Mega Man X: Trinity Helix

by Revokov

Episode 5: Two Towers-Two missions begin at once, dividing Hunter ranks while Kou Cao's agents set up some deadly surprises.

2. Moonless

Prologue: Moonless

From: Ultimus

To: Scorpio, Sphinx, Mantos

Targets confirmed and approved. Execute Harvest8. Take the mice alive. Kill all others. Be gone before reinforcements arrive. Rendezvous at Beta.

And Scorpio…behave yourself.

***

Rathlin Island

Off Coast of Northern Ireland

            Captain Brian Wolcott loved cigarettes more than he loved his own mother. That, at least, was what his men liked to say when their fearless leader's back was turned. For his part Wolcott allowed them their barb, since he didn't do much to prove them wrong. Even now he had a cancer stick lodged between his teeth, expelling coils of wispy smoke from his lips and nostrils like some fairy tale dragon. That was worth a snort. He didn't exactly cut a dragon's figure. At 5'8, 180 pounds and a face full of hair, however, Wolcott did present the impression of a grizzly bear waiting to pounce, an image he'd had the displeasure of strengthening when he'd gone toe-to-toe against a berserker with a rocket propelled grenade. Wolcott's superiors had given him a nifty medal for that one, and a promotion to boot. The British Navy still placed great focus on its officer candidates, even in this era of relative peace.

            That was again worth a snort. There was peace in the sense that there were no wars being fought between nations, but there was a neck-and-neck battle going on between species that Wolcott had been unable to avoid, even though he mostly sat on a boat for the duration of his watch. Coast Patrol was not his idea of a thrilling job, but after seeing "thrilling" firsthand he was always willing to admit—albeit never publicly—that investigating crooks and handing out speeding tickets to the seafaring traffic made things a lot easier for Margaret and the kids, not having to worry if Daddy got blown up today.

            But that didn't make it any less boring. Wolcott exhaled a particularly substantial gust of dragon breath and scanned the foredeck of the Resolute. At least he had a bitchin' boat, the captain thought with a smirk, even if he did have to share it. Resolute was a small gunship, one of the new class the Megacity Army had fashioned for its British sector. Other naval units jeeringly referred to them as "Sprites" but Wolcott was more than pleased with the vessel's speed and maneuverability. He was riding, in simplest terms, a speedboat with cannons.

            They weren't speeding now, though, and that was why Wolcott needed the cigarette. It calmed his frayed nerves, making him more able to concentrate on the matter at hand rather than the boredom that clutched at his soul with blunt, dull claws. The current Matter At Hand looked to be about as routine as was possible, but it was still a big deal to somebody—probably one of the Dublin cops. IRA had more or less laid down its arms over the years in lieu of the greater Maverick evil, but there were still fanatics rooted in the North who waited for a lull in the never-ending Hunter-Maverick sitcom to resume their holy quest.

…Which brought Wolcott here, near Rathlin Island, to investigate a private vessel belonging to a fellow whom Command was quite sure was up to naughty deeds. They'd tracked this boat once before, but they'd let the operator go after finding nothing overly nasty aboard, unless you regarded hording Playboys a terrorist act. Now, however, the ship had gone silent in the water, and Command wanted to know what was up. Wolcott was pretty sure he already knew. These things usually boiled down to drug busts, weapons smugglers, or on the upside, simple parties that no one was supposed to know about. The sailors were fully armed anyway, which for Wolcott was quite a comfort. You just never knew when a Maverick was going to pop up anymore.

            Resolute's co-captain barked a bearing and moved to join Wolcott near the front of the ship. If anyone on the gunship was a dragon, it was this man. James Reardon even had the flaming red hair. His barrel-chest and powerful physique had never been put to the test in an overly dangerous way, but Wolcott neither grudged him that nor wished otherwise for him. Jimmy Reardon had proven his mettle in many a way since Wolcott first met the man, and thus he didn't have a problem sharing control of the ship with him. But he did think the idea of co-captains had been a colossal fuckup by the administrative end of Coast Patrol, even if it was just meant as a stepping-stone on the way to individual command.

            "'Night's as black as new charcoal," Captain Reardon observed, yawning unabashedly and fixing his green eyes on the dark sky. "I'll wager me' boots ye can't find a lick o' moonlight up there."

            Wolcott had to smile. Reardon was as Irish as he was English. "Your boots are yours to keep, Jimmy. Believe in omens?"

            "Eh, not so much as ta let 'em scare me." Reardon's voice was as big as he was, even when he was trying to keep his voice down. "But most of the horror stories either start out with full moons or no moons."

            "Shall I inform the lads we'll be fighting the Headless Horseman, then?"

            "Not unless he's learned how to ride a Ski Doo." Both men smiled at that image. At that moment a third party approached, an odd-looking fellow even to those who were used to him. It was, after all, not every day that you saw a walking fish. Try as developers might, there was as of yet no foolproof way to make a fish Reploid look menacing, though this one came very, very close. He was modeled after a lionfish, the poisonous, barbed monsters that patrolled reefs. Black and gold stripes crisscrossed his scaled form, and long blades protruded from his back. Every barb could be drawn and used in battle as a spear when the Reploid wished, and every spear was tipped with a corrosive acid that did to Reploids what the organic lionfish's sting did to humans. His armor was done in a tiger's-eye fashion, completing the image of a Reploid that you knew could and would kick your ass, even if he was a walking fish.

            "Spartan," Captain Reardon grinned, reminding himself not to slap his comrade on the back. "How're the minnows doin'?"

            "They're doing their part," Spartan Lionfish replied in a quiet voice with a slight accent. It was even hard for Reardon and Wolcott to decide if the fish was British or Irish in make. "They may be rookies, sir, but they're going places."

            "If you didn't say that about everyone," Wolcott observed, dropping a trail of glowing embers from the end of his cigarette into the black waters below, "I might make a note of it."

            "Always look on the bright side," Spartan said with a half-smile. "Anything special about tonight's catch?"

