn out. He didn't really care. Manticore be damned. Here in his final moments he was proud of one thing. He had helped his brothers and sisters to a second chance against these monsters. He would buy them enough time to regroup and prepare for a second engagement. He had done his job.
He caught both of them in his sights. He noticed a third now lumbering along in the distance. He checked his footing and nodded at the two reds approaching him from either side. A fourth entered his field of view. They were everywhere which meant the snipers had fallen or were falling back as well.
A fifth red appeared in front of 939. He smiled again. He moved fast turning, ducking, rolling and came up behind the red to his right. A quick slash opened up the back of his neck and he pulled out the implant. The reds body convulsed, imploding almost, as the life met its violent end.
The second red stopped as two more approached and took up positions beside their comrade. 939 watched the implant rewind itself to its core. He looked at the three reds before him as three more approached. They had odd looks on their faces, as if they knew what he was going to do. There had been maybe a hundred of them according to early reconnaissance. Suddenly, he was aware of how many had now come directly into his clearing. He was aware of how many of them had come for him.
939 had a strange smile on his face. He knew what he was going to do. He reached around behind his head and pushed the implant at the base of his skull. Five more reds had gathered bringing the total standing around him, encircling him, to eleven. They were not smiling. They were waiting.
His body convulsed for a few seconds. He held fast to his blades as the circuitry wired itself into the mesh of nerves at the base of his skull. He felt the rush of something he couldn't explain. He had no reference to it. It was just power. Simply power, unmatched in any X-series ever that he knew of. He was now a true killing machine. He had become pure.
Three more reds had approached and closed the circle around him. He smiled as he looked around at these so called warriors. He laughed. It was a mad, deeply disturbing laugh that the reds understood.
Some of them laughed with him. Some clenched fists and growled. Some just stood there, waiting. 939 felt a wetness on his cheeks and he reached out with his tongue and tasted his own blood. It empowered him even more. He laughed again.
"Who dies first?" He asked quietly. There was no sound but his heart beating. A low rumble started deep within him. He heard the same from the reds gathered around.
With a roar that startled even him, he launched at the first red that twitched…
His blades bit deep into the reds neck. The body fell spurting blood and showing bone. The implant crackled and spit blue sparks.
939 ducked and turned grabbing the nearest leg with both blades and lifted, sending the red spinning in the air. He pulled both blades and sliced to either side of him in a spin catching two more reds off guard with his superior speed.
He dropped and rolled out of a group standing behind a red. 939 sliced deep and yanked the implant. It dropped, lost in the bed of leaves before the metallic insect rewound its tentacles. 939 used the convulsing body as a shield, pushing forward a short distance to step between two soldiers he had cut earlier. One fell hard as 939 felt a heavy shock in his side. There was no pain, just a strange pressure, but he could feel his pants leg growing wet and slightly heavier with moisture. He knew he had been shot.
He turned with another bloodcurdling scream, using his rage and anger to become a whirling dervish in the midst of his enemies. They had not expected the transgenic to adapt so quickly to the implant when they attacked and were trying desperately to regroup and coordinate an attack of their own.
Another red fell dead to the ground as 939 jumped and spun a kick outward into three faces near him. Three bodies went flying from the combat circle giving 939 just enough room to move quickly and efficiently on the lone red nursing an arm barely hanging on his shoulder. He reached up as 939 approached but to no avail. He died, screaming his rage to a superior warrior that was no longer interested in him. The transgenic had stopped just long enough to kill the red before moving toward the next target.
939 felt the sensation again, this time followed by a whip of cool air. He used his blades in unison to remove an implant and sent the body in front of him sprawling into two others he had already wounded. He took a second then to look down. His thigh was missing. A close blast had taken most of the muscle out. His genetic superiority helped him maintain his balance as he turned to see the remaining eight reds gathering in a semi-circle in front of him.
Bodies were strewn everywhere. Over twenty reds had fallen in the clearing. A twinge of pride washed over 939. He adjusted his grip on the blades. He nodded to the reds in front of him. Only one nodded back. The rest just stared, knowing what 939 already did. They understood what it meant.
The rage was gone. A strange calm had settled in. It was as if he could see an open field in front of him. Sun was shining there. The ocean roared in the distance. He had bought the transgenics some time. He had done what he needed to do. What they had needed someone to do.
X5-939 had become what Manticore had always wanted him to be.
X5-939 was the perfect soldier.
Even if just for a little while.
A roar sounded near the edge of zone one and two. X5-301 turned and hyper focused in the direction of the sound. She saw a flurry of activity in the center of a small group of red soldiers. A dozen more were approaching from outside the initial perimeter. She knew who it was and what he had done. Making a mental note to request some form of honor, she turned and headed toward the remnants of her teams regrouping near the center of Dark Zone two.