            "Chap fell asleep at the wheel, probably," Wolcott responded with a shrug. "Routine drifter."

            Reardon chuckled. "'Ain't nothin' routine about a drifter, Brian." A "drifter" was what they called a vessel that didn't seem to be under anyone's control. It was more serious than just a stalled boat, since people could always call or radio the shore for help in that case. Drifters had no ingoing or outgoing communications, and usually were either abandoned or worse. Both Wolcott and Reardon had boarded drifters full of dead bodies at one point in their careers. One such case still had yet to be closed.

            Spartan turned his own attention to the seas. He was a diver, as were two of the others on Resolute. Bodies and/or evidence were frequently found under the seas beneath the drifters, and it was up to people like Spartan to make sure that evidence was found. In fact this job was more of a hobby for Spartan, who had served in the Navy's undersea combat unit during several Maverick uprisings over a period of eight years. This was more or less his "retirement". But he could think of worse things to be doing, and the Navy still kept asking him to come back. Spartan had been the star of the undersea soldiers, and he was still legendary as one of the greatest swashbucklers out there, rivaled only by the likes of Launch Octopus and Bubble Crab. Spartan had a leg up on them, though—he was still alive.

            "Approaching target coordinates," the helmsman announced, and the captains immediately returned to their positions. Resolute slowed to an almost nonexistent speed and approached their target. It wasn't exactly intended to be a stealthy approach, but rather a passive one. If there was indeed a threat onboard the target vessel, Wolcott and Reardon didn't want to frighten it into snapping off an attack. At least, not before they were ready.

            "Ready for the fun part, Jimmy?" Wolcott asked with only a slight air of sleepiness.

            "Why, Brian!" Reardon grinned, feigning offense. "I was born ready."

Moscow, Russia

            The wine from Kasparov's was even better than usual, they both remarked as they passed through the restaurant's glass doors and stepped out onto the sidewalk. They didn't come here all that often—good food was too damned expensive, anymore—but every once in a while Haley just felt like doing something fancy, and Revenant was not one to argue. It was their first night off in weeks, and they'd opted to get as far away from the office as possible, and pizza and beers in his apartment wouldn't have done the night justice.

            It was often hard for Revenant's peers to accept that their comrade had class. He couldn't exactly blame them, either. Given what he did for a living, even he had a hard time imagining himself in a suit and tie sipping wine in an upscale restaurant just for the hell of it. It didn't embarrass him. Quite the contrary, he considered himself one of the savviest Maverick Hunters around. Haley often joked that any more thoughts like that would inflate his head to the breaking point, but she wasn't any better.

            Both Revenant and Haley worked for Anatoliy Gorov, a fine upstanding gent who'd distinguished himself enough to be named Grand Commander of the Maverick Hunter forces stationed in Moscow, and thus throughout Russia in general. But rising star though Gorov was, he shared the limelight almost constantly with Revenant, local Unit Commander, Hunter 17th. The Hunters in Tokyo had their champion in Mega Man X, but in Moscow Revenant was unrivaled. Mainly an infiltrator, the dark-haired, gray-eyed Reploid was proficient in melee and distance combat, as was his lady friend, a dazzlingly blonde Huntress who served as second-in-command of the 20th Unit. But where Haley was straight infantry, Revenant was a jack-of-all-trades, and he was always quick to add a new trade to that ever-expanding list.

            For now, though, he was free, and despite the ungodly late hour he and Haley weren't about to return to his flat just yet. Instead the two finely dressed Reploids made their way towards the city's center, talking animatedly all the while. Neither was worried about being mugged—God have mercy on the man who attacked Revenant's woman—and they had a destination in mind. There was barely a soul left awake besides them, and it made for a feeling of control they both liked. It was just them. They had full dominion over all they saw. It was a pleasant thought for two Hunters who'd consumed a little too much wine to be fully alert, but still not enough to be clumsy should the need to defend themselves arise.

            Arm-in-arm they entered Rovanin Park, a small alcove where the locals relaxed during the brief breaks in their routine lives. The park was deserted now save for chittering squirrels and, on one tree, an owl. Revenant grinned at the sight. He'd always found owls to be fascinating creatures, if nothing else because they appealed to his sense of mystery. It always seemed like owls were looking past you, staring at something right behind you that you probably needed to see for yourself if you didn't want your day to be ruined. Revenant didn't check, though. He'd seen enough owls to be used to it by now.

            "We need more nights like this," Haley observed, sinking onto a park bench with her man at her side. Revenant snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her close for a kiss. "Threaten Gorov with your resignation unless you get some more vacation days."

            "If we took vacation days, hon, the enemy would just pick those days to strike. It is a luckless business we're in," he said, falsely morose. "I'm surprised nothing's exploded tonight as it is."

            "Shh," Haley whispered, kissing him again. "Don't jinx it."

            Revenant smiled and surrendered to the moment, but before he gave Haley his undivided attention he became an owl, his gaze flickering past his lover's face to a street corner on the edge of the park. The woman there attracted his attention simply because of her presence there at this hour. She was walking at a brisk pace towards the intersection, her eyes glancing from side to side and meeting Revenant's only for the briefest of seconds. The Hunter felt a bit of unease, but he quickly dismissed the situation. She was a woman out late and looking around nervously for someone who might prey on her. Women were not shy about unleashing their wrath in this day in age, as Haley could testify, but they were still hard-pressed to defend themselves against a group of thugs who held onto outdated stereotypes. Well, that was what people like him were for, Revenant reminded himself, returning his eyes to Haley's.

            As she crossed the street, her back to the park, the woman couldn't fight the smile that grew on her face. She'd just made positive identification of her target and soon, she knew, the fun could begin. Except that Ultimus had told her to behave… Well, she allowed, smiling all the more as she started down a new stretch of sidewalk, "behave" could have a lot of different meanings, couldn't it?

            It was a yacht, but not a simple yacht. It was what Wolcott liked to call a "rich bitch", the kind of monstrosity that only someone like a drug lord could find attractive. These things were meant for the sole purpose of showing off, and in Wolcott's mind that ruled out terrorists—they were too smart for that nowadays—and most criminals. He'd occasionally gotten lucky with small fish in big boats, but none of what Command called the big fish would be stupid enough to do anything illegal in a boat that stood out as this one did. The Serpent was too well organized for that.

            "We are the United Kingdom Coast Patrol," he said via megaphone, his voice cutting through the heavy quiet of the night. "All passengers are ordered to move on deck."

            "Definitely a drifter," Spartan opined, leaning right over the water as though he could see down into it. In fact, he could, to a certain degree.

            "Don't count your chickens so soon, lad," Reardon cautioned. Behind him a team of five armed men lowered a raft onto the black sea. It clapped hard against the waves, spraying Resolute's armored hull with saltwater. "Might be some sleepers inside who just haven't woken themselves up yet."

            "A boarding party should do that trick really bloody well," Wolcott said in way of caution. It was all he planned to offer for the night. Reardon, after all, knew what he was doing.

            Then there came a sound like a flitting hummingbird, zooming in from the direction of the target vessel. Reardon quickly barked an order and the gunners stood ready, but there wasn't anything like a target. The sound grew louder, and then they saw it, a flying drone about half Wolcott's size that seemed to modeled after a bird of some kind. Wolcott took a closer look at the lengthy neck and the wings, but it was Spartan who beat him to the punch. "A vulture."

            "Small ass vulture," Wolcott frowned.

            "I think I like 'em better that way, Brian," Reardon said, as the vulture shot past them, fleeing in the direction Resolute had just come from. "And I'm thinkin' I'd like ta get on board that there tub to see what purpose a scavenger bird has in these parts."

            "I'll keep the ship on alert," Wolcott promised, raising a pair of binoculars to search the black horizon for their flying friend. He predictably had no luck, thanks to the bloody moon…or lack thereof. Slightly uneasy, he lit himself another cigarette and told himself to calm down. This was just another mission, and even if something went wrong reinforcements were just a call away, and it wasn't like Resolute couldn't defend itself. "Vessel Sea King," Wolcott said through the megaphone, reading the boat's ID information. "We are boarding you."

            That took all of about five minutes. Reardon and his team of five secured the raft and climbed aboard. Reardon drew his service pistol, while the others held their rifles pointed down. No one took chances anymore going into potentially hostile territory without serious firepower, especially if you were human, which these six were. Pistols had evolved over time, of course, but they still weren't as foolproof against an armored Maverick as a three-round burst of adaman bullets was.

            Wolcott only had to wait forty seconds before Reardon's voice came through their radio. "It's a drifter, Brian, and it's a drifter with deaders."

            "Shit." That meant paperwork. "What's it look like?"

            The hell if he was going to tell him what it looked like, Reardon thought, looking around the blood-spattered cabin. One body, that of a man in his late thirties, lay in a bed that until recently must have been white, but was now an admirable shade of red. There was a line of holes stitched down the human's body, and the burnt flesh around the sickening wounds was very telltale. "Energy weapon," Reardon thought aloud. But that wasn't it, the captain saw, turning to a different corner of the room. Blood was spattered against the wall and on the floor, and from the looks of things a body had once been laid there. It couldn't have been the man, Reardon realized, because whoever had sat here had bled out, and wouldn't have had enough left to give the bed its new crimson hue. So, that meant… "Two dead, looks like, but only one body here."

            "Search the ship?"

            "As we speak, boyo." Reardon turned from the grisly sight and left the cabin exploration to one of the rookies. "But seeing as we'd all like to save time, why don't ya have Gills do a sweep o' the sand, and see if he can't find anything."

            "Hear that, Gills?" Wolcott turned to Spartan.

            "I've been waiting all night to hear it," the lionfish replied, motioning to his two assistants. One was a diving Reploid and the other was human, but that one had already suited up into her proper gear. Neither of them were armed. Spartan was expected to cover their asses, and fighting undersea was hard going anyway, unless you happened to be a walking fish. Together they dove into the dark waters, vanishing almost instantly from Wolcott's sight. The captain didn't know what a dead body looked like, sitting underwater and waving like a cornstalk in the wind, and he hoped he'd never find out. That morbid business was up to Spartan and fools like him, he thought.

            But he had business yet to do. "CP Resolute to Command," he said into the radio. "Investigating murder aboard vessel Sea King. Looks like someone went French Revolution on the king in question." Wolcott confirmed the coordinates and requested backup. After all, you could never have too much backup. Fifteen minutes, they told him, but nothing took fifteen minutes. He figured anywhere from twenty to thirty. But there really was no sense worrying about it, he told himself, taking a good, long drag on his cigarette.

            "Everything all right up there, Brian?"

            "Just fine, Mum," Wolcott replied into the radio, shaking his head. "Sound awfully concerned there, Jimmy."

            "I am, though I'll be bloody damned to say why. This whole thing…somethin' ain't right about it."

            "Thought you didn't believe in omens."

            "It's not so much an omen as it is a sixth sense, boyo. Keep on guard up there."

            Wolcott assured him he would, and blinked up at the sky. Even the cigarette wasn't stemming his worry now. Something was wrong, but like Captain Reardon he'd be damned if he could put a finger on it. Well, all he could do was keep his weapons hot. If someone wanted to start a fight with Resolute, he mentally told the shadows, then they were more than welcome to try.

            He had no idea what he was wishing for.

            It wasn't until he'd gone four blocks from the park that Revenant realized they were being tracked.

            He saw her reflection in the glass panel of a jewelry store—young adult, athletic, dark coat, short black hair that fell a bit past her ears. All in all she was fairly unremarkable, except for the fact that she was the same woman he'd seen crossing the street fifteen minutes earlier in Rovanin Park, and now she was behind him again. There were a number of reasonable explanations, of course. For instance she could have just been taking care of some business, except she carried no bags or even a purse and most businesses were closed at this hour. She walked with her head down, looking like any other woman walking the streets at this hour would, and there was nothing overly threatening about her. But there was never anything threatening about the really dangerous ones, he reminded himself, turning a corner suddenly.

            "What…?" Haley asked as, arm in arm, she was dragged with him.

            "Just a little detour," Revenant replied, squeezing her shoulder while walking forward with no less confidence in his step. He glanced to the right when he passed another store window. She was there, turning the corner now. She was keeping her distance, he realized, because she had not been that far back when he'd rounded the corner. Either she'd stopped to pick up a quarter, or…or what? She was an enemy? It seemed awfully presumptuous on his part, but the fact was that even after years of experience it could be hard to tell a civilian from a Maverick in disguise, and if you acted on a faulty judgment and someone innocent got hurt because of it…well, that was why the better safe than sorry maxim was still in heavy use.

            "Someone's shadowing us," Revenant announced, turning down another street and starting back on the proper path towards his flat.

            "A tail?" Haley blinked and started to turn her head but Revenant stopped her. "Oh, right…"

            Revenant nodded. If she was tracking them he didn't want her to know that she'd been spotted. Better they proceeded as two tipsy Reploids to his apartment and collected themselves than give her reason to run. Because, of course, if she was dirty, Revenant wanted to have a chat with her. Bagging enemy spies was something he'd become particularly adept at.

            Sure enough the woman appeared again, this time turning away from them and heading down a block opposite the Hunters' destination. Haley glanced at her lover, knowing his expression. "We following her?"

            "Hell yes," Revenant replied. They turned, acting the part of two tired fools who'd nearly taken the wrong way home, and followed the woman down the block. The point here, Revenant knew, was to make her nervous. If she was stalking them then she'd begin to wonder if they were on to her and were moving against her, and if not…well, then they'd made a mistake and she was a harmless civilian who was heading back to her own bed or a night job somewhere. In his line of work Revenant had tracked many a rabbit—that was what they called subjects of a shadow—but never before had he himself been singled out. He'd faced many traps and dangers in the field, but the Mavericks had never been big on singling out officers for assassination. It was kind of thrilling, he admitted, and it would be all the more satisfying to turn the tables on his hunter, if she was that, and learn who had sent her and why.

            Then the woman did something that was almost too good to be true—she spun sharply and ducked down an alley.

            "Jackpot," Haley breathed, and the two of them raced into the alley without a second thought. As she moved a brilliant halo of energies coated Haley, and when it faded she was wearing a white and silver suit of battle armor. Revenant underwent a similar transformation, donning a suit of black and blue.

            "Stop!" Revenant shouted, but the woman just ran faster…faster than most humans could. It was possible she was just a talented sprinter, but she'd bugged out after two Hunters had closed in on her and that was enough for Revenant. He had enough reason to at least question her. And so the Hunter put to use an innate skill. His speed increased to the point where he was almost short warping, and caught up to the woman in a flash…quite literally. She snarled as he twisted her around and shoved her against a hard stone wall, but her attempts at struggling were futile. "Well hello, pretty lady."

            "Hello yourself," she snapped. "What do you want?"

            "What do you want?" Haley asked coolly, stepping forward.

            "'Name's Revenant, Commander Revenant. I think you know which army." He smiled politely. "And your name is?"

            She fixed him with a curious little stare. Revenant noted the strange color of her eyes, a haunting gold that seemed to swirl around the intense pupil. It was a sight that transfixed him for a few precious moments before the woman began to speak. "So where did I screw up? I mean, before I booked it here?"
            "Caught you in the mirror at Gartenko's," Revenant replied, feeling his spirits soar. He'd bagged one!

            "Ah, the mirror, I knew you'd watch the mirrors!" She laughed, as though a good joke had just been told. Immediately Revenant's uplifted spirits sank.

            Haley took note of this, stepping forward further. "Revenant, I think we ought to…"

            She never got the chance to finish. Their prisoner let out something that could only be considered a battle cry and surged forth with a power neither of them had ever seen coming. Her futile struggles grew much more potent and her iron limbs overpowered Revenant's as though they were made of paper, twisting her way out of the Hunter's grip and throwing him hard into his girlfriend. Revenant fell, but Haley staggered and remained upright, drawing her beam saber.

            "My only concern with you," the woman said, talking down to Revenant as though she were considering buying him from a store, "is that you're a little too predictable. I knew you'd follow me in here, if I made you think the right things." As she spoke a lycanthropic change came over her. For Haley and Revenant, donning their armor meant actually teleporting it in one burst from its storage place onto their bodies, something that any Reploid could do. For this woman, however, the teleportation had a lot more flair. The armor flowed like liquid over her body, seeping out of nowhere at all and clothing her with a jagged, elaborate suit of black that occasionally pulsated a dull, bloody red color in different areas. The armor flowed like skin up her neck and rounded into a black helmet with a red visor. Heavy, metallic domed claws covered her hands, and on her back armor flowed into the form of a long, curved scorpion's tail, complete with the most menacing bladed tip either Hunter could imagine. "You asked my name," she said, her voice enthusiastically wicked as her armor finished its teleportation. "Scorpio." Her right arm shot out and the claw opened wide, revealing twin barrels leveled directly at Haley. "Nova Scorpio."

            There was no time for Haley to do anything except scream. A crackling ring of energy was drawn into each barrel, like a gasoline explosion in reverse, and then the twin machine guns flared. Thick lasers punched into and through Haley's body as though her armor were made of cotton. They came so fast and so highly charged that it looked to Revenant, flat on his ass and unable to do anything except stare in horror, like one continual beam. Finally the deadly barrage ended, and Revenant was left to look at a few pieces of bloody flesh and scrap where his lover had once stood. The alley, also, had been wrecked by the lasers, which had punched clear through the walls of buildings after traveling through Haley.

            A killing rage flew through Revenant, and his left hand receded into his forearm to be replaced by the menacing buster cannon that had sent many a Maverick to their grave. He would do the same to this one. He launched himself forward, hyper-dashing behind his adversary and firing the charged shot point blank into her flank.

            The blast carried Nova Scorpio into a blood-spattered wall. She let out a sharp cry, as though she'd merely pricked herself on something, peeling herself away from the wall and gingerly massaging the rent part of her armor. The dull red cloud pulsated brighter throughout her suit of black, and she laughed airily at Revenant, who stood frothing with rage. "I hope that wasn't your best shot."

            Revenant tore loose again, dashing hard at Scorpio, who simply lashed out with a claw and caught the Hunter in the face. The attack tore flesh, and Revenant screamed as he staggered away, trying to collect his balance. The pain brought back a sense of mind, and he realized that this devil standing before him had withstood a point blank shot with no damage, no damage to speak of, and now she was…

            The scorpion leapt into the air, far higher than Revenant himself could ever muster, and opened the machine gun claw wide, jamming its jagged edges into the wall beside her. She hung there, smiling murderously down at Revenant, and pointed her other claw, which opened to reveal…

            The missile streaked down towards Revenant's feet, and though he'd issued the command to run early it didn't register until it was almost too late. He was thrown clear across the alley and landed hard on his left arm, jamming it badly. He swore violently, because he needed that arm to aim. Panting, he turned his head to behold the approaching attacker…and instead came face to face with Haley's severed head.

            Screaming, Revenant leapt back to his feet, and there he stood transfixed with horror, looking down at the head and up at Nova Scorpio, who approached with the same casually lethal gait. "Poor little Revenant," she said, her delivery pleasant but its reception acidic. "Couldn't save the girl…couldn't save anyone…but that's all right. This world isn't about saving lives. It's about taking them." As she walked towards him, her tail coiling gently around her torso like a living snake, the fire from the missile behind her complimenting her satanic armor, she looked to Revenant very much like an emissary from Hell.

            "The God of War has come for you, Revenant…and from war there is no escape!"

            Revenant heard the words but didn't understand them, nor did he care to try. He was facing an adversary that he clearly could not defeat. He did the only thing he could think to do.

            He ran.

            Reardon nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw the vultures.

            There were two of them, perched together outside a closed door the team had yet to inspect. They were identical to the one that had visited Resolute earlier, totally gold in color except for beady black eyes, and with lighter colored engravings over their armored bodies that looked like Egyptian hieroglyphs. To Captain Reardon it seemed like they were guarding something, and a nod from a teammate, a seasoned patrolman named Barnes, confirmed the suspicion.

            "How's it look, lads?" Reardon said, speaking only to his teammates aboard the ship.

            "Nothin' doin' here, sir," one of their voices replied through the radio. "Not even a blood trail. Maybe our bogey carried the victim somewhere and was real neat about cleaning up after himself, but we'd have seen something by now."

            "Probably thrown overboard," Barnes suggested.

            Reardon nodded. In addition to Barnes he had one other crewman with him. The other four were patrolling this monster of a ship, but Reardon doubted he'd need more than three. Barnes was a good shot and the third one, though a rookie, had gotten decent marks in firearms training. Reardon motioned to the door, keeping a close eye on the vultures, who had trotted aside to get away from the humans. He didn't trust them.

            The door flew open courtesy of Reardon's boot, and the captain entered first, his pistol out and ready. It looked like a kitchen, and there wasn't much room to move around but the three men entered anyway, Barnes turning to keep an eye on their rear flank, just in case the damned golden turkeys decided to start something.

            Reardon, however, was far more interested in the form that lay in the corner, a drone of sleek black coloration. It looked like a resting dog, except that its ears were pointed high up at all times. Its eyes blazed red, locking onto the intruders. A jackal, Reardon realized, clutching his pistol a little tighter.

            "It's guarding something," Barnes opined immediately.

            Reardon nodded agreement, stepping forward to confirm the theory. The jackal let a low growl escape its lips as it came slowly but menacingly to its feet. Reardon sighed, patching into Wolcott while the rookie kept his weapon trained on the drone. "We've got a wee bit of a complication. We'll handle it, but stay sharp anyway."

            "Always, Jimmy," Brian Wolcott replied, lazily drawing another cigarette. He only had five left, he realized, lighting it up and thinking Reardon had better hurry.

            It was then that the familiar noise of a hummingbird's wings became audible once more. Wolcott stood erect and watched the vulture return, the rapid flitting noise coming from the generator that allowed its wings to flap. It circled Resolute once before turning its attention to a young seaman staring at it near the spot where Wolcott, Reardon and Spartan had talked earlier. The golden bird then quite suddenly let out a chilling screech and dove straight at the cadet, who raised his weapon too late to do anything about it and fell screaming to the deck as the bird buried its razor beak in his abdomen.

            Wolcott had watched the scene in slow motion, and the second everything clicked so did his training. His pistol came out almost of its own accord and leveled itself in the target's direction as the vulture leapt off its prey, holding something bloody in its mouth. Disgusted and infuriated Wolcott nearly took a shot, but his line of fire had become obscured by other crewmen hoping to accomplish similar results.

            One did. Her rifle sang as three adaman bullets—bullets designed to punch through heavy armor—impacted the vulture's side. It sprayed black coolant like oil from the earth, and with a choked shriek it fell hard onto the deck, sparking and smoking. The man it had attacked thrashed like a fish on the deck nearby, clutching at his violently bleeding side and screaming in what had to be terrible pain. "Jesus Christ!" Wolcott observed, rushing to his side.

            "Let me at him," said Gerry Pemberton, the onboard medic, while another crewman restrained the wounded man.

            Wolcott would have helped, but his ears carried his head skyward as a very unwelcome sound filled them—hummingbirds. Lots and lots of hummingbirds.

            Even though the sky was black and moonless Wolcott could make out a darker cloud of predators descending towards his ship. "Battle stations!" the captain boomed, racing to the helm. "Let's get this thing moving, people!" Resolute's engines started up as ordered, but it took a while for the boat to pick up any speed. As it attempted to do so, Wolcott detected a sharp change in the wind—things were suddenly very much cooler. It was a summer night, and Wolcott knew that even in Ireland winter did not happen in summer.

            But apparently the old rules no longer applied. Wolcott raced on deck just in time to see, to his disbelief, a wave of bluish energy coursing across the sea towards them, freezing the water solid as it went. It hit Resolute hard, jolting the ship as black ice locked it in place, foiling all attempt at movement. "Bloody hell," Wolcott breathed. All about him, crewmen scrambled to take action. Resolute's mounted guns lit up the night as a line of tracers sped up into the descending black cloud, dropping screeching vultures and, Wolcott was surprised to see, bats. They weren't the standard Batton Bone model, either—they were vicious vampires, with teeth that looked even worse than that vulture's beak.

            Finally it all registered in Wolcott's head: he was under attack. Reardon probably would not be better off. He raced to his radio and patched in to his comrade. "Jimmy! Jimmy! Get the hell out of there now! We're being attacked!"

            But Reardon already had a lot on his plate. About the time that first vulture went down, Reardon was approaching the back of the kitchen area, and the jackal didn't like that. At his captain's order the rookie prepared to fire his rifle to put an end to the threat, but the black drone suddenly leapt forward, its teeth and claws glinting menacingly. The rookie panicked, unleashing a full spray that tore the kitchen to pieces while only dropping the jackal on its side, far too close for safety. It lashed out as Reardon backed away, catching the captain's leg. He cried out, stumbling and falling on one knee, but retained enough balance to defend himself. He raised his pistol and fired right into the jackal's face, destroying most of the skull and rendering the drone useless.

            "You all right?" Barnes asked, helping his commander to his feet.

            "Gunfire aboard Resolute," one of the others patrolling Sea King announced. "Repeat, massive gunfire aboard Resolute!"

            "What the hell?" Reardon had time to ask before a loud screech cut off his thoughts. One of the vultures flew into the doorway, its bladed beak wide open. Barnes stepped forward to shoot it, but before he could level his weapon a bolt of green plasma shot out from the beak. The bird hadn't exactly been aiming, but the bolt happened to catch Barnes in the heart. The unlucky man slumped to the floor, his weapon clattering next to him, while Reardon fired once into the target's long neck, severing it from the body. "My God," he observed, feeling sick.

            "Jimmy! Jimmy!" Wolcott's voice said into his radio. "Get the hell out of there now! We're being attacked!"

            "No shit," the rookie observed, shaking in his boots.

            Reardon's world spun. His first instinct was to indeed get the hell of Sea King and defend his ship, but something stopped him. He turned and barreled almost fanatically to where the jackal had originally rested, throwing open the cabinet door the dog had guarded. Immediately his face drained of all color. It was a bomb. A big one. And its timer seemed to be about done. James Reardon thumbed the switch on his radio almost unconsciously, patching into the members of the Sea King patrol for the last time.

            "Run, lads!"

            Wolcott was calling in for immediate reinforcements when he saw it. One man from Reardon's team rushed onto the deck of Sea King. What he was doing, Wolcott would never know, because a second later a fireball tore the yacht apart. The thick plume of flame rocketed fifty feet in the air before beginning to dissipate, while below what remained of the ship smoked and burned in direct contrast to the frosty ice that held Resolute in place.

            Wolcott never had ample time to register that his friend Reardon was dead. Above him he heard a laugh that echoed like thunder across the sea. It came from the center of the drone army, from the lips of a massive winged figure. The drones circled him like the planets circle the sun, and even in the dim light Wolcott could make out the bulky physique, the golden armor, and the granite-like chestplate that resembled some pharaoh's headdress. The head was indeed interesting, since it was the head of a lion on a humanoid body. The lion's "mane" was part of the headdress image, flowing down onto his shoulders in silvery wisps. All over his body were elaborate hieroglyphic markings of fluctuating colors, akin to the ones on the drones he controlled—for he was their controller, Wolcott realized. This sphinx—it was a sphinx, he somehow knew, even though it didn't look exactly like the ones he'd seen in pictures and history books—carried a long, ornamented spear that was designed to look as though it had been carved of black obsidian with a glistening golden spearhead. His wings appeared to be made of stone and hardly looked like wings at all, with long jagged "feathers" with nothing in between, yet still the beast was able to fly. Wolcott knew this creature was responsible for the attack on his ship and, somehow, the attack on Sea King, and that meant war.

            The sphinx apparently thought the same thing. While the rest of the crew stared in amazement at their new foe, he took action. Glaring at them with the glowing white orbs that were his eyes, he raised his free hand and traced a symbol in the air with his fingertip. Energies remained where his finger had been, and then there was a glyph in the air for them all to see, red in color, as was the curtain of energy that had suddenly clustered around the sphinx's fist. His hand shot out again and a blast of flaming energies rained down upon Resolute, smashing hard into the main guns. The attack was hot enough to ignite spare ammunition, and the explosions rocked the ship, killing sailors and knocking others overboard onto the hard ice below.

            Wolcott was far out of his league and knew it. He ordered his troops to focus their firepower on the sphinx, and a storm of adaman death flew up towards the heavily armored menace. He grunted, taking a few hits before shimmering out of existence, only to appear suddenly again nearby. It was a very short short-warp, but it was all he needed. He absently examined the damage done to his armor by the adaman bullets, but appeared to be—horrifyingly—no worse for the wear.

            "Impossible," Wolcott declared, impotently. Then, just when it seemed things couldn't get worse, they did.

            Medic Pemberton saw the figure first. It was a mantis-class Reploid, skating across the ice he himself had probably created, a fusion powered thruster system in his wings giving him the insane speed he wanted. He reached Resolute and leapt up onto the flaming deck. His entire body was so chrome that it was like an overly shiny mirror. It seemed like a dull design to Pemberton, but watching as the crystal clear armor picked up and reflected the nearby flames, the medic understood why it had been done. The enemy was humanoid in stance, but he had thrusters hidden under the long carapace and tail of a mantis. His face was also that of a mantis, and his bug-eyes were blood red, the only part of him with color. His arms predictably ended in scythe-like blades, and he walked upright in the typical stalking mantis fashion.

            Pemberton wasted little time before attempting to dispatch of this new threat. While the mantis took in its new surroundings, the medic lowered his rifle and fired once into the enemy's chest. He stumbled backward, rubbing at the sore spot with a claw and fixing his protruding eyes on his attacker. "Impossible!" Pemberton protested. An adaman bullet to the torso? What kind of armor would allow someone to survive?

            Before he had a chance to fire again the mantis raised a claw and the gun was torn from his fingertips. He looked up in confusion as the mantis let the weapon drop the floor before surging forth, burying one scythe in Pemberton's stomach. The human's eyes went nearly as wide as the mantis's, and he opened his mouth but only blood came out. "Magnetism," the mantis explained in a raspy, skittish voice that revealed how much fun he was having. He chuckled, a scratchy noise that made the dying medic sick. "They call me Polar Mantos for a reason. Well, two reasons, in fact," he added, gesturing with the other claw to the ice that had frozen Resolute in place. Then he took that claw and sliced Pemberton's head off. The spray of blood from the wound speckled his shiny armor, and he raised both bloody claws to the sky and laughed. He hadn't had this much fun in ages.

            "You devil!"

            The voice was like a grizzly bear's roar. Mantos turned to behold a short but well built human wearing the garb of a captain. The Reploid laughed again, raising a claw in eager challenge. "You want to play, human?" His mandibles opened and he hissed throatily.

            "Then let the games begin!"

            Revenant cleared the street in ten seconds. As he raced along he called Headquarters, demanding backup. Unfortunately, he was informed, most of the units were asleep in their homes and it would take time to mobilize them. Jesus Christ!

            He suddenly realized that he was very much alone. Not a soul was on the street, not a pedestrian, not a police officer to investigate the carnage that had broken out, and most importantly no rampaging scorpion.

            But apparently citizens had been awakened by the missile attacks in the alley, and some were peeking outside to watch. They looked to Revenant, bloody and beaten, and immediately shrunk in fear. No! he wanted to protest. It's not me! It's her, she did it, she killed…

            God, she was dead, Haley was dead and there was nothing he'd been able to do about it! Rage melted into desperation and again into rage as the world began to spin around him. Had that all just happened?

            It had, as confirmed by the missile that streaked down the street and crashed into a house on Revenant's right. A curious child and her mother were incinerated on their doorstep, right before Revenant's eyes.

            A sick feeling took the Reploid, and he turned to run again. All he could think to do was put distance between himself and the enemy, which, he realized as another missile tore up the street behind him, spraying his back with shards of asphalt, was a good idea. But the best he could do was Rovanin Park, the same place where not fifteen minutes earlier he and his lover had shared the last tender moment of their lives.

            "Here I am!" he screamed, turning around like a top and directing his voice at the sky. "You want me? Come get me!"

            "Oh, I'll get you, Revenant," the cold whisper said, and Revenant snapped to attention but couldn't find the origin of the noise. "I've already got you."

            The Hunter felt a twinge of dread and turned sharply to the right, where he saw, perched on a tree branch, an owl. It hooted once, and its golden eyes seemed to be fixed right on Revenant. But owls were always looking behind you.

            Revenant turned, and there she was, a scorpion demoness standing almost seductively before him in her hellish armor. He let out a battle cry and started to raise his twin longknives, but her tail shot out before he could make a strike or move to defend himself. The bladed stinger embedded itself in his right shoulder, and he screamed as incredible pain burned throughout his body and brain. Nova Scorpio laughed with great mirth, removing the barb and letting the Hunter stagger backwards as a wave of sudden and intense nausea washed over him. He clutched at his bloody shoulder, staring at the now fuzzy image of his enemy as she licked her lips clean of the light spatter of blood that had welled from his shoulder.

            "Go to sleep, little Revenant," she said, her voice as poisonous as the fluid now coursing through her victim's veins. "It will all be over soon."

            "If I go, then so do you, Maverick!" the Hunter declared, forcing himself upright. If he died tonight, then he promised himself he would die strong.

            "Maverick?" Her lips curled into an amused sneer, and she walked towards him with elegant but menacing steps. "Maverick doesn't even begin to describe me," she declared, her white teeth displayed now in a sharklike grin. He backed away as far as he could, eventually backing into a park bench…the same park bench where earlier he'd…

            Scorpio lashed out with a thin foot and kicked him in the chest, seating him in that haunted bench. Her right claw opened and she leveled the barrels behind her, at the residential buildings. "Poor, poor Revenant," she mocked him further, her golden eyes fairly bursting with anticipation. "Couldn't save anyone at all."

            Revenant heard it before his blurred vision picked it up. Scorpio's inexplicably powerful rays crashed into the sleeping city behind them, raising hellfire into the sky. He shot up from the bench and hacked his longknives into her, trying to score hits in the parts of her armor that were thinner, and while he drew some blood his limbs were suddenly very heavy and his movements sluggish. Plus, his efforts only seemed to encourage Scorpio. Pain shot through his body, like his blood had been replaced with battery acid, and he screamed as the poison took full effect. Scorpio deactivated her guns, fairly shrieking with sadistic laughter at the cacophony of screams that had erupted behind her, and from the Hunter who now slumped uselessly against her. She clamped a claw around his waist, lifting him like a toy and staring into his pain racked eyes with a promising smile.

            "Kill me," he pleaded, feeling his life crash around him. He was the most powerful Hunter in Moscow, and he couldn't…he hadn't been able to… "Leave them out of it…!"

            "Oh, my dear boy," she crooned, bringing him closer to lick the blood off his bleeding facial wound. He cringed and shivered at the eerie touch and she laughed quietly in his ear, her voice a seductive whisper. "Whoever said I was planning to kill you?"

            Any emotion that would have clouded Revenant's eyes was shut down as Scorpio pulled his lips to hers, locking him into a kiss of oblivion, and his world went dark.

            When she felt the body go slack, she examined his agonized face and laughed almost musically. Despite what she'd said to him, he was still an excellent catch. He had indeed hurt her with that point-blank shot, but what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him. Actually, it had, but that was not her concern. She picked up the wail of sirens in the background, but more important to her was her communication network. "Ultimus," she said, "the mission was a success." But the reply wasn't from Ultimus at all.

            "I thought you were supposed to behave yourself?" A deep voice, male and malevolent.

            "C-commander," she gasped, her voice all business.

            "It is of no concern. In fact I approve of the mess. Ultimus is still a bit conservative."

            "Of course... Rendezvous at Beta?"

            "Indeed," the Commander replied. "I will meet you there. I am eager to meet the new recruits. This is a milestone for Armada, Nova. Hurry to the party."

            Communication broke and she allowed herself a satisfied smile, hoisting Revenant over her shoulder and vanishing from sight in a concentrated beam of dark red light, leaving Moscow to burn behind her.

            Wolcott knew he was going to die, but he'd be damned if he didn't sell himself dearly. The bear of a man fired a single shot at the mantis, who predictably dodged to the left. Wolcott quickly readjusted his aim and fired again, but the enemy redirected himself with the agility of the insect he was patterned after, rebounding and landing eight feet in front of Wolcott. The human reflected that the female mantis was supposed to be the deadly one, but try telling that to this guy. The rest of the crew was holding off the drones surprisingly well, but the sphinx kept razing the ship and without the main guns there wasn't much they seemed to be able to do to stop him.

            "You humans are so predictable," Mantos observed. Wolcott responded by belting out a curse and firing three shots in rapid succession. This time the enemy simply turned and bared his heavily armored back to the blow, and even all three bullets couldn't penetrate. "Very predictable," the chrome mantis giggled before darting off once more. He moved fast as a bullet, springing off his legs like a cricket and using his wings for added aerial mobility. Wolcott spun to the right but it was not in time, and one of the scythes pierced his right forearm. He yelped in pain but still thought to bring the pistol up at the enemy's face. He tried to pull the trigger…but nothing happened. The mantis's eyes flickered like a dying light bulb, holding the trigger with a minor magnetic current. Before Wolcott could take action against this a jet of freezing energies left the embedded scythe and traveled up his arm and into the rest of his body. He screamed and fell to the deck, feeling his blood freezing inside him and hearing the enemy laughing in victory. "Hey, Geode!" he called to the sphinx. "Let's say we wrap things up, eh?"

            Geode Sphinx needed no further hints. He descended below the deck, flying low to the ice and dragging his spear across the ship's hull, splitting it open like a can of tuna. Screams echoed from the hull, screams from those who'd fled there to take refuge, but Sphinx hardly even paid attention.

            What did grab his attention was a spear that broke clear through the ice below him, sticking him just above the knee. He roared in pain, a roar that reminded those in earshot of a sonic boom, and tore the spear from its nesting place, looking down as he did so into the eyes of Spartan Lionfish. "You picked the wrong boat, my friend."

            A feral snarl escaped the behemoth. "Spartan…we've been looking for you."

            "Well now you've found me, and it's your funeral." The naval soldier drew another toxic spear from his back, waiting for the effects of the first to take the sphinx. He was more than a little alarmed when nothing happened. The fish walked on the ice, while the sphinx hovered just above it, still clutching the broken end of Spartan's weapon. The lionfish activated the weapon with a mental command and the loaded tip exploded violently in the sphinx's grasp. Another roar echoed throughout the ocean, and Spartan rushed in to finish the job, drawing a new spear from his back.

            Sphinx extended a fingertip and drew a golden glyph in the air. Spartan barely had time to wonder about it before a thick bolt of lightning erupted from the tip of Sphinx's finger. It tore up the ice around Spartan and electrocuted him ferociously, dumping him back into the sea. In his agony, Spartan was unable to react before the weapon shot down into the water and impaled him, hoisting him out of the water. Sphinx grinned a monstrous grin at the fish he'd speared, watching the aquatic champion clinging to life on the end of the spear. "You…you devils," he managed, blood trickling from his broad lips.

            "Perhaps," Geode Sphinx allowed. "But do not judge us until you have walked a mile in our shoes."

            "I will never…"

            "Oh, you will," the large Reploid replied evenly as Polar Mantos flew towards them, his glossy armor stained with much blood. "Is it time?"

            Mantos nodded rapidly, hearing the sounds of approaching vessels in the distance. "We must clean up our mess, you know."

            "Of course," Sphinx replied in a rumbling chuckle, extending his arm and tracing another glyph. The symbols on his body glowed a blazing red in color, and from his internal generator he called forth a supply of energy that he manipulated into a superheated blast. It rolled over the ice surrounding Resolute, melting it all and letting the dying ship begin its descent to the deep. Its slashed hull took on water almost immediately, and Mantos widened the gap, struggling mightily but pulling the metal apart with his innate powers. Screaming crewman bailed out, swimming through lukewarm waters with no place really to go, and Mantos gleefully ended their lives. He wanted as few witnesses left over as possible.

            The two attackers rose into the sky, the trail of drones following them faithfully. Spartan shuddered and fell into unconsciousness as they gained altitude, and Sphinx had to smile. "Ultimus sure knows how to pick them."

            "You really think these two will be the ones?" Mantos asked, in his animated fashion.

            "They are the best for the job," Sphinx shrugged. "One other will be nice…but that will come in time. But do not worry. No one will be able to stand against Armada Group."

            "Of course," Mantos cackled, rubbing his claws together. "Oh, of course."

            And without another word the two Reploids vanished, warping to their rendezvous point with their unwilling prisoner. Below them, Resolute gave in to the ocean, vanishing beneath the waves and pulling a few trapped sailors with her. A small platoon of reinforcements soon arrived, but far too late to do anything except reflect on the tragedy of the moment beneath a moonless sky. The peace, it seemed, had just come to an abrupt end.